jL<T- frUsvU
A WEEKLY JOURNAL OF THE FARM, HOME, AND GARDEN.
ol. VIII,
INDIANAPOLIS, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 20, 1873.
No. 16.
FORMERLY NORTH-WESTERN FABMEB.
I ONLY AOBIOTJLTUBAL PAPSB DT INDIANA.
Devote* a Department to the Interests of tba
.   Order of the Patrons of Husbandry.
I ORGAN. OF INDIANA STATE BOARD OF AGRICULTURE
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A BROKEN BRIDGE.
A THIILMKG STORY.
I reached the little Welsh town of Abermaw one boisterous afternoon in autumn at
about four o'clock, after a long tramp over the
mountains. Abennair, as its name implies, is
situated at the mouth of the river Maw,
which here forms an estuary about a mile
broad. The town itself laces the open sea ;
the harbor lies about half a mile up the estuary; whilst between the town and the
barbor was the outline of a huge bridge, then
in construction. Abermaw is a little bit of a
place, consisting of a hotel, a few shops, a
church, a chapel, of ease, and half a dozen
lodging houses, which are built on a platform
of sand, the work of the sea and river in
concert or in conflict The old fishing village
ia perched upon the rocks above, tier upon
fer, the lintel-stone of one house looked down
the chimney of the house below, and is reached by rude rocky steps, where the children
of the village swarm up and down, and yet
rarely contrive to break their necks. The
further shore of ths estuary was a triangular
spit of sand, across which was a track that
joined the high road at a point where it commenced to mount the shoulder of a wave
beaten cliff on the fence of which it was ter
raced ; for on the further or southern side of
the estuary tbe sea washed up to the very
base of the rocks that formed the rugged
fringe of this iron-bound coast. There was a
ferry from the Abermaw side to the spit of
sand, and thence, by a detour of several
miles you could make your way along the
southern bank of the river to the town of
Dolbadarn. As the crow flies, Dalbadarn
was not more than seven miles distant from
Abermaw, but it could not be reached by any
practicable track in less than from ten to
eleven miles; for the river took a wide sweep
to the north, and in addition to the detour
thus caused, the first bridge where the road
crossed the river was at a point a good way
wide of Dolbadarn, so that, altogether, the
distance was lengthened to that above mentioned. On the other hand, if you crossed
the ferry, and made your way across the sand
to the Highway, the .distance was much the
same, and this latter route was of course
only practicable to foot-passengers.
Although I had reached Abermaw in the
guise of a free and independent pedestrian,
yet my liberty was of a restricted nature.
My wife and children had gone by a regular
coach-route to Dolbardarn, and I had crossed
the mountains by a wild foot-track, promising to join them that night at Dolbadarn in
time for dinner; for I had intended to take
the coach at Abermaw, which would have
brought me to the end of my jourey in good
time., ' This coach, however I had missed by
just five minutes. My walk that day had
been a long one, and I was rather fagged,
and should probably have hired a conveyance for the rest of the distance; but the
manner of the landlord of the hotel was so
abrupt, and, as I thought, offensive, in answer to my inquiries, that I resolved, come
what might, he should not be a sixpence the
richer for me. I walked on till I came to a
little public house at the further end of the
town, close to the rough quay that bordered
the estuary, and turned in there for a glass of
beer and a crust of bread and cheese, as well
as for the purpose of making a few inquiries
as to my route.
" Well, indeed," said Evan Rowlands, the
landlord, " there is no possible way to get to
Dolbardarn to-night, not unless you take a
car from Mr. Jones." v
"I shan't have a car from Mr. Jones," I
said.   " Can't I hire one anywhere else?"
Evan shook his head; there was no horse
or car in Abermaw except tho horses and
cars owned by Mr. Jones.
" Very well, then," I said, I would walk.
" Not possible," said Evan; " it's more than
ten miles.
' 'I wouldn't mind the distance, only I've
walked five-and-twenty miles already."
"Dear me," said Evan; "you're very
strong."
" Can't I get a boat part of tho way?" I
suggested.
Evan put his head out at tha door. "No !*■
he cried; "the tide has just turned; it is
running down very strong."
" Then there is nothing for it but walking,"
I said; " I must go round by Llanfair Bridge."
But I didn't like the idea of this ten mile
walk through the midst of gathering gloom.
"Stop!" said Evan. "Why should you
not go over the bridge—tho railway bridge."
"Is the bridge passible, then. Can you
get across ?"
" O dear, yes. The gentleman from the
the crossway came over very often, and today Dr. Morris did come over from the Dol-
brita to tarry."
" And what distance will that save me 1"
" Four or five miles; yes, sure."
" And the bridge is quite safe?"
" Oh, it is very strong and safe, indeed; or
how should Hugh Pugn and David Morris
come over and the railway gentlemen too;
yes, sure."
" And the railway people won't object to
my going over?"
" They've all knocked off work for the day,
and there won't be a soul near the bridge but
yourself."
"Then of course 111 go over it." But I
found that there were certain difficulties in
the way. The railway bridge crossed the estuary at a point above a quarter of a mile
from the little inn that formed the extreme
part of the town, at a spot where its channel
was narrowed to a distance of about three
quarters of a mile. The unfinished bridge
was constructed of piles firmly driven into
the center of the river, from which rose large
piers of timber to the hight of about forty
feet. Along these were massive balks, destined to support the platform of the bridge,
while each pier was' strengthened and supported its neighbor, by an arrangement of
cross-beams and ties. When I reached the
bank of the river with my guide, Evan Rowlands, I found that there was a considerable