Part 5

THE Pillar of Eliseg is supposed to be one of the oldest inscribed British columns now existing, and is erected in a field about three furlongs from the Abbey, standing in a delightful valley, to which it gives the name of Valle Crucis, or the Vale of the Cross. The spot on which it stands is a gentle elevation, and is called Llwyn y Groes, i.e. the Grove of the Cross. The pillar was twelve feet high, and inscribed all round with letters. It stood in its place until some of Cromwell’s fanatical soldiers overthrew and broke it.

The pillar remained cast down many years, until Trevor Lloyd, Esq. of Trevor Hall, reared its mutilated remains again into its base, which had not been removed, and placed upon it this Latin inscription:—

QUOD HUJUS VETERIS MONUMENTI SUPEREST DIU EX OCULIS REMOTUM ET NEGLECTUM TANDEM RESTITUIT T. LLOYD TREVOR HALL MDCCLXXIX.

Translated as follows:—

“T. LLOYD, of Trevor Hall, at length, in the year 1779, restored what remains of this ancient Monument, which had been a long time removed from sight, and neglected.”

The Cross, or Pillar, for it seems never to have had the form of a Cross, is now little more than eight feet high. The old inscription, which time has rendered illegible, has been carefully copied by that great antiquarian, Mr. Edward Llwyd, {131a} and informs us nearly of the time of its erection, as under:—

“Concenn filius Cateli . . Cateli {131b} filius Brochmail Brochmail filius Eliseg . . Eliseg filius Cnoillaine Concenn itaque pronepos Eliseg edificavit hunc Lapidem proavo suo Eliseg.”

Of which the following seems to be an exact translation:—

“Concenn, the son of Cateli; Cateli the son of Brochmail; Brochmail, the son of Eliseg; Eliseg, the son of Cnoillaine; Concenn, therefore the great-grandson of Eliseg, erected this stone to his great-grandfather Eliseg.”

The characters resemble one of the alphabets in use about the sixth century, at which time this sepulchral pillar was erected. Concenn and Eliseg probably resided at Castell Dinas Bran; and a township adjacent bears the name of Eglwyseg, as well as the stupendous and picturesque mass of rocks that range along the vale, called the Eglwyseg Rocks, from Eliseg. Brochmail, another of the persons mentioned, deserted the protection of the Monks of Bangor at the battle of West Chester, when twelve hundred of those unfortunate unarmed religious were cut to pieces by the forces of Athelfrid or Edilfred, King of Northumberland, A.D. 607. {132}

Brochmail, whom I suppose to be the same the Latins called Brochmailus, was a great prince in that part of Britain called Powisland, which was then very extensive, stretching from the Severn to the Dee in a right line, from the end of Broxon Hills to Salop, and comprehending all the country between the Wye and Severn. He resided at Pengwern Powis, now Shrewsbury, {133a} in a house situated where the College of St. Chad now stands. He was a great friend and favourer of the Monks of Bangor, and took part with them against the Saxons, instigated by Augustine the Monk to prosecute them with fire and sword, because they would not agree to the forms and ceremonies of the Church of Rome, and forsake their own established customs. {133b}

I was so fortunate as to meet with two persons who assisted in opening the tumulus before the pillar was re-erected; and they gave me the following account:—On digging below the flat pedestal in which the base of the Pillar had been inserted, they came to a layer of pebble stones; and after having removed them, to a large flat slab, on which it seems the body had been laid, as they now found the remains of it, guarded round with large flat blue stones, and covered at top with the same; the whole forming a sort of stone box or coffin. The bones were entire, and of very large dimensions. The skull and teeth, which were very white and perfect, were particularly sound. My informants said they believed the skull was sent to Trevor Hall, but it was returned, and again deposited, with the rest of the bones, in its former sepulchre. By this it should seem that Eliseg was not an old man when he was buried here, and it is wonderful that greater decomposition had not taken place in twelve hundred years.

