Part 1

Transcribed from the 1826 E. Smith & Co. (second) edition by David Price, email [email protected]

[Picture: Public domain book cover]

A TRIP TO THE CHAIN-BRIDGE, NEAR BANGOR, AND OTHER PARTS OF NORTH WALES,

INCLUDING

BEAUMARIS, CARNARVON, THE LAKES OF LLANBERRIS, CONWAY, LLANRWST, LLANGOLLEN, &c.

FROM THE TWENTY-SIXTH TO THE TWENTY-NINTH JULY, 1825.

BY A GENTLEMAN OF LIVERPOOL.

First printed in the Kaleidoscope of August 2d, 9th, and 16th of the same year, and now reprinted; together with

AN APPENDIX,

CONTAINING

SOME PARTICULARS OF REMARKABLE OBJECTS AND PLACES MENTIONED IN “THE TRIP.”

* * * * *

_SECOND EDITION_.

* * * * *

LIVERPOOL: PRINTED BY E. SMITH AND CO. 75, LORD-STREET, AND SOLD BY THE BOOKSELLERS 1826.

[PRICE SIXPENCE.]

* * * * *

[Picture: Graphic of hand pointing right] The following lines were principally written in the short intervals of a rapid journey of business in this county, some days after my return from Wales, and without my having the assistance of any memoranda whatever taken during “the Trip.”

_Liverpool_.

J. S.

A TRIP TO THE CHAIN-BRIDGE, _&c._ _&c._

I had never been in Wales beyond the border counties of Flint, Denbigh, and Montgomery, and was, of course, a stranger to the best scenery of the Principality. Business, however, required that I should visit some parts of the north-west, and as curiosity prompted me to see the new Chain-bridge over the straits of Menai, I determined upon commencing my trip from Liverpool by the Llewellyn steam-packet; and, accordingly, on Tuesday, the 26th July, about ten o’clock in the forenoon, I embarked on board that fine vessel, which was just on the point of weighing anchor. The river Mersey was a scene of general bustle, the liveliness of which was heightened by the brightness of the sun, and the beauty of a fleecy sky. A light breeze from the northward gave freshness to the air; every appearance was favourable to such an excursion as I had projected; and a goodly company, assembling on all parts of the vessel’s deck, indicated that “_all the world and his wife_” were in a rambling humour this summer. Amongst other objects on the river an arrival from Dublin suddenly attracted universal attention. A steam-ship came close past us with such a cargo as I never before beheld, although in the summer season there may be many such. There were probably between seven and eight hundred persons, chiefly Irish harvest-labourers, standing on the deck of the vessel, as closely packed as the crowd at a town meeting; and so much did this upper weight preponderate in the balance against the cargo (if any) below, that the vessel continually heeled, or swayed, from one side to the other to such a degree, that her gangway ladder at one moment touched a boat alongside, and at another arose out of the boatman’s reach. The crowd on board were alternately visible, as on an inclined plane, towards each shore, as if the vessel were proud of its miserable cargo, and was determined that the farmers both in Lancashire and Cheshire, should be apprized of the arrival of the poor reapers. It was an advertisement for them, free of duty. In a few minutes our engine commenced its herculean labours, and, amidst the exchange of kind wavings of the hand between us and our friends on shore, we began, not to sail, for we had no canvas extended, but, to use a sailor’s phrase, to “_plough the deep_.”

