“We were not induced to linger very long in the slate quarries, being
more desirous to make ourselves acquainted with the undisturbed nature
which invited us on the way to Capel Curig.
“The Vale of Nant Ffrancon is wild and stupendous in the extreme; it is
an extensive marshy valley, filled with peat, whose black masses are
piled in all directions in stacks; numerous alleys filled with the water
which drains from it, are cut through the turf on whose surface the
graceful cotton plant waves its feathery and snowy tresses, covering the
swampy ground, and lending it beauty; numerous water flowers of bright
colour give some life to the scene, which would otherwise be
inexpressibly dreary. Huge masses of crumbling rocks bind in the narrow
valley, and assume the strangest and most grotesque shapes, as though the
visions of the Welsh bard, Davydd ap Gwilym, were realized, and
“‘There were in every hollow
A hundred wry-mouthed elves.’
“Indeed, the famous and dreaded family of the Ellyllon, who are fond of
coming forth in mist and rain, seemed to have pursued and overtaken us
just as we had nearly reached the gloomy, dark, and secluded lake of
Ogwen. The clouds grew darker, and rolled in heavy masses through the
valley, and down the sides of the hills—a chill and hollow wind rose and
whistled fearfully along the pass—large drops of rain began to fall, and
we thought there was no escape from one of those storms so frequent in
these regions; but the spirits sulked themselves into good humour, and
did not force us to choose the usual alternative of travellers who fall
into their power, for they are said to insist on their taking the
uncomfortable choice of three methods of continuing their journey: to go
with them ‘above the wind, mid wind, or below the wind:’ the first is to
be whirled above the tops of the mountains at more than rail-road speed;
the last to be hurried along, through brakes and briars, against stones
and amongst bogs; and the middle way, generally preferred by those who
have experience in the freaks of these elves, is to accompany them at a
moderate distance in the air just clearing every obstacle.
“We contrived to gain the shore of lake Ogwen unmolested by all the imps
and demons, who seemed to have come on the wings of the blast from their
modern retreat on the pedestals of Penrhyn Castle, to visit the haunts
where they dwelt in days of yore, before every rock was attacked for its
mineral wealth as it is now. On the borders of this solemn lake,
however, the miner’s hammer is unheard; all is solitary grandeur and
gloomy sublimity: mountains are piled on each other, and appear to crowd
together round the lake, pressing its dark waters into a small space,
deep and generally still, though ruffled when we saw it, by the rushing
wind that swept through the hollow of Nant Ffrancon.
“The river Ogwen issues from this lake, and the accumulated waters which
its rocky basin is unable to contain force their way through a chasm in
the rocks, and fall with tremendous force in three cataracts, called the
Falls of Benglog.
“Solemn and silent as Ogwen appears, it is less fearful and solitary than
another dark lake situated high up amongst the mountains in the vicinity,
called Llyn Idwal, where, in the early times of Welsh history, it is
recorded, that Idwal, the infant heir of Prince Owen Gwynedd, was drowned
by the hand of his foster-father, when
“‘No human ear but Dunawt’s {87} heard
Young Idwal’s dying scream.’
“The cliffs that encircle this lake are split into a thousand fearful
shapes, and a mighty chasm yawns between, called Twll dû, which is said
to be the abode of the unquiet soul of the murderer and the howling and
exulting demon who torments him for his hateful crime—a crime
“‘Most foul, strange, and unnatural.’
“No bird will ever dip his wing in that lake, nor pause near its waters.
“Nothing can exceed the horror of this spot: the breach in the black rock
is like that produced by the Sword of Roland in the Pyrenees, but no
cheering prospect of far lands opens through: here all is dark, fearful,
and tremendously appalling.
“The Twll dû is sometimes called the Devil’s Kitchen; the waters of the
lake rush impetuously through its chasm. In memory of the tragedy acted
here, the fish, of which there was formerly a profusion, were all
deprived, according to received tradition, of one eye, the left being
closed: as there are now no fish in the lake, it is impossible to verify
the truth of this legend.
“This neighbourhood is the chosen abode of demons and strange monsters;
and once upon a time, it is said, that a hunter pursuing the chase in the
valleys between these mountains saw suddenly, perched on a rock, an
extraordinary animal, such as had never before been beheld. It was
hunched like a buffalo, and was covered with tufts of hair which shone
like gold. The daring hunter pursued it over every obstacle, till he had
nearly reached the Twll dû, when he overtook and slew it; but he gained
little by his exploit, for the animal bellowed so loud that the rocks
split in all directions; and neither the huntsman nor his prey was seen
afterwards.
“The pretty inn at Capel Curig is built of slate, walls and roof and
flights of steps, all of a shining grey, contrasting oddly with its gay
garden of roses which lies beneath. From this garden is a fine view of
Snowdon and its lake, with mountain scenery of great sublimity on all
sides. The graceful bridge over Gwyryd is a beautiful object in the
distance: while Snowdon, Moel Siabod, and the three sister lakes linked
together, which extend along this charming valley, lie all before the
eye.”
CERIG-Y-DRUIDION,
(_Denbighshire_.)
Cerniogau 3
Corwen 10
Llanrwst 14
Pont-y-Glyn 4½
Ruthin 15
This is a pleasant village, so named from its being supposed to have been
the abode of the Druids. In Camden’s time it was famed for some
druidical remains. These ancient relics have long since been removed;
they consisted of _cromlechs_ and _kist vaens_, or stone chests.
At Pen Gwerwyn, a hill about a mile to the east of the village, are some
inconsiderable remains of a castle, of which tradition says that it once
belonged to Caractacus. We are told that when he was routed by the
Romans, he retreated to this castle for safety; but was, with his whole
family, betrayed to the enemy, and sent prisoner to Rome, where he
delivered that celebrated speech which is so familiar to all students of
British history.
CERNIOGAU MAWR,
(_Denbighshire_.)
Capel Curig 15
Cerig-y-Druidion 3
Corwen 13
Ruthin 18
Cerniogau Mawr is a hamlet of three or four small houses, in an elevated
situation, on the London and Holyhead mail-road. Five miles on the road
to Llanrwst is Gallt-y-Gwy, a terrace of more than two miles long. To
the east appears the beautiful deep vale of Llanrwst, with Conway in the
termination.