Wild Wales Part 59

"That's he," said I.

"He's a clever one," said the man. "I suppose by your knowing these people you are a drover or a horse-dealer. Yes," said he, turning half-round in his saddle and looking at me, "you are a horse-dealer. I remember you well now, and once sold a horse to you at Chelmsford."

"I am no horse-dealer," said I, "nor did I ever buy a horse at Chelmsford. I see you have been about England. Have you ever been in Norfolk or Suffolk?"

"No," said the man, "but I know something of Suffolk. I have an uncle there."

"Whereabouts in Suffolk?" said I.

"At a place called -," said the man.

"In what line of business?" said I.

"In none at all; he is a clergyman."

"Shall I tell you his name?" said I.

"It is not likely you should know his name," said the man.

"Nevertheless," said I, "I will tell it you-his name was -."

"Well," said the man, "sure enough that is his name."

"It was his name," said I, "but I am sorry to tell you he is no more.

To-day is Sat.u.r.day. He died last Tuesday week, and was probably buried last Monday. An excellent man was Dr. H. O. A credit to his country and to his order."

The man was silent for some time, and then said with a softer voice, and a very different manner from that he had used before, "I never saw him but once, and that was more than twenty years ago-but I have heard say that he was an excellent man-I see, sir, that you are a clergyman."

"I am no clergyman," said I, "but I knew your uncle and prized him. What was his native place?"

"Corwen," said the man; then taking out his handkerchief, he wiped his eyes, and said with a faltering voice, "This will be heavy news there."

We were now past the monastery, and bidding farewell, I descended to the ca.n.a.l, and returned home by its bank, whilst the Welsh drover, the nephew of the learned, eloquent and exemplary Welsh doctor, pursued with his servant and animals his way by the high road to Llangollen.

Many sons of Welsh yeomen brought up to the Church have become ornaments of it in distant Saxon land, but few-very few-have by learning, eloquence and Christian virtues, reflected so much l.u.s.tre upon it as Hugh O- of Corwen.

CHAPTER LVIII

Sunday Night-Sleep, Sin, and Old Age-The Dream-Lanikin Figure-A Literary Purchase.

The Sunday morning was a gloomy one. I attended service at church with my family. The service was in English, and the younger Mr. E- preached.

The text I have forgotten, but I remember perfectly well that the sermon was scriptural and elegant. When we came out the rain was falling in torrents. Neither I nor my family went to church in the afternoon. I, however, attended the evening service, which is always in Welsh. The elder Mr. E- preached. Text, 2 Cor. x. 5. The sermon was an admirable one, admonitory, pathetic and highly eloquent; I went home very much edified, and edified my wife and Henrietta, by repeating to them in English the greater part of the discourse which I had been listening to in Welsh. After supper, in which I did not join, for I never take supper, provided I have taken dinner, they went to bed, whilst I remained seated before the fire, with my back near the table, and my eyes fixed upon the embers, which were rapidly expiring, and in this posture sleep surprised me. Amongst the proverbial sayings of the Welsh, which are chiefly preserved in the shape of triads, is the following one: "Three things come unawares upon a man-sleep, sin, and old age." This saying holds sometimes good with respect to sleep and old age, but never with respect to sin. Sin does not come unawares upon a man; G.o.d is just, and would never punish a man as He always does for being overcome by sin, if sin were able to take him unawares; and neither sleep nor old age always come unawares upon a man. People frequently feel themselves going to sleep, and feel old age stealing upon them; though there can be no doubt that sleep and old age sometimes come unawares-old age came unawares upon me; it was only the other day that I was aware that I was old, though I had long been old, and sleep came unawares upon me in that chair in which I had sat down without the slightest thought of sleeping. And there as I sat I had a dream-what did I dream about? the sermon, musing upon which I had been overcome by sleep? not a bit! I dreamt about a widely different matter. Methought I was in Llangollen fair, in the place where the pigs were sold, in the midst of Welsh drovers, immense hogs and immense men, whom I took to be the gents of Wolverhampton. What huge fellows they were! almost as huge as the hogs for which they higgled; the generality of them dressed in brown sporting coats, drab breeches, yellow-topped boots, splashed all over with mud, and with low-crowned, broad-brimmed hats. One enormous fellow particularly caught my notice. I guessed he must have weighed at least eleven score, he had a half-ruddy, half-tallowy face, brown hair, and rather thin whiskers. He was higgling with the proprietor of an immense hog, and as he higgled he wheezed as if he had a difficulty of respiration, and frequently wiped off, with a dirty-white pocket-handkerchief, drops of perspiration which stood upon his face. At last methought he bought the hog for nine pounds, and had no sooner concluded his bargain than, turning round to me, who was standing close by staring at him, he slapped me on the shoulder with a hand of immense weight, crying with a half-piping, half-wheezing voice, "Coom, neighbour, coom, I and thou have often dealt; gi' me noo a poond for my bargain, and it shall be all thy own." I felt in a great rage at his unceremonious behaviour, and owing to the flutter of my spirits whilst I was thinking whether or not I should try and knock him down, I awoke, and found the fire nearly out, and the ecclesiastical cat seated on my shoulders. The creature had not been turned out, as ought to have been, before my wife and daughter retired, and feeling cold, had got upon the table, and thence had sprung upon my back for the sake of the warmth which it knew was to be found there; and no doubt the springing on my shoulders by the ecclesiastical cat was what I took in my dream to be the slap on my shoulders by the Wolverhampton gent.

