To the Angel's Chair: a story of ideals in a Welsh village

Preface

COURTEOUS expediency requests the presence of an introductory word to the following narra tive, even though rigid necessity might indulge its absence. For these pages aim to illustrate some of the more striking traits in the special character and genius of the population of Wales, and the characteristic life-paths of these people are even yet, in great measure, almost virgin soil to English feet. There are many different standpoints from which the novelist may choose to construct and fashion his tale, and many others from which the watchful critic may resolve to criticise it. It may be well, therefore, to give a gentle hint to all whom it may concern that it is the main purpose of the following pages to pourtray customs and traditions, struggles and aspirations, ideals and idylls, in a typical centre of Welsh village life. Whatever other features may have assumed prominence in the story have somehow irresistibly associated

PREFACE.

VI themselves with this primary idea, and would not be excluded. Owing to this cause the reader will find that the insistent problems of our common humanity — questions of universal human interest — are not forgotten. The elucidation required for the few Welsh expressions which are not explained in the course ofthe narrative may be given in brief terms. The " Cymmanfa " is a great religious and preach ing festival which flourished vigorously in the Principality down to comparatively recent times. It was usually celebrated in the open air, pre ferentially on the slope of a hill where the preacher could occupy a natural elevation above the heads of the thousands that crowded to hear. The " hwyl " {lit., " sail ") is a term techni cally used to describe, first, great religious emotion in a worshipping congregation ; secondly, the audible responses accompanying such emo tion ; and lastly, a peculiar musical cadence in the delivery of the sermon which is frequently associated with these religious effects.

The words and phrases, " Bendigedig ! " " Gogoni ant ! " and " Diolch Iddo ! " are the more usual forms of response in the time of " hwyl." The first {lit., Blessed !) has a force akin to that of the word " Glorious ! " The second (Gogoniant) is the Welsh for " Glory." The literal transla tion of " Diolch Iddo ! " is " Thanks be to

PREFACE.

VII Him ! " but this gives only a meagre idea of the combined pathos and exultation of the Welsh exclamation. For the rest, the symmetry and unity of this narrative are sought, not in a perfectly ordered concatenation of external events, but in the inner dramatic history of the human spirit, which unifies within itself those scattered incidents which would otherwise be, in most cases, a mass of broken ends. THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS

Chapter I The Royal Line Of Garth-y-coed

" Thank God ! " said John Tudor the king. " This is a great victory ! I'm so proud that I could shout ' Bendigedig ! ' for the rest of the day." Then he shouted once or twice according to the inclination he had expressed, for John was in the house of his friends, and knew that he could declare his feelings in any way he pleased. That is to say, he was in the Cymmanfa meeting place on the lower slope of Penydarren, and around him were grouped his friends William Morris, Edward Owen, David Raymond the Eccentric, Dan Lewis the dark Logician, James Rowland, surnamed "The Casquet of Facts," Dai Hopkin the Bard, Tom Jones the Atheist, and a few others of less consequence. It was well that John Tudor's audience had the gift of interpretation, and were familiar with the manner of his Majesty's utterances.

For a stranger would have thought that the speaker was, like many another king, somewhat deficient in mental equipoise. A great strike, which had lasted for many wretched weeks, had only just come to an end, and the men had been badly beaten. It will not boot to inquire now on which side the right lay. The employers had insisted on making a considerable reduction in the scanty earnings of the men. The men believed that this was a grave injustice, and in the name of God challenged the might of the oppressor. Men, women, and children braved during some terrible weeks the martyrdom of hunger with heroic fortitude, but all availed not against the iron hand of power. John Tudor and his friends were the lingering remnant of a great mass meeting which had just been held upon the hillside in which the miners had resolved to surrender unconditionally as the only way of saving their wives and children from starvation.

Yet John Tudor called this a great victory. Do not laugh at him yet ! You shall have full license to laugh at him by and by. The opportunity will come after a visit we shall have need to pay to Llangefydd churchyard. Then you may laugh loud and long at John Tudor the king — if you will. THE ROYAL LINE OF GARTH- Y-COED 3 I must not attempt to call John a hero, for the conditions of the conventional hero are ostentatiously missing in his case. The tra ditional hero must at least be the son of a wealthy sire, even if it is not a sine qud non that the so-called aristocratic blood shall flow in his veins. I am not forgetting that John Tudor was a king, but much fear his royal claims would not be allowed by the orthodox writers either of fact or fiction. To tell the plain truth, John was the bellman of Garth-y-coed, an occupation the dignity of which was adjudged in the village itself to be considerably lower than that of coal-mining.

