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Updated: May 4, 2025
I thought of the Gaelic-speaking battalions of the Camerons and could hardly suppress a smile. Young von Boden was superbly contemptuous of the officers of the obscure and much reduced infantry battalion doing garrison duty at Goch, the frontier station we had just left, where as he was careful to explain to me he had spent four days of unrelieved boredom, waiting for me.
My thoughts had left the happy dream of Winifred's presence and were with Sinfi Lovell. As I looked at the tall precipices rising from the chasm right up to the summit of Snowdon, I recalled how Sinfi, notwithstanding her familiarity with the scene, appeared to stand appalled as she gazed at the jagged ridges of Crib-y-Ddysgyl, Crib Goch, Lliwedd, and the heights of Moel Siabod beyond.
His English was execrable far worse than Chinese pidgin and he had an unhappy and disconcerting manner of intermingling German and English words, while either through a physical defect or from some other cause, he could not pronounce his consonants correctly. I was taken through the usual rigmarole such as I had at first experienced at Goch. The evidence also, as usual, was committed to paper.
When the three peaks that she knew so well y Wyddfa, Lliwedd, and Crib Goch stood out in the still grey light she stopped, set down her basket, clapped her hands, and said, 'Didn't I tell you the mornin' was a-goin' to be ezackly the same as then? No mists to-day.
'I have every reason to believe, and I am supported in my opinion by various antiquaries, that it bears the inscription either of Cunobelin or Caractacus. There is a decided C, and we are told that money was coined in Britain in the time of Cunobelin. 'And how on earth did he get up to Garn Goch?
'I tried one day you will scarcely believe it, Mr Gwynne to make him understand that Garn Goch was an old British encampment, but he would not take it in. 'Ah, really; I do not very much wonder myself, for I cannot quite "take in" those heaps of stones and all that sort of thing, responded the host.
I spoke to her about the abbey, and asked if she had ever heard of Iolo Goch. She inquired who he was. I told her he was a great bard, and was buried in the abbey. She said she had never heard of him, but that she could show me the portrait of a great poet, and going away, presently returned with a print in a frame.
Tired of strolling I went and leaned my back against the wall of the churchyard and enjoyed the cool of the evening, for evening with its coolness and shadows had now come on. As I leaned against the wall, an elderly man came up and entered into discourse with me. He told me he was a barber by profession, had travelled all over Wales, and had seen London. I asked him about the chair of Rhys Goch.
His name was Thomas Edwards, but he generally called himself Twm o'r Nant, or Tom of the Dingle, because he was born in a dingle, at a place called Pen Porchell, in the vale of Clwyd which, by the bye, was on the estate which once belonged to Iolo Goch, the poet I was speaking to you about just now.
I must pull myself together. I decided I would have some black coffee, and I raised my eyes to find the waiter. They fell upon the pale face and elegant figure of the one-armed officer I had met at the Casino at Goch ... the young lieutenant they had called Schmalz. He had just entered the café and was standing at the door, looking about him.
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