The day of the fair was dull and gloomy, an exact counterpart of the previous Sat.u.r.day. Owing to some cause, I did not go into the fair till past one o'clock, and then, seeing neither immense hogs nor immense men, I concluded that the gents of Wolverhampton had been there, and after purchasing the larger porkers, had departed with their bargains to their native district. After sauntering about a little time, I returned home.

After dinner I went again into the fair along with my wife; the stock business had long been over, but I observed more stalls than in the morning, and a far greater throng, for the country people for miles round had poured into the little town. By a stall, on which were some poor legs and shoulders of mutton, I perceived the English butcher, whom the Welsh one had attempted to slaughter. I recognised him by a patch which he wore on his cheek. My wife and I went up and inquired how he was. He said that he still felt poorly, but that he hoped he should get round. I asked him if he remembered me; and received for answer that he remembered having seen me when the examination took place into "his matter." I then inquired what had become of his antagonist, and was told that he was in prison awaiting his trial. I gathered from him that he was a native of the Southdown country, and a shepherd by profession; that he had been engaged by the squire of Porkington in Shropshire to look after his sheep, and that he had lived there a year or two, but becoming tired of his situation, he had come to Llangollen, where he had married a Welshwoman, and set up as a butcher. We told him that, as he was our countryman, we should be happy to deal with him sometimes; he, however, received the information with perfect apathy, never so much as saying, "Thank you." He was a tall, lanikin figure, with a pair of large, lack-l.u.s.tre staring eyes, and upon the whole appeared to be good for very little. Leaving him, we went some way up the princ.i.p.al street; presently my wife turned into a shop, and I, observing a little bookstall, went up to it, and began to inspect the books. They were chiefly in Welsh.

Seeing a kind of chap book, which bore on its t.i.tle-page the name of Twm O'r Nant, I took it up. It was called Y Llwyn Celyn, or the Holly Grove, and contained the life and one of the interludes of Tom O' the Dingle, or Thomas Edwards. It purported to be the first of four numbers, each of which, amongst other things, was to contain one of his interludes. The price of the number was one shilling. I questioned the man of the stall about the other numbers, but found that this was the only one which he possessed. Eager, however, to read an interlude of the celebrated Tom, I purchased it, and turned away from the stall. Scarcely had I done so, when I saw a wild-looking woman, with two wild children, looking at me.

The woman curtseyed to me, and I thought I recognised the elder of the two Irish females whom I had seen in the tent on the green meadow near Chester. I was going to address her, but just then my wife called to me from the shop, and I went to her, and when I returned to look for the woman she and her children had disappeared, and though I searched about for her, I could not see her, for which I was sorry, as I wished very much to have some conversation with her about the ways of the Irish wanderers. I was thinking of going to look for her up "Paddy's dingle,"

but my wife, meeting me, begged me to go home with her, as it was getting late. So I went home with my better half, bearing my late literary acquisition in my hand.

