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.
CHAPTER LXXXVIII
The Guide - The Great Plynlimmon - A Dangerous Path - Source of the
Rheidol - Source of the Severn - Pennillion - Old Times and New -
The Corpse Candle - Supper.
LEAVING the inn, my guide and myself began to ascend a steep hill
just behind it. When we were about halfway up I asked my
companion, who spoke very fair English, why the place was called
the Castle.
"Because, sir," said he, "there was a castle here in the old time."
"Whereabouts was it?" said I.
"Yonder," said the man, standing still and pointing to the right.
"Don't you see yonder brown spot in the valley? There the castle
stood."
"But are there no remains of it?" said I. "I can see nothing but a
brown spot."
"There are none, sir; but there a castle once stood, and from it
the place we came from had its name, and likewise the river that
runs down to Pont Erwyd."
"And who lived there?" said I.
"I don't know, sir," said the man; "but I suppose they were grand
people, or they would not have lived in a castle."
After ascending the hill and passing over its top, we went down its
western side and soon came to a black, frightful bog between two
hills. Beyond the bog and at some distance to the west of the two
hills rose a brown mountain, not abruptly, but gradually, and
looking more like what the Welsh call a rhiw, or slope, than a
mynydd, or mountain.
"That, sir," said my guide, "is the grand Plynlimmon."
"It does not look much of a hill," said I.
"We are on very high ground, sir, or it would look much higher. I
question, upon the whole, whether there is a higher hill in the
world. God bless Pumlummon Mawr!" said he, looking with reverence
towards the hill. "I am sure I have a right to say so, for many is
the good crown I have got by showing gentlefolks like yourself to
the top of him."
"You talk of Plynlimmon Mawr, or the great Plynlymmon," said I;
"where are the small ones?"
"Yonder they are," said the guide, pointing to two hills towards
the north; "one is Plynlimmon Canol, and the other Plynlimmon Bach
- the middle and the small Plynlimmon."
"Pumlummon," said I, "means five summits. You have pointed out
only three; now, where are the other two?"
"Those two hills which we have just passed make up the five.
However, I will tell your worship that there is a sixth summit.
Don't you see that small hill connected with the big Pumlummon, on
the right?"
"I see it very clearly," said I.
"Well, your worship, that's called Bryn y Llo - the Hill of the
Calf, or the Calf Plynlimmon, which makes the sixth summit."
"Very good," said I, "and perfectly satisfactory. Now let us
ascend the Big Pumlummon."
In about a quarter of an hour we reached the summit of the hill,
where stood a large carn or heap of stones. I got upon the top and
looked around me.
A mountainous wilderness extended on every side, a waste of russet
coloured hills, with here and there a black, craggy summit. No
signs of life or cultivation were to be discovered, and the eye
might search in vain for a grove or even a single tree. The scene
would have been cheerless in the extreme had not a bright sun
lighted up the landscape.
"This does not seem to be a country of much society," said I to my
guide.
"It is not, sir. The nearest house is the inn we came from, which
is now three miles behind us. Straight before you there is not one
for at least ten, and on either side it is an anialwch to a vast
distance.
