The Coach and Horses (sign of)—Beware of bog spirits—Tell that to the Marines—An early breakfast—Salmon poaching with lights—Am I the man? or, the day of judgment—Acquittal!

The Coach and Horses was the sign of a small roadside inn in North Wales, beautifully situated, as far as scenery and landscape were concerned, but as the house was built upon the steepest part of a severe hill, it was as difficult to stop in descending as it was inviting to “pull-up” in the ascent.

The house was kept by an old coachman, whose family consisted of his wife, daughter, and son, a boy twelve years old.

The old man’s knowledge of the requirements necessary to make both man and horse comfortable, acquired for him a just reputation, and tourists (especially with their own horses) frequently made the Coach and Horses their headquarters from which to make expeditions into the country. Two fast coaches changed horses, up and down, daily, serving as antidotes to the usual dulness of a country inn.

Some years ago I was making a “drag-tour” through that part of the country, and, one of my wheelers having picked up a nail, I was compelled to halt for some days at the Coach and Horses. At any other time I should have enjoyed some fishing, but the season had closed. I passed, the time in rambling amongst the magnificent scenery which the country afforded, devoting my attention to the objects of natural history with which it abounds, and taking advantage of the coaches for a lift home when I exceeded my distance. On one of these occasions I had been led far into the wildest part of the hills in endeavouring to watch a dispute between a kestrel and a raven, which interested me so much that I was quite unmindful of time, distance, or direction, and found myself at dusk completely lost. No landmark, no guide of any description to suggest my course. I had come out “down wind,” but the wind may have changed! There was the sunset, et voilÀ tout.

A thick fog now began to rise, entirely concealing every trace of outline.

To light a pipe and sit down upon a rock to consider what was to be done, was all that remained to me.

The darkness increased rapidly, and, with the rising vapour, soon rendered it impossible to see a yard in advance. The situation was grave. I knew I was in the neighbourhood of steep declivities, and therefore decided upon remaining where I was till the fog lifted and there was more light.

The time passed heavily, and the scene would have been gloomy in the extreme, if the busy lights of the Jack-o’-lanterns had not kept me constantly on the qui vive. These singular visitors appeared to venture nearer and nearer to my sheltering rock and endeavour to entice me to follow them, bounding and dancing down the hill before me, and joining a host of other lights which appeared to be holding high revel in the valley beneath.

The mist thickened into a drizzling rain, which made the darkness even darker, and caused my weird companions to flit about with increased activity. So natural were these appearances that I could scarcely refrain from following one larger light which appeared to be sent forward to escort me, venturing each time nearer and nearer to my stony refuge.

If any of my readers have involuntarily passed a night upon a Welsh mountain, they will know what mingled distress and pleasure the dawn produces—distress, because, however cold, wet, and miserable you may have been during the night, the dawn brings with it a change of atmosphere which runs through your bones, and causes your whole frame to shiver; and the waiting for the light, intolerable pleasure, because, with the return of glorious day, come relief and light.

The longed-for light at length began to creep amongst the boulders and the heather, and show me once more how wisely I had decided in remaining still, instead of attempting to feel my way in any uncertain direction, surrounded as I was by deep ravines and precipices.

Tired, wet through, and with aching bones, I began my peregrination, and after walking some two miles through the hills I espied a cottage, to which I directed my steps in the hope of getting some refreshment. To my surprise and joy, I found a woman at the cottage who was evidently expecting some arrival. I had some difficulty in making the woman understand that I appealed only for a glass of milk. She spoke nothing but Welsh, and appeared much alarmed at my visit. If it had not been for the opportune arrival of two men (peasants), one of whom spoke English, I might have failed to obtain even the modest hospitality I so much needed.

After some conversation, in which I described myself and my position without reserve, we were all, within a few minutes, supplied with an ample bowl of hot oatmeal porridge.

The cottage was situated in a lonely glen, thickly studded with brushwood, but I could discern no road leading to it. I had made my way across the hills, and on inquiring the distance to the Coach and Horses, I found it was five miles.

Feeling that my unaccountable absence must have given rise to some anxiety, I was eager to depart as soon as I had finished breakfast, and with that view had arranged with the peasant to conduct me to the highroad. Suddenly, as we were about to leave the cottage, the door was rudely forced open, and two men, entering, seized me by the collar, saying: “We’re looking for you.”

“Then I’m glad you’ve found me,” said I; “for the good people at the Coach and Horses must have been much distressed at my disappearance.”