The passengers on board were about a hundred and seventy in number, chiefly of the most respectable classes. Sir R. W. and a part of his family were under the awning on the quarterdeck, as was also a worthy alderman, T. C. and many others. Among those on the fore part of the deck was the veteran comedian R., the author of that amusing work “The Itinerant.” A Dublin gentleman and myself became his companions till we reached Beaumaris, and we found, as I frequently have found, much pleasure in his agreeable society. About the middle of the deck was stationed a small but good band of musicians, who, from time to time, performed almost all the favourite airs of the present day; and among the passengers standing about the bowsprit was a small knot of friends, apparently choristers in some country church, who, in the intervals between the other musical performances, sang, in very good style, several chaunts, psalms, and anthems. Ranged under the fore gunwale of the vessel, and sitting on the deck, were several Welsh market-women; who, as there were no novel sights for them to gaze upon, seemed disposed to “while away the sunny day” in slumber, or in quiet conversation with each other; while the busier throng about them, many of whom had never before been on the “_salt sea ocean_,” were eagerly watching for objects worthy of notice and inquiry. The scenery on both sides of the river, the Rock Perch, the rocks and caverns called the Red Noses, the several lighthouses, the vessels approaching or departing, or gliding on the horizon, the Floating-light, the Welsh mountains, and the clear deep green colour of the sea, became successively the topics of observation, and the sources of pleasure; nor, amongst a select few, were Helbre Island and “King Robert” forgotten. The singers attended to their singing, the musicians to their music, and the cook to his cooking. Appetite was the principal ailment on board, although, gently be it spoken, some few of the passengers, smooth as the sea was, were seen creeping into corners, and “casting up their accounts.” In general, the ready snack, and the bottle of porter, were in great requisition; while a considerable number of persons sat down in the cabin to a regular half-crown dinner, and a glass of good port. All this time we made great progress on the water, a couple of sails having been recently hoisted in aid of our steam-power; and we soon passed that grand object, the Great Ormshead, which must be terrific indeed to the crew of any vessel placed near its rugged and threatening front, in a strong north-west wind. Penmaen-mawr soon appeared on our left, bold and rugged as the Ormshead, but much loftier. Like an ornamental band passing along his front, a little above his base, we saw what was pointed out to us as the great mail-road between Conway and Bangor. Neither this road, nor the hill itself, appeared so elevated as I expected; but this I afterwards found was owing to our great distance from the shore, which, although several miles off, appeared very near; the sea being quite smooth, and there being no intermediate objects by which we could calculate distances. Puffin Island, with the east coast of Anglesea behind it, was now right a-head of us, and the opening of Beaumaris Bay a little to the left. We proceeded in that direction, passing large flights of puffins, and shortly entered that beautiful bay, with Penrhyn Castle on our left; Beaumaris, its Castle, and Lady Bulkeley’s Park on the right; and the town of Bangor, and the straits of Menai immediately before us. Opposite Beaumaris, at a quarter before five o’clock, the packet stopped a few minutes, boats approached us, and I and several other persons landed, including Sir R. W., whose carriage was waiting to convey him, and the ladies with him, to his seat in the neighbourhood; and including also Mr. M., his two sisters, and two other young ladies, whom I shall have occasion frequently to mention again. The neat little town of Beaumaris, (the capital of Anglesea,) the Castle, which is a beautiful ruin, and the adjoining Park, are well worth the stranger’s attention. Being anxious to proceed further that night, and having transacted some business in the town, and taken tea at the King’s Arms, I was ready at seven o’clock to join a party, if I could meet with one, in hiring a boat for Bangor, three miles across the water, or to the Chain-bridge, two miles further, or to Carnarvon, seven miles beyond it. The boatmen spoke of a party going to Bangor, but not further, that night. I met the party coming to the beach. It was Mr. M. and the four ladies. They seemed pleased, and I am sure I was, to find that we were all going the same way, and they politely received me as one of their party. I pointed out to them a glimpse of the Chain-bridge in the distance, and proposed that, if the boatmen would take us, we should proceed through the straits all the way to Carnarvon that night, the wind and tide being completely favourable. This was instantly and gladly agreed to, as suiting, and, indeed, advancing their purposes as well as mine; fifteen silvery reasons satisfied the boatmen; and our merrily-disposed little party of six were seated in the boat, the sails set, and the oars at work, at a quarter-past seven o’clock.

