On the foundation of the present castle anciently stood Castle Crogen; and the territory around bore the name of Tref-y-Waun, the property of the lords of Dinas Bran, and continued in their possession up to the death of Gryffydd ap Madoc, in the reign of Edward the First.
The view from the highlands of the park is very extensive, commanding a prospect of seventeen different counties. “The ground upon which we now stand,” said my companion, “is remarkable for a melancholy circumstance, which caused much grief and sorrow in the castle and its neighbourhood. The story of Owen-ap-Mylton and Mary Fuller will perhaps interest you, as it gave a name to this part of the estate, which it still retains, ‘The Black Park.’”
THE ENCHANTED STAG.
In a poor hut, which formerly stood upon the site of a few cottages, upon the right of the lane leading to the castle from the high road, lived an aged woman, who kept no society, and was considered, from her reserved habits, drooping gait, and smoke-dried visage, to have strange dealings with the Evil One; and upon whom the neighbours looked with fear and trembling, whenever they met her in the evening twilight, or when
“— the morn in russet mantle clad,
Walk’d o’er the dew of yon high eastern hill.”
Her patch of ground she cultivated without help from any; and no one knew by what means she obtained clothing, as her garden stock only consisted of a few eatables, which she could ill afford to part with for wool to supply her spinning wheel; and yet her hose were good and clean, and her woollen petticoat and russet gown well fitted to endure the weather’s extremes. Strange stories were, however, reported respecting her, as it was said she had come from the Devil’s Peak in Derbyshire, where she had the credit of being a witch, and was nearly apprehended, upon a special order from King James himself, by the officers of justice, who, when they would have laid hands upon her, were astonished to find that they had seized each other, she having vanished suddenly from betwixt them, and, on the same day, it was said, appeared at Chirk Castle, offering to pay a half year’s rent in advance for the little hut, which was then to let, by the hedge-side in the lane, and which the steward accepted. She regularly, afterwards paid in advance; but none could tell how she came by the money, and the gossips reviled her as a limb of the Devil. This absurd notion obtained for her the odium of having performed a principal part in the following simple and melancholy tale.
Owen, the ranger, was a tall, handsome, light-hearted, well-meaning lad, as any in the country, much esteemed amongst his associates, and admired by all the lasses from Chirk to Llangollen, from whom he had selected Mary Fuller for his bride, a blue-eyed, flaxen-haired, pretty lass, who lived as servant in the castle.
Owen’s cottage, situated where now stands a handsome house, was a neat building, consisting of four rooms; it was thatched, and the interior was adorned with implements of the chase. It commanded a pleasant and romantic prospect; the view down the valley being extremely picturesque. Upon the trunk of an elm tree, the stump of which is almost all that time has spared, are still to be traced, although faintly discernible, the widely expanded initials, O. M. and M. F. which in former days were doubtless deeply cut in its bark. It was the favourite tree of Owen and Mary; and beneath its spreading branches they used to sit many a moonlight evening, and whisper rustic vows of constancy and truth.
One night, as they were walking, with arms clasped round each other’s waist, near the hut of the old strange woman, they were surprised at beholding her patting a noble stag, which had strayed from the park, and which seemed fond of his new acquaintance, for it licked her face and capered before her, and put its mouth close to her ear, while she continued to pat him with her hand, and speak to him in a language totally unknown to the peasantry. Owen, enraged at seeing one whom he considered a witch, seducing one of his noblest stags from the park, raised his cross-bow and shook his head at her, as if to intimate that he would shoot her, should she dare to fondle the deer again. The old beldame, frightened at his looks and gestures, retreated into her hut, but shook her hand at him in a threatening manner; while the stag, bounding suddenly from her door, made towards the park, like lightning, and leaping the high fence, began to browze as usual on its native pasture. Mary noticed the look and threatening action of the old woman with fear, and for sometime they continued their walk in silence, neither being anxious to speak upon the subject, but both unable to think of any thing else. At length, when they reached the bottom of the lane, and turned into the high road (which at this period was rough and only used by horsemen and foot passengers who were dreadfully inconvenienced by the state it was suffered to remain in), the cloud that hung over their spirits began to disperse itself, and Owen, eager to resume the theme which the appearance of the old woman had interrupted, again spoke of their approaching marriage and the proposed arrangements he had formed. Mary listened with attention, for only one day was to intervene before the happy morning was to open on their joys.
Owen informed her that his master had promised him the finest buck he could kill in the park, and a couple of barrels of his old October, to regale his friends and guests; he had likewise, he said, presented him with a new bed and furniture, fit for a baron to lie upon, and large enough for six to sleep in! Mary was happy, and Owen more animated, as he spoke of the bounty of his gracious master. Mary, eager to enumerate the presents she had received, began the catalogue of articles necessary for their domestic economy and comfort, and had nearly ran through the names of fifty by the time they arrived at her cottage door, which was the signal for parting, and with many a kiss and promise of meeting again early in the morning, the lovers separated.