I lay for several hours half stupefied, thinking now and then what
a dreadful thing it was to be buried alive. At length I thought I
would get up, go to the mouth of the shaft, feel the mould, with
which it was choked up, and then come back, lie down, and die. So
I got up and tottered to the mouth of the shaft, put out my hand
and felt - nothing; all was clear. I went forward, and presently
felt the ladder. Nothing had fallen; all was just the same as when
I came down. I was dreadfully afraid that I should never be able
to get up in the dark without breaking my neck; however, I tried,
and at last, with a great deal of toil and danger, got to a place
where other men were working. The noise was caused by the spirits
of the hill in the hope of driving the miner out of his senses.
They very nearly succeeded. I shall never forget how I felt when I
thought I was buried alive. If it were not for those noises in the
hill, the life of a miner would be quite heaven below."
We came to a cottage standing under a hillock, down the side of
which tumbled a streamlet close by the northern side of the
building. The door was open, and inside were two or three females
and some children. "Have you any enwyn?" said the lad, peeping in.
"Oh yes!" said a voice - "digon! digon!" Presently a buxom,
laughing girl brought out two dishes of buttermilk, one of which
she handed to me and the other to the guide. I asked her the name
of the place.
"Gwen Frwd - the 'Fair Rivulet,'" said she.
"Who lives here?"
"A shepherd."
"Have you any English?"
"Nagos!" said she, bursting into a loud laugh. "What should we do
with English here?" After we had drunk the buttermilk I offered the
girl some money, but she drew back her hand angrily, and said: "We
don't take money from tired strangers for two drops of buttermilk;
there's plenty within, and there are a thousand ewes on the hill.
Farvel!"
"Dear me!" thought I to myself as I walked away; "that I should
once in my days have found shepherd life something as poets have
represented it!"
I saw a mighty mountain at a considerable distance on the right,
the same I believe which I had noted some hours before. I inquired
of my guide whether it was Plynlimmon.
"Oh no!" said he, "that is Gaverse; Pumlimmon is to the left."
"Plynlimmon is a famed hill," said I; "I suppose it is very high."
"Yes!" said he, "it is high; but it is not famed because it is
high, but because the three grand rivers of the world issue from
its breast, the Hafren, the Rheidol, and the Gwy."
Night was now coming rapidly on, attended with a drizzling rain.
