Wild Wales Part 35

"I speak English, senor," said the man, "perfectly well."

"Then how in the name of wonder," said I, speaking English, "came you to answer me in Spanish? I am an Englishman thorough bred."

"I can scarcely tell you how it was, sir," said the man scratching his head, "but I thought I would speak to you in Spanish."

"And why not English?" said I.

"Why, I heard you speaking Welsh," said the man, "and as for an Englishman speaking Welsh-"

"But why not answer me in Welsh?" said I.

"Why, I saw it was not your language, sir," said the man, "and as I had picked up some Spanish I thought it would be but fair to answer you in it."

"But how did you know that I could speak Spanish?" said I.

"I don't know indeed, sir," said the man; "but I looked at you, and something seemed to tell me that you could speak Spanish. I can't tell you how it was, sir," said he, looking me very innocently in the face, "but I was forced to speak Spanish to you. I was indeed!"

"The long and short of it was," said I, "that you took me for a foreigner, and thought that it would be but polite to answer me in a foreign language."

"I dare say it was so, sir," said the man. "I dare say it was just as you say."

"How did you fare in California?" said I.

"Very fairly indeed, sir," said the man. "I made some money there, and brought it home, and with part of it I am building this house."

"I am very happy to hear it," said I, "you are really a remarkable man-few return from California speaking Spanish as you do, and still fewer with money in their pockets."

The poor fellow looked pleased at what I said, more especially at that part of the sentence which touched upon his speaking Spanish well.

Wishing him many years of health and happiness in the house he was building, I left him, and proceeded on my path towards Pentraeth Coch.

After walking some way, I turned round in order to take a last look of a place which had so much interest for me. The mill may be seen from a considerable distance; so may some of the scattered houses, and also the wood which surrounds the house of the ill.u.s.trious Gronwy. Prosperity to Llanfair! and may many a pilgrimage be made to it of the same character as my own.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

Boxing Harry-Mr. Bos-Black Robin-Drovers-Commercial Travellers.

I arrived at the hostelry of Mr. Pritchard without meeting any adventure worthy of being marked down. I went into the little parlour, and, ringing the bell, was presently waited upon by Mrs. Pritchard, a nice matronly woman, whom I had not before seen, of whom I inquired what I could have for dinner.

"This is no great place for meat," said Mrs. Pritchard, "that is fresh meat, for sometimes a fortnight pa.s.ses without anything being killed in the neighbourhood. I am afraid at present there is not a bit of fresh meat to be had. What we can get you for dinner I do not know, unless you are willing to make shift with bacon and eggs."

"I'll tell you what I'll do," said I, "I will have the bacon and eggs with tea and bread-and-b.u.t.ter, not forgetting a pint of ale-in a word, I will box Harry."

"I suppose you are a commercial gent," said Mrs. Pritchard.

"Why do you suppose me a commercial gent?" said I. "Do I look one?"

"Can't say you do much," said Mrs. Pritchard; "you have no rings on your fingers, nor a gilt chain at your waistcoat-pocket, but when you said 'box Harry,' I naturally took you to be one of the commercial gents, for when I was at Liverpool I was told that that was a word of theirs."

"I believe the word properly belongs to them," said I. "I am not one of them; but I learnt it from them, a great many years ago, when I was much amongst them. Those whose employers were in a small way of business, or allowed them insufficient salaries, frequently used to 'box Harry,' that is have a beef-steak, or mutton-chop, or perhaps bacon and eggs, as I am going to have, along with tea and ale instead of the regular dinner of a commercial gentleman, namely, fish, hot joint and fowl, pint of sherry, tart, ale and cheese, and bottle of old port, at the end of all."

Having made arrangements for "boxing Harry" I went into the tap-room, from which I had heard the voice of Mr. Pritchard proceeding during the whole of my conversation with his wife. Here I found the worthy landlord seated with a single customer; both were smoking. The customer instantly arrested my attention. He was a man seemingly about forty years of age with a broad red face, with certain somethings, looking very much like incipient carbuncles, here and there upon it. His eyes were grey and looked rather as if they squinted; his mouth was very wide, and when it opened displayed a set of strong white, uneven teeth. He was dressed in a pepper-and-salt coat of the Newmarket cut, breeches of corduroy and brown top boots, and had on his head a broad, black, coa.r.s.e, low-crowned hat. In his left hand he held a heavy white whale-bone whip with a bra.s.s head. I sat down on a bench nearly opposite to him and the landlord.

"Well," said Mr. Pritchard; "did you find your way to Llanfair?"

"Yes," said I.

"And did you execute the business satisfactorily which led you there?"

said Mr. Pritchard.

"Perfectly," said I.

"Well, what did you give a stone for your live pork?" said his companion glancing up at me, and speaking in a gruff voice.

"I did not buy any live pork," said I; "do you take me for a pig-jobber?"

"Of course," said the man in pepper-and-salt; "who but a pig-jobber could have business at Llanfair?"

"Does Llanfair produce nothing but pigs?" said I.

"Nothing at all," said the man in the pepper-and-salt; "that is nothing worth mentioning. You wouldn't go there for runts, that is if you were in your right senses; if you were in want of runts you would have gone to my parish and have applied to me Mr. Bos; that is if you were in your senses. Wouldn't he, John Pritchard?"

Mr. Pritchard thus appealed to took the pipe out of his mouth, and with some hesitation said that he believed the gentleman neither went to Llanfair for pigs nor black cattle but upon some particular business.

"Well," said Mr. Bos, "it may be so, but I can't conceive how any person, either gentle or simple, could have any business in Anglesey save that business was pigs or cattle."

"The truth is," said I, "I went to Llanfair to see the birth-place of a great man-the cleverest Anglesey ever produced."

"Then you went wrong," said Mr. Bos, "you went to the wrong parish, you should have gone to Penmynnydd; the clebber man of Anglesey was born and buried at Penmynnydd; you may see his tomb in the church."

"You are alluding to Black Robin," said I, "who wrote the ode in praise of Anglesey-yes, he was a very clever young fellow, but excuse me, he was not half such a poet as Gronwy Owen."

"Black Robin," said Mr. Bos, "and Gronow Owen, who the Devil were they?

I never heard of either. I wasn't talking of them, but of the clebberest man the world ever saw. Did you never hear of Owen Tiddir? If you didn't, where did you get your education?"

"I have heard of Owen Tudor," said I, "but never understood that he was particularly clever; handsome he undoubtedly was-but clever-"

"How not clebber?" interrupted Mr. Bos. "If he wasn't clebber, who was clebber? Didn't he marry a great queen, and was not Harry the Eighth his great grandson?"

"Really," said I, "you know a great deal of history."

"I should hope I do," said Mr. Bos. "O, I wasn't at school at Blewmaris for six months for nothing; and I haven't been in Northampton, and in every town in England without learning something of history. With regard to history I may say that few-. Won't you drink?" said he, patronizingly, as he pushed a jug of ale which stood before him on a little table towards me.

Begging politely to be excused on the plea that I was just about to take tea, I asked him in what capacity he had travelled all over England.

"As a drover, to be sure," said Mr. Bos, "and I may say that there are not many in Anglesey better known in England than myself-at any rate I may say that there is not a public-house between here and Worcester at which I am not known."