Start for Plynlimmon—Plynlimmon’s Celebrity—Troed Rhiw Goch.
The morning of the fifth of November looked rather threatening. As,
however, it did not rain, I determined to set off for Plynlimmon, and,
returning at night to the inn, resume my journey to the south on the
following day. On looking into a pocket almanac I found it was Sunday.
This very much disconcerted me, and I thought at first of giving up my
expedition. Eventually, however, I determined to go, for I reflected
that I should be doing no harm, and that I might acknowledge the
sacredness of the day by attending morning service at the little Church
of England chapel which lay in my way.
The mountain of Plynlimmon to which I was bound is the third in Wales for
altitude, being only inferior to Snowdon and Cadair Idris. Its proper
name is Pum, or Pump, Lumon, signifying the five points, because towards
the upper part it is divided into five hills or points. Plynlimmon is a
celebrated hill on many accounts. It has been the scene of many
remarkable events. In the tenth century a dreadful battle was fought on
one of its spurs between the Danes and the Welsh, in which the former
sustained a bloody overthrow; and in 1401 a conflict took place in one of
its valleys between the Welsh, under Glendower, and the Flemings of
Pembrokeshire, who, exasperated at having their homesteads plundered and
burned by the chieftain who was the mortal enemy of their race, assembled
in considerable numbers and drove Glendower and his forces before them to
Plynlimmon, where, the Welshmen standing at bay, a contest ensued, in
which, though eventually worsted, the Flemings were at one time all but
victorious. What, however, has more than anything else contributed to
the celebrity of the hill is the circumstance of its giving birth to
three rivers, the first of which, the Severn, is the principal stream in
Britain; the second, the Wye, the most lovely river, probably, which the
world can boast of; and the third, the Rheidol, entitled to high honour
from its boldness and impetuosity, and the remarkable banks between which
it flows in its very short course, for there are scarcely twenty miles
between the ffynnon or source of the Rheidol and the aber or place where
it disembogues itself into the sea.
I started about ten o’clock on my expedition, after making, of course, a
very hearty breakfast. Scarcely had I crossed the Devil’s Bridge when a
shower of hail and rain came on. As, however, it came down nearly
perpendicularly, I put up my umbrella and laughed. The shower pelted
away till I had nearly reached Spytty Cynwyl, when it suddenly left off
and the day became tolerably fine. On arriving at the Spytty, I was
sorry to find that there would be no service till three in the afternoon.
As waiting till that time was out of the question, I pushed forward on my
expedition. Leaving Pont Erwyd at some distance on my left, I went duly
north till I came to a place amongst hills where the road was crossed by
an angry-looking rivulet, the same, I believe which enters the Rheidol
near Pont Erwyd, and which is called the Castle River. I was just going
to pull off my boots and stockings in order to wade through, when I
perceived a pole and a rail laid over the stream at little distance above
where I was. This rustic bridge enabled me to cross without running the
danger of getting a regular sousing, for these mountain streams, even
when not reaching so high as the knee, occasionally sweep the wader off
his legs, as I know by my own experience. From a lad whom I presently
met I learned that the place where I crossed the water was called Troed
rhiw goch, or the Foot of the Red Slope.
About twenty minutes’ walk from hence brought me to Castell Dyffryn, an
inn about six miles distant from the Devil’s Bridge, and situated near a
spur of the Plynlimmon range. Here I engaged a man to show me the
sources of the rivers and the other wonders of the mountain. He was a
tall, athletic fellow, dressed in brown coat, round buff hat, corduroy
trousers, linen leggings and highlows, and, though a Cumro, had much more
the appearance of a native of Tipperary than a Welshman. He was a kind
of shepherd to the people of the house, who, like many others in South
Wales, followed farming and inn-keeping at the same time.