The Old Ostler—Directions—Church of England Man—The Deep Dingle—The Two
Women—The Cutty Pipe—Waen y Bwlch—The Deaf and Dumb—The Glazed Hat.
I rose on the morning of the 2nd of November intending to proceed to the
Devil’s Bridge, where I proposed halting a day or two, in order that I
might have an opportunity of surveying the far-famed scenery of that
locality. After paying my bill I went into the yard to my friend the old
ostler, to make inquiries with respect to the road.
“What kind of road,” said I, “is it to the Devil’s Bridge?”
“There are two roads, sir, to the Pont y Gwr Drwg; which do you mean to
take?”
“Why do you call the Devil’s Bridge the Pont y Gwr Drwg, or the bridge of
the evil man?”
“That we may not bring a certain gentleman upon us, sir, who doesn’t like
to have his name taken in vain.”
“Is their much difference between the roads?”
“A great deal, sir; one is over the hills, and the other round by the
valleys.”
“Which is the shortest?”
“Oh, that over the hills, sir; it is about twenty miles from here to the
Pont y Gwr Drwg over the hills, but more than twice that by the valleys.”
“Well, I suppose you would advise me to go by the hills?”
“Certainly, sir—that is, if you wish to break your neck, or to sink in a
bog, or to lose your way, or perhaps, if night comes on, to meet the Gwr
Drwg himself taking a stroll. But to talk soberly. The way over the
hills is an awful road, and, indeed, for the greater part is no road at
all.”
“Well, I shall go by it. Can’t you give me some directions?”
“I’ll do my best, sir, but I tell you again that the road is a horrible
one, and very hard to find.”
He then went with me to the gate of the inn, where he began to give me
directions, pointing to the south, and mentioning some names of places
through which I must pass, amongst which were Waen y Bwlch and Long
Bones. At length he mentioned Pont Erwyd, and said: “If you can but get
there, you are all right, for from thence there is a very fair road to
the bridge of the evil man; though I dare say if you get to Pont
Erwyd—and I wish you may get there—you will have had enough of it and
will stay there for the night, more especially as there is a good inn.”
Leaving Machynlleth, I ascended a steep hill which rises to the south of
it. From the top of this hill there is a fine view of the town, the
river, and the whole valley of the Dyfi. After stopping for a few
minutes to enjoy the prospect I went on. The road at first was
exceedingly good, though up and down, and making frequent turnings. The
scenery was beautiful to a degree: lofty hills were on either side,
clothed most luxuriantly with trees of various kinds, but principally
oaks. “This is really very pleasant,” said I, “but I suppose it is too
good to last long.” However, I went on for a considerable way, the road
neither deteriorating nor the scenery decreasing in beauty. “Surely I
can’t be in the right road,” said I; “I wish I had an opportunity of
asking.” Presently seeing an old man working with a spade in a field
near a gate, I stopped and said in Welsh: “Am I in the road to the Pont y
Gwr Drwg?” The old man looked at me for a moment, then shouldering his
spade he came up to the gate, and said in English: “In truth, sir, you
are.”
“I was told that the road thither was a very bad one,” said I, “but this
is quite the contrary.”
“This road does not go much farther, sir,” said he; “it was made to
accommodate grand folks who live about here.”
“You speak very good English,” said I; “where did you get it?”
He looked pleased, and said that in his youth he had lived some years in
England.
“Can you read?” said I.
“Oh yes,” said he, “both Welsh and English.”
“What have you read in Welsh?” said I.
“The Bible and Twm O’r Nant.”
“What pieces of Twm O’r Nant have you read?”
“I have read two of his interludes and his life.”
“And which do you like best—his life or his interludes?”
“Oh, I like his life best.”
“And what part of his life do you like best?”
“Oh, I like that part best where he gets the ship into the water at
Abermarlais.”
“You have a good judgment,” said I; “his life is better than his
interludes, and the best part of his life is where he describes his
getting the ship into the water. But do the Methodists about here in
general read Twm O’r Nant?”
“I don’t know,” said be; “I am no Methodist.”
“Do you belong to the Church?”
“I do.”
“And why do you belong to the Church?”
“Because I believe it is the best religion to get to heaven by.”
“I am much of your opinion,” said I. “Are there many Church people about
here?”
“Not many,” said he, “but more than when I was young.”
“How old are you?”
“Sixty-nine.”
“You are not very old,” said I.
“An’t I? I only want one year of fulfilling my proper time on earth.”
“You take things very easily,” said I.
“Not so very easily, sir; I have often my quakings and fears, but then I
read my Bible, say my prayers, and find hope and comfort.”
“I really am very glad to have seen you,” said I; “and now can you tell
me the way to the bridge?”
“Not exactly, sir, for I have never been there; but you must follow this
road some way farther, and then bear away to the right along yon
hill”—and he pointed to a distant mountain.
I thanked him, and proceeded on my way. I passed through a deep dingle,
and shortly afterwards came to the termination of the road; remembering,
however, the directions of the old man, I bore away to the right, making
for the distant mountain. My course lay now over very broken ground
where there was no path, at least that I could perceive. I wandered on
for some time; at length on turning round a bluff I saw a lad tending a
small herd of bullocks. “Am I in the road,” said I, “to the Pont y Gwr
Drwg?”
