| ID: | 0031 [see the .xml file] |
|---|---|
| Identifier: | NLW MS 19079C |
| Editors: | Edited with an introduction by Mary-Ann Constantine |
| All Catherine Hutton tours: | |
| Cite: | 'Catherine Hutton’s Tour of Wales: 1799 ' edited with an introduction by Mary-Ann Constantine in Curious Travellers Digital Editions [editions.curioustravellers.ac.uk/doc/0031] |
Letter 18
Caernarvon Aug 20 1799
My Dear Brother,
We have made our third sally into Wales, but
as we are come here by the same route as we did two years ago, I have little to
trouble you with, except the weather and [xxxxx] this ^subject will hardly have novelty to recommend it;
for you must have been singularly fortunate if it has not troubled you before.
Our share ^however has been so extraordinary that you must be
content ^to bear a part of it with your own.
The fine old windows and door of the Abbey Church at Shrewsbury, with the figure of Roger de Montgomery, kinsman
of the Conqueror and one of his commanders at the Battle of Hastings, high
above, had always attracted my admiration. I determined now to see the
inside but found nothing to repay my pains, except a very ancient statue of
the same Earl, who was the founder of the Abbey, and died there,
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one of its monks, in 1094. The legs are broken, the face is a shapeless
blank, but the right arm is visibly drawing the sword. “And did this repay
your pains?” I hear you say. I think it did, but its age was its sole
merit.
At Llangollen the waiter, who is the first personage in the house and minds everybody’s business but his own, overwhelmed us with civility and gave us nothing to eat. Instead of setting the machine in motion, and letting it move by its own impulse, he is pushing here, driving there, shouting every where, and fancies that not an atom can stir without him.
We passed Owen Glyndwr at Corwen, regardless of the intreaties of our horses, who, remembering the rest and refreshment it had twice afforded them, were very desirous to enter its stable, but I was determined to try the Druid, a true Welsh inn, about two miles and half further, in preference to stopping at one of the mongrel posting inns on this great road. I had no reason to repent my choice. We had a good parlour, a good fire, and a good dinner. The furniture of my bed was modern printed cotton, and all the royal family, with many of the saints, arrayed in the brightest scarlet and the deepest blue, ornamented the walls of my chamber.
I have formerly told you that the munificence of English tourists, as far as it extended, has spoiled the Welsh, and I cannot help reflecting now, that it is very difficult not to spoil them, since we, who are neither immensely rich, nor extravagantly generous, could scarcely refrain from contributing to it! I told the good woman at the Druid she charged too little for our mutton chops and chickens, and obliged her to be paid for a slice of bread and butter she wished to give me, at setting out. Such conduct must, in the end, cure people of moderation and hospitality.
I was desirous of going from the Druid to Bala, and from thence to
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Caernarvon, the mountain road, by Festiniog and Tan y Bwlch, and the rock road to Pont Aber Glaslyn. I consulted our landlord on the subject, and asked, “What sort of road from here to Bala?”
“Up an town roat, put very coot”
This I had travelled, and knew the up and down to be true; though I differed a little in opinion, with regard to the very good.
“What from Bala to Festiniog?”
“Mountain, put very coot roat”
“From Festiniog to Tan y Bwlch, and Pont Aber Glaslyn?”
“All up and town, put very coot road”
I found that, to the honest Welshman, who had never been out of his own country, all its roads were good; and as the weather was now become very bad, I resolved to keep the high road, through Llanrwst and Conwy, which had the suffrages of other people.
The rain ^had begun as we were ascending the mountain from
Llangollen, and it continued without
intermission for twenty four hours. While we were detained at the Druid, our landlord produced his library, to amuse
us. It consisted of a treatise against popery, of six hundred pages, dedicated
to James the second, when Duke of York; the Causes of the Decay of Christian
Piety, four hundred and fifty pages;1 and an old Geographical Dictionary. You will, perhaps,
imagine that when I had made myself mistress of the title pages, and quantity, I
took up my netting; and if [xxx] ^such is your conjecture, you will not be
mistaken.
At one o’clock the rain abated and we took leave of our worthy host and hostess,
but it increased gradually, and from Cerniogeu to Llanrwst, was
a second deluge. The beautiful Vale of Llanrwst was half under water, ^and the corn that, two years ago, was a bright
yellow, was now green [xxx]. I entered the inn as wet as before.
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We had the good fortune to reach Conwy the next day in dry weather, but we passed through the remains of a great flood that had swept down hedges, rails, and banks; and as we were told, a house.2 At Conwy it rained throughout the night, and till five o clock the following afternoon. We were safe under the shelter of the Harp. We were informed that this irresistible flood had carried away the bridge at Aber, and enquired of the guard who brought the mail from thence of it were true. He gave us small encouragement to proceed. He said one end of the bridge hung by about a foot, and we might pass it, but he did not know how our horses could be got over. Stones, he added, came rolling down the torrent, from the mountains, like thunderbolts. Though it is probable he never heard the noise of a thunderbolt, ^any more than myself, it was not difficult to guess his meaning.