Years before he had been as high in rank as the others, for he was then a strong and sturdy collier. But the treacherous roof had given way above his head and that of three companions who worked near him. Two of the number were killed outright, one was injured slightly, and John Tudor received injuries of a very grave character — so grave that his life was for some time in doubt. It was said that John might easily have saved himself unscathed if he had not rushed into a more dangerous spot to help one of his comrades. This was the man whose injuries were but slight. John set him free from the rock that held him fast ; but as the man leaped into safety, he himself was caught by a new rush of falling stone, and extricated only with great difficulty. When he got stronger again this matter was once mentioned in his presence, but he resented it so indignantly that no one repeated the offence.

Yes, it must be admitted that John was an odd character. "Your back is greatly weakened, John," said the village doctor. " You will find it a matter of great difficulty to maintain your usual erect carriage." He had always been noted for the erectness of his bearing, but after this threat of the doctor's you could have taken his back for a plane. William Morris said that John must have swallowed his own royal sceptre. How came this village bellman to be called a king? I have delayed answering this question because, if I saw any one laugh at John Tudor, I should grow very angry. I thoughtlessly ridiculed his royal claims the first time I heard of them, and have regretted it ever since. No one knows whether he dreamed it or imagined it, but a king he most definitely claimed to be. Nobody appears to know the precise time or circumstances when the claim was first made.

They say that he had always had kings on the brain, and held some very peculiar ideas about kingship in general. One very eccentric thing he would often say was, that kings ought to be chosen, not by heredity, but by character. THE ROYAL LINE OF GARTH- Y-COED 5 It was recorded as another of his odd ex pressions that a man of sterling character was a king, even though he worked in a coal-mine. Such irregular ideas as these naturally drew forth many comments, until John one day re torted upon his critics that he himself was a king. It was said afterwards that he claimed to be descended from former princes of Wales, and even to bear some relation to the Tudor sovereigns of England. But I can discover no evidence that John ever said anything of the kind, and conclude that this must be the work of later imagination.

I am also in clined to think that some of the villagers did not quite understand his real meaning. Any how, from that day he was called John Tudor the king, and never resented the title. I have thought the matter well over, and have come to the conclusion that the title was well deserved, that John Tudor was indeed a king. " If you call this a victory," said Tom Jones, "one would like to know what sort of a thing you would account a defeat ? " The old king stretched himself out straighter than ever as he replied, "If the suffering we have endured had broken our spirit and cor rupted our manhood ; if it had driven us wild and reckless and violent ; if it had made us forget God and shame our holy religion ; if the gold had not shone bright in the fire ;— then I should have sadly proclaimed a defeat, and wept for the misery of Garth-y-coed."

The old king's manner was so solemn that Tom was hushed, and the eyes of the others kindled with sympathy. "You heard the prayer offered here to-day when the men met together to end the strike. It was Tom Bowen. His face was haggard with hunger and pain. I feared for him. It is a time when men say mad things. But the prayer was gentle and holy. Tom had not forgotten that the wrath of man worketh not the righteous ness of God. " Then came the resolution to surrender. To be forced to submit to oppression wakens fury in men. The caged lioness is robbed of her whelps. I feared to hear lips used to prayer utter curses upon the tyrant. There is a way to conquer in surrendering, and Garth-y-coed found that way to-day. ' Greater is he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.' " And then they sang.

Just think of it ! They sang, ' Diolch iddo ! ' as if they were walking up the streets of the New Jerusalem, instead of being downtrodden in the coal-mines of Garth-y-coed. I think they forgot all about the strike, and imagined it was a great Cym manfa. The Rev. Paul Hughes had come up to join us, and I saw him weep tears of joy. The lark that caught the music and soared up to the sky with it is only now returning. " Yes," repeated John Tudor, " it is a great vic tory ! " And this time no one contradicted him. There was a brief silence, and then John began again. "Gomer set us a grand example last night on Penydarren. I saw it all from first to last." "I, too, saw a little of it," said William Morris. " But I know the history only in fragments. We would fain hear the whole of it." " You shall," said the king.

" You all know Hugh Griffith the poacher. He is a man that has been more feared than loved in Garth-y-coed. His great strength of body, his fierce passions, his reckless moods, and his lawless poaching habits, have combined to make 'him a kind of Ishmael among the people. " But he had a daughter whom he loved as his own life. She had always been weakly, as fragile as her father was massive and powerful, and had required from her childhood the most careful and delicate nurture. Her mother died soon after the birth of this her only child of that fell and treacherous disease, consumption, and the lonely father and the lonely child became all in all to one another. With her he was always gentle ; and rough, strong, and fierce though he was, he lavished upon her love and tenderness like those of a mother.