“They won’t be distressed when they hear that you’ve got three months for this job.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mean! Why, we mean that we have been a-watching of you all night.”

“I wish you had made your presence known,” said I. “I would have made it worth your while.”

“Ah, but we don’t do business in that way. No, no! a good catch like this for us is better than a good catch of fish is for you. We saw your lights a mile off.”

I was more puzzled than ever. Except an occasional fusee for my pipe, and the marsh-light, I had passed the whole weary night without seeing a light at all.

But on further explanation I began to comprehend that the river-watchers had suspected me of having been flame-poaching all night, and followed me to the cottage.

I protested that I was no poacher, but a benighted tourist who had accidentally lost his way upon the hills, and that I could prove my assertions if taken to the Coach and Horses.

All I could say was of no avail, and with a fellow-prisoner—a peasant, now brought in—I was marched off to Rhyadder; where, at eleven o’clock on the same day, we were taken before a bench of magistrates, charged with having “unlawfully, by means of torches and spears, captured salmon during the night season.”

An anxious night had been passed at the Coach and Horses in consequence of my absence. Messengers had been despatched in all directions to inquire and search; and it was not until my messenger arrived, requesting the landlord of the Coach and Horses to come at once and identify me, that the apprehensions of my friends were allayed.

To prove my innocence was by no means so easy a task as it would appear. Two river-watchers swore point-blank to having seen me and my fellow-prisoner at the edge of the pool fishing with torches, that they watched us for a considerable time, and at daybreak followed us to the cottage where we were apprehended.

The oaths of these two men, combined with circumstantial evidence, were so strong against me that I almost doubted whether I had been poaching or not! My urgent declaration that I had been sitting upon a rock all night seemed weakish; it wouldn’t “wash.” I overheard one of the magistrates whisper to his neighbour something about “a cock-and-bull story.”

I had well-nigh broken down in my alibi when the landlord of the Coach and Horses rushed into court. But he could only identify me as the missing gentleman.

“Where did you pass the night?” was the repeated question from the Bench. I had never found so much difficulty in accounting for myself during a night in my life; and my assurance that I had been benighted upon a mountain gave rise to much merriment amongst the audience, salmon poaching being at that time a very common offence in Wales. On the other hand the two river-watchers had sworn that they had followed us, step by step, from the pool to the cottage—a distance of two miles—and that they had never lost sight of us. The fact proved to be that they had followed and apprehended two men, but the second poacher had slipped out of the cottage when the watchers entered, and I had slipped into his place!

My landlord of the Coach and Horses pleaded earnestly for my acquittal, but facts are stubborn—so are Welsh justices; and it was with the greatest reluctance that the Bench consented to release me on bail, to come up again for judgment in a week, during which time further inquiry would be made into my statement.

My triumphant return to the Coach and Horses was an occasion of much rejoicing, though I believe there are some who to this day have felt disinclined to acquit me of all complicity in the salmon poaching foray.

When the day of judgment arrived I took with me “young David,” the son of the landlord, and sought the cottage from which I had been so roughly taken. My disappointment was great at finding the house closed and the door barred, having no appearance of occupation about it. I was turning away in despair when we heard the bleating of a calf, which showed the place was not altogether deserted.

We resolved to wait till the evening set in, concluding that someone interested in the young calf would respond to its pitiful appeal; nor were we wrong in our surmise. As the evening closed in we espied a woman in the distance, leading a black cow towards the house. We lay in ambush till matters were sufficiently advanced to prevent an abrupt appearance from interrupting the domestic arrangements, and then, taking David to interpret for me, I asked the woman if she remembered having seen me before.

Apparently much alarmed, she flew into a rage, denouncing me in terms which, David informed me, were anything but complimentary, and declaring that I had betrayed her husband and brother, and caused them to be apprehended by the watchers. It took some time to “moderate the rancour” of this lady’s tongue, but when we had brought her to reason, she agreed to come forward and state in the court that I had come to the cottage, on the morning in question, before her husband and brother, and had not seen them till we met at the cottage. Questioned about her brother, she said he had sailed for America.

Armed with this evidence, I presented myself before the bench of magistrates at the appointed time. The woman had kept faith, and was present, although not called, for the watchers had become a little shaken in their belief; and inquiry having been made, and proving satisfactory, I was at once acquitted. Not so my fellow-prisoner, who, this being his fourth conviction, was sentenced to six months’ hard labour.