An old Anglesea bard, rather given to bombast, wishing to extol the
abundant cheer of his native isle said: "The hills of Ireland are
blackened by the smoke from the kitchens of Mona." With much more
propriety might a bard of the banks of the Taf, who should wish to
apologise for the rather smutty appearance of his native vale
exclaim: "The hills around the Taf once so green are blackened by
the smoke from the chimneys of Merthyr." The town is large and
populous. The inhabitants for the most part are Welsh, and Welsh
is the language generally spoken, though all have some knowledge of
English. The houses are in general low and mean, and built of
rough grey stone. Merthyr, however, can show several remarkable
edifices, though of a gloomy horrid Satanic character. There is
the hall of the Iron, with its arches, from whence proceeds
incessantly a thundering noise of hammers. Then there is an
edifice at the foot of a mountain, half way up the side of which is
a blasted forest and on the top an enormous crag. A truly
wonderful edifice it is, such as Bos would have imagined had he
wanted to paint the palace of Satan. There it stands: a house of
reddish brick with a slate roof - four horrid black towers behind,
two of them belching forth smoke and flame from their tops - holes
like pigeon holes here and there - two immense white chimneys
standing by themselves. What edifice can that be of such strange
mad details? I ought to have put that question to some one in
Tydvil, but did not, though I stood staring at the diabolical
structure with my mouth open. It is of no use putting the question
to myself here.
After strolling about for some two hours with my hands in my
pockets, I returned to my inn, called for a glass of ale, paid my
reckoning, flung my satchel over my shoulder, and departed.
CHAPTER CV
Start for Caerfili - Johanna Colgan - Alms-Giving - The Monstrous
Female - The Evil Prayer - The Next Day - The Aifrionn - Unclean
Spirits - Expectation - Wreaking Vengeance - A decent Alms.
I LEFT Merthyr about twelve o'clock for Caerfili. My course lay
along the valley to the south-east. I passed a large village
called Troed y Rhiw, or the foot of the slope, from its being at
the foot of a lofty elevation, which stands on the left-hand side
of the road, and was speeding onward fast, with the Taf at some
distance on my right, when I saw a strange-looking woman advancing
towards me. She seemed between forty and fifty, was bare-footed
and bare-headed, with grizzled hair hanging in elf locks, and was
dressed in rags and tatters. When about ten yards from me, she
pitched forward, gave three or four grotesque tumbles, heels over
head, then standing bolt upright, about a yard before me, raised
her right arm, and shouted in a most discordant voice - "Give me an
alms, for the glory of God!"
I stood still, quite confounded. Presently, however, recovering
myself, I said:- "Really, I don't think it would be for the glory
of God to give you alms."
"Ye don't! Then, Biadh an taifrionn - however, I'll give ye a
chance yet. Am I to get my alms or not?"
"Before I give you alms I must know something about you. Who are
you?"
"Who am I? Who should I be but Johanna Colgan, a bedivilled woman
from the county of Limerick?"
"And how did you become bedevilled?"
"Because a woman something like myself said an evil prayer over me
for not giving her an alms, which prayer I have at my tongue's end,
and unless I get my alms will say over you. So for your own sake,
honey, give me my alms, and let me go on my way."
"Oh, I am not to be frightened by evil prayers! I shall give you
nothing till I hear all about you."
"If I tell ye all about me will ye give me an alms?"
"Well, I have no objection to give you something if you tell me
your story."
"Will ye give me a dacent alms?"
"Oh, you must leave the amount to my free will and pleasure. I
shall give you what I think fit."
"Well, so ye shall, honey; and I make no doubt ye will give me a
dacent alms, for I like the look of ye, and knew ye to be an
Irishman half a mile off. Only four years ago, instead of being a
bedivilled woman, tumbling about the world, I was as quiet and
respectable a widow as could be found in the county of Limerick. I
had a nice little farm at an aisy rint, horses, cows, pigs, and
servants, and, what was better than all, a couple of fine sons, who
were a help and comfort to me. But my black day was not far off.
I was a mighty charitable woman, and always willing to give to the
bacahs and other beggars that came about. Every morning, before I
opened my door, I got ready the alms which I intended to give away
in the course of the day to those that should ask for them, and I
made so good a preparation that, though plenty of cripples and
other unfortunates wandering through the world came to me every
day, part of the alms was sure to remain upon my hands every night
when I closed my door. The alms which I gave away consisted of
meal; and I had always a number of small measures of meal standing
ready on a board, one of which I used to empty into the poke of
every bacah or other unfortunate who used to place himself at the
side of my door and cry out 'Ave Maria!' or 'In the name of God!'
Well, one morning I sat within my door spinning, with a little bit
of colleen beside me who waited upon me as servant.