That night I sat up very late reading the life of Twm O'r Nant, written by himself in choice Welsh, and his interlude, which was styled "Cyfoeth a Thylody; or, Riches and Poverty." The life I had read in my boyhood in an old Welsh magazine, and I now read it again with great zest, and no wonder, as it is probably the most remarkable autobiography ever penned.

The interlude I had never seen before, nor indeed any of the dramatic pieces of Twm O'r Nant, though I had frequently wished to procure some of them-so I read the present one with great eagerness. Of the life I shall give some account, and also some extracts from it, which will enable the reader to judge of Tom's personal character, and also an abstract of the interlude, from which the reader may form a tolerably correct idea of the poetical powers of him whom his countrymen delight to call "the Welsh Shakespear."

CHAPTER LIX

History of Twm O'r Nant-Eagerness for Learning-The First Interlude-The Cruel Fighter-Raising Wood-The Luckless Hour-Turnpike-Keeping-Death in the Snow-Tom's Great Feat-The Muse a Friend-Strength in Old Age-Resurrection of the Dead.

"I am the first-born of my parents,"-says Thomas Edwards. "They were poor people, and very ignorant. I was brought into the world in a place called Lower Pen Parch.e.l.l, on land which once belonged to the celebrated Iolo Goch. My parents afterwards removed to the Nant (or dingle) near Nantglyn, situated in a place called Coom Pernant. The Nant was the middlemost of three homesteads, which are in the Coom, and are called the Upper, Middle, and Lower Nant; and it so happened that in the Upper Nant there were people who had a boy of about the same age as myself, and forasmuch as they were better to do in the world than my parents, they having only two children, whilst mine had ten, I was called Tom of the Dingle, whilst he was denominated Thomas Williams."

After giving some anecdotes of his childhood, he goes on thus:-"Time pa.s.sed on till I was about eight years old, and then in the summer I was lucky enough to be sent to school for three weeks; and as soon as I had learnt to spell and read a few words, I conceived a mighty desire to learn to write; so I went in quest of elderberries to make me ink, and my first essay in writing was trying to copy on the sides of the leaves of books the letters of the words I read. It happened, however, that a shop in the village caught fire, and the greater part of it was burnt, only a few trifles being saved, and amongst the scorched articles my mother got for a penny a number of sheets of paper burnt at the edges, and sewed them together to serve as copybooks for me. Without loss of time I went to the smith of Waendwysog, who wrote for me the letters on the upper part of the leaves; and careful enough was I to fill the whole paper with scrawlings, which looked for all the world like crows' feet. I went on getting paper and ink, and something to copy, now from this person, and now from that, until I learned to read Welsh and to write it at the same time."

He copied out a great many carols and songs, and the neighbours, observing his fondness for learning, persuaded his father to allow him to go to the village school to learn English. At the end of three weeks, however, his father, considering that he was losing his time, would allow him to go no longer, but took him into the fields, in order that the boy might a.s.sist him in his labour. Nevertheless, Tom would not give up his literary pursuits, but continued scribbling, and copying out songs and carols. When he was about ten he formed an acquaintance with an old man, chapel-reader in Pentre y Foelas, who had a great many old books in his possession, which he allowed Tom to read; he then had the honour of becoming amanuensis to a poet.

"I became very intimate," says he, "with a man who was a poet; he could neither read nor write, but he was a poet by nature, having a muse wonderfully glib at making triplets and quartets. He was nicknamed Tum Tai of the Moor. He made an englyn for me to put in a book, in which I was inserting all the verses I could collect:

"'Tom Evan's the lad for hunting up songs, Tom Evan to whom the best learning belongs; Betwixt his two pasteboards he verses has got, Sufficient to fill the whole country, I wot.'

"I was in the habit of writing my name Tom, or Thomas Evans, before I went to school for a fortnight in order to learn English; but then I altered it into Thomas Edwards, for Evan Edwards was the name of my father, and I should have been making myself a b.a.s.t.a.r.d had I continued calling myself by my first name. However, I had the honour of being secretary to the old poet. When he had made a song, he would keep it in his memory till I came to him. Sometimes after the old man had repeated his composition to me, I would begin to dispute with him, asking whether the thing would not be better another way, and he could hardly keep from flying into a pa.s.sion with me for putting his work to the torture."

