“Then you are of the same faith as my friend here,” said I.
“Yes, yes,” said she, “we are aware of that. We all know honest John Jones.”
After we had left the gate I asked John Jones whether he had ever heard of Rebecca of the toll-gates.
“O, yes,” said he; “I have heard of that chieftainess.”
“And who was she?” said I.
“I cannot say, sir: I never saw her, nor any one who had seen her. Some say that there were a hundred Rebeccas, and all of them men dressed in women’s clothes, who went about at night, at the head of bands to break the gates. Ah, sir, something of the kind was almost necessary at that time. I am a friend of peace, sir; no head-breaker, house-breaker, nor gate-breaker, but I can hardly blame what was done at that time, under the name of Rebecca. You have no idea how the poor Welsh were oppressed by those gates, aye, and the rich too. The little people and farmers could not carry their produce to market owing to the exactions at the gates, which devoured all the profit and sometimes more. So that the markets were not half supplied, and people with money could frequently not get what they wanted. Complaints were made to government, which not being attended to, Rebecca and her byddinion made their appearance at night, and broke the gates to pieces with sledge-hammers, and everybody said it was gallant work, everybody save the keepers of the gates and the proprietors. Not only the poor, but the rich said so. Aye, and I have heard that many a fine young gentleman had a hand in the work, and went about at night at the head of a band dressed as Rebecca. Well, sir, those breakings were acts of violence, I don’t deny, but they did good, for the system is altered; such impositions are no longer practised at gates as were before the time of Rebecca.”
“Were any people ever taken up and punished for those nocturnal breakings?” said I.
“No, sir; and I have heard say that nobody’s being taken up was a proof that the rich approved of the work and had a hand in it.”
Night had come on by the time we reached the foot of the huge hills we had crossed in the morning. We toiled up the ascent, and after crossing the level ground on the top, plunged down the bwlch between walking and running, occasionally stumbling, for we were nearly in complete darkness, and the bwlch was steep and stony. We more than once passed people who gave us the n’s da, the hissing night salutation of the Welsh. At length I saw the abbey looming amidst the darkness, and John Jones said that we were just above the fountain. We descended, and putting my head down, I drank greedily of the dwr santaidd, my guide following my example. We then proceeded on our way, and in about half-an-hour reached Llangollen. I took John Jones home with me. We had a cheerful cup of tea. Henrietta played on the guitar, and sang a Spanish song, to the great delight of John Jones, who at about ten o’clock departed contented and happy to his own dwelling.