“Nis gwn! I don’t know,” said he sullenly. “I am a hired servant, and
have only been here a little time.”
“Where’s the house,” said I, “where you serve?”
But as he made no answer I left him. Some way farther on I saw a house
on my left, a little way down the side of a deep dingle which was partly
overhung with trees, and at the bottom of which a brook murmured.
Descending a steep path, I knocked at the door. After a little time it
was opened, and two women appeared, one behind the other. The first was
about sixty; she was very powerfully made, had stern grey eyes and harsh
features, and was dressed in the ancient Welsh female fashion, having a
kind of riding-habit of blue and a high conical hat like that of the
Tyrol. The other seemed about twenty years younger; she had dark
features, was dressed like the other, but had no hat. I saluted the
first in English, and asked her the way to the Bridge, whereupon she
uttered a deep guttural “augh” and turned away her head, seemingly in
abhorrence. I then spoke to her in Welsh, saying I was a foreign man—I
did not say a Saxon—was bound to the Devil’s Bridge, and wanted to know
the way. The old woman surveyed me sternly for some time, then turned to
the other and said something, and the two began to talk to each other,
but in a low, buzzing tone, so that I could not distinguish a word. In
about half a minute the eldest turned to me, and extending her arm and
spreading out her five fingers wide, motioned to the side of the hill in
the direction which I had been following.
“If I go that way shall I get to the bridge of the evil man?” said I, but
got no other answer than a furious grimace and violent agitations of the
arm and fingers in the same direction. I turned away, and scarcely had I
done so when the door was slammed to behind me with great force, and I
heard two “aughs,” one not quite so deep and abhorrent as the other,
probably proceeding from the throat of the younger female.
“Two regular Saxon-hating Welsh women,” said I, philosophically; “just of
the same sort no doubt as those who played such pranks on the slain
bodies of the English soldiers, after the victory achieved by Glendower
over Mortimer on the Severn’s side.”
I proceeded in the direction indicated, winding round the side of the
hill, the same mountain which the old man had pointed out to me some time
before. At length, on making a turn I saw a very lofty mountain in the
far distance to the south-west, a hill right before me to the south, and,
on my left, a meadow overhung by the southern hill, in the middle of
which stood a house from which proceeded a violent barking of dogs. I
would fain have made immediately up to it for the purpose of inquiring my
way, but saw no means of doing so, a high precipitous bank lying between
it and me. I went forward and ascended the side of the hill before me,
and presently came to a path running east and west. I followed it a
little way towards the east. I was now just above the house, and saw
some children and some dogs standing beside it. Suddenly I found myself
close to a man who stood in a hollow part of the road, from which a
narrow path led down to the house; a donkey with panniers stood beside
him. He was about fifty years of age, with a carbuncled countenance,
high but narrow forehead, grey eyebrows, and small, malignant grey eyes.
He had a white hat, with narrow eaves and the crown partly knocked out, a
torn blue coat, corduroy breeches, long stockings and highlows. He was
sucking a cutty pipe, but seemed unable to extract any smoke from it. He
had all the appearance of a vagabond, and of a rather dangerous vagabond.
I nodded to him, and asked him in Welsh the name of the place. He glared
at me malignantly, then, taking the pipe out of his mouth, said that he
did not know, that he had been down below to inquire and light his pipe,
but could get neither light nor answer from the children. I asked him
where he came from, but he evaded the question by asking where I was
going to.
“To the Pont y Gwr Drwg,” said I.
He then asked me if I was an Englishman.
“Oh yes,” said I, “I am Carn Sais;” whereupon, with a strange mixture in
his face of malignity and contempt, he answered in English that he didn’t
understand me.
“You understood me very well,” said I, without changing my language,
“till I told you I was an Englishman. Harkee, man with the broken hat,
you are one of the bad Welsh who don’t like the English to know the
language, lest they should discover your lies and rogueries.” He
evidently understood what I said, for he gnashed his teeth, though he
said nothing. “Well,” said I, “I shall go down to those children and
inquire the name of the house;” and I forthwith began to descend the
path, the fellow uttering a contemptuous “humph” behind me, as much as to
say, “Much you’ll make out down there.” I soon reached the bottom and
advanced towards the house. The dogs had all along been barking
violently; as I drew near to them, however, they ceased, and two of the
largest came forward wagging their tails. “The dogs were not barking at
me,” said I, “but at that vagabond above.” I went up to the children;
they were four in number, two boys and two girls, all red-haired, but
tolerably good-looking. They had neither shoes nor stockings. “What is
the name of this house?” said I to the eldest, a boy about seven years
old. He looked at me, but made no answer. I repeated my question; still
there was no answer, but methought I heard a humph of triumph from the
hill. “Don’t crow quite yet, old chap,” thought I to myself, and putting
my hand into my pocket, I took out a penny, and offering it to the child
said: “Now, small man, Peth yw y enw y lle hwn?” Instantly the boy’s
face became intelligent, and putting out a fat little hand, he took the
ceiniog and said in an audible whisper, “Waen y Bwlch.” “I am all
right,” said I to myself; “that is one of the names of the places which
the old ostler said I must go through.” Then addressing myself to the
child I said: “Where’s your father and mother?”
