picturesque views around Llangollen. Passing from Glyndyfrdwy down the
river, it successively assumes the appearance of the brawling brook over
beds of pebbles; the deep tranquil character of the gliding lake,
reflecting on its pure bosom the woods and mountains that surround it;
the rushing cascade or rapids, over beds of rocks, or through chasms of
stone.
“The current that with gentle murmur glides,
Opposed by rocks impatiently doth rage;
But when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with the enamelled stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;
And so by many winding nooks he strays
With willing sport to the wild ocean.”
It rises a few miles beyond Bala, a town about twenty miles from
Llangollen, on the west, and runs through a pool now called Bala pool,
some say without mingling its stream. {138} There is no river in England
which has been so much celebrated by our poets for its sanctity as the
Dee; and Camden describes it as “riseing on the east sideof
Merionethshire, and forthwith passeth entire and whole through Lhintegid,
in English, Pimble Meare, or Plenlin Meare, {139a} a lake spreding far in
length and bredth; and so runneth out of it with as great a streame as it
entred in; for neither shal a man see in the Dee the fishes called
guiniad, which are peculiar to the Meare, nor yet salmons in the Meare,
which neverthelesse are commonly taken in the river.” {139b}
The mazy windings of the Dee, embellished as its banks are with the fresh
green shrubs and plants which flourish there in great luxuriance, afford
a very delightful walk, independent of the great amusement to anglers for
which this river has ever been so famous. The trout are as fine as any
in the kingdom, and are very plentiful. Many men obtain a livelihood
during the season, by fishing in this beautiful river, which they
contrive to manage in their little coracles, a large kind of round
basket, covered with skins or tarpawling, and with a board across the
centre for a seat. It is amusing to see them waft themselves where they
please, with a little paddle in one hand, and a fly-rod in the other,
fishing every corner of the deep pool; and when tired, rowing to land,
throwing their boats on their shoulders, and walking with them to another
deep pool, where they again commence operations.
Salmon come up the river to spawn; and although so many do not reach
Llangollen as in former times, owing to the new inventions erected on the
river to entrap them in their way from the sea, yet many of them overcome
all impediments, and reach their usual haunts. I saw last summer, at the
season when the salmon fray, or fry, seek their way to the sea from the
river where they have been bred, large shoals of these fish, and at one
time more than forty fishing rods successfully employed in a small space
of water near the water-mill just above the bridge. This fishery
continued in great activity for many days; the bait used being a common
ground-worm, or a straw-worm, here called corbet. A little fresh in the
river at length came, of which the fish took advantage, and proceeded on
their way, after having lost some thousands of their numbers at
Llangollen.
The otter is found in this river, and, owing to the many fastnesses, can
seldom be destroyed. There are also numerous and various aquatic birds.
The rock-ousel, the kingfisher, the sand-piper, the crane, and a
duck-like bird, with black and white plumeage, which the inhabitants term
a cormorant, are very common.
About a mile above the bridge is a deep chasm in the rocky bed, through
which the whole river, when not swollen, rushes. It is six yards across,
and bears the name of Llam Y Lleidr, i.e. Thief’s Leap, from the
circumstance of a robber, who was pursued closely, having possessed
sufficient agility to clear this space, while his unfortunate pursuer
fell short, and was engulphed in the roaring torrent, narrowly escaping
the loss of life, as well as of property. There is another chasm nearer
the bridge, still deeper and narrower, called the Cow’s Leap.
The river runs over a bed of dark-coloured silicious rock, which is
sometimes got by the inhabitants for the use of building. The bed of the
river is consequently very uneven, which causes it to foam and rush very
impetuously along.
The Bridge
Is a plain gothic structure at the west end of Llangollen, and consists
of four irregularly formed pointed arches, with projecting angular
buttresses. The bridge was built across the Dee by John Trevor, Bishop
of St. Asaph, and Chancellor of Chester, A.D. 1346, and was accounted one
of the wonders of Wales. The arches are of various dimensions, but the
only wonder I can discover seems to be the foundation, which is laid upon
the rock that forms the bed of the river, and is fastened thereto with
iron clamps. The bridge is built of hewn stone, and is, like most other
old bridges, very narrow and ill-paved.
Many wonderful tales are related of the sudden rise of this river, and it
certainly is a very inconstant stream; but I cannot conceive it possible
that the water should ever have risen, as reported, so high as the base
of the parapet. There is another little bridge called the Chain Bridge,
about two miles up the river.
