THE WITCH OF CWM BYCHAN.
In the year 1647, when the Parliamentary forces were besieging the castle of Harlech, there happened to be a sturdy trooper, named Jacob Strong-ith-arm, amongst them, a raw-boned man, of about forty years of age, who had a most sanctimonious visage, and a strong nasal twang, which the hypocrites he commanded generally affected as the acceptable tone in which the Lord delighted. He had in his youth been a butcher’s boy; but sanctity and the cutting the throats of the royalists had elevated him to the rank of captain in Oliver’s army. This man being stationed under General Mytton, during the siege of Harlech Castle, fancied himself in love with Mary Carrol, the daughter of a farmer in the neighbourhood, who was shrewdly suspected of being a favourer of the besieged party. This, however, Jacob did not choose to notice; and, whenever an assault upon the castle was repulsed by the royalists, he returned to lay siege to the heart of Mary Carrol, who had an utter abhorrence to all fanatics and sanctified faces.
“Verily, Mrs. Mary Carrol,” he would say, “I love thee!”
“And by the honour of a cavalier,” replied the maiden, “I love thee not, Jacob;” for she concealed not her attachment to the royal party, although her father constantly cautioned her to do so.
Long and vainly did Jacob endeavour to obtain the young girl’s affections. At length, he bethought himself of Janet, the witch of Cwm Bychan, whose fame was spread for many a mile the country round; and one evening in March a man muffled in a horseman’s cloak was seen stumbling over the broken rocks and patches of broom and furze that impeded his way to the cottage where she lived. The moon was obscured by the density of the atmosphere, and small dark remnants of clouds swept midway through the valley, portending heavy rain and tempest. Often did he kneel and lift his trembling hands, as if in prayer, as he approached the cottage, and many times did he turn round affrighted, believing he heard a brownie brush behind him. At length, he saw a small white dog running towards him, wagging its tail, and looking very glad to see him. Notwithstanding all these tokens of welcome, the teeth of Jacob chattered in his head, as he followed his canine conductor, and his heart sank within him.
When he came to the door, it seemed to fly open without the aid of hands, and, in the middle of the hut, over a turf fire, sat Janet the witch. “Come in!” said she, and repeated these doggerel lines:
“Thou lovest a young and a pretty bird,
And little she cares for thee;
But Mary shall carol, and love thee well,
If thou’lt give gold to me.”
“By the devil and all his imps, Janet,” said Jacob, mustering up all the courage he could to support his profanity, “I’ll give thee a hundred good pounds if thou wilt make her love me.”
“It’s a bargain!” quoth Janet, and she griped his hand till he thought he felt all the blood in his body running out at his fingers ends, and then she gave him this warning:
“When the change is wrought, shouldst thou in aught
’Gainst thy free oath rebel,
Soon shall, in dole, Harlech’s bell toll
A sinner’s parting knell!”
“Go thou to Mary’s cottage to-morrow morning by the ninth hour; thou shalt find her mind altered, and on the third morning will I call on thee for the fulfilment of thy promise. Away!”
As she spoke, he found himself suddenly whisked away into the centre of a furze bush, where, stuck fast, he stood gaping at the door of the cottage, which closed against him, as if by enchantment, and all was as quiet as before he had entered it, save the whistling wind and the driving rain, which the clouds now discharged in torrents.
A festival was to be held that night on the side of Mount Atlas, and all witches were desired to attend and join in the revelry, at the command of his imperious majesty, Satan himself; and, no sooner had Jacob departed, than old Janet began to anoint herself, singing her incantations all the while.
“To thee, to thee, thou mighty one!
Whose name is big with fear,
I pay my adoration deep,
While I anoint me here;And in this ointment I have put
Mixtures of mighty power,
To aid my flight, through the night,
To thee, at trysting hour.The Lady Gordon’s fav’rite child
I’ve roasted for this night,
And thus its fat upon my lids
I drop to aid my sight.Come dance around, my fav’rite imps,
Robin and Prick-ear come!
Twice must the ocean wide be crossed
Ere we again come home.With serpents’ oil I smear my cheeks,
To smooth my wrinkled skin,
And outward wear the show of youth,
Though all is old within.With blood of matricide I dye
My lips to ruby red,
And with the deep black soot of hell
The white locks of my head;With tints from murdered virgin’s face
I gaily deck my own,
Till either cheek appears to wear
A rose flower newly blown;Come dance around, my favourite imps,
Robin and Prick-ear come,
Twice must the ocean wide be crossed,
Ere we again come home.”
