Town of Neath—Hounds and Huntsman—Spectral Chapel—The Glowing Mountain.
Neath is a place of some antiquity, for it can boast of the remains of a
castle and is a corporate town. There is but little Welsh spoken in it.
It is situated on the Neath, and exports vast quantities of coal and
iron, of both of which there are rich mines in the neighbourhood. It
derives its name from the river Nedd or Neth on which it stands. Nedd or
Neth is the same word as Nith the name of a river in Scotland, and is in
some degree connected with Nidda the name of one in Germany. Nedd in
Welsh signifies a dingle, and the word in its various forms has always
something to do with lowness or inferiority of position. Amongst its
forms are Nether and Nieder. The term is well applied to the
Glamorganshire river, which runs through dingles and under mountains.
The Neath has its source in the mountains of Brecon, and enters the sea
some little way below the town of Neath.
On the Monday morning I resumed my journey, directing my course up the
vale of Neath towards Merthyr Tydvil, distant about four-and-twenty
miles. The weather was at first rainy, misty, and miserable, but
improved by degrees. I passed through a village which I was told was
called Llanagos; close to it were immense establishments of some kind.
The scenery soon became exceedingly beautiful; hills covered with wood to
the tops were on either side of the dale. I passed an avenue leading
somewhere through groves, and was presently overtaken and passed by
hounds and a respectable-looking old huntsman on a black horse; a minute
afterwards I caught a glimpse of an old redbrick mansion nearly embosomed
in groves, from which proceeded a mighty cawing. Probably it belonged to
the proprietor of the dogs, and certainly looked a very fit mansion for a
Glamorganshire squire, justice of the peace, and keeper of a pack of
hounds.
I went on, the vale increasing in beauty; there was a considerable
drawback, however: one of those detestable contrivances a railroad was on
the farther side—along which trains were passing, rumbling and screaming.
I saw a bridge on my right hand with five or six low arches over the
river, which was here full of shoals. Asked a woman the name of the
bridge.
“_Pont Fawr_ ei galw, sir.”
I was again amongst the real Welsh—this woman had no English.
I passed by several remarkable mountains, both on the south and northern
side of the vale. Late in the afternoon I came to the eastern extremity
of the vale and ascended a height. Shortly afterwards I reached Rhigos,
a small village.
Entering a public-house I called for ale and sat down amidst some grimy
fellows, who said nothing to me and to whom I said nothing—their
discourse was in Welsh and English. Of their Welsh I understood but
little, for it was a strange corrupt jargon. In about half-an-hour after
leaving this place I came to the beginning of a vast moor. It was now
growing rather dusk and I could see blazes here and there; occasionally I
heard horrid sounds. Came to Irvan, an enormous mining-place with a
spectral-looking chapel, doubtless a Methodist one. The street was
crowded with rough savage-looking men. “Is this the way to Merthyr
Tydvil?” said I to one.
“Yes!” bawled the fellow at the utmost stretch of his voice.
“Thank you!” said I, taking off my hat and passing on.
Forward I went, up hill and down dale. Night now set in. I passed a
grove of trees and presently came to a collection of small houses at the
bottom of a little hollow. Hearing a step near me I stopped and said in
Welsh: “How far to Merthyr Tydvil?”
“Dim Cumrag, sir!” said a voice, seemingly that of a man.
“Good-night!” said I, and without staying to put the question in English,
I pushed on up an ascent and was presently amongst trees. Heard for a
long time the hooting of an owl or rather the frantic hollo. Appeared to
pass by where the bird had its station. Toiled up an acclivity and when
on the top stood still and looked around me. There was a glow on all
sides in the heaven except in the north-east quarter. Striding on I saw
a cottage on my left-hand, and standing at the door the figure of a
woman. “How far to Merthyr?” said I in Welsh.
“Tair milltir—three miles, sir.”
Turning round a corner at the top of a hill I saw blazes here and there
and what appeared to be a glowing mountain in the south-east. I went
towards it down a descent which continued for a long, long way; so great
was the light cast by the blazes and that wonderful glowing object that I
could distinctly see the little stones upon the road. After walking
about half-an-hour, always going downwards, I saw a house on my left hand
and heard a noise of water opposite to it. It was a pistyll. I went to
it, drank greedily, and then hurried on, more and more blazes and the
glowing object looking more terrible than ever. It was now above me at
some distance to the left, and I could see that it was an immense
quantity of heated matter like lava, occupying the upper and middle parts
of a hill and descending here and there almost to the bottom in a zigzag
and tortuous manner. Between me and the hill of the burning object lay a
deep ravine. After a time I came to a house, against the door of which a
man was leaning.
“What is all that burning stuff above, my friend?”
“Dross from the iron forges, sir!”
I now perceived a valley below me full of lights, and descending reached
houses and a tramway. I had blazes now all around me. I went through a
filthy slough, over a bridge, and up a street, from which dirty lanes
branched off on either side, passed throngs of savage-looking people
talking clamorously, shrank from addressing any of them, and finally
undirected found myself before the Castle Inn at Merthyr Tydvil.