I will now cross the bridge to the south side of the river.
Glyn Dyfrdwy.
“They look’d a manly, generous generation,
Beards, shoulders, eyebrows, broad and square and thick;
Their accents firm, and loud in conversation;
Their eyes and gestures eager, sharp, and quick.”
ABOUT five miles west of Llangollen, upon the road to Corwen, and on the
south side of the Dee, the way being enriched by such varied and
enchanting scenery as will amply repay the traveller of taste for the
fatigue of the excursion, is Glyn Dyfrdwy, once the property and
residence of that famous chieftain Owen Glyndwr, whose birth Shakspeare
says marked him extraordinary. I will, however, here give a short
account of his life, which I trust will prove entertaining to many of my
readers, and plainly show that “he was not in the roll of common men.”
Owen Ap Gryffydd Fychan, better known by the name of Owen Glyndwr, {146a}
was descended from a younger son of Gryffydd Ap Madog, Lord of Powis
Bromfeild, and of Dinas Bran. He received his education in one of the
inns of court, and became a barrister-at-law.
It seems that about the year of our Lord 1395, he came into great favour
with King Richard II. who made him his scutifer, or shield-bearer; {146b}
and Owen was with the King when he was surrendered to Henry, Duke of
Lancaster, together with the Castle of Flint. {147a}
Betwixt Owen and Reginald, Lord Grey, of Ruthin, there arose a fierce
dispute, about a common lying between the Lordship of Ruthin and
Glyndyfrdwy, and belonging to Owen, who now assumed the name of Glyndwr;
and who was held in great respect by his countrymen, having artfully
induced them to believe that he could “call spirits from the vasty deep.”
Reginald was at first conquered, and Owen possessed the disputed land;
but after the deposal and murder of King Richard in Pomfret Castle, and
Henry had mounted the throne, {147b} the scene was changed; as Henry
aided Lord Grey, who with his own vassals, and assisted by some of the
King’s forces, again dispossessed Owen of the land. Several severe
encounters took place between the rival chieftains; and although
Reginald’s adherents were more numerous, the wily lawyer was more fertile
in expedients.
Owen, being apprised of an attack intended to be made upon him by Lord
Grey, here practised a successful ruse de guerre. He erected a number of
stakes in a bottom still called _Dôl Benig_, {148} and having clad them
in jackets and Welch caps, so alarmed Reginald by their appearance that
he gave up the expedition.
At length Owen’s good fortune and perseverance brought his enemy into his
power. {149a} Having artfully drawn Reginald from his strong hold of
Ruthin, he caused his horses to be shod backwards, which induced Reginald
to advance, supposing he was pursuing a flying enemy, when he fell into
an ambuscade, and was suddenly surrounded by Owen’s forces, and made
prisoner. Owen then marched to Ruthin, burnt the castle, destroyed the
town, and despoiled the country. {149b}
Prior to this success, Owen had laid his complaints before the King’s
Parliament, and John Trevor, Bishop of St. Asaph, and Chancellor of
Chester, seeing that no attention was paid to his petition, after a long
delay, ventured to expostulate with the Lords, and to caution them that
they did not, by slighting or neglecting Owen’s complaint, provoke the
Welch to insurrection. The reply of the Lords was full of contempt,
saying, “They did not fear those rascally bare-footed people.” {150} It
was subsequent to this time that Glyndwr, finding his suit neglected,
resolved to endeavour to redress his own wrongs, which terminated in the
capture of Reginald, as before related.
This signal success drew to Owen many of his countrymen from all parts of
the principality, who urged him on, asserting that the period was now
arrived in which the prophecies of Merlin would be fulfilled; and that he
was the man through whose valour the lost honour and liberties of their
native country were to be recovered.
