Part 2

On the following morning the weather was as beautiful as ever, and as my time was more limited than that of my companions, I resolved to proceed to the Chain-bridge and back before breakfast. Mr. M. was kind enough to join me, and, in a few minutes, there was ready for us a one horse car, similar to those so much used in Dublin, and called outside cars. It was capable of accommodating six persons, besides the driver, and was altogether a comfortable vehicle. We soon reached the summit of the elevated ground between the city and the bridge, and then, looking to the northward, on our right, we enjoyed a magnificent view of the whole bay of Beaumaris, and of all the prominent objects by which its beautiful neighbourhood is distinguished. Descending from this point, past the ferry-house, we immediately arrived at the shore, and then turning to the left, we ascended a slope till we reached the level of the road-way of the new bridge, one hundred feet above high-water mark. Here we stood near one of the great suspending piers, whose foundation is more than one hundred feet below, and whose summit is fifty-two feet above, the level of the road. Two arched gate-ways are formed through this gigantic structure, leading to the two intended carriage-ways across the straits. Over the apex of this pier, the four massy chains hang in firm but graceful festoon. We traced them nearly to their fastenings in the rocks, and were astonished at the amazing strength and security of the whole work. Between the fastenings and the pier we noticed the erection of what seemed designed for the toll-house; a handsome building, rising up to, and amongst the chains, as if the bridge were to derive its _support_ (and perhaps it will) from the _toll_ house. We walked up the chains to the top of this building, and thence to the apex of the pier, where our elevation, one hundred and fifty-two feet above the water, appeared somewhat terrific.

I may here remark that the four chains are thus formed of solid bars of wrought iron. Each bar is about ten feet long, about three inches broad, and one inch thick. Five of these bars placed upon their edges, with fastenings at the ends, which keep them more than an inch asunder, form a straight link, a series of which links, to the length of 1714 feet, constitutes a single chain. Four such chains, placed one above the other, the joints of one chain falling on the centre of the links of the next, form _one great chain_, containing, of course, twenty solid bars, the pressure upon each of which will be equalized by connecting stanchions.

Each carriage-way, twelve feet wide, will be supported by two of these great chains; and there will be a foot-path along the centre. I have here described such links as are placed between the two piers and crossing the straits; those from the piers to the fastenings are rather shorter and thicker. The two centre chains, below which the foot-path will be formed, between the carriage-ways, are, of course, near to each other; perhaps not three feet asunder. Between these two chains lay our path over the straits; a temporary path, formed of planks, two in a breadth, suspended from the lower links, the upper ones serving as a sort of hand-rail.

From the apex on which we sat, the chains appeared to descend very steeply towards their fastenings on the land side, and towards the centre over the straits. Although the planks were not properly fastened, we proceeded fearlessly along the vast curvature, 590 feet in length, to the pier on the Anglesea side. Over the centre of the straits we sat down on a small stage, which had been placed there for the band of musicians on the day when the last chain was suspended. From this place, looking downwards, we observed that the colour of the water appeared to be a muddy pea-green. On the apex of the Anglesea pier we had some conversation with one of the superintendents of the work, who obligingly showed us the rollers under the saddle of the chains, and the space in which they would move in case the contraction or expansion of the chains by cold or heat should ever become unequal on the two sides of the pier. Admiration of the stupendous and almost superhuman work, and of Mr. Telford’s consummate skill, breathed in every observation we could make; and I thought that when death should deprive the country of the further services of that able engineer, his epitaph, simple as that upon Sir Christopher Wren, will be abundantly sufficient, if it state, that “_his monument is suspended over the Straits of Menai_.” The superintendent, while we remained on the “airy height,” gave us much information relative to the proceedings of the workmen in their various arduous duties; and the only painful intelligence he communicated was, that four men had lost their lives, at different times, by falling from the elevated parts of the works. No accident, however, had happened to any of the numerous ladies and gentlemen who had recently passed over the chains. From the spot on which we stood we observed innumerable workmen completing the road to the bridge, and preparing the iron net-work which is to form the sides of the bridge, as soon as the carriage-ways are placed along the perpendicular suspenders from the chains.

