At about eight in the
morning I arose, returned to the inn, breakfasted, and departed for
Beth Gelert by way of Caernarvon.
It was Sunday, and I had originally intended to pass the day at
Bangor, and to attend divine service twice at the Cathedral, but I
found myself so very uncomfortable, owing to the crowd of
interlopers, that I determined to proceed on my journey without
delay; making up my mind, however, to enter the first church I
should meet in which service was being performed; for it is really
not good to travel on the Sunday without going into a place of
worship.
The day was sunny and fiercely hot, as all the days had lately
been. In about an hour I arrived at Port Dyn Norwig: it stood on
the right side of the road. The name of this place, which I had
heard from the coachman who drove my family and me to Caernarvon
and Llanberis a few days before, had excited my curiosity with
respect to it, as it signifies the Port of the Norway man, so I now
turned aside to examine it. "No doubt," said I to myself, "the
place derives its name from the piratical Danes and Norse having
resorted to it in the old time." Port Dyn Norwig seems to consist
of a creek, a staithe, and about a hundred houses: a few small
vessels were lying at the staithe. I stood about ten minutes upon
it staring about, and then feeling rather oppressed by the heat of
the sun, I bent my way to a small house which bore a sign, and from
which a loud noise of voices proceeded.
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