It
didn't last long, brother. In less than three minutes I had hit
the Hindity mush, who was a plaguey big fellow, but couldn't fight,
just under the point of the chin, and sent him to the ground with
all his senses gone. My juwa had almost scratched an eye out of
the Hindity mushi, and my chai had sent the Hindity childer
scampering over the green. 'Who has got to quit now?' said I to
the Hindity mush after he had got on his legs, looking like a man
who has been cut down after hanging just a minute and a half. 'Who
has got notice to quit, now, I wonder?' Well, brother, he didn't
say anything, nor did any of them, but after a little time they all
took themselves off, with a cart they had, to the south. Just as
they got to the edge of the green, however, they turned round and
gave a yell which made all our blood run cold. I knew what it
meant, and said, 'This is no place for us.' So we got everything
together and came away and, though the horses were tired, never
stopped till we had got ten miles from the place; and well it was
we acted as we did, for, had we stayed, I have no doubt that a
whole Hindity clan would have been down upon us before morning and
cut our throats."
"Well," said I, "farewell. I can't stay any longer. As it is, I
shall be late at Gutter Vawr."
"Farewell, brother!" said Captain Bosvile; and, giving a cry, he
cracked, his whip and set his horses in motion.
"Won't you give us sixpence to drink?" cried Mrs Bosvile, with a
rather shrill voice.
"Hold your tongue, you she-dog," said Captain Bosvile. "Is that
the way in which you take leave of an old friend? Hold your
tongue, and let the Ingrine gentleman jaw on his way."
I proceeded on my way as fast as I could, for the day was now
closing in. My progress, however, was not very great; for the road
was steep, and was continually becoming more so. In about half-an-
hour I came to a little village, consisting of three or four
houses; one of them, at the door of which several carts were
standing, bore the sign of a tavern.
"What is the name of this place?" said I to a man who was breaking
stones on the road.
"Capel Gwynfa," said he.
Rather surprised at the name, which signifies in English the Chapel
of the place of bliss, I asked the man why it was called so.
"I don't know," said the man.
"Was there ever a chapel here?" said I.
"I don't know, sir; there is none now."
"I daresay there was in the old time," said I to myself, as I went
on, "in which some holy hermit prayed and told his beads, and
occasionally received benighted strangers. What a poetical word
that Gwynfa, place of bliss, is. Owen Pugh uses it in his
translation of 'Paradise Lost' to express Paradise, for he has
rendered the words Paradise Lost by Col Gwynfa - the loss of the
place of bliss. I wonder whether the old scholar picked up the
word here. Not unlikely. Strange fellow that Owen Pugh. Wish I
had seen him. No hope of seeing him now, except in the heavenly
Gwynfa. Wonder whether there is such a place. Tom Payne thinks
there's not. Strange fellow that Tom Payne. Norfolk man. Wish I
had never read him."
Presently I came to a little cottage with a toll-bar. Seeing a
woman standing at the door, I inquired of her the name of the gate.
"Cowslip Gate, sir."
"Has it any Welsh name?"
"None that I know of, sir."
This place was at a considerable altitude, and commanded an
extensive view to the south, west, and north. Heights upon heights
rose behind it to the east. From here the road ran to the south
for a little way nearly level, then turned abruptly to the east,
and was more steep than ever. After the turn, I had a huge chalk
cliff towering over me on the right, and a chalk precipice on my
left. Night was now coming on fast, and, rather to my uneasiness,
masses of mist began to pour down the sides of the mountain. I
hurried on, the road making frequent turnings. Presently the mist
swept down upon me, and was so thick that I could only see a few
yards before me. I was now obliged to slacken my pace, and to
advance with some degree of caution. I moved on in this way for
some time, when suddenly I heard a noise, as if a number of carts
were coming rapidly down the hill. I stopped, and stood with my
back close against the high bank. The noise drew nearer, and in a
minute I saw distinctly through the mist, horses, carts, and forms
of men passing. In one or two cases the wheels appeared to be
within a few inches of my feet. I let the train go by, and then
cried out in English, "Am I right for Gutter Vawr?"
"Hey?" said a voice, after a momentary interval.
"Am I right for Gutter Vawr?" I shouted yet louder.
"Yes sure!" said a voice, probably the same.
Then instantly a much rougher voice cried, "Who the Devil are you?"
I made no answer, but went on, whilst the train continued its way
rumbling down the mountain. At length I gained the top, where the
road turned and led down a steep descent towards the south-west.
It was now quite night, and the mist was of the thickest kind. I
could just see that there was a frightful precipice on my left, so
I kept to the right, hugging the side of the hill.