After thanking our obliging informant, we descended the chains on the Anglesea side, and proceeded to the water’s edge, to look at the archways formed under the road between the main pier and the land. These, which look so small in the printed views of the bridge, we found to be as broad and as lofty as the aisles of Cathedrals; being sixty-five feet in height, to the spring of the arches, and the span of each arch being fifty-two feet. We then walked towards the ferry, and the moment we reached it a boat was ready to cross the water. We embarked, hailed our distant charioteer by a shout, he answered us by waving his hat, and then driving down to meet us, and in a few minutes we were again seated in our car, jaunting towards Bangor, and anticipating the pleasure which awaited us in again meeting our fair friends, and in the enjoyment of a good breakfast.

We soon alighted at our inn, and over breakfast we recounted to the ladies all the particulars of our morning excursion. Some of them immediately expressed their determination to cross the chains on their intended visit to the bridge, that evening or the next day; indeed, they were adventurous enough for any thing. We found they had not been idle during our absence; and they afforded us an ample account of their walks about the Cathedral, and the environs of the city. After our repast, and after I had made two or three calls on business in the town, the car was again brought to the door, pursuant to our orders, with an extra horse, _à la tandem_, mounted by a youthful postillion, under the command of our driver. About ten o’clock we all took our seats in the commodious vehicle, and we’re speedily whisked along, upon the road to Conway, under the brilliance and heat of a sun which rendered the ladies’ parasols almost invaluable. As we proceeded we admired very much the gates of Penryn Park, which are quite out of the common style; and, as we approached Penmaen-mawr, the truly grand view of Beaumaris Bay on our left, with Puffin Island in the distance, the mountainous elevations on our right, and the fresh sea-breeze gently blowing on our faces, and all around us were quite delightful. The cool clear waves were rippling along the shore beneath us, and curling over the pebbly margin, as if to refresh us by their playful agitation. We met Pomona in the shape of a poor “Welse umman,” carrying a small basket filled with tempting grapes; we relieved her of part of her burden, much to her satisfaction; and, as we journeyed along, we discussed the merits of the grapes with much more taste than the fox in the fable did.

Presently we began to ascend the elevated part of the road, which, like one of Jupiter’s belts, girds the bulk of Penmaen-mawr. We found it much higher from the sea than it appeared to be when we were on board the Llewellyn; the huge mountain close on our right, and the precipice from the road side to the water on our left, were steep almost as walls. While we stopped to enjoy the view, we threw several stones down towards the water, and were surprised on observing the length of time which elapsed before they disappeared in the waves. A party of Irish harvesters, who, we supposed, had landed at Holyhead, and were in search of employment, were here strolling along; they had a stock of bread with them, and the small streams which they passed afforded them water; but they begged of us, very earnestly and very persuasively, “a few coppers, with which to buy a morsel of _backy_.” Descending towards the eastern foot of the mountain, and again rising up a very steep road, we began to feel the heat of the day to be rather oppressive: but we soon stopped at a small public-house, where we refreshed our horses with water, our drivers with beer, and ourselves with some excellent buttermilk of the real cut-throat kind. We then walked up the hill, having a deep romantic glen on the left, with a glimpse of Beaumaris Bay behind us, on our right some bold and rugged crags, and near the top, a mass of specimens, large and small, amongst which a mineralogist might spend many pleasant hours.

