"Ah, landlord!" said I; "whither bound?"
"To Rhiwabon," said he, huskily, "for a pint."
"Is the ale so good at Rhiwabon," said I, "that you leave home for
it?"
"No," said he, rather shortly, "there's not a glass of good ale in
Rhiwabon."
"Then why do you go thither?" said I.
"Because a pint of bad liquor abroad is better than a quart of good
at home," said the landlord, reeling against the hedge.
"There are many in a higher station than you who act upon that
principle," thought I to myself as I passed on.
I soon reached Rhiwabon. There was a prodigious noise in the
public-houses as I passed through it. "Colliers carousing," said
I. "Well, I shall not go amongst them to preach temperance, though
perhaps in strict duty I ought." At the end of the town, instead
of taking the road on the left side of the church, I took that on
the right. It was not till I had proceeded nearly a mile that I
began to be apprehensive that I had mistaken the way. Hearing some
people coming towards me on the road I waited till they came up;
they proved to be a man and a woman. On my inquiring whether I was
right for Llangollen, the former told me that I was not, and in
order to get there it was necessary that I should return to
Rhiwabon. I instantly turned round. About half-way back I met a
man who asked me in English where I was hurrying to. I said to
Rhiwabon, in order to get to Llangollen. "Well, then," said he,
"you need not return to Rhiwabon - yonder is a short cut across the
fields," and he pointed to a gate. I thanked him, and said I would
go by it; before leaving him I asked to what place the road led
which I had been following.
"To Pentre Castren," he replied. I struck across the fields and
should probably have tumbled half-a-dozen times over pales and the
like, but for the light of the Cefn furnaces before me which cast
their red glow upon my path. I debauched upon the Llangollen road
near to the tramway leading to the collieries. Two enormous sheets
of flame shot up high into the air from ovens, illumining two
spectral chimneys as high as steeples, also smoky buildings, and
grimy figures moving about. There was a clanging of engines, a
noise of shovels and a falling of coals truly horrible. The glare
was so great that I could distinctly see the minutest lines upon my
hand. Advancing along the tramway I obtained a nearer view of the
hellish buildings, the chimneys, and the demoniac figures. It was
just such a scene as one of those described by Ellis Wynn in his
Vision of Hell. Feeling my eyes scorching I turned away, and
proceeded towards Llangollen, sometimes on the muddy road,
sometimes on the dangerous causeway.
