LLYN Y CWM BYCHAN,
or, the lake of the little hollow, on the opposite margin of which, the wild and dismal Carreg-y-Saeth, the rock of the arrow, rears its black head in fearful grandeur. Cwm Bychan, is a grassy dell, surrounded on all sides by the most frightful sterility; which, while we gazed with wonder on the sublimity of the scene, made us shudder at the utter desolation it presented. A poor cottage stands at the further end of the valley, from which, having obtained a plentiful supply of milk, we dismounted, and, fastening our steeds to the gates, we seated ourselves under the shade of two trees, upon the inviting grass, which, like the smiles of the world, proved but too treacherous; many a scream and laugh announcing that the boggy soil had paid no respect to the garments of either sex. Stones were therefore procured, and, having ranged them in a magic circle, the whole party seated themselves to partake of the good cheer, which a sturdy Welshman had borne upon his shoulders, and who now advanced into the middle of the ring. Knives and forks began to play with astonishing celerity. Fowls, ham, tongue, &c., vanished as if by enchantment, and mirth and good humour added zest to the repast.
Our lunch 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 thunderbolt, 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 mustachios, and the two being united to the upper growth by a pair of whiskers, the luxuriance of which showed 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 honour 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 large 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 Llanberis 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 Carnarvonshire 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,” &c., 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 V.
Harlech.—The Inn.—The Castle.—Anecdote of Davydd ab Ivan ab Einion.—Road to Maentwrog.—View.—A Persevering Cobbler.—The Oakeley Arms.—Angling Stations.—Road to Tremadoc.—Tan y Bwlch.—Port Madoc Breakwater and Mountain Scenery described.—Tremadoc.—Tan yr Allt.—Pont Aber Glas Lyn.—Beddgelert.—The Inn.
“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 chants the thrilling spell.”Prize Poem, T. S. S.