It was a lovely evening. The ladies’ parasols were, at first, in requisition; but, in a short time, the higher ground of the Anglesea coast afforded us a more general shade, and then the beauty of the scene around us was indescribable. On our left, Port Penrhyn, with its immense inn, and the city of Bangor in the hollow, were broadly lighted by the declining sun. The tints on the neighbouring mountains were finer than I ever beheld; and they were so rich, that a faithful picture of them would be considered too highly coloured. Every moment brought us nearer to the stupendous work I have before alluded to—the Chain-bridge, which I shall hereafter more particularly describe. Near its western extremity lay, at anchor, in calm repose, the steam-packet which had recently been so busily employed. We looked up to the suspended chain-work of the bridge, which, at first, had appeared light and elegant, but which, the nearer we approached, assumed a heavier and grander appearance; and we saw several persons moving to and fro upon it, whose apparently diminutive stature and dangerous situation surprised, and almost pained us. The boatmen here brailed up the sails, preparatory to our passing the _swellies_, as they called them, which are a series of circling eddies, caused by abrupt rocks under the water, just beyond the new bridge, and about the centre of the straits. We passed under the lofty chains of the bridge, amazed with their height and length, and with the vast strength of the granite pillars and arches on each shore, from which the chains are suspended. We soon entered the swellies, where circles, caused by the under-rocks, whirled on every side, the surface of the water being broken in places by other rocks which rose above its level. Here the stream, however, was still in our favour, and was so exceedingly rapid that we felt as if moved along by an unseen power. In a short time we came into almost still water, but the current gradually increased again: we had come, so far, with the stream from the sea at Beaumaris; the tide was now running from the centre of the straits to the sea at Carnarvon, the breeze was as before, and our canvas was again spread, so that we were not detained by wind or wave a single moment. The column, erected in honour of the Marquis of Anglesea, here formed a prominent object on a hill towards the west; and not far from us the splendid seat of the Marquis was the grace and ornament of the lower and richly-wooded ground. The appearance of the glassy water was now particularly fine. The red clouds above us flung down the rays which they caught from the setting sun, and their reflection represented rocks of bright coral beneath us, while the rising moon cast her pale light into the wave, forming the semblance of a pyramidal rock of polished silver. A number of young cranes stood on the shore, at respectful distances from each other, earnestly gazing at us as we glided smoothly by. Observations on all we witnessed, together with anecdote and poetry, prevailed amongst us throughout the scene; and never, certainly, were better timed the vocal efforts of some of the party, in duets, such as “_Flow on_, _thou shining river_,” “_The Canadian Boat Song_,” and “_O come to me when day-light sets_.” Foreign scenery was described; poets and travellers were quoted; and our stores of conversation were increased by the circumstance that the brother of one of the ladies present had been with the lamented Belzoni, in the latter days, and at the death, of that enterprising traveller. We appeared to be upon a lake in fairy land; and after two hours of the most delightful sailing I ever enjoyed, we stepped upon shore under the picturesque walls of Carnarvon. At Parry’s handsome and well situated hotel we were most comfortably accommodated; our sitting-room overlooked the “moonlight sea,” and commanded a view of Anglesea. The ladies, after partaking with us of a slight refreshment, retired to rest, while Mr. M. and myself proceeded to view the celebrated ruins of Carnarvon Castle, which were then beautifully illuminated by the sweet heavenly lamp of night. These ruins have been so often described, that it is unnecessary for me to say more of them than that they very far exceed in extent and majesty of appearance any idea I had formed of them from paintings or description. They were truly interesting, and almost awful, to contemplate. Returning to our inn, we passed through the north gate, near which some vessels are being built and repaired; and here both of us were struck with a most extraordinary appearance in the sky. The last red tinges were fading from the western clouds; but an arch, apparently of sun-light, seemed to hang over the scene of the recent departure of day. The arch was about fifty degrees broad, and twenty in height, from the horizon. It was very bright, and strongly defined; its ends appeared to rest upon two bright, but ill defined and short, pillars, while the centre was supported by a magnificent column of vivid light. Between the pillars, all was total darkness for several moments, but in a short time streaks of light in parallel lines to the pillars, began to descend from the arch, from south to north; the whole then vanished gradually but rapidly, and the still and silvery moonlight now extended, unopposed, to where a scene had just occurred more strange, varied, beautiful, and flitting, than even the powers of magic could adequately describe. It was now near eleven o’clock, and we adjourned to our respective apartments, wondering at how much we had done, and how much we had seen to admire, in the twelve short hours which had elapsed since we left the Mersey.

Next morning the weather was still extremely fine, and at an early hour we accompanied the ladies in visiting the Castle, the interior of which, the gloomy passages, the massy towers, and the fine view from the top, afforded us much scope for speculative observation, and for pretty active exertion. Of course, the little guide did not omit to point out the room in which Edward II. was born, nor which were the courtly and which the military departments of the place.

After our party had enjoyed a substantial breakfast at the hotel, I proceeded into the town for an hour or two to transact some business, the only remarkable feature of which was my receiving payment of a debt of above nine years’ standing, from a person I never knew. During this time a handsome open sociable and a pair of horses were got ready, for a few hours’ excursion. The hotels at Carnarvon are well supplied with convenient cars and sociables, the latter being adapted to the comfortable accommodation of six persons. By the bye, I may here mention, that six appears to be the best number for a party making a tour such as that I am describing; for whether in boats, or in vehicles on shore, the sixth part of the cost of conveyance is extremely reasonable; while, at the same time, six persons are as comfortably accommodated as three or four. About eleven o’clock we set out for the lakes of Lan-berris, proceeding a little way by the Beddgellert road, making a call at Penrhos, the residence of R. H. W. Esq. and then crossing the country towards the lakes. The approach to the lower or principal lake is rugged and hilly, and we left our carriage at the summit of a piece of high ground just before we descended into the vale, a boatman having there met us, offering his services. The view from a stile on our right hand was here truly delightful, and came upon us quite by surprise. The lake which lay shining before us, a very picturesque bridge crossing it near its lower extremity, and the almost Alpine appearance of the surrounding mountains, with Snowdon’s venerable summit in the distance, formed a picture at once interesting and sublime. We proceeded to the foot of the lake, and seated ourselves in a small boat, in which the boatman and his wife immediately began to use the oars very dexterously. “Row, _brothers_, row,” would here have been out of place; but “_the Vale of Ovoca_” was vividly present to our minds, and our ears enjoyed a vocal remembrancer of it. The water in the lake seemed unusually low, owing to the long continued drought; for, until we reached the bridge I have before mentioned, our boat frequently touched the clear pebbly bottom, or rustled through the long and beautiful verdure which grew beneath the surface of the water, and which, by a constant inclination towards the termination of the lake, indicated the direction of the placid stream. At one time the boatman stepped into the water, and dragged the boat easily along. We soon passed the bridge, under the low arches of which several cows were enjoying the luxuries of a cool shade and a foot bath. From this portal we entered at once upon the deep and broad expanse of the lake, and our boatman made himself very communicative with respect to any remarkable spot, or incident, within his knowledge. Snowdon, and the other mountains around, cast their varied shadows upon the water; the sun shone in meridian splendour; and we glided merrily along, occasionally refreshing ourselves with a handful of water from the sweet and crystal element on which we floated. All around was loveliness and happiness; and it was pleasing, though not at all surprising, to see, that when the ladies averted their eyes from other attractions, and looked into the brilliant abyss below, four handsome blooming faces gazed smilingly up at them. Dol Badern Castle, or rather tower, now became a prominent object, crowning the head of the lake; and we landed to the right of it, upon the banks of a meadow, through which we passed to the only inn in the neighbourhood, where we enjoyed some refreshment, and where our boatman and his “_help meet_” who had rowed us about three miles, and were to row us back again, for six shillings, were not forgotten.