Her preparations being completed, she mounted upon the back of Robin, and attended by Prick-ear, flew through the air to the witches’ festival.
The inhabitants of Mauritania, who resided in the vicinity of Mount Atlas, were struck with fear and wonder at the flickering lights and fitful sounds of numerous instruments that were seen and heard upon the mountain’s sides. Loud peals of laughter and shouts of merriment astonished the peasantry, for many miles around! Glad enough was the arch-fiend to see old Janet, who was a favourite, and he knew she had done his service ably. She knelt down, and did him homage, repeated the accursed prayer, and recounted to him the deeds she had performed since the last merry meeting,—at which he smiled, and gave her a smack that sounded like the report of a piece of ordnance; and back to back, with arms locked together, did they whisk it about, to the great delight of the assembly; after which, Prick-ear, who had assumed his human shape, led her to the feast, and whispered soft words into his mistress’s ear; and they kissed and toyed, as did the rest; and in mirth, love, and jollity, the night passed rapidly away. But Janet forgot not in her mirth, to beg a boon of Satan, which was, that he would turn the inclinations of Mary Carrol upon the trooper, Jacob Strong-ith-arm, which being granted, the usual ceremony at parting was performed, and again crossing the ocean, she arrived at Cwm Bychan before the dawn, with her attendant imps.
With a fluttering heart, Jacob knocked at the door of his mistress, on the morning after his adventure with old Janet, and could scarcely believe his good fortune, when he saw Mary, with smiles of delight, hasten to the door, to welcome him; and he inwardly blessed the old witch for having performed her promise so faithfully. He spoke of love to Mary, and she heard him without a frown; and so impatient was the accepted lover, that the third day was appointed for the marriage to take place. But Jacob thought no more of the witch who had brought about his good fortune.
The third morning came, and the bells were ringing merrily the wedding peal for Mary Carrol and Jacob Strongith-arm, and all their friends were seated at breakfast in the bride’s cottage, when, as the clock struck nine, three distinct and heavy knocks were heard at the door, which being opened, old Janet presented herself before the astonished party, for they all believed she had evil communication with Satan.
The bridegroom grew red with shame and passion, and when Janet told him she had come for the payment he promised, he vowed, if she did not quit the house, he would tie her neck and heels, and fling her out of the window. This threat made Janet wrathful, and with heavy maledictions that struck terror into the hearts of all the company, she turned her back upon them, and departed from the house.
No sooner had she quitted it, than a new wonder arose—the bride flew hastily to her apartment, nor could all her friends prevail upon her to quit it. Her former dislike to Jacob returned with redoubled violence. She refused to become his bride, and kneeling down returned thanks to heaven for the fate she had escaped. All was confusion. The disappointed bridegroom with dreadful threats of vengeance, dashed furiously out of the house, in the direction of Cwm Bychan.
Rage subdued fear in his breast, and the pathless rocks, over which he had to scramble, seemed to add fresh fuel to his flames. Long and loudly did he knock at the door of Janet’s hut, until maddened with delay, he with his foot sent it flying from its hinges, and there he saw a figure resembling himself modelled in wax, with a needle passed through the body, placed before a fire—and on a sudden Jacob began to sweat with fear. All the horrors attached to this well known ceremony amongst witches, rushed to memory. He remembered the story of King Duncan of Scotland, which he had often read over, with pious terror, in the pages of Hollingshed, who was in this way tortured by a witch, and, with prayers and ejaculations, he ran from his effigy, stumbling and breaking his knees over the rugged stones, while thorns and briars tore his quivering flesh, as, unconscious of the pain, he scrambled through. At length, in horrid plight, breathless and faint, he reached his quarters in the town of Harlech, where he was shortly after put to bed in extreme agony, both of body and mind.
“Weary seven nights, nine times nine,
Did he dwindle, peak, and pine.”
Meanwhile, General Mytton was hotly besieging the castle, which was defended, with almost unprecedented bravery, by William Owain, the governor, with no more than twenty-eight followers. In vain did the clang of arms strike upon the warlike ears of Jacob;—he might have exclaimed, in the language of Othello—
“Farewell the plumed troop, and the big war
Which makes ambition virtue—oh farewell!”