“Out on the hill,” whispered the child.
“What’s your father?”
“A shepherd.”
“Good,” said I. “Now can you tell me the way to the bridge of the evil
man?” But the features became blank, the finger was put to the mouth,
and the head was hung down. That question was evidently beyond the
child’s capacity. “Thank you!” said I, and turning round I regained the
path on the top of the bank. The fellow and his donkey were still there.
“I had no difficulty,” said I, “in obtaining information; the place’s
name is Waen y Bwlch. But oes genoch dim Cumraeg—you have no Welsh.”
Thereupon I proceeded along the path in the direction of the east.
Forthwith the fellow said something to his animal, and both came
following fast behind. I quickened my pace, but the fellow and his beast
were close in my rear. Presently I came to a place where another path
branched off to the south. I stopped, looked at it, and then went on,
but scarcely had done so when I heard another exulting “humph” behind.
“I am going wrong,” said I to myself; “that other path is the way to the
Devil’s Bridge, and the scamp knows it or he would not have grunted.”
Forthwith I faced round, and brushing past the fellow without a word
turned into the other path and hurried along it. By a side glance which
I cast I could see him staring after me; presently, however, he uttered a
sound very much like a Welsh curse, and, kicking his beast, proceeded on
his way, and I saw no more of him. In a little time I came to a slough
which crossed the path. I did not like the look of it at all, and to
avoid it ventured upon some green mossy-looking ground to the left, and
had scarcely done so when I found myself immersed to the knees in a bog.
I, however, pushed forward, and with some difficulty got to the path on
the other side of the slough. I followed the path, and in about
half-an-hour saw what appeared to be houses at a distance. “God grant
that I maybe drawing near some inhabited place!” said I. The path now
grew very miry, and there were pools of water on either side. I moved
along slowly. At length I came to a place where some men were busy in
erecting a kind of building. I went up to the nearest and asked him the
name of the place. He had a crowbar in his hand, was half naked, had a
wry mouth and only one eye. He made me no answer, but mowed and gibbered
at me.
“For God’s sake,” said I, “don’t do so, but tell me where I am!” He
still uttered no word, but mowed and gibbered yet more frightfully than
before. As I stood staring at him another man came to me and said in
broken English: “It is of no use speaking to him, sir, he is deaf and
dumb.”
“I am glad he is no worse,” said I, “for I really thought he was
possessed with the evil one. My good person, can you tell me the name of
this place?”
“Esgyrn Hirion, sir,” said he.
“Esgyrn Hirion,” said I to myself; “Esgyrn means ‘bones,’ and Hirion
means ‘long.’ I am doubtless at the place which the old ostler called
Long Bones. I shouldn’t wonder if I get to the Devil’s Bridge to-night
after all.” I then asked the man if he could tell me the way to the
bridge of the evil man, but he shook his head and said that he had never
heard of such a place, adding, however, that he would go with me to one
of the overseers, who could perhaps direct me. He then proceeded towards
a row of buildings, which were, in fact, those objects which I had
guessed to be houses in the distance. He led me to a corner house, at
the door of which stood a middle-aged man, dressed in a grey coat, and
saying to me, “This person is an overseer,” returned to his labour. I
went up to the man, and, saluting him in English, asked whether he could
direct me to the Devil’s Bridge, or rather to Pont Erwyd.
“It would be of no use directing you, sir,” said he, “for with all the
directions in the world it would be impossible for you to find the way.
You would not have left these premises five minutes before you would be
in a maze without knowing which way to turn. Where do you come from?”
“From Machynlleth,” I replied.
“From Machynlleth!” said he. “Well, I only wonder you ever got here, but
it would be madness to go farther alone.”
“Well,” said I, “can I obtain a guide?”
“I really don’t know,” said he; “I am afraid all the men are engaged.”
As we were speaking a young man made his appearance at the door from the
interior of the house. He was dressed in a brown short coat, had a
glazed hat on his head, and had a pale but very intelligent countenance.
“What is the matter?” said he to the other man.
“This gentleman,” replied the latter, “is going to Pont Erwyd, and wants
a guide.”
“Well,” said the young man, “we must find him one. It will never do to
let him go by himself.”
“If you can find me a guide,” said I, “I shall be happy to pay him for
his trouble.”
“Oh, you can do as you please about that,” said the young man; “but, pay
or not, we would never suffer you to leave this place without a guide,
and as much for our own sake as yours; for the directors of the Company
would never forgive us if they heard we had suffered a gentleman to leave
these premises without a guide, more especially if he were lost, as it is
a hundred to one you would be if you went by yourself.”
“Pray,” said I, “what Company is this, the directors of which are so
solicitous about the safety of strangers?”
“The Potosi Mining Company,” said he, “the richest in all Wales. But
pray walk in and sit down, for you must be tired.”