We resumed our seats in the car, and found a pretty level road for some distance. We saw before us the vale in which the river Conway meets the sea; and at length, between us and the water, we discerned what we all agreed was the very _beau ideal_ of an ancient city and castle. It was Conway, which lay right before us and below us; our elevation affording us a delightful bird’s-eye view of the whole place; and certainly its walls and turrets (completely inclosing all the houses) and the Castle with its numerous and beautifully formed towers, were the best realization we had ever beheld of the ideas formed by our reading of cities and castles, in the stories of antiquity. Conway is quite perfect in this respect, and we entered its gates with feelings of uncommon interest. The city lies entirely on the slope of the hill, and the Castle, which is at the lower and eastern side of it, almost touches the water. The whole is admirably situated, and every view around it is worthy of the painter’s pencil. It was about half-past twelve when we arrived at the Castle Inn, where we put up. We thence proceeded immediately to view the Castle, the ruins of which are extremely extensive and grand. Near the entrance we were annoyed by a swarm of children, who rushed out of the neighbouring cottages, begging for “a ha’penny, pleace eu ma’am; a ha’penny, pleace eu sair;” words which they are taught to utter in a whining tone, and which they continue repeating as long as they dare follow a party of strangers, in defiance of any remonstrance on their parts. This is a very common nuisance in some parts of Wales, and it is a matter of regret that the cottagers do not foresee what a deep and lasting mischief they are doing to their children, by initiating them in such degrading practices. We were shown into the Castle, among the ruins of which we enjoyed a cool lounge for a considerable time, the ladies always taking the lead in searching after the picturesque and gloomy, among broken towers and staircases. The scene around us was that in which Monk Lewis has placed his drama of the Castle Spectre: and, certainly, a finer theatre for the adventures of Angela, Father Philip, Reginald, and the Ghost itself, could not have been chosen than Conway Castle must have been in the days of its glory, and in the times of chivalry, of romance, and of dark deeds. From the terrace, near the water, we had our first view of the piers, and other works in progress, for the small, but handsomely-designed Chain-bridge over the dangerous ferry of Conway; an improvement in which the public are deeply interested, and by which they will be materially benefited.

Soon after our return to the inn, the time arrived when my cheerful companions and I were to part; they on their return to Bangor (to meet the lady’s brother whom I mentioned as having been with Belzoni) whence they would proceed on their expedition to the Chain-bridge and to the top of Snowdon; and I on my way to Llanrwst and Llangollen. Our regret that we could not longer accompany each other seemed proportionate to the pleasure we had enjoyed since we met; and that, certainly, was glowing and unmixed, and will, doubtless, be memorable to us all. They took their seats in the car, and after many a hearty “good bye,” they were soon out of sight. I then walked down to the water’s edge, and crossed the ferry on business. On my return to Conway I was struck with the excellent design and situation of the Chain-bridge. The approach to it from the Denbighshire side is along a new-made terrace or breakwater, advancing across the greater part of the river’s breadth, and, of course, confining the rapid stream to very narrow limits on the Carnarvonshire side. From this terrace the Chain-bridge will appear to be the grand entrance, under triumphal arches, to the Castle itself; and although, on coming close to that venerable structure, there is a sudden turn from it, leading directly to the town, I fancy a party of travellers would not regret, that, instead of being deposited within the naked and roofless walls of the Castle, they were handed into a small but comfortable parlour at the Castle Inn.

About five o’clock in the afternoon I hired a small car to convey me to Llanrwst, about twelve miles up the vale; and having lost my living companions, I amused myself with that pathetic but strange compound of religion and romance, the “Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life,” from which I turned, ever and anon, to gaze upon the charming landscape through which I was passing, and at the lovely “lights and shadows” which the declining sun and the tinted mountains were casting upon it. So forward was the harvest in this fertile and extensive vale, that numbers of reapers were busy in the corn-fields; and on my arrival at Llanrwst I was informed that already (July 28) a loaf of new wheat had been baked there. In transacting some business at Llanrwst that evening I found that the absence of one individual would leave me a vacant hour from eight to nine o’clock; and, as I was desirous of taking that opportunity of refreshing myself by bathing in the Conway, a tradesman accompanied me and pointed out a deep and retired corner of the river, in which I laved myself in the warm and clear stream with great pleasure. My conductor, I found, had seen the world, and his range of conversation was not confined either to these realms or to India. Inquiring in the town respecting the prevailing religious sects there, I was told by an inhabitant that they were chiefly Churchmen, Methodists, and “Wess lions.” From this classification I learned that the new connexion assume the name of Methodists almost exclusively, while the “Wess lions” are content with the title they derive from the name of the indefatigable and pious John Wesley.

