A village on the western side of the estuary called the Traeth Mawr, in the promontory of Llyn and county of Caernarvon. It stands on a surface three feet lower than the level of the sea, from the invasion of which it is protected by a substantial embankment. A handsome church ornamented with a tower and spire, and approached through an arched way of exquisite workmanship; a spacious market-house, with assembly rooms in the upper story; a large inn and several good houses, all placed in well chosen and regular positions, indicate the taste of the founder, and excite a feeling of regret that his well directed exertions in excluding the sea were not ultimately better rewarded. The place derives its name from the late W. A. Madocks, Esq., a man of the most courtly, popular manners, and possessed of a penetrating and clear discernment. His first design of enclosing the ground on which the town is built proving successful, led him on to the greater but less happy attempt, that of embanking some thousand acres of the Traeth Mawr, by a sea wall from Caernarvon to Merionethshire. To secure, and place the validity of his title beyond future question, he obtained a grant from the crown in 1807 of all the sands from Pont Aberglaslyn to the point of Gêst. Across the sea-end of this space, and where the breadth was about one mile, he carried an embankment, in deep water, having a breadth of one hundred feet at the base and of thirty at the top. The material of which it is formed is rubble stone, formerly imbedded in loose earth, which was readily detached by the water and entirely carried away, leaving innumerable apertures for the ebb and flow of the tide. This unfortunate error might have been corrected by puddling or some other means; but the breadth of the embankment is still too trifling for the depth and force of the sea. The tide pours in rapidly through every part of this expensive work, presenting a calamitous picture of the projector’s losses, while the dam that secures the town will probably see generations rise and fall on one side, like the fluctuation of the waters from which it protects them on the other.
The idea of rescuing the Traeth Mawr from the sea is as old as the days of Sir John Wynne, of Gwydyr, A.D. 1625. This busy, pompous, but clever man, perceived the practicability of reclaiming both traeths, and solicited the assistance of his ingenious countryman, Sir Hugh Myddleton, but this eminent person declined the invitation, being then engaged in the vast scheme of leading the New River to London. What events are concealed in the arcana of fate! Sir Hugh died nearly broken-hearted, at the apparent failure of a scheme which subsequently proved eminently successful. Mr. Madocks’ life was embittered by the termination of a speculation which was at first apparently successful, then suddenly fell to hopelessness.
HARLECH CASTLE.
Harlech, now a poor village, deriving its only tenure in the memory of travellers from a noble castle, was formerly the capital of the county, and erected into a free borough by King Edward the First. But the great sessions have been removed to Dolgelly and Bala, and the privilege of sending a burgess to parliament was forfeited by neglect. The corporation consisted of a mayor, recorder, bailiffs, and burgesses, and their register is now in possession of a blacksmith in the village. The charter was stolen by the captain of a merchant vessel, who desired to see the authority upon which he was required to pay toll at Gêst Point; when the ancient deed was put into his hand, he dishonestly and villanously refused to return it, and put out to sea. Ormsby Gore, of Porkington, Esq. the representative of the house of Cleneny, has restored the little county hall, in which the member for Merionethshire continues to be elected, and at other times it is appropriated to the charitable purpose of a poor school. A few years back even tourists were content with the history of Harlech, particularly if it happened to be accompanied by an illustration of the fine castle. The singular ruggedness of the way, and the wretchedness of the lodgings, threw a damp on the ardour of even the most inquisitive. These objections are happily no longer applicable, a new road is formed between Maes y Neuadd and Glyn, and Sir Robert Vaughan has erected a spacious and handsome inn at Harlech, where admirable accommodations are afforded upon singularly moderate terms.
The great attraction of Harlech is the magnificent castle,—formerly remarkable for its strength, now only celebrated for its beauty,—once the terror, but now the pride of the scene. It stands on the summit of a bold perpendicular rock, projecting from a range of hills which stretches along the coast, and frowning over an extensive marsh, which is scarcely higher than the level of the sea that skirts it. On the side next the sea it must originally have been utterly inaccessible, the castle walls being scarce distinguishable from the rock on which they rest, but rather resembling a continued surface of dark gray masonry. The other sides were protected by a fosse of great breadth and depth, cut in the solid rock. The only entrance was beneath a barbacan, within which a drawbridge fell across the fosse, and opened within a ballium which enveloped the citadel. The plan resembles a square, each angle of which is strengthened by a large circular tower, the entrance being also protected by two noble flankers. On the entrance side of the inner court are the chief apartments; and a beautiful elevation, of three stories in height, with cut stone architraves to each window, the whole terminated by graceful circular pavilions, rising far above the ballium, and commanding one of the grandest imaginable prospects, is still entire. It resembles in style and position the council hall in the castle of Beaumaris. The banqueting hall is on the opposite side, and its windows look, from a dizzy height, down upon the green waters of the sea. On the right of the court may be traced the ruins of a small chapel, the pointed window of which is still entire.
