Beyond it was a mountain rising steeply, its nearer side, which was
in deep shade, the sun having long sunk below its top, hirsute with
all kinds of trees, from the highest pinnacle down to the torrent's
brink. Cut on the top surface of the wall, which was of slate, and
therefore easily impressible by the knife, were several names,
doubtless those of tourists, who had gazed from the look-out on the
prospect, amongst which I observed in remarkably bold letters that
of T . . . .
"Eager for immortality, Mr T.," said I; "but you are no H. M., no
Huw Morris."
Leaving the looking place I proceeded, and, after one or two
turnings, came to another, which afforded a view if possible yet
more grand, beautiful and wild, the most prominent objects of which
were a kind of devil's bridge flung over the deep glen and its
foaming water, and a strange-looking hill beyond it, below which,
with a wood on either side, stood a white farm-house - sending from
a tall chimney a thin misty reek up to the sky. I crossed the
bridge, which, however diabolically fantastical it looked at a
distance, seemed when one was upon it, capable of bearing any
weight, and soon found myself by the farm-house past which the way
led. An aged woman sat on a stool by the door.
"A fine evening," said I in English.
"Dim Saesneg;" said the aged woman.
"Oh, the blessing of being able to speak Welsh," said I; and then
repeated in that language what I had said to her in the other
tongue.
"I daresay," said the aged woman, "to those who can see."
"Can you not see?"
"Very little. I am almost blind."
"Can you not see me?"
"I can see something tall and dark before me; that is all."
"Can you tell me the name of the bridge?"
"Pont y Glyn bin - the bridge of the glen of trouble."
"And what is the name of this place?"
"Pen y bont - the head of the bridge."
"What is your own name?"
"Catherine Hughes."
"How old are you?"
"Fifteen after three twenties."
"I have a mother three after four twenties; that is eight years
older than yourself."
"Can she see?"
"Better than I - she can read the smallest letters."
"May she long be a comfort to you!"
"Thank you - are you the mistress of the house?"
"I am the grandmother."
"Are the people in the house?"
"They are not - they are at the chapel."
"And they left you alone?"
"They left me with my God."
"Is the chapel far from here?"
"About a mile."
"On the road to Cerrig y Drudion?"
"On the road to Cerrig y Drudion."
I bade her farewell, and pushed on - the road was good, with high
rocky banks on each side. After walking about the distance
indicated by the old lady, I reached a building, which stood on the
right-hand side of the road, and which I had no doubt was the
chapel, from a half-groaning, half-singing noise which proceeded
from it. The door being open, I entered, and stood just within it,
bare-headed. A rather singular scene presented itself. Within a
large dimly-lighted room, a number of people were assembled, partly
seated in rude pews, and partly on benches. Beneath a kind of
altar, a few yards from the door, stood three men - the middlemost
was praying in Welsh in a singular kind of chant, with his arms
stretched out. I could distinguish the words, "Jesus descend among
us! sweet Jesus descend among us - quickly." He spoke very slowly,
and towards the end of every sentence dropped his voice, so that
what he said was anything but distinct. As I stood within the
door, a man dressed in coarse garments came up to me from the
interior of the building, and courteously, and in excellent Welsh,
asked me to come with him and take a seat. With equal courtesy,
but far inferior Welsh, I assured him that I meant no harm, but
wished to be permitted to remain near the door, whereupon with a
low bow he left me. When the man had concluded his prayer, the
whole of the congregation began singing a hymn, many of the voices
were gruff and discordant, two or three, however, were of great
power, and some of the female ones of surprising sweetness. At the
conclusion of the hymn, another of the three men by the altar began
to pray, just in the same manner as his comrade had done, and
seemingly using much the same words. When he had done, there was
another hymn, after which, seeing that the congregation was about
to break up, I bowed my head towards the interior of the building,
and departed.
Emerging from the hollow way, I found myself on a moor, over which
the road lay in the direction of the north. Towards the west, at
an immense distance, rose a range of stupendous hills, which I
subsequently learned were those of Snowdon - about ten minutes'
walking brought me to Cerrig y Drudion, a small village near a
rocky elevation, from which, no doubt, the place takes its name,
which interpreted, is the Rock of Heroes.
CHAPTER XXIV
Cerrig y Drudion - The Landlady - Doctor Jones - Coll Gwynfa - The
Italian - Men of Como - Disappointment - Weather - Glasses -
Southey.
THE inn at Cerrig y Drudion was called the Lion - whether the
white, black, red or green Lion, I do not know, though I am certain
that it was a lion of some colour or other. It seemed as decent
and respectable a hostelry as any traveller could wish, to refresh
and repose himself in, after a walk of twenty miles. I entered a
well-lighted passage, and from thence a well-lighted bar room, on
the right hand, in which sat a stout, comely, elderly lady, dressed
in silks and satins, with a cambric coif on her head, in company
with a thin, elderly man with a hat on his head, dressed in a
rather prim and precise manner.
