It is quite possible that many of these Traditions, in the course of their long descent through successive ages, during which they have been distilled and redistilled through the poetical imaginations of so many narrators, may have undergone considerable alteration, and even, perhaps, in some instances, exaggeration. To many fervid minds such an effect produced by their antiquity, may not render them one whit less palatable; whilst people of a less romantic and more common-sense cast, will always be able to winnow out for themselves the more solid grains from the glittering but empty chaff. But any one, who, from the apparent improbability of some of their attendant circumstances, should assert that such legends have no foundation in fact, would fall, it is apprehended, into a very grievous error. The Author thinks that no legend, however improbable, can have been created, without having had some foundation in reality,—some germ, in short, from which it had its origin,—and perhaps he cannot better illustrate this observation, or prove its truth, than by narrating a circumstance with the particulars of which he was favoured by his friend the Venerable Archdeacon Williams, which shows this connexion in the strongest light. What he has to tell, it is true, belongs more particularly to the Principality of Wales, but it only furnishes a more than ordinarily curious and striking example of a class, of which many similar samples might be easily produced from the Highlands of Scotland, as well as from many other parts of the world.
Some of the Welsh legendary historians tell us, that in the year 500, there flourished a renowned chief called Benlli Gawr. His usual residence was where the present town of Mold now stands, and his hill-fort, or place of strength was erected on the highest of the Clwydian range, nearly due west from Mold, and about half way between that place and Ruthin. The hill on which the remains of this fortalice still exist, is called Moel Benlli, or the conical hill of Benlli, and it presents a conspicuous object from Mold, Ruthin, and Denbigh. An immense carnedd or cairn of stones, which was still to be seen some years ago in an entire state in a field about half a mile from the town of Mold, was supposed to have been the place of this hero’s interment; and if we may believe what we read in the Welsh verses on the graves of the warriors of the Isle of Britain, his son’s place of sepulture was in a spot about eight miles distant, and is thus noticed in the following rhymes:—
“Pian y bedhd yn y Maes Mawr,
Balen a law ar ei larn awr:
Bedhd Beli ab Benlli Gawr.”
That is,—
“He who owns the grave in the large field,
Proud his hand on his blade:
The grave of Beli, son of Benlli Gawr.”
But to return to the great Carnedd of Benlli himself in the field near Mold. It was always called Tomen y r Ellyllon, or the Tumulus of the Goblins, and for this reason, that from time immemorial it was believed that the grim ghost of Benlli, in the form of a knight clad in splendid gear, and especially wearing a Celain Aur, or golden corselet, appeared after sunset, standing on the cairn, or walking round it, and that there he continued to maintain his cold post, till the scent of the morning air, or the crowing of the cock, drove him to the necessity of retiring from it to some more comfortable quarters. This legend had for generations so terrified the people, that no bribe could have tempted any one to have passed by that way after nightfall. Yet, though nobody went thither, and that every possibility of having anything like direct evidence as to what the spectre knight’s personal appearance and dress really were, had been thus precluded by the circumstance that every one shunned his dreaded presence, the most wonderful and incredible accounts of his stern countenance and terrific bearing, together with the most fearful stories of their effects upon people who had beheld them, continued to be propagated, although no one could specify the individuals who had seen them, or been so affected by them.