From the inn we walked, shaded from the hot sun by umbrellas and parasols, to the junction of the upper and lower lakes, near the foot of Dol Barden Tower. A good looking, but meanly-dressed boy, who seemed to guess at our object, here placed himself just before us, and slowly walked up to the tower, by the most direct road. We followed him, and ascended to the castle terrace, which commanded a fine view of the lower, and a portion of the upper lake; but we were excluded, by a part of the building, from a full view of the entire vale. In a few moments our little guide, whom we had scarcely missed, peeped out upon us from an upper window of the ruined tower. He could not tell us how he got there, because he could not utter a word of English; but we were much surprised, when, after another momentary disappearance, we saw him looking down upon us from the very top of the tower. Two of our enterprising ladies determined upon following him, if possible; and we discovered, that, by climbing through a window-place, above the steps of the terrace, access could be obtained to what was once, no doubt, a convenient spiral staircase. They climbed the place, followed by Mr. M. and myself, who were astonished at their intrepidity in ascending the building, which consisted of a pretty large circular tower, with small shattered steps, leading spirally up the interior of the walls to the top, without any rail or any central support whatever, and where the least slip must have cost life or limb. Up, however, they and we proceeded; and, when we reached the top, and sat down upon the main wall of the ruins, the panorama was, indeed, complete: the entire valley, the two lakes, and the surrounding mountains and quarries, were all in broad display around us, while the thunder-like reports of explosions in the distant slate-rocks, and the echoes they occasioned from the hills, heightened the interest of the gratifying scene. The ladies (and perhaps the gentlemen, too) felt a momentary fear, respecting the descent they had to make; but our little guide, who ran about the tops of the steep walls like a cat, seemed to show us so good an example of coolness of mind, that, after advising each other to steadiness and carefulness, we descended in safety, and rewarded the little silent boy for his unsought voluntary guidance. We then returned to our inn, and, in a short time, proceeded to our boat, meeting, in our way, the worthy Alderman T. C. whom I have before mentioned, and also W. S. Esq. the T. C. of a certain “_good old town_,” with his family. We had a short conversation with them upon some local matters, amongst which, the merits and claims of a certain Mechanics’ Institute were not omitted. We then set out on our return. During our stay at the inn, we had some idea of ascending Snowdon; but we found, on calculation, that it would be too great a task for that day, and that, to stay during the night at the inn, in order to ascend the mountain at the best time, namely, at sun-rise, would disarrange our plans. All the party, however, except myself, whom business prevented, agreed to return to the inn on the following night, and make the ascent at dawn the succeeding morning. I must here remark that Snowdon does not appear so lofty from the lake as a stranger would expect: but this is owing, no doubt, to the nearness and bulk of the surrounding hills, and the uncertainty, to the eye, of the actual distance of that lord of the mountains. On the road to Carnarvon, we were particularly struck with the forwardness of the grain crops, which appeared a fortnight in advance, compared with those of Lancashire and Cheshire. We arrived at the hotel in the evening, and sat down, at seven o’clock, to an excellent dinner, including some choice fish, and by far the tenderest and best mutton we ever tasted. As we were now in “_foreign parts abroad_”, we managed, amongst us, a bottle of good port, and drank to the healths of “_all friends in England_.” In the evening we ordered fresh horses to our sociable, and were quickly conveyed, by moonlight, over a fine road, and through a beautiful country, to Bangor, where, at the Liverpool Arms, we met with pleasant looks, good entertainment, and comfortable repose.