" He was as gentle to her as only the strong can be, and loved her as fondly as only a great passionate soul can do. She clung to him as the ivy clings to the oak, and he protected her as the rugged rock protects the tiny plant that nestles in its crevice. She was his guardian angel, and kept the lamp of his manhood from going out by the flame of her constant love. " Fragile though she was, she seemed to thrive under his tender care ; and all went well until the terrible hardships of this strike came upon us. He braved the worst pangs of hunger that she might not suffer, and fasted oft that she might eat. But the privation even thus tempered was more than her frail constitution could endure. The bloom faded from her cheeks, the pinched and hectic face signalled the ebbing life, and a subtle languor stole over her.

But in this case love was blind indeed, and her father could not see the danger. " At last a morning came when she could not leave her bed ; and all at once Hugh Griffith's eyes were opened. He staggered from the bed side like one that had received a felling blow. His daughter's life was ebbing away, and all for lack of nourishing food and drink. Humbled by this new and terrible dread, he resolved to beg nourishment for her from Mr. Wynne, the senior proprietor of the Garth-y-coed coal-mine. " But Ned Wynne saw him, and ordered the servant-men to expel him from the grounds as a lazy scoundrel. Probably, if the real circum stances that led him there had been known, even proud and insolent Ned Wynne would have pitied and aided him. " Hugh returned to his desolate home with face rigidly set, and a glare in his great eyes that was terrible to look upon.

For another week he tenderly nursed the wasting form of his darling, giving her all that the neighbours could spare from their starving store. But it was too late to save her now, even if all the luxuries of the world were poured at her feet. In her presence the angel of gentleness relaxed his face. But when she was not near, his flaming eyes burnt daily with a fiercer blaze, and the hard lines of rage and pain became drawn more tightly in his white face. " Then came the end. It was as beautiful as the love of watcher and watched could make it. This fierce soul fought with the devil in the background, but not a shadow of the struggle appeared to disturb the peace of the dying. With the whispered words, ' Father ! dear father ! ' she passed away. Like one who could not believe she was dead, he kissed the cold lips long and passionately.

The women sobbed as they watched him. He shed no tear, and uttered no word, but continued to gaze at the countenance of the dead with a face almost as white and rigid as her own, and strained eyes that seemed to stare into vacancy. The watchers withdrew from the room, thinking that, if left alone with the form he loved, he might find relief in tears. Half an hour later they returned. The fixed statue still gazed tearless into the beautiful face of the dead. They gently took his arm to lead him from the chamber. He obeyed like one in a dream, and his set face still gazed into vacancy. Thus for many an hour by night and day would he stand in the chamber of death with the same stony, tearless stare, until some friendly hand would lead him away. And no one knew how to waken his human passions again, or what such awakening would mean.

" The first change observed in him was at the graveside, when what was mortal of her he loved was consigned to the earth. No tear did he shed even then. But some noticed that his lips quivered, and his clenched hands relaxed and again tightened their grip. In his lonely house that night fearful noises were heard as though a demon were let loose. Now a sound of weeping and wailing, like the sobs and cries of many broken hearts. Now fierce oaths and n curses as though the Furies gave voice to their rage. This was but the night before last. " Yesterday he locked himself within the house, where all was again as quiet as the grave. But Hugh had been seen in the very early morn ing, pale and haggard, in conference with some of the worst desperadoes of the village. We now feared his quiet more than his raging passion, and dreaded some reckless act of vengeance.

No one in the village, as you all know, has so much influence with Hugh as Gomer Williams. To him I made known my fears. He hastened to Hugh's house, but the doors were still barred and bolted, and the house as silent as the chambers of the dead. " Last night, under cover of the darkness, he was seen stealing up the hillside towards Peny darren colliery, and we knew that mischief was afoot. Swiftly we followed, but could not gain upon him. Like a greyhound he sped over the rough, uneven ground. When he reached the engine-house he kindled a flaming brand, by the light of which we saw that the desperadoes he had employed were already there. Their purpose became clear. Dry straw, wood shavings, and other inflammable material were piled up in the outhouses of the colliery. They meditated burning them to the ground.