One of the persons who assisted at the exhumation is now a very old man, and was huntsman to Mr. Lloyd when the tumulus was opened. He says there was a large piece of silver coin found in the coffin, which was kept; but that the skull was gilded to preserve it, and was then again deposited with its kindred bones. I asked if the bones were sound; and he answered (I give his own words), “O, no, sir; they broke like gingerbread.”

I have now reached the limits I prescribed for myself on the north side of the Dee, and trust I have noticed every thing most worthy of attention. I purpose next to give a short account of the river, and passing Llangollen Bridge, continue my route to Glyndyfrdwy and Sycharth, once the residence of Owen Glyndwr.

The River Dee

“On scenes like these the eye delights to dwell, Here loud cascades, and there the silent dell; The lofty mountains, bleak and barren, rise, And spread their ample bosoms to the skies; While still the rushing river rolls along, The theme of many a humble shepherd’s song, And as it rolls, the trout, in speckled pride, Springs playful in the smooth translucent tide.”

THE river Dee forms a beautiful and interesting feature in all the most picturesque views around Llangollen. Passing from Glyndyfrdwy down the river, it successively assumes the appearance of the brawling brook over beds of pebbles; the deep tranquil character of the gliding lake, reflecting on its pure bosom the woods and mountains that surround it; the rushing cascade or rapids, over beds of rocks, or through chasms of stone.

“The current that with gentle murmur glides, Opposed by rocks impatiently doth rage; But when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with the enamelled stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage; And so by many winding nooks he strays With willing sport to the wild ocean.”

It rises a few miles beyond Bala, a town about twenty miles from Llangollen, on the west, and runs through a pool now called Bala pool, some say without mingling its stream. {138} There is no river in England which has been so much celebrated by our poets for its sanctity as the Dee; and Camden describes it as “riseing on the east sideof Merionethshire, and forthwith passeth entire and whole through Lhintegid, in English, Pimble Meare, or Plenlin Meare, {139a} a lake spreding far in length and bredth; and so runneth out of it with as great a streame as it entred in; for neither shal a man see in the Dee the fishes called guiniad, which are peculiar to the Meare, nor yet salmons in the Meare, which neverthelesse are commonly taken in the river.” {139b}

The mazy windings of the Dee, embellished as its banks are with the fresh green shrubs and plants which flourish there in great luxuriance, afford a very delightful walk, independent of the great amusement to anglers for which this river has ever been so famous. The trout are as fine as any in the kingdom, and are very plentiful. Many men obtain a livelihood during the season, by fishing in this beautiful river, which they contrive to manage in their little coracles, a large kind of round basket, covered with skins or tarpawling, and with a board across the centre for a seat. It is amusing to see them waft themselves where they please, with a little paddle in one hand, and a fly-rod in the other, fishing every corner of the deep pool; and when tired, rowing to land, throwing their boats on their shoulders, and walking with them to another deep pool, where they again commence operations.

Salmon come up the river to spawn; and although so many do not reach Llangollen as in former times, owing to the new inventions erected on the river to entrap them in their way from the sea, yet many of them overcome all impediments, and reach their usual haunts. I saw last summer, at the season when the salmon fray, or fry, seek their way to the sea from the river where they have been bred, large shoals of these fish, and at one time more than forty fishing rods successfully employed in a small space of water near the water-mill just above the bridge. This fishery continued in great activity for many days; the bait used being a common ground-worm, or a straw-worm, here called corbet. A little fresh in the river at length came, of which the fish took advantage, and proceeded on their way, after having lost some thousands of their numbers at Llangollen.

The otter is found in this river, and, owing to the many fastnesses, can seldom be destroyed. There are also numerous and various aquatic birds. The rock-ousel, the kingfisher, the sand-piper, the crane, and a duck-like bird, with black and white plumeage, which the inhabitants term a cormorant, are very common.

About a mile above the bridge is a deep chasm in the rocky bed, through which the whole river, when not swollen, rushes. It is six yards across, and bears the name of Llam Y Lleidr, i.e. Thief’s Leap, from the circumstance of a robber, who was pursued closely, having possessed sufficient agility to clear this space, while his unfortunate pursuer fell short, and was engulphed in the roaring torrent, narrowly escaping the loss of life, as well as of property. There is another chasm nearer the bridge, still deeper and narrower, called the Cow’s Leap.