But, as he never read such profane authors, he contented himself with a pious curse or two every second on the witch who had reduced him to such a state of feebleness. He who was once foremost in the onset, whose voice would animate his soldiers with a religious zeal, and oft reclaim the fortune of the fight—the brawny, fearless Presbyterian lay like a puling infant on his bed, wasted and pale, with scarcely breath enough to render himself audible to those around him.
Sorely did Mytton need his aid, his reckless daring in leading an assault—for the stimulating energy of his example was electric.
One night, when he heard the loud shouts of the enemy, and the declining voices of his friends, Jacob grasped his sword, and, starting from his bed, rushed, or rather staggered, to the barbican, which had been scaled by a small body of the parliament forces, who surprised the warders at the drawbridge, which crossed the fosse upon the inside, when, from the interior a body of the royalists rushed with desperate valour, the assailing party were forced to retreat by opening the massy gate of the barbican, but not without leaving many wounded and dying comrades in the deep fosse, into which they had been thrown during the struggle on the drawbridge. At this critical moment, when disgrace appeared to hang over the banner of his leader, Jacob, en chemise, forced his way into the scene of action, striking terror to the foe, who took him for an apparition, and invigorating the hearts of his friends. The royalists, who had advanced, were driven back again in their turn.
But the hope of victory betrayed the besiegers to their ruin. Jacob, determined to take the castle or die, with a huge axe was cutting through the drawbridge to deprive his followers of all hope of escape, by retreating that way; and the battle became furious beneath the double portcullis which crowns the principal entrance. The besieged were driven nearly into the inner court, when the mighty voice of Owain cried aloud—“Let fall the portcullis!” So promptly was this order obeyed, that the outer and inner grating enclosed the besiegers, as in a cage, and left them entirely at the mercy of their conquerors.
Fortunately for Jacob, his weakness prevented him from carrying his purpose into effect, and he retired, covered with confusion, to his bed, while his companions whom he was forced to leave behind, resigned their arms, through the inner grating, to their enemies, and were then committed to the dungeons of the fortress.
On the morning after this defeat, a party of men, who had been sent into the mountains to forage for goats, sheep, or provender of any kind that might fall in their way, chanced to pass near old Janet’s dwelling, and they resolved to revenge the cruel persecution of their captain, if they could light upon the witch, who had occasioned his long sufferings. Accordingly, they entered the cottage, where they perceived, before the dying embers of a turf fire, the waxen image with which she worked the charm, almost wasted away, but still bearing a strong resemblance to Jacob Strongith-arm. This they seized, and instantly committed to the water, placing, at the same time, some dried wood upon the turf, which, with the aid of some gunpowder, was ignited. A quantity of dried furze and heather was then piled upon it, and, in a short time, the flames communicated with the rafters of every part of the building.
As they turned from the cottage, one of the party perceived an old woman floating upon a plank on the lake, twisting and jumping, capering and splashing, in a manner that made his hair stand on end. It was old Janet herself, whose imps had deserted her, or he would never have been able to detect her at her pastime. There she floated, twirling about, sometimes on one leg, and then upon the other, till all of them being convinced it was the witch, they resolved to seize her, and convey her to the General.
Three of them, named John Brown, James Haddock, and Joseph Stilt, being the most courageous of the party, volunteered to capture her, though the devil himself stood at her elbow, while she, not knowing that her imp, Robin, whose power made her invisible to mortal eyes, had quitted her, kept dancing on, without dreaming of any harm that could befall her from the approach of mortals, although the plank upon which she stood nearly touched the border of the pool. Suddenly, Joseph Stilt, who was the foremost, roared out—“The witch! the witch!—we have her!” Janet then, for the first time, felt afraid; but she still had some power left, and Joseph Stilt, as he made a spring to come up with her, stuck fast in a quagmire as deep as his chin, close to the edge of the lake, where he remained storming, without the power to extricate himself. James Haddock, who leaped over his head, sank to the bottom, and narrowly escaped drowning. But John Brown, who always carried a verse of scripture in front of his hat, calling on the Virgin for support, alighted on the plank by the witch’s side, and, seizing her by the hair, ferried her to a safe landing place, when his comrades, James Haddock, and Joseph Stilt, having been assisted, by their fellows, out of jeopardy, assisted him to convey her to Harlech, where they were told that the dreadful exudations of Jacob had ceased, and, upon comparing their accounts, they found that his recovery commenced at the very moment when they flung his waxen effigy into the water, and set fire to the witch’s hut.