Owen Glyndwr, smarting with resentment, and impelled by his ambition,
suffered himself to be persuaded to undertake the emancipation of the
principality; and in the mean time kept Reginald Lord Grey a close
prisoner; demanding ten thousand marks for his ransom; six thousand to be
paid on the feast of St. Martin, in the fourth year of the King’s reign,
and Reginald to deliver up his eldest son, with other persons of quality,
as hostages for the due performance. {151}
The King, at the humble suit of Lord Grey (he finding no other means for
his enlargement), appointed a council to treat with Glyndwr, who stoutly
refusing to recede from his terms, they agreed to give him the sum
demanded. It is also said that Owen obliged Reginald to marry one of his
daughters. {152a}
Owen, being thus amply provided with money, and joined by numbers of his
countrymen, now flew at higher game, and boldly attacked the Earl of
March, who met him with a numerous body of Herefordshire men. They came
to close action, when the Welchmen under Owen proved victorious, and the
Earl of March was taken prisoner, some accounts say by Owen himself in
single combat. {152b} With his freedom he lost above a thousand men, who
were most savagely abused after they were dead.
Edmund, Earl of March, whom Owen Glyndwr now held in thraldom, was next
in blood to Richard II. and therefore it was not displeasing to King
Henry that he should be thus kept out of the way: nay, Camden says—“He
(Edmund) stood greatly suspected to Henrie the Fourth, who had usurped
the kingdome; and by him was first exposed unto danger, insomuch as he
was taken by Owen Glyndwr, a rebell.” {153} King Henry, therefore, as
might be supposed, turned a deaf ear to every solicitation made on the
Earl’s behalf.
Now it was that Glyndwr, flushed with success, resolved to assume the
title of Prince of Wales; and treating the King as a usurper of the
crown, and simply as Duke of Lancaster, he caused himself to be
proclaimed throughout the Principality. The better to grace the matter,
he feigned himself descended in the female line from Llewellyn Ap
Gruffydh, the last Prince.
His ambition now knew no bounds; and, by virtue of his new title, he
summoned a parliament at Machynlleth, in Montgomeryshire, whither all the
nobility and gentry of Wales resorted. He kept his court at Sychnant,
about seven miles from Llangollen, on the road to Corwen. It is now
distinguished by a grove of firs, situated in a beautifully fertile
country, and overlooking the Dee. A few scattered stones are all that
remain to mark the site where the palace of Owen Glyndwr once stood,
which his bard, Iolo Goch, sung was as large as Westminster Abbey. {155}
About the middle of August, 1402, Henry, finding the power of Owen
Glyndwr increasing, and the turbulence of the Welch breaking all bounds,
resolved to crush their rebellion, and putting himself at the head of a
powerful army, marched into Wales. But the very elements seemed to fight
against him, the weather proving so extraordinarily inclement that the
King was obliged to make a precipitate retreat, without accomplishing his
intentions. {156a} The people attributed the dreadful tempests which at
that season occurred to the magic power of Owen, who found it his
interest to encourage their credulity.
Edward Mortimer, perceiving the King had no intention of opening his
prison doors, and Glyndwr treating him with increased gentleness and
respect, fell into the scheme this artful and politic man had devised.
Owen Glyndwr {156b} was married to Margaret, the only daughter of Sir
David Hanmer, of Hanmer, in Flintshire (who was one of the Justices of
the King’s Bench, and was knighted by King Richard II.) by whom he had
many children; and at this time three of his daughters were unmarried, on
one of whom the captive Earl cast an eye of affection. Glyndwr at once
saw the advantage of this predilection, and proposed to league with him
against the King, and to cement this union by the marriage of his
daughter to the Earl.
To strengthen this league, and make the proposed insurrection
irresistible, the Earls of Worcester and Northumberland, two of the most
powerful Nobles in England, together with the Scottish Chief Douglas, and
Northumberland’s valiant son Henry Percy, better known by the name of
Hotspur, were invited to join their standards; and these rebellious Lords
met at the house of Dafyd Daron, the Archdeacon of Bangor, {158a} and
there signed an indenture, sealing it with their own seals, to bind
themselves to assemble their forces, and join in putting down the King,
and for dividing the kingdom, vainly relying upon a foolish prediction of
Merlin, in which the King was depicted as an execrable moldwarp, and
Glyndwr and his colleagues as the wolf, the lion, and the dragon, that
were to pull the moldwarp down. {158b}
This treaty, made with so much secrecy, and executed in the recesses of
Glyndwr’s dominions, was soon communicated to King Henry. Sir David Gam,
so called because he had a crooked eye, or squinted, or, as some say, had
but one eye, was a strong and faithful partizan of the Duke of Lancaster,
now King Henry IV. and consequently the inveterate enemy of Owen Glyndwr,
now Prince of Wales, at whose Parliament he attended, together with the
chief of the Welch nobles and gentry, but with very different intentions;
he having determined to put an end to Glyndwr’s rebellion with his life.
