"It is there," said John Jones, "that the husband of the woman with
whom we have been speaking works, felling trees from the alder
swamp and cutting them up into blocks. I see there is no work
going on at present or we would go over - the woman told me that
her husband was at Llangollen."
"What a strange place to come to work at," said I, "out of crowded
England. Here is nothing to be heard but the murmuring of waters
and the rushing of wind down the gulleys. If the man's head is not
full of poetical fancies, which I suppose it is not, as in that
case he would be unfit for any useful employment, I don't wonder at
his occasionally going to the public-house."
After going a little further up the glen and observing nothing more
remarkable than we had seen already, we turned back. Being
overtaken by another violent shower just as we reached the Pandy I
thought that we could do no better than shelter ourselves within
the public-house, and taste the ale, which the wife of the clog-
maker had praised. We entered the little hostelry which was one of
two or three shabby-looking houses, standing in contact, close by
the Ceiriog. In a kind of little back room, lighted by a good fire
and a window which looked up the Ceiriog valley, we found the
landlady, a gentlewoman with a wooden leg, who on perceiving me got
up from a chair, and made me the best curtsey that I ever saw made
by a female with such a substitute for a leg of flesh and bone.
There were three men, sitting with jugs of ale near them on a table
by the fire, two were seated on a bench by the wall, and the other
on a settle with a high back, which ran from the wall just by the
door, and shielded those by the fire from the draughts of the
doorway. He of the settle no sooner beheld me than he sprang up,
and placing a chair for me by the fire bade me in English be
seated, and then resumed his own seat. John Jones soon finding a
chair came and sat down by me, when I forthwith called for a quart
of cwrw da. The landlady bustled about on her wooden leg and
presently brought us the ale with two glasses, which I filled, and
taking one drank to the health of the company who returned us
thanks, the man of the settle in English rather broken. Presently
one of his companions getting up paid his reckoning and departed,
the other remained, a stout young fellow dressed something like a
stone-mason, which indeed I soon discovered that he was - he was
far advanced towards a state of intoxication and talked very
incoherently about the war, saying that he hoped it would soon
terminate, for that if it continued he was afraid he might stand a
chance of being shot, as he was a private in the Denbighshire
Militia. I told him that it was the duty of every gentleman in the
militia to be willing at all times to lay down his life in the
service of the Queen. The answer which he made I could not exactly
understand, his utterance being very indistinct and broken; it was,
however, made with some degree of violence, with two or three Myn
Diawls, and a blow on the table with his clenched fist. He then
asked me whether I thought the militia would be again called out.
"Nothing more probable," said I.
"And where would they be sent to?"
"Perhaps to Ireland," was my answer, whereupon he started up with
another Myn Diawl, expressing the greatest dread of being sent to
Iwerddon.
"You ought to rejoice in your chance of going there," said I,
"Iwerddon is a beautiful country, and abounds with whisky."
"And the Irish?" said he.
"Hearty, jolly fellows," said I, "if you know how to manage them,
and all gentlemen."
Here he became very violent, saying that I did not speak truth, for
that he had seen plenty of Irish camping amidst the hills, that the
men were half naked and the women were three parts so, and that
they carried their children on their backs. He then said that he
hoped somebody would speedily kill Nicholas, in order that the war
might be at an end and himself not sent to Iwerddon. He then asked
if I thought Cronstadt could be taken. I said I believed it could,
provided the hearts of those who were sent to take it were in the
right place.
"Where do you think the hearts of those are who are gone against
it?" said he - speaking with great vehemence.
I made no other answer than by taking my glass and drinking.
His companion now looking at our habiliments which were in rather a
dripping condition asked John Jones if we had come from far.
"We have been to Pont y Meibion," said Jones, "to see the chair of
Huw Morris," adding that the Gwr Boneddig was a great admirer of
the songs of the Eos Ceiriog.
He had no sooner said these words than the intoxicated militiaman
started up, and striking the table with his fist said: "I am a
poor stone-cutter - this is a rainy day and I have come here to
pass it in the best way I can. I am somewhat drunk, but though I
am a poor stone-mason, a private in the militia, and not so sober
as I should be, I can repeat more of the songs of the Eos than any
man alive, however great a gentleman, however sober - more than Sir
Watkin, more than Colonel Biddulph himself."
He then began to repeat what appeared to be poetry, for I could
distinguish the rhymes occasionally, though owing to his broken
utterance it was impossible for me to make out the sense of the
words.