The river runs over a bed of dark-coloured silicious rock, which is sometimes got by the inhabitants for the use of building. The bed of the river is consequently very uneven, which causes it to foam and rush very impetuously along.

The Bridge

Is a plain gothic structure at the west end of Llangollen, and consists of four irregularly formed pointed arches, with projecting angular buttresses. The bridge was built across the Dee by John Trevor, Bishop of St. Asaph, and Chancellor of Chester, A.D. 1346, and was accounted one of the wonders of Wales. The arches are of various dimensions, but the only wonder I can discover seems to be the foundation, which is laid upon the rock that forms the bed of the river, and is fastened thereto with iron clamps. The bridge is built of hewn stone, and is, like most other old bridges, very narrow and ill-paved.

Many wonderful tales are related of the sudden rise of this river, and it certainly is a very inconstant stream; but I cannot conceive it possible that the water should ever have risen, as reported, so high as the base of the parapet. There is another little bridge called the Chain Bridge, about two miles up the river.

I will now cross the bridge to the south side of the river.

Glyn Dyfrdwy.

“They look’d a manly, generous generation, Beards, shoulders, eyebrows, broad and square and thick; Their accents firm, and loud in conversation; Their eyes and gestures eager, sharp, and quick.”

ABOUT five miles west of Llangollen, upon the road to Corwen, and on the south side of the Dee, the way being enriched by such varied and enchanting scenery as will amply repay the traveller of taste for the fatigue of the excursion, is Glyn Dyfrdwy, once the property and residence of that famous chieftain Owen Glyndwr, whose birth Shakspeare says marked him extraordinary. I will, however, here give a short account of his life, which I trust will prove entertaining to many of my readers, and plainly show that “he was not in the roll of common men.”

Owen Ap Gryffydd Fychan, better known by the name of Owen Glyndwr, {146a} was descended from a younger son of Gryffydd Ap Madog, Lord of Powis Bromfeild, and of Dinas Bran. He received his education in one of the inns of court, and became a barrister-at-law.

It seems that about the year of our Lord 1395, he came into great favour with King Richard II. who made him his scutifer, or shield-bearer; {146b} and Owen was with the King when he was surrendered to Henry, Duke of Lancaster, together with the Castle of Flint. {147a}

Betwixt Owen and Reginald, Lord Grey, of Ruthin, there arose a fierce dispute, about a common lying between the Lordship of Ruthin and Glyndyfrdwy, and belonging to Owen, who now assumed the name of Glyndwr; and who was held in great respect by his countrymen, having artfully induced them to believe that he could “call spirits from the vasty deep.” Reginald was at first conquered, and Owen possessed the disputed land; but after the deposal and murder of King Richard in Pomfret Castle, and Henry had mounted the throne, {147b} the scene was changed; as Henry aided Lord Grey, who with his own vassals, and assisted by some of the King’s forces, again dispossessed Owen of the land. Several severe encounters took place between the rival chieftains; and although Reginald’s adherents were more numerous, the wily lawyer was more fertile in expedients.

Owen, being apprised of an attack intended to be made upon him by Lord Grey, here practised a successful ruse de guerre. He erected a number of stakes in a bottom still called _Dôl Benig_, {148} and having clad them in jackets and Welch caps, so alarmed Reginald by their appearance that he gave up the expedition.

At length Owen’s good fortune and perseverance brought his enemy into his power. {149a} Having artfully drawn Reginald from his strong hold of Ruthin, he caused his horses to be shod backwards, which induced Reginald to advance, supposing he was pursuing a flying enemy, when he fell into an ambuscade, and was suddenly surrounded by Owen’s forces, and made prisoner. Owen then marched to Ruthin, burnt the castle, destroyed the town, and despoiled the country. {149b}

Prior to this success, Owen had laid his complaints before the King’s Parliament, and John Trevor, Bishop of St. Asaph, and Chancellor of Chester, seeing that no attention was paid to his petition, after a long delay, ventured to expostulate with the Lords, and to caution them that they did not, by slighting or neglecting Owen’s complaint, provoke the Welch to insurrection. The reply of the Lords was full of contempt, saying, “They did not fear those rascally bare-footed people.” {150} It was subsequent to this time that Glyndwr, finding his suit neglected, resolved to endeavour to redress his own wrongs, which terminated in the capture of Reginald, as before related.