When Janet was brought before the General and Jacob Strongith-arm, she laughed to see his once stout frame dwindled as it was, and her laugh frightened them all; so they tied her to a stake, and then began to question her; but she disdained to make any reply. They then tried the torture of the thumb-screw, but Janet only spat in their faces, for the devil was strong within her; and James Haddock lost his eye, from the heat of her saliva. The soldiers marvelled at her obstinacy, and Jacob, growing full of ire, commanded them to fire a harquebuss at her, if she persisted in her stubbornness. But this threat only increased the fiendish laugh of old Janet into a yell of scorn. All threats proving useless, the harquebussier fired his piece. But how were they astonished to see the witch grinning defiance at them all, and holding the ball up between her right finger and thumb! Another was fired at her, which she caught in the left! Stilt, mad to see her triumph thus, ran at her with his sword, which shivered to pieces upon her breast; and all this time the witch laughed, and spat at, and reviled them. At length, Brown, who had first arrested her, remembering he had been told that a witch, if bled in any of the veins that cross the temples would soon give up the ghost, walked boldly up to her, when the devil, scared at his intentions, instantly quitted his votaress, and she, left helpless, could only storm, and rave, and curse, and beg for life. But Brown drew the keen blade across the full purple veins, and, with a scream of terror, she fell to the ground.
Many crimes did she confess to the holy man, who attended her last moments; besides the one just related, which render “the little hollow,” a spot of fearful interest to the mountaineer, who, as he passes the lake at nightfall, turns many an anxious glance behind, and fancies that he hears, at times, the sound of unearthly voices in the gale, that sweeps by him in this wild and lonely dell.
The castle was soon after surrendered to the Parliament forces, by its brave commander, who had the honor of knowing, that he was the last, who yielded up the trust confided to him, by his sovereign.
Our repast being concluded, we again mounted our horses, and commenced an ascent up a dank, cheerless hollow, called Bwlch Tyddiad. Nothing can exceed the wildness of the scenery, by which we were surrounded. Huge masses of rock, riven by the thunder bolt, or loosened by the frost, lay scattered in every direction, while, towering upon either side, the herbless mountains frowned, barren, black, grey, and terrible.
Our horses, accustomed, I presume, to such excursions, picked their way with the greatest care and safety, and my “Gallant Brown,” cleared every impediment, as if he had been foaled amongst the Alps, and loved them better than the verdant plain. Drawing nearer to the top of the cliff, the shepherds had made a stair-like path of flat stones, along which our cavalcade proceeded with caution; when suddenly we halted upon hearing the distant halloos of travellers ascending the opposite side of the mountain; and presently three persons, one of whom was leading a wearied animal by the bridle, became distinctly visible. A shout of recognition from our party roused all the echoes of the surrounding hills. The figures, as they became more distinct, seemed magically transported with myself into the heart of the Sierra Morena, where Cardenio, Don Quixote, and Sancho Panza, appeared to me in their proper persons; for never was description better realized, than in the figures that now presented themselves. The first was a handsome, well formed man, with light brown hair, which hung in plentiful thickness upon his shoulders; his untrimmed beard, joined by overhanging moustachios, and the two being united to the upper growth, by a pair of whiskers, the luxuriance of which shewed they were permitted to grow in uninterrupted freedom. His throat was bare, and his dress negligent. The second figure that attracted my attention, was a very tall and extremely thin young man, with a serious cast of features, that would have done honor to the knight of the woful countenance. In his hand he led a jaded hack, which in the ascent seemed to have yielded up three parts of its existence. Here then was the Rosinante of Cervantes in a breathing form; while, by his side, a short good humoured little man, with a huge portmanteau buckled on his back, walked like a faithful squire, and made an admirable substitute for the immortal Sancho; and, as he turned his eyes from precipice to glen, it required no great stretch of imagination, to think they were wandering in search of his beloved Dapple. We met upon a patch of green moss; and here our hamper was again unpacked, to cheer the hearts of these toil worn travellers.
