The South Stack Light-house is connected with the harbour, and materially contributes to facilitate its access. It is erected on the summit of an isolated rock, three or four miles westward from Holyhead, and separated from the main land by a chasm 90 feet in width. This splendid structure was raised in the year 1808. The elevation of the summit of the rock on which it is erected, is 140 feet above the level of the sea at high water mark; the height of the tower, from the base to the gallery, is 60 feet; and the lantern is 12 feet high from the gallery; making the total elevation of the light 212 feet above high water mark. The light is produced by twenty-one brilliant lamps, with powerful reflectors placed on a revolving triangular frame, displaying a full-faced light every two minutes, which, in clear weather, is distinctly visible at a distance of ten leagues. Latterly there has been an addition of three red lights placed at the rock, which are more distinctly visible in foggy weather than the light-house lights. The rough sea caused by the strong tides, about the head, rendered the communication by boat very precarious. In order to obviate the danger, a passage was contrived by means of two ropes thrown across the gulph, along which the individual was drawn in a box or cradle, by the assistance of pulleys affixed at each end. This plan was superseded by a bridge of ropes, which was used some years after, though always considered unsafe, on account of the constant wear of the ropes. In 1827, a modern suspension chain bridge was thrown over the sound, the span of which is 110 feet, the chains being firmly bolted in the rock on each side, and carried over two massive stone pillars erected for the purpose. The chain supports a platform of timber five feet wide, and 70 feet above high water mark. The bridge is attained by descending the Holyhead mountain in a zigzag direction, by a flight of 380 steps.
On the rocks south of the harbour of Holyhead, and commanding the town, an obelisk has been erected by public subscription to the memory of the late Captain Skinner, formerly master of one of the post-office packets on this station, who lost his life by being washed overboard in 1833. He was very generally respected, and had been a commander on this station for many years.
To the N. E. is the Isle of Skerries, on which there is also a light-house.
There are several good inns at Holyhead, the principal of which is the Eagle and Child Hotel.
For romantic wildness and stern grandeur of aspect, no place can surpass this portion of the iron-bound coast of Anglesea.
HOLYWELL,
(Flintshire.)
| Chester | 18 |
| Denbigh | 14 |
| Flint | 5 |
| London | 201 |
| Mold | 10 |
| Northop | 6 |
| Rhuddlan | 11 |
| St. Asaph | 10 |
Holywell, called by the Welsh Trêffynnon, (or the Town of the Well,) is an improving and pleasantly-situated place, on the great road from Chester to Holyhead; the town and parish containing a population of 10,834, with a crowded market on the Friday.
But before going into any topographical particulars, we must introduce our readers to the legend of the miraculous well of the famous St. Winefred, as put into an agreeable narrative by Miss Costello:—
We stopped at a remarkably good inn, and lost no time in going down the steep hill at the bottom of which the pretty little chapel over the fine well is situated. Nothing can be more secluded and pleasing than its position by the side of the handsome church with its low churchyard, all placed in a deep hollow, so removed from the upper town, that the bells summoning to prayer cannot be heard above, and a ringer is accustomed to go about the town with the large bell slung round his shoulders, and a cushion on his knee, against which the bell beats as he walks, and proclaims his holy errand. This old custom, doubtless of considerable antiquity, is still kept up, and we are glad that, being there on a Sunday, we were able to see the perambulating belfry.
Margaret, the mother of Henry VII., erected the graceful chapel whose fretted roof is the boast of Holywell, but one had existed long before her time; for the miracle of St. Winefred happened, according to the monks of the Basingwerk, to whom the world is indebted for the legend, early in the seventh century, and is thus told:
Winefred, a beautiful and devout virgin, lived in the reign of an imaginary king, and was of noble birth, and the niece of a man whose sanctity had already made him conspicuous, and who was known as the good Beuno. A prince of the country, whose name was Caradoc, saw the fair damsel, and loved her; but his passion was not so pure as her goodness ought to have inspired. Even then there was a chapel at the foot of the hill, where, while Beuno was at the altar praying with certain of the inhabitants of the neighbouring town, amongst whom were the parents of Winefred, to the astonishment of all, a head rolled and bounded into the sacred inclosure, and stopped at the altar. Beuno stooped to raise up the head, and observed that where it had rested, instead of the pool of blood which was there but an instant before, a stream of crystal water had sprung up. His amazement was increased when he found that the beautiful features and golden hair of the head he gazed upon were those of his beloved niece. He hastened from the spot, and mounting the hill, discovered her mutilated body lying prostrate, and the cruel prince Caradoc flying with a drawn sword in his hand. The truth became clear to him at once. Winefred had fled from the importunities of the prince who, pursuing, had wreaked his vengeance on her by cutting off her head. The saint, for such Beuno afterwards became, immediately with devout prayers joined the severed head to the body, when, to the awe and delight of all beholders, the virgin arose, as if from sleep, uninjured and lovely as ever, nor was there a trace left of the accident but a slight white mark, like a thread, round her throat. Beuno cursed the caitif prince, “who melted away as wax melts before the fire.” Winefred lived fifteen years after this event; she founded a monastery at Gwytherin in Denbighshire, of which she became the abbess, and died there.
Before the event of her decapitation, it seems the valley was particularly dry, so much so as to bear the name of Sychnant, [130] from that circumstance; therefore it was most fortunate that the head of the pursued damsel should have rolled where it did. Not only did the spring attest the miracle, but the very moss and stones around have properties that enforce the belief. The moss emits an odoriferous smell in testimony of the saint’s purity, and the stones at the bottom are stained with her blood, and keep their tint to this day. It is true that some naturalists, who had not the same motive for keeping the world in ignorance as the monks of Basingwerk had, have proclaimed that the moss is only a sweet-scented plant called Jungermannia asplenoides, and that the crimson stains on the stones are produced by a vegetable named Byssus jolithus, by no means uncommon, thus characterised by Linnæus: “the Byssus easily betrays itself by giving the stones, to which it adheres, an appearance of being smeared with blood. If rubbed, the plant yields a smell like violets.”