This signal success drew to Owen many of his countrymen from all parts of the principality, who urged him on, asserting that the period was now arrived in which the prophecies of Merlin would be fulfilled; and that he was the man through whose valour the lost honour and liberties of their native country were to be recovered.

Owen Glyndwr, smarting with resentment, and impelled by his ambition, suffered himself to be persuaded to undertake the emancipation of the principality; and in the mean time kept Reginald Lord Grey a close prisoner; demanding ten thousand marks for his ransom; six thousand to be paid on the feast of St. Martin, in the fourth year of the King’s reign, and Reginald to deliver up his eldest son, with other persons of quality, as hostages for the due performance. {151}

The King, at the humble suit of Lord Grey (he finding no other means for his enlargement), appointed a council to treat with Glyndwr, who stoutly refusing to recede from his terms, they agreed to give him the sum demanded. It is also said that Owen obliged Reginald to marry one of his daughters. {152a}

Owen, being thus amply provided with money, and joined by numbers of his countrymen, now flew at higher game, and boldly attacked the Earl of March, who met him with a numerous body of Herefordshire men. They came to close action, when the Welchmen under Owen proved victorious, and the Earl of March was taken prisoner, some accounts say by Owen himself in single combat. {152b} With his freedom he lost above a thousand men, who were most savagely abused after they were dead.

Edmund, Earl of March, whom Owen Glyndwr now held in thraldom, was next in blood to Richard II. and therefore it was not displeasing to King Henry that he should be thus kept out of the way: nay, Camden says—“He (Edmund) stood greatly suspected to Henrie the Fourth, who had usurped the kingdome; and by him was first exposed unto danger, insomuch as he was taken by Owen Glyndwr, a rebell.” {153} King Henry, therefore, as might be supposed, turned a deaf ear to every solicitation made on the Earl’s behalf.

Now it was that Glyndwr, flushed with success, resolved to assume the title of Prince of Wales; and treating the King as a usurper of the crown, and simply as Duke of Lancaster, he caused himself to be proclaimed throughout the Principality. The better to grace the matter, he feigned himself descended in the female line from Llewellyn Ap Gruffydh, the last Prince.

His ambition now knew no bounds; and, by virtue of his new title, he summoned a parliament at Machynlleth, in Montgomeryshire, whither all the nobility and gentry of Wales resorted. He kept his court at Sychnant, about seven miles from Llangollen, on the road to Corwen. It is now distinguished by a grove of firs, situated in a beautifully fertile country, and overlooking the Dee. A few scattered stones are all that remain to mark the site where the palace of Owen Glyndwr once stood, which his bard, Iolo Goch, sung was as large as Westminster Abbey. {155}

About the middle of August, 1402, Henry, finding the power of Owen Glyndwr increasing, and the turbulence of the Welch breaking all bounds, resolved to crush their rebellion, and putting himself at the head of a powerful army, marched into Wales. But the very elements seemed to fight against him, the weather proving so extraordinarily inclement that the King was obliged to make a precipitate retreat, without accomplishing his intentions. {156a} The people attributed the dreadful tempests which at that season occurred to the magic power of Owen, who found it his interest to encourage their credulity.

Edward Mortimer, perceiving the King had no intention of opening his prison doors, and Glyndwr treating him with increased gentleness and respect, fell into the scheme this artful and politic man had devised. Owen Glyndwr {156b} was married to Margaret, the only daughter of Sir David Hanmer, of Hanmer, in Flintshire (who was one of the Justices of the King’s Bench, and was knighted by King Richard II.) by whom he had many children; and at this time three of his daughters were unmarried, on one of whom the captive Earl cast an eye of affection. Glyndwr at once saw the advantage of this predilection, and proposed to league with him against the King, and to cement this union by the marriage of his daughter to the Earl.

