CHAPTER XII
THE GREAT PLYNLIMMON
“Cardigan is a country to itself,” says one who knows Wales well. Except, indeed, for the towns on the coast, Lampeter, with its college, and a famous abbey in the south, the whole country has been described as a “mountain wilderness.” But since some of us prefer such untrodden wastes to those parts that have become merely playgrounds for the English tourist, we will pay it a visit to-day.
At the north-eastern corner of the county stands Plynlimmon, the home of the Severn, the Wye, and many a smaller river which ploughs its way through the wild region we are traversing. And let us note, by the way, that, since railways and even good roads are unknown except on the very fringe of this district, our best method of travelling will be on foot.
THE WYE NEAR RHAYADER. Page [62].
Many years ago, when that delightful person, George Borrow, a native of Norfolk, made a long tour all over Wales on “Shanks’s mare,” seeing thereby far more of the country and its people than the motor-car or railroad travellers of more modern times, he explored this part of the country very thoroughly, and this description of his visit to Plynlimmon is too good not to quote at length:
“The mountain of Plynlimmon, to which I was bound, is the third in Wales for height, being only inferior to Snowdon and Cader Idris. Its proper name is Pum or Pump Lumon, signifying the ‘five points,’ because towards the upper part it is divided into five hills or points.
“Plynlimmon ... has been the scene of many remarkable events. In the tenth century a dreadful battle was fought on one of its spurs between the Danes and the Welsh, in which the former sustained a bloody overthrow. In 1401 a conflict took place in one of its valleys between the Welsh under Glendower and the ‘Flemings’ of Pembrokeshire, who, angry at having their homesteads plundered and burnt by the chieftain, the mortal enemy of their race, assembled in great numbers and drove Glendower and his forces before them to Plynlimmon, where the Welshmen stood at bay, and with difficulty won a victory....
“... I started about ten o’clock on my expedition, after making, of course, a very hearty breakfast ... and went duly north till I came to a place among hills where the road was crossed by an angry-looking rivulet. I was just going to pull off my boots and stockings in order to wade through, when I perceived a pole and a rail laid over the stream at a little distance above where I was. This rustic bridge enabled me to cross without running the danger of getting a regular sousing, for these mountain streams, even when not reaching so high as the knee, occasionally sweep the wader off his legs, as I know by my own experience. From a lad I learnt that the place where I crossed the water was called the ‘Foot of the Red Slope.’