No more the banners o’er the ramparts wave,
Or lead their chieftains onward to the fight,
Where die the vanquish’d, or exult the brave,
For victory, basking in its worship’d light.
The Cambrian chiefs of Rheinog Fawr
Are mingled in the dust with common clay.
No view, in the northern shires, is superior in grandeur to the prospect from the light turrets of Harlech Castle. The Marsh and Traeth are seen spread out at a frightful depth, and from the margin of their wide level stupendous rocks and cliffs suddenly start up, tufted and embossed with wood. A great mass of air seems to float in the void behind this scene, separating a world of mountains, the grandeur of whose features the pencil only can express. A stupendous vista of broken bills forms a noble perspective, crossed by ranges that open to farther glimpses—summit succeeds to summit in endless train, leading the fancy into regions of solitary obscurity.
Bronwen, the fair necked, sister to Bren ap Lyr, Duke of Cornwall, and afterwards King of England, had a castle on this rock called “Twr y Bronwen.” She flourished in the third century, and was married to Matholwch, an Irish chieftain. The highest turret of the present fortress is still called, by the Welsh, after the name of the fair-bosomed princess, who once kept her court at Harlech. Colwyn ap Tango, Lord of Effionydd and Ardudwy, repaired and fortified the castle of Bronwen, and changed its name to Caer Collwyn. Upon the ruins of the British castle King Edward the First raised the beautiful and impregnable fortress of Harlech (the fair rock), and the union of the old and new masonry is still distinguishable in the walls. Owen Glandwr seized this fortress in the year 1404, but resigned it shortly after upon the approach of Henry’s army. Here the wretched Margaret of Anjou took refuge after the defeat of her friends at Northampton, but being pursued and discovered, she fled from Harlech also, leaving her jewels and baggage behind, which were afterwards seized by the Lord Stanley. Dafydd ap Ivan ap Einion, an adherent of the house of Lancaster held out, in Harlech Castle, for nine years after the accession of Edward the Fourth to the throne of England. His determined obstinacy, a quality for which his countrymen have always been remarkable in war, compelled the king to send a powerful army to dislodge him, under the leadership of William, Earl of Pembroke. After a march, both tedious and difficult, across an Alpine country, Pembroke sat down before the castle walls, and summoned the brave Welshman to surrender, but only received from him this singular answer: “Some years ago I held a castle in France against its besiegers so long, that all the old women in Wales talked of me; tell your commander that I intend to defend this Welsh castle now, until all the old women in France shall hear of it.” Sir Richard Herbert, who had the immediate conduct of the siege, finding the impregnable nature of the castle, and stubborn quality of its governor, accepted the surrender upon conditions honourable to Dafydd, guaranteeing to him and to his followers, fifty in number, their lives and estates. Being all persons of consideration, they were at first committed to the Tower, the king designing to put them all to death, notwithstanding the conditions of the surrender. Against Edward’s cruel and dishonourable conduct Sir Richard remonstrated, urging, that the Welsh hero might have held the castle longer for any thing the king’s army could have done to expel him; but the king still continuing in his base resolve, “then, sire,” said Sir Richard, “you may take my life, if you please, instead of that of the Welsh captain; for, if you do not, I shall most assuredly replace him in his castle, and your highness may send whom you please to take him out.” The king was too sensible of Sir Richard’s utility to persevere in his iniquitous determination, so yielded to expediency, and pardoned the captives; but he never became sensible of the value of honour, and dismissed his own brave general without farther reward.
In the civil wars of Charles the First’s time this was the last fortress in Wales held for the king. William Owen, the governor, with about twenty followers, surrendered to General Mytton on the 9th of March, 1647.