THE SACRED RIVER
In our peeps at North Wales we have more than once had a glimpse of the
River Dee. To-day we will pretend we have taken a “coracle,” one of the
curious oval boats which were used in the very earliest days, and which
you may sometimes see a man carrying on his shoulders from one bend of
the river to another. “Carry thou me, and I will carry thee,” an old
Welsh proverb makes the coracle say to the fisherman; and it shall now
carry us down the course of the river as far as it lies within the land
of Wales. The River Dee, one of the most lovely in Wales, has always
been connected with the mysterious religion of the Druids. Its very
name in old days, _Deva_, meant the goddess, or the “divine one”;
and its modern Welsh form, _Dwy_, means the same thing. A legend
of Druid times says that the Dee springs from two fountains high up in
the mountains above Bala, called Dwy Fawr and Dwy Fach, or the Great
and Little Dee, whose waters pass through those of the Lake of Bala
without mingling with them, and come out at its northern extremity.
These fountains had their names from two individuals, Dwy Fawr and Dwy
Fach, who escaped from the Deluge when all the rest of the human
race were drowned, and the passing of the waters of the two fountains
through the lake without mingling with its flood is an emblem of the
salvation of the two individuals from the Deluge, of which the lake is
a type.
[Illustration: A DRUID PRIEST. _Page 4._]
Probably the river was worshipped as a goddess in those days, and when
Wales learnt the Christian faith, it would be but fitting that her
bank should be crowded with those who sought baptism in her waters.
Nowadays, too, it is no uncommon sight to see a little group of people
by the waterside presiding over the baptism of one or more of their
companions.
Soon after leaving the lake the Dee passes through a district that
is closely connected with the youth of that great Celtic hero, King
Arthur. There are few parts of Wales which--by their names, at
least--allow us to forget that Arthur and his Court played a famous
part in Britain in the days before history. And here we have Caer Gai,
the ancient stronghold of Sir Kay, the foster-brother of Arthur, who
could make himself as tall as the tallest tree in the forest, or lie
hidden in lake or river for nine days and nights, if needs be. Such
fire was in his nature that when they needed warmth his companions
had but to kindle the piled wood at his finger; he could walk through
torrents of rain as dry as on a summer’s day; he could go for nine
days and nights without sleep; and no doctor could heal the wounds made
by his sword.
It was in this district of Penllyn, opposite to the hill of Yr Aran,
which he calls “Rauran,” that Spenser in his great poem makes King
Arthur describe the way his boyhood was passed in the “stronghold of
Kay,” or Caer Gai:
“Whose dwelling is low in a valley green
Under the fort of Rauran, mossy hoar,
From whence the River Dee, as silver clean,
His tumbling billows rolls with gentle roar;
There all my days he trained me up in virtuous lore.”
But, apart from legend, Caer Gai touches history itself. From its
well-preserved ramparts and “fosse,” or moat, enclosing what is now a
farm-house, we see that it must have once been a Roman fortress. Roman
urns have been dug up here, and not very many years ago a ploughman
turned up a stone with an inscription that showed it must have been
placed there by Roman soldiers about A.D. 105.
Leaving Llyn Tegid, or Bala Lake, behind us, we set off down our river
to Corwen and Llangollen. These places we have already visited, so we
will only stay to notice the lovely scenery of this part of the Dee,
so dear to fishers. Not far from where the river bends north-east to
Chester and the sea, stands Chirk Castle, and near by, in order to
reach it from Llangollen, we shall pass the line of Offa’s Dyke, a bank
with a moat below it that ran from the mouth of the Dee to the mouth of
the Wye, which was erected by a King of Mercia in the eighth century as
a barrier beyond which no Welshman might pass.
For the rest of its course, therefore, the Dee really forms part of the
boundary-line between England and Wales, and though we shall be sorely
tempted to linger when we come to the beautiful old city of Chester,
gazing down from its ancient walls upon the broad river below, we must
remind ourselves that this is English soil, and leave the sacred waters
of the Dee to empty themselves by a very long estuary into the sea some
miles below Flint Castle, the last refuge of the unhappy Richard II.
before he gave himself into the hands of Bolingbroke.