The flaring torch was already being applied by Hugh to the prepared fuel — for he had stipulated that his own hand should do it — when the voice of Gomer Williams rang out strong and clear, ' Hugh Griffith, hold ! You are foully disgracing the memory of the daughter that loved you ! ' With sure instinct Gomer had sent his shaft against Hugh's vulnerable point. The torch fell from his hand as though struck by lightning. ' Who dares to say that ? ' he fiercely demanded. His face was so livid with fury that I instinctively fell back a pace. But Gomer advanced to meet him, and said simply, ' I do.' The giant uttered a terrible oath, and sprang towards him with clenched fists. Gomer stood motionless, but the blow never came. Hugh uttered a deep groan, and his hands fell nerveless by his side. " All would now have been well had not another voice — that of Ned Wynne — rung out at that moment, ' There's the scoundrel !

Arrest him quickly ! ' The plot had been discovered, for Ned Wynne was accompanied by two police men. His cynical voice lashed Hugh into mad ness. Thrusting the constables aside as though they were children, he sprang upon young Wynne like a wild beast, flung him to the ground, and seized his throat with a grip of iron. A few seconds more and those powerful fingers would have crushed the life out of Ned Wynne. I saw Gomer's face grow deadly pale. Then he leaped upon the infuriated man, and whispered in his ear with hoarse distinctness ' Murderer ! Your daughter in heaven is cursing you ! ' It was a terrible thing to say, and could be said to that wild creature only at the risk of very life. It was a moment not to be forgotten. The sight was weird. The now flickering torch served only to reveal the gloom of the night on the hillside.

We saw ourselves dimly, a few indistinct figures jutting out of the darkness, while an awful tragedy hung in the balance in that lonely spot. " The next thing we knew was that Ned was free, and Hugh had become very quiet. He submitted himself without resistance to the constables, and now awaits his trial. Gomer disappeared at once, and has hidden himself away somewhere. We would fain see him, but he is not to be found." " What are the prospects of an increase in the ranks of royalty, John ? " asked William Morris, with a twinkle in his eye. The question seems irrelevant, but was not really so. John Tudor had turned to depart at the conclusion of his narrative, but now faced his auditors again with a bright light in his eyes. " As long as our Welsh hills can produce men like Gomer, Wales shall not want for kings ! "

Chapter II The Shadow Of Scepticism

The prolonged strike at Garth-y-coed had been a sore trial to Gomer Williams. It was not one of those trials that come in the form of a sudden, sharp calamity. It took the less tolerable form of a cross that threatened to wear out the buoyancy of life by a perpetual gnawing and irritation. Up to this time his life had been singularly free from sorrow or care. His father had died when Gomer was too young to experience the grief of bereavement. In his mother, whose face was sweeter and whose heart was purer for the touch of early sorrow, he found the guardian angel of his joys. She was deeply religious, but her religion was as natural as the song of the skylark. In the village school, as I found duly recorded by the schoolmaster, Gomer carried off all the honours, and so his schooldays naturally went on merrily.

The record goes on M to say that he was as a boy of an ardent and generous disposition, mingled with a turn for adventure which led him into mischievous pranks oftener than the schoolmaster could approve or even quite forgive. This is the only point in the schoolmaster's record where he evinces disapproval of Gomer's conduct, and there Lis an intrusive hint that in this matter the boy cultivated some acquaintance with the schoolmaster's instruments of discipline. But we can dismiss these righteous visitations as not involving, after all, any real or lasting grief. At a very early age he began to work in the coal-mine, as there was now no one left to support his widowed mother and his sister Annie. But even this was not felt as a hardship. The collier's child looks forward with a kind of ambition to the day when he shall begin to work and " earn money for himself and others."

The boy who comes home in the evening smudged with the dust of the coal-mine after his first day's work in the depth of the earth is looked upon as a sort of hero, and viewed with envious eyes by the younger boys who have not yet earned this distinction. To this rule Gomer presented no exception. He was by no means loth to enter the coal-mine, and so become without further delay a " man." But after he had become a " man " in this summary fashion it soon began to be evident that his manhood was of a somewhat expansive type. The more Gomer tried to fit himself into the coal-mine, the more hopeless was the task. The growing eagle in its narrow cage longed for the wide sky, first with blind instinct, afterwards clearly enough. This feeling of constraint and contrast made him conscious of himself all the more quickly, and hastened the development of his rare powers.