By their advice, we ascended to the summit of the mountain, the view from which was grand and extensive. To the eastward, a vast country lies beneath, bounded by Cader Idris, the two Arrenigs, and a long range of mountains. Immediately under the lofty eminence, upon which we rested, was a small round lake, and the pass Ardudwy, which exceeds even the celebrated Llanberris in rugged grandeur. The way by which our new companions ascended was both laborious and dangerous; but they would not have sacrificed the prospect now presented to them on any account. North and south the eye glances over the summits of wild mountains, and to the west the Carnaervonshire chain, cut in two, as it were, by a high mountain, immediately before us, forms the shore of a noble sheet of water, resembling a spacious lake, where the sea stretches its arm, into the vale of Maentwrog, out of Cardigan Bay. The declining sun gave us warning that it was time to quit these wilds, and make the best of our way to the foot of the mountain.
The return is extremely hazardous on horseback. The ladies of the party, therefore, resigning their steeds to the conduct of some mountaineers, and the gentlemen leading their horses by the bridle, commenced the descent. But as I could not, from lameness, advantage myself by like caution, and feeling confident in the tact, strength, and docility of my favourite, I led the way, without experiencing the slightest symptom of uneasiness.
When we had proceeded about half way down, a circumstance occurred, that occasioned some unpleasantness. A horse had broken loose from one of the leaders, and at full speed came galloping down the steep and rugged descent. The animal conducted by the tall, thin gentlemen, before described, started as his fellow quadruped rushed by him, and, freeing himself from control, dashed after him, at an alarming pace; leaving his late master, with eyes starting out of their sockets, and mouth wide open, with affright, his arms spread out, and his whole frame in convulsions of terror, upon the top of a large stone, ludicrously bewildered. My steed, evincing the truth of the proverb, “evil communications” etc. for a moment lost his presence of mind, and despising my efforts to restrain him, bounded over sundry perilous rocky fragments, in desperate pursuit. However, by divers forcible arguments, I at length succeeded in convincing him of his error, and he returned to his duty.
The two runaways were soon out of sight, and as we concluded they had broken their necks, we moved rather solemnly to the bottom of the hollow, where our fears were dissipated, by finding them quietly browsing in the green meadows, where we had before seated ourselves at pic-nic. All here remounted; the sun’s rays still lingering upon the heights of Carreg-y-Saeth, but the pool below looked black and cheerless. As we proceeded, the beautiful calm light of evening, the cool and refreshing air, “the shard borne beetle, with his drowsy hum,” the forest flies and midges dancing in the clear ether, the murmuring of mountain streams, and the joyous notes of our little party, uniting with the sharp tones of our horses’ shoes, clinking against the rocky fragments, formed a combination of pleasing sounds and images in this romantic solitude, which I shall ever remember with feelings of interest and delight. After riding about three miles, surrounded by every charm that could make the time pass pleasantly, we arrived at the place of parting. A road branching to the right led directly to Harlech, a distance of about two miles; and here, with a feeling of regret, I hardly ever before experienced, I took leave of my kind conductor, and his agreeable friends, a man being appointed to walk with me as far as Harlech, for the purpose of taking back his master’s horse.
Slowly and sadly I pursued my solitary ride, nor did I once address my attendant, until I arrived at the inn, where dismounting, I committed to his charge my gallant supporter throughout the day.
CHAPTER VIII.
Harlech—The Inn—The Castle—Anecdote of Dafydd ap Ivan ap Einion—Road to Maentwrog—View—A persevering Cobbler—The Oakley Arms—Pleasures of Fly fishing—New Companions—Angling Stations—An Adventure—Road to Tremadoc—Tan y Bwlch—Port Madoc Breakwater and Mountain Scenery described—Tremadoc—Tan yr Allt—Pont Aber Glas Llyn—Lines written at the Bridge—Beddgelert—The Inn—Story of a Pointer.
“Rise from thy haunt, dread genius of the clime,
Rise, magic spirit of forgotten time!
’Tis thine to burst the mantling clouds of age,
And fling new radiance on Tradition’s page:
See at thy call from Fable’s varied store,
In shadowy train the mingled visions pour;
Here the wild Briton ’mid his wilder reign,
Spurns the proud yoke and scorns the oppressor’s chain,
Here wizard Merlin, where the mighty fell,
Waves the dark wand and chaunts the thrilling spell.”Prize Poem, T. S. S.