I wished myself at Aber, on the other side of
the bridge. How I should have enjoyed this tremendous mountain scene! Being at
Conwy, however, we thought it best to
stay there, till the next morning, when we mounted our horses and rode away. At
the pass of Sŷchnant, the wind was terrible,
and we were obliged to tie our hats on with our pocket handkerchiefs. At the
[xxxxx] foot of Penmaen Mawr,
we dismounted, and sent our horses round to Aber by the sands. I had a walk before me of four miles. I
crept slowly up the mountain, and tripped down it as lightly as feather.
By this time it rained, ^though moderately, and I was obliged to put on my great coat, and beat up against the stormy blast [xxxxxx] till I got to Aber. I had resolved not to murmur at fatigue – if I could help it. But I could no longer help it. I thought, with the force of the wind, the flowing of my drapery, and the weight of my wet coat, I should have sunk to the ground! I turned my back to the wind for a moment and with a deep sigh, and a low voice, said ‘Oh! This is hard work!’
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The bridge at Aber afforded us just safe
footing and no more, but the torrent had so far subsided that our horses might
have forded it [xxx] above, and I, had we known it, might have been
spared this cruel walk. Such a season has not been known in the memory of man. I
have borne it with patience, when exposed to it, and been grateful for the
houses which sheltered me from it; but I am glad I did not come by Festiniog and Tan y
Bwlch; for I believe my fortitude, if not my reason, would have
forsaken me, in such weather, among the mountains.
At Aber we were again confined the whole day by rain. In the evening I was fortunate enough to get a peep at Rhaiader Vawr, ^the Great Waterfall. The fall itself was inaccessible, as the approach to it lay on the opposite side the river, and the two bridges which crossed it were one broken and the other swept away. The first was a modern bridge of stone, on the mountain road leading to Llanrwst; the other, higher up, was of wood, for the convenience of the peasants. We advanced nearly to the place where the latter had stood, and from thence, at the distance of about a mile, saw the river pouring down a hollow in the mountain, from a prodigious height, a cloud resting on its top. A noble sight, but at too great a distance! Chrystal streams ran over our road; the river rolled over huge stones at the bottom of the glen; and we found, at the village of Aber, its rapid course had carried away a small field of barley, and making itself a new channel, had left a mill stream empty.
Yesterday morning, having made all tight for foul weather, we determined to stop no more till we reached Caernarvon. Our precautions were needless; for the weather proved fine, and we arrived here in safety at eleven o’ clock.
This morning I have been dusting the furniture of my chamber, and
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putting all things in order. I might, it is true, have called up the housemaid and desired her to be the operator; but, besides that Welsh ideas of cleanliness do not accord with mine, I thought it less trouble to do it myself. My ^employment brought to mind Madame Roland in the prison of the Abbaye. I resemble her in my taste for neatness, books, and flowers; and though I am more weak and timid I might, perhaps, resemble her in resolution if a great occasion called it forth; but that occasion would have no connexion with politics. I have several loves stronger than the love of my country.3
Letter 19
Caernarvon Aug. 30 1799
My Dear Brother,
Caernarvon is not the same place it was two
years ago. I then took my solitary walks, unseen by any, but the blue cloaks of
the country; the streets now present, continually, elegant women in fashionable
dresses. In this Emporium of Tourists I have already met with two families that
I know. These are birds of passage; but there are many others, like ourselves,
resident here for some time. Four ladies and two gentlemen, who are on what is
called a party of pleasure, lodge in the same house with us. They are one day
driving about in an Irish car; the next at the Lakes of Llanberis; and the next
at Pont Aber Glaslyn. They play at cards
before and after supper, and when not at cards, are talking, three or four at a
time. They might each be agreeable if separate, but as our dining rooms and
sleeping rooms join, they are, all together, terrible neighbours to one. I
should prefer the house of mourning to such mirth as theirs.
[xxxxxx]
I have made another acquaintance, directly opposite. Pity for her forlorn situation attaches one to her. She is an unmarried woman, turned of thirty, of a noble family in Ireland, whom the troubles there have driven
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into Wales. She has not been in any personal danger; but her brother’s house has been plundered by the rebels, and his domestics threatened with instant death. Such is her terror at these proceedings, that she declared to me she would not have slept another night in his house for a thousand guineas; and I am told, that here she sleeps in her cloaths. She is at Caernarvon without either friend or servant. The people here have a notion she is a little deranged. This, however, is not the case. She appears to me not only rational but sensible. She is so grateful for my attention, and her manner is so affecting, that sometimes I can hardly refrain from tears.
I was so unfortunate as to take a cold when I first came here, which brought on a slow fever. I struggled against it with all my might, but at length lost all hopes of shaking it off, without the advice of the physician of the place. I was informed that morning was the time to get him; for that his intellects were then generally unclouded by the fumes of wine. I sent twice yesterday morning, without success. I suppose he had taken a double dose of his own prescription the night before, and took a longer time than usual to recover it. He was in bed, and could not come. I then ordered my horse, rode out, and was better. I have done the same today, with the same effect. If I keep mending, I shall think the Doctor the best physician I ever knew, for not coming when he was sent for; and will endeavour to get a diploma for my horse.4
^see page 51 & page 62
I have had the pleasure of seeing the devotion of the Methodists, if not at its highest pitch, at a degree of extravagance sufficiently striking.
