“I have a little broken Cumraeg, at the service of this good company,” said I. “With respect to the snake of the sea I beg leave to say that I believe in the existence of such a creature; and am surprised that any people in these parts should not believe in it: why, the sea-serpent has been seen in these parts.”
“When was that, Gwr Boneddig?” said one of the company.
“About fifty years ago,” said I. “Once in October, in the year 1805, as a small vessel of the Traeth was upon the Menai, sailing very slowly, the weather being very calm, the people on board saw a strange creature like an immense worm swimming after them. It soon overtook them, climbed on board through the tiller-hole, and coiled itself on the deck under the mast—the people at first were dreadfully frightened, but taking courage they attacked it with an oar and drove it overboard; it followed the vessel for some time, but a breeze springing up they lost sight of it.”
“And how did you learn this?” said the last who had addressed me.
“I read the story,” said I, “in a pure Welsh book called the Greal.”
“I now remember hearing the same thing,” said an old man, “when I was a boy; it had slipt out of my memory, but now I remember all about it. The ship was called the Robert Ellis. Are you of these parts, gentleman?”
“No,” said I, “I am not of these parts.”
“Then you are of South Wales—indeed your Welsh is very different from ours.”
“I am not of South Wales,” said I, “I am the seed not of the sea-snake but of the coiling serpent, for so one of the old Welsh poets called the Saxons.”
“But how did you learn Welsh?” said the old man.