The luxuriant growth of his gifts of head and heart showed with startling conspicuousness against the background of his humble occupation, like rich embroidery upon a neutral ground. He absorbed the simple and intense religion of Garth-y-coed as though it were the natural breath of his life. A passion for reading and study grew upon him. There was now a distinct beating of the wings against the cage. Whenever Gomer went down into the pit, sundry Jacob's ladders that communicated with the broad skies had to be dragged down with him, and the task became more and more difficult. For a time the men looked on and wondered. At last an inspiration seized them. There was danger now that too many would speak at once. " Gomer was not intended for the coal-mine. His place is in the pulpit." Then every one wondered why no one had spoken sooner.

They went to the Rev. Paul Hughes when they had had scarce time to wash the grime from their faces, and said, " We have come about Gomer Williams. There is the making of a great preacher in him." The old minister beamed upon them with his radiant smile, and said — " Have you been so long time with him, and yet have not known him until to-day ? He will one day be great in the Christian pulpit. He has been much in my thought and prayer, but there have been difficulties which enjoined silence for a time. You are poor in this world's goods, but I know you will be willing to make sacrifices for his sake whenever the request shall come to you. I will see Gomer, and arrange all the rest." So under the guidance and counsel of the famous Garth-y-coed preacher, Gomer definitely decided that he would become a Christian minister.

His difficulties were many, but his heart was brave, and the end was joy. Hard work and much self-denial would be required before he could afford to pay the expenses of entering the theological college upon which his heart was set. It was the Brasdir College, the institution in which Rev. Paul Hughes had been trained, and which must therefore have been a very marvellous place for making, or at least for shaping, preachers. Not only was it necessary that the expenses of this notable college should be paid, but something must be left over for his mother and Annie to live upon when there would be no grist coming into Gomer's mill except that of learning. The struggle was cheerfully carried on. Little by little Gomer's savings increased, and in many another home there were similar hoardings also " ear-marked " for Brasdir College, though of these Gomer knew nothing.

The top of the ascent was all but reached, and thanksgiving for this welcome achievement already on Gomer's lips, when the devastating strike came, and swept away from every home every penny that had been so laboriously saved. For the first time his faith became touched with shadow. Hitherto his religious life had been free, frank, open, and joyous. His faith had been unquestioning and childlike. Life's sentry had never challenged his movements or compelled him to give an account of himself. No scepticism had touched him, nor had his faith ever defended its own life in battle. Now a change had come swiftly and subtly. The unquestioned perfection of the world's order was no longer existent. Something was amiss. A new shadow was flung athwart the sunlight of the world, and Gomer felt the chill of it.

The day following the night of Hugh Griffith's madness on Penydarren had been spent by Gomer among the wild hills. An overwhelming desire for solitude had come upon him. It was the unconscious strategy of a born warrior that led him to drag the spectre that assailed him to the bracing heights, as Elijah long before had dragged his spectre along with him to Horeb. The battle rested not the whole day, and Gomer fasted and traversed the hills from morning till evening. A subtle change had come over every thing. The hills had assumed a new aspect of menacing grimness. Gomer was quick to notice the swoop of a hawk and to see it bear away its little feathered prey in its talons. It had never struck him so before. It was a day of genuine battle, and he was the better for it. But even the shadow of scepticism, when it comes in earnest, takes more than a day's beating.

The shadow hung on ! The next morning Gomer felt weary in mind and body. To the restless struggle of the previous day had succeeded an unwonted languor and lethargy in which bitterness of spirit was distinctly present. His mother, with quick maternal instinct, had divined the shadow that had fallen upon his life, and watched him unobtrusively, yet with much solicitude. His sister Annie had also been quick enough to see that his mind was troubled, but deemed it simply a passing anxiety con cerning the difficulties which the strike had brought in its train. Gomer was aroused by the advent of a mes senger from Mr. Wynne to inform him that Messrs. Wynne and Pennant desired to see him that evening at Plas Newydd, the residence of the latter. Even Mrs. Williams gave a little eager start, and a faint flush of colour stole into her soft, pale cheek.

Annie, with less caution and self-restraint, exclaimed in much excitement : " Oh, Gomer ! perhaps your troubles are over. Mr. Wynne could send you to college if he liked." In subtle dangers the mother is swift and mighty. Gentle as the light and with no less quickness came the interposition : " Hush, Annie dear ! We have no right to look for any such thing. We have no claim on Mr. Wynne, and cannot expect him to have any sympathy with our desires for Gomer. Honest independence, even with poverty and disappointment, is far better than some kinds of favours, even if such favours were offered." Gomer now spoke quietly. At first a new light of hope had flashed into his eyes, and Annie's thoughtless speech had for a moment startled him out of himself. Now his words were calm and deliberate. " Messrs. Wynne and Pennant wish to question me about the attempt to destroy their out-works at Penydarren.