When I entered the crowded chapel, the service was almost ended, and the preacher was pronouncing short sentences, with the greatest energy of voice and violence of gesticulation, which the congregation repeated, in a murmuring cadence. When his part was finished, theirs began. At first the
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roar was universal, but it subsided by degrees, and the multitude became spectators, while eight or ten of the most inspired were actors. Each of these repeated some particular sentence that he had caught, and all roared out the same monotonous tune, till they had worked themselves up into a frenzy; flinging about their arms, clapping their hands, rolling their heads and bodies from side to side, and at intervals, jumping, at least a dozen times together. The jumpers were chiefly in pairs, and held each other by both hands. I observed, that the women pair with women; and men with men. It would not have been quite decorous to have done otherwise, as some of their gestures were very familiar. When a couple of men came across a couple of women, they shook hands, as brothers and sisters in the Lord Jesus; but I believe their heavenly love was so sincere, at the moment, that no other sentiment could find a place in their breasts. The friends of the females were very careful to adjust their garments, when they became a little disordered.
When I first witnessed this scene I felt amazed, mixed with horror. The yell was insupportable; I seemed surrounded by lunatics, in their most outrageous paroxysm. These feelings, in some degree, yielded to pity; and my next concern was for my watch and my purse. Recollecting, however, that I was in Wales, I did not trouble myself to feel if they were safe. My ignorance of the language added to the strangeness of the scene. I at first imagined, from the hideous tones, that touched with remorse they were bewailing their sins, and imploring forgiveness of Almighty God; but I afterwards understood that they were chaunting songs of triumph, believing themselves his favourite children.
The preacher sat some time with a handkerchief thrown over his head, to prevent his taking cold, (for his exertions had thrown him in a bath) viewing the pranks of the demon he had raised; and then stole silently off. The friends of the performers, when they thought they had displayed
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sufficient proofs of inspiration, led them to his house; where I was told he would spend some hours in bringing them to their senses. It is not often that the Methodists are raised to this degree of frenzy; but the present orator was a very popular man, and had spared no pains to work upon their passions.5
The straits of Menai, which divide the county of Caernarvon from the Isle of Anglesey, may be crossed at five different ferries. The first is from Aber to Beaumaris, fifteen miles from Caernarvon. The second is at Bangor, nine miles from Caernarvon. It is about half a mile in breadth, at high water, and sixteen fathoms in depth. The third is called Moel y Don, Hill of the Waves, from a large round rock which there shoots out into the sea. This is four miles from Caernarvon, the water is there three quarters of a mile, when the tide is in; and eleven fathoms deep. The fourth ferry is at Caernarvon itself, and is called Tal y Foel. It is about two miles across. The fifth is that of Aber Menai about three miles beyond Caernarvon, where the straits open to the sea. There is also a ford, I believe, opposite Aber, where, when the tide retires, the greatest part of the channel is dry sands; but I would not be one who should cross it.
Notwithstanding the fever I mentioned, I have made a trip to the Island, urged by an ardent curiosity to see the Carnedd and the Cromlech.6 We rode to Moel y Don ferry, and sent our horses on, to that of Bangor, chosing to walk along the opposite shore of Anglesey. We sailed across the Menai in ten minutes; we then pursued a path along two charming fields, to the church of Llanedwin, and entered the park of Lord Uxbridge. I thought myself here on hallowed ground, and looked around me with a scritinizing eye, expecting every moment to
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see some monument of the religion of my ancestors rise before me. We had walked through the woods, perhaps, a quarter of a mile, when pointing to a hill on our left I cried, What’s that? My father went to see, and I, who durst not make one step in vain, sat down under a tree. He beckoned and I sprung up. It was the Carnedd, the sepulchre of some distinguished Briton.
The Carnedd is a circular hill, about four hundred feet in circumference, and about fourteen in height. It is composed of the stone of the country, hewn into small angular pieces. The whole surface is so covered with grass, that the stones would pass unnoticed, without attention; and the interstices are now filled with earth to such a depth, that it affords nutriment to four or five moderate oaks, which grow on one side. The Carnedd has been formerly opened, and a part of the stones carried away. In the area thus formed stands, now exposed to view, a stone six feet in length and breadth and one in thickness, supported by others set on end, and leaving a hollow underneath, probably for the body.
From hence we continued our way through the wood, until we came to the house of Plas Newydd, on which it is said Lord Uxbridge has expended £60,000. The principal front commands the Menai, and the grand range of Caernarvonshire mountains. Our road lay at the back, and we did not go out of it, for fear of being deemed impertinent. The stables, which are newly erected, are an imitation of a castle, adorned with battlements, and turrets; and, I suppose, are much admired. I like them not. I would never build castles for horses. No person is a greater admirer of real castles than myself. Nobody one has viewed those of Harlech, Conwy and Caernarvon, with more veneration and pleasure. But bulk and strength are so essential to these kind of buildings, that all imitations of them are paltry.
Nearly opposite the stables is the Cromlech; I believe, ^one of the most perfect re-
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maining in Great Britain. Is one huge, rude stone, twelve feet in length, nine in breadth, four and half in thickness at one end and three and half at the other; supported by five stones, which raise the underside four feet above the ground. One or two other supporters now lie prostrate on the earth. Adjoining to the Cromlech is another, of the same kind, but smaller. The soil has accumulated in the hollows of both, till they are in several places covered with fern, wild geranium, and other plants.