To strengthen this league, and make the proposed insurrection irresistible, the Earls of Worcester and Northumberland, two of the most powerful Nobles in England, together with the Scottish Chief Douglas, and Northumberland’s valiant son Henry Percy, better known by the name of Hotspur, were invited to join their standards; and these rebellious Lords met at the house of Dafyd Daron, the Archdeacon of Bangor, {158a} and there signed an indenture, sealing it with their own seals, to bind themselves to assemble their forces, and join in putting down the King, and for dividing the kingdom, vainly relying upon a foolish prediction of Merlin, in which the King was depicted as an execrable moldwarp, and Glyndwr and his colleagues as the wolf, the lion, and the dragon, that were to pull the moldwarp down. {158b}

This treaty, made with so much secrecy, and executed in the recesses of Glyndwr’s dominions, was soon communicated to King Henry. Sir David Gam, so called because he had a crooked eye, or squinted, or, as some say, had but one eye, was a strong and faithful partizan of the Duke of Lancaster, now King Henry IV. and consequently the inveterate enemy of Owen Glyndwr, now Prince of Wales, at whose Parliament he attended, together with the chief of the Welch nobles and gentry, but with very different intentions; he having determined to put an end to Glyndwr’s rebellion with his life. {159a}

David Gam was the son of Llewellyn Ap Howel Vaughn, a gentleman of Brecknock. His scheme and his purpose were, however, unfortunately for him, discovered and frustrated, and he was immediately secured, and ordered by Owen for execution; {159b} but many of his greatest friends and adherents pleading for Gam’s life, Owen thought it politic then to stifle his resentment, and to grant him both life and liberty, on his solemnly promising to continue in future true and faithfully loyal to Glyndwr.

The promises of men in those days were frequently regarded only so long as it suited their interests or convenience. Such was the case with David Gam, who no sooner found himself among his own friends, and in his own country, than he began to assail and annoy all the favourers and adherents of Glyndwr, who being soon apprised of the practices against him, and of the use Sir David made of his liberty, marched with all expedition at the head of a small body of his retainers, intending to make him prisoner; {161} but Sir David had the good fortune to elude his vigilance, and escaped into England, where he lived for the most part at court, not daring to visit his native country until after the death of Owen Glyndwr.

Having thus missed his prey, Owen set no bounds to his resentment. He burnt Gam’s house to the ground, wasted his substance, despoiled his tenants and friends, and by the rigor of his proceedings so estranged the hearts of all, and created so many enemies, that it was reasonable to expect that through Sir David’s means, or some of his emissaries, the King would have information of what was plotting against him in Wales.

Henry at this time, fortunately, had a small army assembled for another purpose; and no sooner was he apprised of this conspiracy against him, than, placing himself at the head of his troops, he marched them for Wales, to attack the confederates before they had time to conjoin their forces. {162a} Owen had not collected all his strength,{162b} and the Earl of Northumberland, who was considered generalissimo, being seized with a sudden illness, and confined to his bed at Berwick-upon-Tweed, the King found the rebels under the command of Hotspur at Shrewsbury.

The insurgent chiefs, seeing a battle inevitable, and knowing that Glyndwr, with his hardy Welchmen, was in full march to join them (in fact, he reached Oswestry at the head of 12,000 men on the very day the battle was fought), to gain time proposed a conference, and drew up a list of grievances to be redressed; but the matter ended in mutual recrimination, and both sides prepared for battle. The numbers were nearly equal, about 12,000 on each side, and the two armies were inflamed by the most dreadful animosity.

The battle began with the most determined courage. The King was seen every where animating his troops in the post of danger, and he was most nobly seconded by his son, afterwards the renowned Henry V. the conqueror of France. On the other side the chieftains fought like men accustomed to the bloody business of war; and the battle was fierce, obstinate, and doubtful; when the daring Hotspur, supporting the high character which he had purchased by so many victories, and seeking a personal encounter with the King, fell by an unknown hand.