“A boundless extent of country is seen in every direction from this commanding eminence, comprehending not less than nine counties. In the midst of this expanse, I principally directed my attention to the subject of my tour, which now drew to a conclusion. I traced, with pleasing satisfaction, not unmixed with regret, the luxuriant vallies and romantic hills of this interesting country, which I had traversed in various directions, but I dwelt with peculiar admiration on the majestic rampart which forms its boundary to the west, and extends in one grand and unbroken outline, from the banks of the Severn to the Black Mountains,
“‘Where the broken landscape, by degrees
Ascending, roughens into rigid hills;
O’er which the Cambrian mountains, like far clouds
That skirt the blue horizon, dusky rise.’”
Till Piercefield was inherited by Valentine Morris, whose father had obtained it by purchase, the capabilities of the place were unknown, principally, we should think, from the view being hidden by a deep veil of forest. Morris saw everything, however, with the eye of taste; and without officiously intermeddling with nature, he contrived, by merely displaying the treasures that before were concealed, and by opening out paths through the woods to enable visiters to enjoy them, to render Piercefield the fairy-land it now appears. He seems to have been a man of a princely mind, but a thoughtless, unreflecting disposition. His beautiful property was nothing to him without admirers; and he was so grateful for admiration, that he caused his servants to wait upon and feast, gratuitously, even the vagrant stranger, as soon as his foot had entered the magic circle. It is hardly necessary to add, therefore, that by the time the beauties of Piercefield had become extensively known, their master was ruined. Various other circumstances, however, concurred to dissipate a large fortune, and at length he retired to the West Indies, where he had inherited considerable property. The following anecdote is told of his adieu to Piercefield:—
“Before his final departure from England, he indulged himself with bidding adieu to Piercefield. In company with a friend he surveyed his own creation, for the last time, with apparent composure and manly resignation. On his return to Chepstow he was surrounded by the poor; who, throwing themselves on their knees, thanked him for the numerous instances of his bounty, and implored the blessing of Heaven on their generous benefactor. Even this affecting spectacle he bore with silent fortitude, and entered the chaise which conveyed him to London. But he no sooner reached the Gloucestershire side of the bridge, than his ear was struck with the mournful peal of bells, muffled, as is usual on the loss of departed friends; deeply affected with this mark of esteem and regret, he could no longer control his emotions, and burst into tears.”
He was made lieutenant-governor, and afterwards governor in chief, of St. Vincent’s; where his affairs prospered so much that he had almost recovered his fortune, when the island was attacked by the French. With his usual nobility of spirit, he advanced large sums out of his private funds towards the defence, but all in vain: St. Vincent’s was taken, and Morris Piercefield never could obtain from government either his outlay or arrears. He returned to England to seek redress; was arrested by his creditors, and himself a creditor of the country to a large extent, languished in a debtor’s prison for seven years. His books, movables, trifles, everything were sold for bread; and his wife sunk under the horrors of their situation, and became insane. Morris at length recovered his liberty, and Lord North determined to shame his predecessors in the ministry, by performing an act of common honesty. A minister, however, is seldom honest from choice, because the outlay of money curtails his resources, and because the wilful withholding, even of a just debt, does not involve his character in society as a man of honour. Lord North accordingly delayed the restitution as long as he could; and poor Valentine Morris in 1789, was indebted to his brother-in-law for a bed on which to die.
We cannot refrain from adding an anecdote relating to one of the family of Walters, to whom the estate of Piercefield formerly belonged.
“Holding one day a conversation with Mr. Knowles, whom he employed in building the alcove, he made inquiries concerning the family of Walters, and asked if any of them were yet living. Knowles replied that William, the brother of John who sold the estate, was still alive and in great distress. ‘Bring him to Piercefield,’ said Morris, ‘and I will make him welcome.’ ‘If you would give him your whole estate he could not walk, he is so much affected with the gout in his feet, and earns a precarious livelihood by fishing.’ ‘If he then cannot come to me, I will take the first opportunity of calling on him.’ Being some time afterwards engaged with Knowles in forming an opening in the wood, he saw two men in a boat; ‘Stay here,’ he said to Knowles, ‘I will cross the river in that boat, and examine whether the objects I want to show can be seen from hence.’ Descending hastily he hailed the watermen, leaped into the boat, was ferried over, and on his return entered into conversation with the men, and inquired their names and condition. ‘My name,’ said one of them, ‘is * * * * *, I am a native of Chepstow; and that man, pointing to his companion, is William Walters.’ ‘What, Walters of Piercefield!’ exclaimed Morris. ‘Yes, please your honour, I am the brother of John, who sold the estate that you now enjoy.’ Morris made no reply; but giving a gratuity to each of the men, leaped on shore, rapidly ascended the hill, and rejoining Knowles, cried, ‘I have been talking with Walters:’ taking out several guineas, he added, ‘carry these to him, and tell him that he shall never want while it is in my power to assist him.’ Knowles suggested, that as the man was much addicted to liquor, he would render him more service by a weekly allowance. The next market-day one of Morris’s servants carried to Walters a joint of meat, and a small sum of money, which was continued weekly until his death. Morris defrayed the expenses of his funeral, and his carriage conveyed the corpse to St. Arvans, where it was interred in the family vault.” [204]
From Chepstow to the confluence of the Wye with the Severn, the distance is three miles; but although the banks are in general lofty, they possess no features of interest to the descending traveller. It may be sufficient merely to name the Red Rocks, the Hardwick Cliffs, and Thornwell Woods. After these St. Ewan’s Rocks appear on the left bank; and we glide gradually into the wide expanse of the Severn. A prolongation, however, of the left bank continues for some time after we are fairly out of the Wye; the peninsula of Beachley, extending almost half way across the Severn. From this is the ferry of the Aust Passage, supposed to have been named after one of the Roman generals. A steam-packet now plies instead of an open boat, and lands passengers at a handsome pier at all hours of the tide.
On the Monmouthshire coast, a little way beyond the mouth of the Wye, is the Black Rock Inn of the New Passage ferry, supposed, notwithstanding its name, to be as ancient as the other. This ferry was suppressed by Oliver Cromwell, on account of a catastrophe which took place here of a very interesting description. When the king was pursued by his enemies, he crossed the Severn to Chiswell Pill on the opposite side; but when the boatmen returned to the Black Rock, they found a party of sixty armed republicans, waiting to follow the royal fugitive. The ferrymen were royalists, but there was no resisting commands enforced by so many drawn swords, and reluctantly they took the enemies of their prince on board, and pulled across the Severn. They landed their unwelcome freight upon the English Stones, which appeared to be a part of the shore, but was in reality separated by water, fordable only at low tide. The tide had just turned. Some moments, no doubt, were lost in dismay, and some in shouting to the treacherous boatmen, who lay upon their oars to watch the event. The English Stones disappeared with a suddenness customary in the flow of that river; and the cries of sixty drowning men were lost in the rush of the wild waters of the Severn.
Before the Black Rock Inn, and near the mouth of the Wye, is Mathern, formerly the episcopal residence of the bishops of Llandaff. The church close by is the one pointed to by tradition as having been raised over the ashes of Theodoric, the hermit-king, who desecrated the holy solitude of Tintern with the sounds of battle.