While I looked with awe on the works of man that had lasted, perhaps two thousand years, and figured to myself the white-robed Druids and their smoaking fires; my heart recoiled at the idea that, on this very altar, my fellow-creatures, possibly my progenitors, had been sacrificed by the dictates of a barbarous religion.
The scenery, a venerable wood, is proper for the subject; but the predecessors of Lord Uxbridge committed a grand mistake, in planting ashes rather than oaks; and his lordship, instead of lamenting the error, has planted sycamores. By oaks, the native produce of our islands, and their pride, these sacred remains of antiquity were once surrounded; and I still consider, as an appendage to the Cromlech, all other wood prophane.
I left this interesting spot with reluctance, and cast many a longing, lingering
look behind. My only comfort was the Caernarvonshire mountains. They were indeed a noble
consolation, not only for the curious relics I had left behind [me],
but for many a weary step I had before me. Never did I see them look so sublime.
On their own shore one is too near them: here the eye takes in the whole range
at once; with their different summits, rising above and between each other.
Our road led us through a village called Llanfair, and between two hills of disjointed pieces of rock, many of which were ready formed by nature for the slab of a cromlech, and required only to be loosened on one side. I believe the cromlech, itself, grew there.
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In the small part of Anglesey I saw, the roads were good, and the lands poor, with some exceptions in favour of the latter. The country is well inhabited, and the cottages are decent.
We crossed the Menai at Bangor ferry, and took some refreshment at the inn, where we found our horses waiting for us. It is beautifully situated on the steep bank of the Menai, and is, undoubtedly, the first inn in the Principality.
Letter 20
Caernarvon Sept 10 1799
My Dear Brother,
In spite of fever, medicines and apothecary ^all which I have at present and which last, by the way, is a very worthy, skillful man, I have this day been at Llanberis.
The road from the inclosures to the foot of the mountains, that two years ago was
the worst of the way, is now mended and become some of the best. Each
year does something to facilitate travelling in Wales.
Having deposited out horses in a barn, at Cwm y Glo, we entered the boat of Richard Williams,7 who, as well as his wife, was armed with a pair of oars. I felt some difficulty in trusting myself to the care of the female rower, but the man assuring me that she was as strong and as skillful as himself, which I had no reason to doubt from her appearance; and recollecting Pennant's Margaret Evans, who used to wrestle and hunt on these mountains, and fiddle and row on these lakes, I concluded myself safe in her care and keeping.8
The first lake of Llanberis is, at the beginning, little ^more than a marsh, with one channel just deep enough
to carry a boat. But having gone half a mile and doubled^and passed some rocks which jut out, and
a sheet of water opens two and half miles in length, and nearly a mile in
breadth. This fills the whole space between the mountains. They are inaccessible
rocks
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which rise from its very edge, and no doubt, from beneath it. In a small hollow, on the left, is a green patch and cottage where lived Margaret Evans, the above-mentioned amazon of the lakes. But death has put an end to her exploits long ago.
At the end of the first lake the lands project again, and form a narrow channel for the water, not more than fifteen or twenty yards across, over which is thrown a neat, light, wooden bridge, resting upon four piers of slates, and secured with railing. We passed under the centre, now higher than the man, standing upright in his boat. But he passed it after the late flood, when he was not only obliged to sit, but to stoop. Beyond the bridge, the water was now so shallow that he got out to lighten the boat, and haul it up against the current.
About the division of the two lakes is an opening, between the mountains on the right, cultivated and sprinkled with cottages and trees; though this, after having displayed a waterfall, terminates in a mountain. On the left, also, in two different hollows, are cottages, with each a tree or two and a small spot of green. One of these is a farm, for which the tenant used to pay thirty shillings a year; but Ashton Smith, Esqr , his landlord, has raised his rent to five pounds, and it is said the man will be ruined. Sheep and goats were basking on the rocks; but these goats are never milked. They are wild, and yield their owner no other advantage than their flesh and skins - when he can catch them.
We now entered the upper lake, which is a mile and half long, and about three quarters of a mile broad; but deeper than the lower, being in the deepest part twenty fathoms, while that is only fourteen. At the end of the second lake, on a high, round projecting rock, partly covered with heath and moss, stands Dolbadern Castle. At a distance it had the appearance of a prodigious stone, but nearer it look
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ed more important. It is a large, round ivy-mantled tower, having many windows,
of varying sizes. What could have been its use, it is difficult to conceive! It
is too small to have defended this pass into the mountains; and as to a
watch-tower, it is secluded from all created objects [xxxx] by the
mountains above and the lakes below! I wished to visit the castle, and our
boatman offered to set us on shore; but I was obliged to hoard my little
strength, and give up something, that I might be enabled to do the rest.
The mountains which inclose the upper lake are higher than those of the first. Crib Coch, one of the mighty sons of Snowdon, forms the right boundary of that and the vale beyond it; and along his side lies the ascent from Llanberis to Y Wyddfa, which I traced, with aching eyes. Crib Coch, is not, however, his tallest son. The highest, and almost the rival of his father, is Crib y Distil. I think I am now acquainted with the whole family.