{159a}
David Gam was the son of Llewellyn Ap Howel Vaughn, a gentleman of
Brecknock. His scheme and his purpose were, however, unfortunately for
him, discovered and frustrated, and he was immediately secured, and
ordered by Owen for execution; {159b} but many of his greatest friends
and adherents pleading for Gam’s life, Owen thought it politic then to
stifle his resentment, and to grant him both life and liberty, on his
solemnly promising to continue in future true and faithfully loyal to
Glyndwr.
The promises of men in those days were frequently regarded only so long
as it suited their interests or convenience. Such was the case with
David Gam, who no sooner found himself among his own friends, and in his
own country, than he began to assail and annoy all the favourers and
adherents of Glyndwr, who being soon apprised of the practices against
him, and of the use Sir David made of his liberty, marched with all
expedition at the head of a small body of his retainers, intending to
make him prisoner; {161} but Sir David had the good fortune to elude his
vigilance, and escaped into England, where he lived for the most part at
court, not daring to visit his native country until after the death of
Owen Glyndwr.
Having thus missed his prey, Owen set no bounds to his resentment. He
burnt Gam’s house to the ground, wasted his substance, despoiled his
tenants and friends, and by the rigor of his proceedings so estranged the
hearts of all, and created so many enemies, that it was reasonable to
expect that through Sir David’s means, or some of his emissaries, the
King would have information of what was plotting against him in Wales.
Henry at this time, fortunately, had a small army assembled for another
purpose; and no sooner was he apprised of this conspiracy against him,
than, placing himself at the head of his troops, he marched them for
Wales, to attack the confederates before they had time to conjoin their
forces. {162a} Owen had not collected all his strength,{162b} and the
Earl of Northumberland, who was considered generalissimo, being seized
with a sudden illness, and confined to his bed at Berwick-upon-Tweed, the
King found the rebels under the command of Hotspur at Shrewsbury.
The insurgent chiefs, seeing a battle inevitable, and knowing that
Glyndwr, with his hardy Welchmen, was in full march to join them (in
fact, he reached Oswestry at the head of 12,000 men on the very day the
battle was fought), to gain time proposed a conference, and drew up a
list of grievances to be redressed; but the matter ended in mutual
recrimination, and both sides prepared for battle. The numbers were
nearly equal, about 12,000 on each side, and the two armies were inflamed
by the most dreadful animosity.
The battle began with the most determined courage. The King was seen
every where animating his troops in the post of danger, and he was most
nobly seconded by his son, afterwards the renowned Henry V. the conqueror
of France. On the other side the chieftains fought like men accustomed
to the bloody business of war; and the battle was fierce, obstinate, and
doubtful; when the daring Hotspur, supporting the high character which he
had purchased by so many victories, and seeking a personal encounter with
the King, fell by an unknown hand.
The loss of their gallant leader was the loss of the battle. The fortune
of the King prevailed; and although on that day no less than two thousand
six hundred gentlemen, and six thousand common men were slain, this
victory served to confirm Henry on his usurped throne, humbled the great
Barons, and restored peace to England. Had Owen Glyndwr at this juncture
pressed forward from Oswestry, where it has been before said he was lying
with a fresh army, and as numerous as the English were before they had
sustained so severe a loss, he might have changed the aspect of affairs;
but at this distance of time a proper judgment cannot be formed. Some
historians blame him for his precipitate retreat into Wales, whither he
was followed by a part of the English army, under young Henry, who made
himself master of the Castle of Aberystwith, which Owen afterwards
recaptured.