It was then the custom for young lads to go about playing what were called interludes, namely, dramatic pieces on religious or moral subjects, written by rustic poets. Shortly after Tom had attained the age of twelve he went about with certain lads of Nantglyn playing these pieces, generally acting the part of a girl, because, as he says, he had the best voice. About this time he wrote an interlude himself, founded on "John Bunyan's Spiritual Courtship," which was, however, stolen from him by a young fellow from Anglesey, along with the greater part of the poems and pieces which he had copied. This affair at first very much disheartened Tom; plucking up his spirits, however, he went on composing, and soon acquired amongst his neighbours the t.i.tle of "the poet," to the great mortification of his parents, who were anxious to see him become an industrious husbandman.

"Before I was quite fourteen," says he, "I had made another interlude; but when my father and mother heard about it, they did all they could to induce me to destroy it. However, I would not burn it, but gave it to Hugh of Llangwin, a celebrated poet of the time, who took it to Llandyrnog, where he sold it for ten shillings to the lads of the place, who performed it the following summer; but I never got anything for my labour, save a sup of ale from the players when I met them. This at the heel of other things would have induced me to give up poetry, had it been in the power of anything to do so. I made two interludes," he continues, "one for the people of Llanbedr, in the Vale of Clwyd, and the other for the lads of Llanarmon in Yale, one on the subject of Naaman's leprosy, and the other about hypocrisy, which was a refashionment of the work of Richard Parry of Ddiserth. When I was young I had such a rage, or madness, for poetising, that I would make a song on almost anything I saw-and it was a mercy that many did not kill me, or break my bones, on account of my evil tongue. My parents often told me I should have some mischief done me if I went on in the way in which I was going. Once on a time, being with some companions as bad as myself, I happened to use some very free language in a place where three lovers were with a young la.s.s of my neighbourhood, who lived at a place called Ty Celyn, with whom they kept company. I said in discourse that they were the c.o.c.ks of Ty Celyn.

The girl heard me, and conceived a spite against me on account of my scurrilous language. She had a brother, who was a cruel fighter; he took the part of his sister, and determined to chastise me. One Sunday evening he shouted to me as I was coming from Nantgyln-our ways were the same till we got nearly home-he had determined to give me a thrashing, and he had with him a piece of oak stick just suited for the purpose.

After we had taunted each other for some time, as we went along, he flung his stick on the ground, and stripped himself stark naked. I took off my hat and my neckcloth, and took his stick in my hand; whereupon, running to the hedge, he took a stake, and straight we set to like two furies.

After fighting for some time, our sticks were shivered to pieces and quite short; sometimes we were upon the ground, but did not give up fighting on that account. Many people came up and would fain have parted us, but we would by no means let them. At last we agreed to go and pull fresh stakes, and then we went at it again, until he could no longer stand. The marks of this battle are upon him and me to this day. At last, covered with a gore of blood, he was dragged home by his neighbours. He was in a dreadful condition, and many thought he would die. On the morrow there came an alarm that he was dead, whereupon I escaped across the mountain to Pentre y Foelas, to the old man Sion Dafydd, to read his old books."

After staying there a little time, and getting his wounds tended by an old woman, he departed, and skulked about in various places, doing now and then a little work, until, hearing his adversary was recovering, he returned to his home. He went on writing and performing interludes till he fell in love with a young woman rather religiously inclined, whom he married in the year 1763, when he was in his twenty-fourth year. The young couple settled down on a little place near the town of Denbigh, called Ale Fowlio. They kept three cows and four horses. The wife superintended the cows, and Tom with his horses carried wood from Gwenynos to Ruddlan, and soon excelled all other carters "in loading, and in everything connected with the management of wood." Tom, in the pride of his heart, must needs be helping his fellow-carriers, whilst labouring with them in the forests, till his wife told him he was a fool for his pains, and advised him to go and load in the afternoon, when n.o.body would be about, offering to go and help him. He listened to her advice, and took her with him.

"The dear creature," says he, "a.s.sisted me for some time, but as she was with child, and on that account not exactly fit to turn the roll of the crane with levers of iron, I formed the plan of hooking the horses to the rope, in order to raise up the wood which was to be loaded, and by long teaching the horses to pull and to stop, I contrived to make loading a much easier task, both to my wife and myself. Now this was the first hooking of horses to the rope of the crane which was ever done either in Wales or England. Subsequently I had plenty of leisure and rest, instead of toiling amidst other carriers."