I saw, on the left, a slate quarry, high up the mountain, and the road by which
the slates are brought down to the lake. The method of conveying them
[xxx] is by small carts, with one horse before, and another
behind. To me the destruction of the poor animals seemed inevitable; I could not
conceive how they could not escape being precipitated into the lake: but it
seems a different fate awaits them—they are only killed by the labour.
On the right, near the top of the second lake, are two copper mines, one of which runs nine score yards under the mountain. We landed at the extremity of the lake, on the opposite side, where are machines for breaking the ore, and a succession of pits, where the earth is washed from the copper. I might have seen the whole process, but I have no fancy for metals or minerals, and an utter abhorrence of ill smells.
The space between the mountains, which was now reduced to half a mile in breadth, and extended about the same distance in length
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is meadow, as level as the water we had quitted. At the end of this is the village of
Llanberis, consisting of eight houses
intermixed with trees, and a church.9 Above the village, the mountains approach
each other so as to leave only a narrow glen; a horrible bwlch is then to be
climbed, after which the road divides, that on the right leading round
Snowdon, and through Nant Gwynan, to Beddgelert; that on the left through Dŷffryn Mŷmbr to Capel
Cerig and Llanrwst. Farther
than Llanberis I saw not, but did^for my strength ^did not equal my inclination, I would see
it. We have all a certain portion of curiosity; that of many persons
lies in their ears, and inclines them to listen to small matters of fact
regarding their neighbours. Mine is seated in my eyes, and Wales is the place to gratify it.
The church of Llanberis10 is lowly without, and gloomy within. Not, however, owing to the
proximity of the mountains, as I had been informed, but to the smallness of the
windows. We entered it, and found it was the parish school. About a dozen boys
were reading Welsh. The clergyman followed us
in, and began a conversation, by observing, that it was an old
church. I beg his pardon—not suspecting his profession, by his blue coat, silk
handkerchief, and brown stockings; we made some slight assent to his remark, and
he retired. I feel both remorse and regret at this circumstance; remorse, for
having failed in the respect due to his situation; and regret, at having missed
the information he could have afforded us.11
Having looked with great satisfaction at this humble village, almost cut off by lakes and mountains from communication with the rest of the world, we entered its principal inn; for there are two.12 As guests above the common rank, we were shewn into the parlour—a parlour, whose walls and floors were of black, rugged stone; whose top was rafters; whose only light came through a dozen very small panes of glass;
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whose partition wall was a mat; and whose furniture, one small table,
two small benches, and a plank, supported by slates. The good woman
of the house repeated the word ‘Welcome!’, spread a table-cloth; brought a jug
of cwrw out of an adjoining pantry, (for cellar she
had none;) shewed us butter and brown bread, and by the boatman, our
interpreter, offered us eggs. We declined her civility, though we paid her for
it; having brought wine and cold provisions of our own.
After this refreshment we set out on our return, and after a pleasant voyage, arrived in safety at the bottom of the lakes.
We were much pleased with Richard Williams, our rower. He speaks English, a rare
qualification, and we found him very civil and intelligent. His civility was of
the true Welsh sort, and would be better understood by the term kindness. Seeing
me look ill, he offered me a little ofsomething, ^that the gentleman ^had left with him. That something, I dare say, was brandy – a treasure he
could not possibly replace.
The general road between Cwm y Glo and Llanberis is on the lakes, and slates are daily carried along them in boats; but there is another, which instead of winding down Cwm y Glo, keeps on the side of the mountain, on the right of the lake, at a frightful height above the water. It then descends and goes over rocks near the shore, passes behind Dolbadern Castle, and through the cultivated opening between the mountains; becomes a terrace just above the lakes, and in one place runs close to the water’s edge. I took the pains to trace it the whole way. This road is so improved that I saw a gig travel along it; but, till lately, it was terrible, even to the Welsh. It was, sometimes up or down steps of native rock, and sometimes so narrow, that, when one horse met another, the two riders were obliged to dismount; and one hauled his horse up ^the side of the mountain, while the other passed. An English horse has been seen to stop and tremble before he could be made to venture along it.
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Two years ago I was told that on a dreadful windy day, in the preceeding [sic] winter, a poor woman left Llanberis on horseback, to go to Caernarvon market, and that neither she nor her horse were ever heard of more. It was supposed they were blown down one of the precipices, into the lake, and swallowed up for ever.
Letter 21
Caernarvon Sept 14th 1799
My Dear Friend,
I will take this opportunity of assuring you, once and for all, that it is my sincere desire to speak the truth, and that only; but at the same time I will not venture to affirm that I have always done so. I saw the Lakes of Llanberis two years ago, as I then informed you. I even went more than half a mile upon them in a boat, which I had the discretion not to tell you; for though I might have made a flourishing description of what I heard, saw and conjectured, it would have had one fault at least – it would not have been a true one. Some obvious reflections occurred to me on my second visit to the lakes – How much I had been deceived in the first! How could I blame travellers for differing from reality and from each other, when I, who meant to tell no falshood, who wished to make no system, could not hear the same tale twice over, or see the same thing twice in the same light! Well might I forgive a recent tourist for making the river Dee rise at Bangor! I therefore would not be understood to make positive assertions, but to stipulate for such a share of your credence only, as the best exertions of my senses and my memory deserve.