After this time Owen’s fortunes appeared to decline, {165} and the fatal
battle of Husk, fought on the 15th of March, in which Glyndwr’s son was
taken, and more than fifteen hundred of his men slain, seems to have
sealed his doom. But Glyndwr, although reduced, was not subdued, and he
continued a predatory and harassing warfare, most annoying and
destructive; sometimes making a sudden eruption into the marches, and
sometimes into the heart of the country; for now, the Welch having
submitted to the King, and being reconciled, Glyndwr considered his
countrymen his enemies. His skill in devices, together with his local
knowledge of the country, kept the Principality in a dreadful state of
fear and fermentation; and although he eluded every effort made to entrap
him, yet his turbulent spirit drew upon his country the vengeance of the
King, in the most severe laws that were ever enacted against a civilised
people. {166}
Owen Glyndwr, once Prince of Wales, was now reduced to hide himself in
the caves and fastnesses of the country, to avoid the pursuit of his
enemies. He was concealed and supported for some time by Ednyfed Ap
Aron, in a cave near the sea-side, at Llangelynin, in Merionethshire,
still called Ogof Owain. {167} The danger past, he again blazed forth in
the destruction of a territory he had once aspired to govern; sometimes a
fugitive, enduring hunger, thirst, and every privation; at others
revelling as a conqueror, on the spoils of his countrymen and former
friends. At last his depredations became so general and so
indiscriminate that he feared every one, and became as “a wild man, and
his hand was against every man, and every man’s hand was against him.”
Being thus driven by his fears from society, he fled to the most solitary
places, and at length died for lack of sustenance. {168}
Thus ignobly perished Owen Ap Gryffydd Fychan, commonly known by the name
of Owen Glyndwr—a man who, from trifling causes, had conceived more
determined hostility against the English, and had conducted that
hostility with more consummate skill, than any other general the Welch
had ever produced. In his early career he was uniformly victorious: he
was proclaimed Prince of Wales with the sanction of the chief men of the
country, made alliances with princes, and exercised his authority with
becoming dignity; but now—
“Mighty victor, mighty Lord,
Low on his funeral couch he lies:
No pitying heart, no eye t’ afford
A tear to grace his obsequies.”
Owen Glyndwr was one of those fiery meteors which Providence sometimes
permits to visit the earth, for the instruction of mankind, and to show
us the vanity of all sublunary things: astonishing the world with their
splendour, they blaze for a short time; and as suddenly decline, and sink
into obscurity. Such, in our own horizon, have been Glyndwr and
Cromwell, and in later times Bonaparte. Their course was brilliant, but
short; and as their greatness grew, so did their suspicions and their
fears; until, at last, life itself became burdensome, and the end of
their career was clouded by disappointment, misery, and despair.
But Owen Glyndwr had more legitimate reasons to plead than either of his
compeers. Deprived of a part of his patrimony by power, and unable to
obtain redress by law, he took the law into his own hands, and had
recourse to force. Success produced ambition, which proved his
overthrow.
Owen was bold, wary, and revengeful: he set no bounds to his resentment.
He made a smoking ruin of the dwelling of his countryman, Sir David Gam,
and thereby made him an implacable enemy. He was the cause of the loss
of one hundred thousand lives, {171} and of the destruction of immense
property. Many houses and other buildings were burnt and destroyed by
him; among which I find enumerated the Castle of Ruthin, the Cathedral of
St. Asaph, the Cathedral of Bangor, the Bishop’s Palace, &c. at Llandaff,
the towns of Leominster and Old Radnor, besides the house of Sir David
Gam, &c.
It will be right to notice that Mr. Pennant gives the following account
of the death of Owen Glyndwr; but as he states there is nothing
confirmatory of Owen’s interment at Monnington, I have thought it right
to adhere to the older authorities:—“He matched his daughters,” says Mr.
Pennant, “into considerable families: his eldest, Isabel, to Adam Ap
Iorwerth Ddu; his second, Elizabeth, or as some say, Alicia, to Sir John
Scudamore, of Ewyas, and Home Lacy, in Herefordshire; Jane he forced upon
Lord Grey De Ruthin; and his youngest daughter, Margaret, to Roger
Monnington, of Monnington, in Herefordshire, at whose house some accounts
say he died, and was buried in the church-yard there.” {172}
The prison where Owen confined his captives, and of which some remains
may still be seen, was near the church at Llansanfraid Glyndyfrdwy; and
the place is still called Carchardy Owen Glyndwr. He is said to have
died in the sixty-first year of his age.
I trust it will be deemed a pardonable digression, if I now give the
sequel of the military career of that loyal and truly brave Welchman, Sir
David Gam. I have before recounted that Glyndwr forced him to fly for
protection to the court of England, where he continued in favour with
King Henry IV. until the death of that monarch. I then find him
accompanying his son, King Henry V. on his expedition into France, in the
year of our Lord 1415, at the head and in the command of a numerous body
of stout and valiant Welchmen, who on all occasions distinguished
themselves by their courage and conduct. {174}