The evening was extremely fine, and soon after nine o’clock I was ready to pursue my journey. As I had sent my luggage by coach direct from Bangor to Llangollen, I had no incumbrance; and I decided upon walking about four miles, to Bettws y Coed, a small place on the great Welsh road. On leaving Llanrwst, and crossing the bridge towards Gwydyr House and wood, I was much pleased with the beauty of the scenery up the river; scenery which forcibly reminded me of the exquisite Diorama of Holyrood Chapel. The unclouded moon was shining above the summits of the hills towards the south-east, and brightly illumined the left bank of the river, and all the neighbouring objects in that direction; while the thick and lofty wood on the right cast a broad dark shade over the lower ground, and over part of the bed of the river, which was dry, in consequence of the long-continued fair weather. In the midst of this dark shade, and on the dry pebbles of the river, two or three boys had kindled a small but brilliant fire; the reflection of which from their hands and faces, as they knelt around it, was highly picturesque. Passing through a part of the wood on the right, I soon reached the high road, and continued my solitary walk over ground I had never before trodden, till I arrived at Bettws y Coed, where I was accommodated with humble but cleanly lodgings, at an inn on the road side.

On the following morning, charming landscapes and a clear sky rendered every thing around me delightful; and at an early hour I set out towards Llangollen, upon one of the Holyhead and Shrewsbury coaches, with every disposition to enjoy the interesting scenery through which we had to pass, upon one of the finest roads, perhaps the very finest, in the world. Nor was I disappointed. The iron bridge, the hills on one hand, the deep ravines on the other, and the variety which every turn in the road afforded to the view, made the journey short and pleasant. At a place where we stopped a few moments, a poor “Welse umman” solicited our favours, asking very assiduously of each passenger, (and at the same time exhibiting the various products of her industry)—“D’you want a Welse wig?—d’you want a wool stockings?—d’you want a wool gloves?—d’you want a Welse wig?”—and so on, alternately; but the weather was not _harvest_ weather to _her_, and she obtained no orders. Soon after we passed Kernioge, and while we were travelling at full speed, I was surprised by a poor woman getting up behind the coach, obtaining a footing among the passengers, and handing her hat round, not only to those near her, but to those in front, to whom she reached across the roof; nor did I perceive, until I was informed of the fact, that she was perfectly blind! She descended from the coach with the utmost ease; although such was our rapidity, that, in a few moments, she was left far behind us. Passing through Corwen, I reached Llangollen about one o’clock. The beauties of this place, or rather of the vale in which it is situated, are well known. The bridge, standing upon foundations furnished by nature itself, is always an object of admiration; and if the town and church were light coloured, so as to present a distinct contrast to the surrounding foliage, the whole would have a most charming appearance. So exhausted was the river Dee at this season, that I crossed the timber of a small wear, and the bed of the river, without wetting even the soles of my shoes. From Llangollen, homewards, my journey was merely on business; but I thought, that, up to this period, a narrative of the incidents which had occurred during a trip of only three days and three hours’ duration, might not be uninteresting to some of my friends.

APPENDIX,

_Containing some particulars of Objects and Places mentioned in_ “_The Trip_.”

Chiefly extracted from “The Cambrian Traveller’s Guide,” a large and useful volume, published by Mr. George Nicholson, of Stourport.

PENMAEN-MAWR.