Public weddings are the universal custom throughout the principality among the common people. ^Here, if the father of the bride can afford it, he provides the marriage feast and it is her portion. If he cannot, or if she have no parents, she is trusted by some friend, or obtains credit at some public house; and, after repaying the money out of what is left by the guests, the remainder is her own. Every man who dines pays a shilling; every woman sixpence;
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though many chuse to give a shilling; every person who drinks tea sixpence. Every pint of ale is scored up to the person who calls for it, each comes and goes as he pleases, and many come only to drink and dance. 1 [A poor]
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
2 In south Wales, when a poor couple marry,
they send a printed hand-bill to every person by whom they are known, signifying
that they mean to be married on such a day, and to keep their wedding at such a
place, where they hope to see the person to whom it is addressed. This is called
a bidding. On the day appointed, after the ceremony is
performed, the new married couple, attended by the bridemaid and brideman,
repair to the house fixed upon, which is always a public one, and sit, from
eleven o'clock in the forenoon till seven in the evening, to receive the
contributions of their friends. Their equals give half-crowns, the better sort
crowns, or even pounds, according as they are esteemed and respected. If either
of them have been a servant, it is said, in the bidding, late servant to Such a
one, and all the friends and visitors of the family shew their generosity on the
occasion. Every donation is registered by the clerk of the parish, who attends
for that purpose; and when the giver marries, [xxxx] it becomes a
debt. No person ever fails to pay at the wedding of another what he received at
his own; except through absolute inability. The same obligation prevails in the
higher class:- I always give at the wedding of your servant, what you give at
the wedding of mine; or more, if I think she deserve it better, or have lived
longer in her place. The money thus raised amounts commonly to from twenty to
fifty pounds, and sometimes reaches a hundred.
The young people of the better sort scamper away ^on horseback, in parties of twenty, at a bidding. After having made their presents, the men treat the girls with cakes; load them with as many as they can carry, and then they gallop off ^together, and try who shall be first home. Such as chuse it stay to dance in the evening.
The poor people regale at the expence of the new-married pair, who
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provide bread, butter, a cheese, and sweet drink (that is ale with sugar and spice) in another room. [3, when a common man dies &c].
1 A poor man, in the hollow of the mountains, has married his daughter since I have been here. He brewed a quarter of malt for the occasion. The cloth was laid out of doors; for his house consisting of one room, could not contain the company. Forty persons sat down at once, and as soon as they had dined, forty more took their places. My father who gave me the account, remained there not quite two hours; and saw about a hundred and fifty people, two only of whom could speak English.13 The bride, her father and mother, waited on the guests. The banquet resembled that prepared by Esop for his master, except that instead of tongues, tongues, tongues, it was beef, beef, beef.14 Five rounds were ready to succeed each other; the variations were bags of peas and mountains of cabbage: but these were delicacies to people accustomed to live on oatmeal and buttermilk. The cwrw was good, the man having done justice to his malt. The company ate off wooden trenchers, and sat on wooden planks, supported by slates.15 A harper made one of the party; and another was expected. The desert was butter and cheese. The house served for an occasional drawing-room; and two beds that were in it supplied the place of sophas. Not a female appeared in anything other than woolen, which some had fashioned into gowns, and others into bedgowns, nor one without the beaver hat except the mother of the bride, who being cook, might be obliged to take it off.
I saw a sailor married to the daughter of a shoemaker at Llanbeblic, the parish church of Caernarvon. The bridegroom marched first with his bridemen; or, as they were here called, his servants, one on each side. The rest of the men followed, three abreast. Then came the intended bride, between her servants, and the rest of the women, in the same order,
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closed the procession. These town ladies were not clad like the mountaineers, in
woolen, but in flowered cotton gowns, white petticoats, and white stockings. The
bride and her maids wore white satin ribbands in their caps; the beaver hat is
ever the same, but these were ornamented with a smarter bow than those of the
rustics. Part of their finery, however, the morning being rather cloudy, was
eclipsed by their blue cloaks, which nothing but the hottest sunshine ever
tempts them to lay by, and sometimes not even that, can tempt them to
lay by.
When the clergyman came to a certain part of the service, he stopped and the sailor stepped forward, and laid four shillings on his book. The parson very quietly gave one to the clerk, pocketed the other three himself; and thus sure of his reward, proceeded to make the ^lovers man and wife. The ceremony ended, the two bridemen flew at the two poor defenceless maids; and after some struggling, each ravished a kiss. This is an established custom among all ranks, and also between Godfathers and Godmothers, at a christening. If the lady leaves the church unsaluted, she claims a pair of gloves: if the gentleman succeed, she is supposed to be satisfied.
The new-married couple kept their wedding at a public-house, not far distant from
our lodgings, where they dined, and two of their female friends sat making tea
from three o'clock in the afternoon till seven. At seven the next morning, I saw
many of the company, women as well as men, mounting their horses to
return home.
