All Which I Did In The Presence Of The Stout Old Lady, The
Short, Buxom And Bare-Armed Damsel, And
Of John Jones the
Calvinistic weaver of Llangollen, all of whom listened patiently
and approvingly, though the rain was pouring
Down upon them, and
the branches of the trees and the tops of the tall nettles,
agitated by the gusts from the mountain hollows, were beating in
their faces, for enthusiasm is never scoffed at by the noble
simple-minded, genuine Welsh, whatever treatment it may receive
from the coarse-hearted, sensual, selfish Saxon.
After some time, our party returned to the house - which put me
very much in mind of the farm-houses of the substantial yeomen of
Cornwall, particularly that of my friends at Penquite; a
comfortable fire blazed in the kitchen grate, the floor was
composed of large flags of slate. In the kitchen the old lady
pointed to me the ffon, or walking-stick, of Huw Morris; it was
supported against a beam by three hooks; I took it down and walked
about the kitchen with it; it was a thin polished black stick, with
a crome cut in the shape of an eagle's head; at the end was a brass
fence. The kind creature then produced a sword without a scabbard;
this sword was found by Huw Morris on the mountain - it belonged to
one of Oliver's officers who was killed there. I took the sword,
which was a thin two-edged one, and seemed to be made of very good
steel; it put me in mind of the blades which I had seen at Toledo -
the guard was very slight like those of all rapiers, and the hilt
the common old-fashioned English officer's hilt - there was no rust
on the blade, and it still looked a dangerous sword. A man like
Thistlewood would have whipped it through his adversary in a
twinkling. I asked the old lady if Huw Morris was born in this
house; she said no, but a little farther on at Pont y Meibion; she
said, however, that the ground had belonged to him, and that they
had some of his blood in their veins. I shook her by the hand, and
gave the chubby bare-armed damsel a shilling, pointing to the marks
of the nettle stings on her fat bacon-like arms. She laughed, made
me a curtsey, and said: "Llawer iawn o diolch."
John Jones and I then proceeded to the house at Pont y Meibion,
where we saw two men, one turning a grind-stone, and the other
holding an adze to it. We asked if we were at the house of Huw
Morris, and whether they could tell us anything about him; they
made us no answer but proceeded with their occupation; John Jones
then said that the Gwr Boneddig was very fond of the verses of Huw
Morris, and had come a great way to see the place where he was
born. The wheel now ceased turning, and the man with the adze
turned his face full upon me - he was a stern-looking, dark man,
with black hair, of about forty; after a moment or two he said that
if I chose to walk into the house I should be welcome.
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