Leaving Ale Fowlio, he took up his abode nearer to Denbigh, and continued carrying wood. Several of his horses died, and he was soon in difficulties, and was glad to accept an invitation from certain miners of the county of Flint to go and play them an interlude. As he was playing them one called "A Vision of the Course of the World," which he had written for the occasion, and which was founded on, and named after, the first part of the work of Master Ellis Wyn, he was arrested at the suit of one Mostyn of Calcoed. He, however, got bail, and partly by carrying, and partly by playing interludes, soon raised enough money to pay his debt. He then made another interlude, called "Riches and Poverty," by which he gained a great deal of money. He then wrote two others, one called "The Three a.s.sociates of Man, namely the World, Nature, and Conscience;" the other ent.i.tled "The King, the Justice, the Bishop and the Husbandman," both of which he and certain of his companions acted with great success. After he had made all that he could by acting these pieces, he printed them. When printed, they had a considerable sale, and Tom was soon able to set up again as a carter. He went on carting and carrying for upwards of twelve years, at the end of which time he was worth, with one thing and the other, upwards of three hundred pounds, which was considered a very considerable property about ninety years ago in Wales. He then, in a luckless hour, "when," to use his own words, "he was at leisure at home, like King David on the top of his house," mixed himself up with the concerns of an uncle of his, a brother of his father.

He first became bail for him, and subsequently made himself answerable for the amount of a bill, due by his uncle to a lawyer. His becoming answerable for the bill nearly proved the utter ruin of our hero. His uncle failed, and left him to pay it. The lawyer took out a writ against him. It would have been well for Tom if he had paid the money at once, but he went on dallying and compromising with the lawyer, till he became terribly involved in his web. To increase his difficulties, work became slack; so at last he packed his things upon his carts, and with his family, consisting of his wife and three daughters, fled into Montgomeryshire. The lawyer, however, soon got information of his whereabout, and threatened to arrest him. Tom, after trying in vain to arrange matters with him, fled into South Wales, to Carmarthenshire, where he carried wood for a timber-merchant, and kept a turnpike gate, which belonged to the same individual. But the "old cancer" still followed him, and his horses were seized for the debt. His neighbours, however, a.s.sisted him, and bought the horses in at a low price when they were put up for sale, and restored them to him, for what they had given.

Even then the matter was not satisfactorily settled, for, years afterwards, on the decease of Tom's father, the lawyer seized upon the property, which by law descended to Tom O'r Nant, and turned his poor old mother out upon the cold mountain side.

Many strange adventures occurred to Tom in South Wales, but those which befell him whilst officiating as a turnpike-keeper were certainly the most extraordinary. If what he says be true, as of course it is-for who shall presume to doubt Tom O' the Dingle's veracity?-whosoever fills the office of turnpike-keeper in Wild Wales should be a person of very considerable nerve.

"We were in the habit of seeing," says Tom, "plenty of pa.s.sengers going through the gate without paying toll; I mean such things as are called phantoms, or illusions-sometimes there were hea.r.s.es and mourning coaches, sometimes funeral processions on foot, the whole to be seen as distinctly as anything could be seen, especially at night-time. I saw myself on a certain night a hea.r.s.e go through the gate whilst it was shut; I saw the horses and the harness, the postilion, and the coachman, and the tufts of hair such as are seen on the tops of hea.r.s.es, and I saw the wheels scattering the stones in the road, just as other wheels would have done.

Then I saw a funeral of the same character, for all the world like a real funeral; there was the bier and the black drapery. I have seen more than one. If a young man was to be buried there would be a white sheet, or something that looked like one-and sometimes I have seen a flaring candle going past.

"Once a traveller pa.s.sing through the gate called out to me: 'Look!

yonder is a corpse candle coming through the fields beside the highway.'

So we paid attention to it as it moved, making apparently towards the church from the other side. Sometimes it would be quite near the road, another time some way into the fields. And sure enough after the lapse of a little time a body was brought by exactly the same route by which the candle had come, owing to the proper road being blocked up with snow.