[xxxx] Every person acquainted with either of the families makes it a
point of honor to attend the wedding feast. A considerable sum is thus
collected, for the benefit of the young couple beginning the world; and each,
receiving it in his turn is only laying up a fund against his own marriage, or
paying a debt contracted at it. 2 In South Wales
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
3 When a common man dies at Caernarvon, a small bell is rung about
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the streets, as an invitation to all persons to attend the funeral. Those who arrive first fill the house, the others crowd about the door, and each is presented with a small cup of cwrw, holding about a quarter of a pint; they all accompany the corpse to the church, singing psalms by the way. Should any person acquainted with the deceased fail in his attendance, it would be construed as an affront; but the clergyman would have the most solid reason to resent it.
Having provided for our own table, I can give you the present prices of provisions here. If you have no occasion for such information yourself, it may be amusing to your grandchildren, when you have any, to compare it with the prices of their day; if they should chance to visit Caernarvonsee page 52
Mutton and beef are sixpence a pound, veal, five pence, salmon five pence and sixpence., flour threepence halfpenny, butter eight pence halfpenny to nine pence halfpenny, and potatoes two pounds and a half for a penny. Chickens are from four pence to eight pence a piece, ducks from eight pence to ten pence, rabbits sixpence, and eggs a halfpenny. But the difficulty is to get these things. Meat is plentiful on a Saturday, but is scarcely to be had on any other day. Poultry is scarcely to be had on any day. Rabbits can only be had by chance. Fish depends on an uncertain element; and most of the poultry and all of the rabbits depend on the facility of crossing it; as they come from Anglesey.
Entering upon our lodgings at the beginning of a week, famine stared us in the
face, and I thought myself very fortunate in being able to seize upon a set of
calves’ feet and a piece of ham. Hearing by good luck^accidentally that a sheep was killed, I sent and
secured a quarter of it, for the next day.
Not one of the market people understand a word of English. If you send a servant to market, he must find an interpreter in the street;
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and if provisions are offered at the door, he must call up one of the maids of the house to transact the business. Many of the ^country people, are not ignorant, however, of the practice, common to every tongue and kindred, of extorting a higher price from strangers than the current value of the thing to be sold.
We are preparing to leave Caernarvon, and my own next letter will be addressed to you from some place on my way home. With a small degree of lurking fever, I am going to attack the rock road between Pont Aber Glaslyn and Tan y Bwlch, so long the object of my curiosity and dread. A road that every mountain hunter goes once, but I never heard of any Englishman going it twice except my father. This will be his third time.16
Letter 22
Bala, Sept 16th, 1799
My Dear Brother,
See p 54 The road as ^far asBeddgelert presented nothing new, except the ravages of the overwhelming flood that we had our share of on the way to Caernarvon. Lying close under the mountains it was, at first, impassable in places and is still covered in earth and stones deposited there by the torrents. In one place a breach is made in the wall which divides the road from the mountains, and the road is raised to the level of the wall, when standing. At Beddgelert the water ran over the causeway on which the inn stands; but did not enter the house. At a house below, a young man saw it rushing in, and shut the door. The water forced it open. He then opened an opposite door, to give it vent; but before he could escape, the current jammed him in between the door and the door case, and he was squeezed to death.17 The mother of the man that keeps the inn, a cheerful pleasant old woman of ninety two years of age, who has lived in that house sixty five years, never saw such a flood.
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Having armed myself with an unusual quantity of excellent cold roast beef, I rode to Pont Aber Glaslyn, and entered upon the celebrated road from thence to Tan y Bwlch. To give you a general idea of this road I must tell you, that between the Glaslyn, whose estuary is called Traeth Mawr, and the river which flows through the Vale of Tan y Bwlch, whose name I unfortunately do not know,18 and whose estuary is called Traeth Bŷchan, is a tract of high, rocky land, the refuse of the mountains. It is seven miles across, and universally acknowledged to be the worst carriage road in Wales; but, as it is the grand pass from Caernarvonshire into Merionethshire and is travelled by gigs, curricles, post chaises and gentlemen’s carriages. The Welsh, themselves, say, that the only way to pass it in safety or pleasure is on foot, and accordingly, if their business can be made to suit the tide, they always go by the sands, and ford the traeths; but strangers, not so well knowing how to escape the dangers of the water, generally encounter the inconvenience of the rocks.
After going up and down several short steeps, from Pont Aber Glaslyn, we climbed a long hill, so steep that it required my utmost efforts to keep my seat upon my horse. Time was, when we would have divided the toil, but now I was obliged to save myself for walking down hills. The summit is a gap between two rocks; and the descent, which begins immediately, made all I had ever seen appear trifling. It is native rock, in steps and ledges; huge stones, in holes and ridges, and so steep, that it shook my
whole frame to walk down them, though I leaned half my weight on my father. I wondered that the horses could keep on four legs so unequally placed; as I saw them led down before me. In short the
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road is all that is bad, except dirty. That it can never be; for there is not a particle of soil, or any material, of which dirt can be composed.
There are only two descents of this description, which succeed each other, down from the gap: a few more, of less consequence, brought us to the bottom. We then entered on another hill, steep at intervals, rugged without intermission, and toiled up it for an hour, on foot (for having left half my journey behind me, I felt more confidence for the rest) we looked back, and were surprized to see our old friend the gap not far behind us. Our road now became tolerably level, though still rugged, till we came to a second gap; from whence the descent was not so rapid as the first. It is then as fine a road as can be imagined, and winds down the steep of Tan y Bwlch; the charming woods of Mr Oakley on the right, with squirrels leaping from tree to tree; and the beautiful Vale of Tan y Bwlch and Festiniog below.