This mountain is the terminating point of the long Carnarvonshire chain. It is 1550 feet high, from the level of the sea. As late as the year 1772 there was only a narrow and dangerous path along the shelf upon its side; but since that period, a grant was made by Parliament, and a voluntary subscription entered into for the formation of the present useful and safe road, “the most sublime terrace in the British Isles.” It is guarded on the sea-side by a wall of about five feet high, add supported in many parts by deep walls below.—See pages 5 and 15.

PUFFIN ISLAND, OR PRIESTHOLME.

This uninhabited island is of an oval shape, about a mile in length, and half a mile in breadth. Near the centre is an old square tower, supposed to be the fragment of a religious house. During the summer the island swarms with various birds of passage, particularly the _alca artica_, or puffin. The firing of a gun will frequently cause clouds of these birds to rise, uttering loud and dissonant sounds.

PENRHYN CASTLE.

This edifice is supposed to stand upon the site of a palace, which, in the eighth century, belonged to Roderic Mwynog, grandson to Cadwalader, the last king of the Ancient Britons. It appears to have been rebuilt in the reign of Henry VI.; and although it has been greatly altered of late, the original design has been preserved. It is fronted with yellow brick, which gives it the appearance of stone. The gateway into the park resembles a Roman triumphal arch.

BEAUMARIS.

This pleasant little town is the capital of the island of Anglesea. Its name is formed from the French words _beau_, fair, and _marais_, marsh. The Castle was built by Edward I. towards the close of the thirteenth century, and its ruins are now included in the domains of Lady Bulkeley. On the accession of Charles II. Lord Bulkeley was Constable of the Castle. The lowness of its site, and the great diameter of its circular towers and bastions, together with the dilapidated state of its walls, deprive this structure, though exceedingly ponderous, of that prominent character and imposing effect so strikingly apparent in the prouder piles of Carnarvon and Conway. The town sends one member to Parliament.

BANGOR.

This is a Bishop’s see, in the county of Carnarvon, and is said to derive its name from _bon_, good, and _chœur_, choir; but this seems a strained etymology. It is supposed to have been formerly a more considerable place than it is at present. The views from the elevated environs are extremely fine. The Cathedral was founded in the sixth century, by St. Deiniol (Daniel) who was elected the first Bishop of Bangor. It was destroyed by the Saxons in 1071, and rebuilt by King John in 1212. In 1402 it was burnt down, in the rebellion of Owen Glyndwr, and remained in ruins upwards of ninety years. It was rebuilt early in the sixteenth century, chiefly by Bishop Sheffington. On a rocky eminence, about half a mile east from Bangor, formerly stood a castle, built by Hugh, Earl of Chester, in the reign of William II. Its site is still visible. The situation of the Bishop’s residence is much admired.

THE CHAIN-BRIDGE.

For a description of this magnificent and truly surprising structure, see pages 12 to 14.

CARNARVON.

This place is so called from _Caer_, a fortress, _yn_, in, and _Arfon_, the district opposite to Mon, or Anglesea. The ancient city was the only station possessed by the Romans in this part of Wales; it stood about half a mile south of the present town, where, probably, the British dwelt. The Castle is a magnificent ruin. It was built by Edward I. after the completion of his conquest in 1282; and as the Welsh would not submit quietly to be governed by any but a Welsh Prince, he caused his Queen (Eleanor) to reside here for a time, and here Edward II. was born. The Castle has been the scene of many memorable events, and is well worth an hour’s contemplation. Carnarvon sends one member to Parliament.—See page 8.

DOL BADERN CASTLE.

This small but conspicuous structure is the only one remaining of five military stations erected by the Ancient Britons to defend the five passes through the Carnarvonshire chain of mountains.—See page 10.

SNOWDON.

The Snowdon range of mountains commences at Penmaen-mawr, and terminates on the margin of Carnarvon bay. The height of the peak of Snowdon is 3568 feet.

CONWAY.