The sum total of the country between Pont Aber Glaslyn and Tan y Bwlch is a high, rugged rock, divided into two distinct hills with a vale running along it, and subdivided into many ups and downs, as they were called by the good man at the Druid. We crossed the vale towards the top, mountains rising on our left; but we saw it expanding towards the sea, on our right, and containing the village of Llanfrothen, ^with a church, and a gentleman’s house. From the heights we had constantly a view of Traeth Mawr, and, latterly, of both traeths at once. They seemed near each other; the land which separates the rivers growing narrower, as it approaches the sea.
For six miles we saw neither horses, cattle, nor houses, except in our look down the vale of Llanfrothen. The country is, in some places, bare
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rock; in others it is covered with heath and moss, intermixed with blades of grass, affording subsistence for a few straggling sheep. Yet even this is private property, divided by stone walls; and we should have had the trouble of opening eight or ten gates, if a party of boys had not walked by the side of our horses, and rendered us that service.
With something like the sensation one finds at meeting with an old friend, I saw the castle at Harlech; the woods of Maesyneuadd; the hills of Llantegwyn; and that on which I took my first view of Tan y Bwlch. Near the bwlch we passed a cottage. Exhausted by fatigue, and parched with thirst, I shewed a piece of silver and pronounced the word cwrw. In vain! The inhabitants possessed no such luxury; and I gave them, from compassion, what I would have given for a draught of beer.
The green fields, green hedges, winding river, and good road of the Vale of Tan y Bwlch appeared, as it has been called, a terrestrial paradise. Mr Oakley, situated in a fine wood, near the bottom of the bwlch, commands it all, in every sense of the word.
We passed the inn, crossed the vale, rode upwards of a mile on the opposite side, and mounted a cultivated steep to Festiniog, which is situated in a flat on the side of a mountain. We were five hours in coming from Beddgelert hither; only eleven miles, and I never toiled so hard in any five hours of my life. At Festiniog I could neither eat nor rest; but I drank milk like a calf.
The situation of Festiniog is beautiful; on
the top of one of the steeps [xxx] which surround the vale; and
mountains behind rising far above it. It is a neat compact village, and for this
country, a large one, contain
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ing a church, two inns, and several creditable houses.19 The lands about it are fruitful, and the women not less so; for I was informed, that they seldom bring fewer than a dozen or fourteen children each, and sometimes, five and twenty.
Village as it is, Festiniog may be called the metropolis of the mountains. In a circumference of more than a hundred miles about it, there are nowhere so many houses assembled together. It is twenty-three miles distant from Caernarvon; eighteen from Llanrwst, eighteen from Bala; twenty from Dolgelleu, twenty two from Barmouth; and twelve from the little town of Harlech; and the whole road to every one of these places is over, or between, or under, mountains. The people of Festiniog go to market to Bala, and fetch their wheat from Llanrwst. The latter road is supremely bad, and never marked with English footsteps.
I have been more unsuccessful in my designs on water-falls than any other subjects in this country. I was told there was a water-fall half-a-mile from Festiniog20 with two singular rocks starting up in it, called the Parson and Clerk; but I was so far from making one of the congregation, as I ardently wished, that I had great difficulty in walking downstairs, from the distension of the muscles of my legs on the ups and downs of the Tan y Bwlch road. I was told that there was another waterfall about three miles on our way to Bala, and only a quarter of a mile from the road.21 To make myself some amends I determined to see this, and, for fear we should miss it, took one of the inn-keeper’s sons, a boy of ten or twelve years of age, for our guide. It is true the boy could not speak a word of English; but he had often, as his father told us, shewn the waterfall to ladies and gentlemen; and we were sensible it did not need an invocation in that language to make itself visible. The father made a long oration to his son, in Welsh, and the boy trudged on before our horses.
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When we had gone three miles, by our own computation (for there were no mile-stones) we had a deep glen on our right, and fancied we heard the sound of water. We could not communicate our ideas to the boy, who still marched on before us; we stopped, however, and pointed to the right. He beckoned us forward, and we obeyed. The sound ceased; the glen grew narrower; it ended; and a small river appeared in view. The boy stopped at a cottage to make enquiries, and we passed him; as we had done the waterfall. He then beckoned us to return, but this was too much, in a stage of eighteen miles, and he no longer found us obedient. We pursued our journey, without seeing the cascade, and he returned home without his reward.
From Festiniog our road ascended gradually about four miles, when we reached the top of the mountain. The descent is about three or four more. In this space there is no house, except the cottage where the boy learned that we had passed the waterfall, and the whole country is peat and bog; though the road is good. From the foot of this mountain our road lay, for two or three miles along a narrow rocky vale: we then skirted and wound up another mountain; and a descent of four miles brought us to Bala: so that the whole eighteen miles from Festiniog to this place, is composed of one mountains at each end, and a vale in the middle. No part of the road is very steep. In the last mile and a half, three lovely fertile vales open to the view, in the junction of which Bala is situated.
During this mountain ride my father [xxx] told me that I mended a
guinea a mile. True it is that I now found myself, for the first time of almost
a month, totally free from fever.