CHAP. X.
Twm returns to his mother’s at Tregaron. His reception there, and amongst his old friends and cronies. Enters the service of Squire Graspacre, and lives in clover. Becomes a great reader, hates servitude, and grows melancholy and romantic.
After setting out early in the morning, and walking hard all day over a rugged mountain road, the heart of Twm Shôn Catti thrilled with delight, and the tears filled in his eyes when, late in the evening, his own native place, the humble town of Tregaron appeared before him; and although his feet were so blistered that he could scarcely move, he attempted to make his limbs partake of the new vigour which sprung up in his heart, and essayed to run, but failing in his aim, fell down completely mastered by exhaustion and fatigue. Whether, like Brutus, he was re-nerved by breathing awhile on the bosom of his mother earth, or that the thoughts within, of home and its associations, gave him strength, he rose much refreshed, but with considerable pain continued the short untraced portion of his journey.
Entering the town, at length, just as the darkness began to veil every object, he came to his mother’s door, which was open, and cast an enquiring look before he entered. Catti had long dismissed her scholars, and sat in the chimney corner with her back towards the door, while her husband occupied the other side, and sat silently busy in scooping out the bowl of a new ladle. Twm’s merry, trick-loving soul was not to be subdued by his troubles; having drawn his flat-rimmed old hat over his eyes, he leaned over his mother’s hatch, and in a feigned voice begged for a piece of bread and cheese, saying that he was a poor boy, very hungry and tired, who was making his way home to Lampeter. “We are poor folk ourselves, and have nothing to give,” said Carmarthen Jack, rather gruffly. “Stop!” cried Catti, “he’s a poor child Jack, a bit of bread and cheese is not much, and somebody might take pity on my poor Twm, and give as much, if he should ever need it.” The affectionate heart of Twm could no longer contain itself, but opening the hatch he burst forward, dashing his hat on the ground, and falling on her neck, giving ardent utterance to merely the word “mother;” and after the tender pause of nature’s own embrace, he cried, with streaming eyes, “My good kind charitable mother! you shall never want bread and cheese, while your poor Twm has health and strength to earn it.” Warmly returning his embrace and kisses, Catti long clasped her boy, and was quite terrified to see his pale lean cheek, and altered look. Ashamed of the exposure of his pitiless nature, Jack now came up, shook hands and condoled with him, but Twm had seen the man, and loved him not. After being refreshed, Catti eagerly enquired of all that happened to him since he left home, and wept much as he detailed his narrow escape from starvation and the small pox. By twelve o’clock next day, his tale was known to every body at Tregaron.
The catastrophe at Morris Grump’s, of course, was considered as a judgement from heaven for his miserly propensities; and Ianto Gwyn wrote a pathetic ballad, to the great edification of the old women and tender-hearted damsels, giving a true and particular account of the whole affair; to which was attached a moral, on the cruelty of mal-treating parish apprentices, and stuffing them with mouldy bread and sour flummery. This interesting ballad was daily sung by Wat the mole-catcher, to the English tune of Chevy Chase, which gained him the good will of all those old crones, who had taken deep offence at his numerous tricks.
Carmarthen Jack, although so careful of his bread and cheese, was determined not to be outdone on this occasion, but brought the graphic art to perpetuate his stepson’s tale; that is to say, he carved on a wooden bowl the figures of four beings, well attended, in bed, with the scythe of Death across their throats, while in the distance a meagre boy was snatching a joint of meat from the fire; the idea, it is true, was better than the execution; but altogether it gained Jack very great applause.
Right glad were all Twm’s cronies to see him again at Tregaron; but dearer than all to him was the welcome of the curate Rhys, with whose books he was again permitted to make free, while he profited by his instructions and conversation. He had now been at home about three months, and recovered his health, strength, and spirits to perfection, when his mother fancied he had become an eye-sore to her husband, who she thought looked at him with the scowling brow of a step-father, which Twm’s conduct, he might imagine, justified, as his behaviour towards Jack had been very unconciliating, ever since the bread and cheese adventure. With this impression, Catti once more waited on Squire Graspacre to solicit that some place or employment should be found for her boy, as she could not afford to keep him in idleness. The tale of his sufferings at Cwm du, interested the squire in his favor; and he felt some reluctance to send him as a parish apprentice; particularly as Catti declared he would rather die than be such again. The worthy curate, Rhys, had also spoken a kind word in his pupil’s favor; and Carmarthen Jack, gaping hand in hand, looked as if he would say much to get rid of his stepson, could he hit on words to his purpose. Amused by his simplicity and awkward gestures, the squire asked him, “Well Jack, what would you advise me to do with Catti’s boy?” This plain question met as blunt an answer, “Make him your servant boy sir, if you please.” “And so I will old hedgehog,” cried the squire, slapping him on the shoulder, “Your oratory has settled the matter.” Accordingly, our hero next appears as the squire’s man at Graspacre Hall; this was an agreeable change in life to him, where he lived, as they say, in clover; and by his good temper and turn for mirth, he gained the good will and admiration of his fellow servants, particularly the girls, with whom he became an especial favorite. Behold him now then, in the seventeenth year of his age, with the looks and habits of twenty, gay, happy, and as mischievous as an ape; kissing and romping with the girls, caring for none of them but shewing attentions to all, while he jeered and mocked the cross-grained and disagreeable, and whenever he could, raised a laugh at their peculiarities. His employments at the squire’s were various, among which, waiting at table every day, neatly dressed, and carrying his master’s gun and attending him during his shooting excursions, formed the principal. To these, Squire Graspacre, who since the death of his wife was ever wench-hunting, aimed to add the office of pimp. Twm, however, had been swayed too long by the counsels of Rhys the curate, to lend himself to any such unworthy services; and having by his conversations with him, and by the tenor of his readings, imbibed a taste for romantic honor, he was not without a secret hope, if not presentiment, that his great father might some day own him, and destine him to a very different sphere in life. These ideas were no sooner born than they daily expanded in his breast, and filled his imagination so far as to induce him to seize every opportunity to improve his mind, and qualify himself for the best chances of Fortune. With the growth of these notions, rose in his mind a distaste for servitude, and an ardent longing to shine in a sphere allied to literature and respectability.
By the time he had been a twelvemonth in his situation, from a merry happy youth he became pensive, and sometimes deeply melancholy. His bed-room was over the lawndry, a building detached from the house; in which he had shelves put up to hold his books, a small stock, but which he continually increased by laying out every farthing which he received from visitors, or saved from his wages, in the purchase of more. On retiring at night, his habits were to cover closely his window, to conceal the light of his candle, while he generally sat up more than half the night luxuriating over his darling volumes; and as he was directed in his choice of them by Rhys, who made him presents of many, he soon acquired no inconsiderable share of information: this blessing, however, became partially a curse to him, for, as he could not be persuaded to give his attention to books of a religious tendency, the light that gleamed upon his mind had the effect of shewing him his destitution, and making him discontented with his lot in life. Sometimes, he talked to his late school-master on the subject of travelling to England to seek his fortune, which wandering predilections that worthy man always discouraged, but events soon occurred to shew our hero in a new character, in which most men appear at some period of their lives—that of a lover.
CHAP. XI.
Twm Shôn Catti falls in love, and preserves his mistress from the squire’s clutches. The adventures of Farmer Cadwgan’s she ass. Twm escapes from the squire’s.
The squire and his man Twm returning one evening from grousing on the hills, on their descent towards the valleys had to pass by a small farm house, inhabited by a tenant of the former, who whispered Twm, “This is the keep, the close, that contains better game, and can afford livelier sport than any I have had to day.” Twm by his silence testified his ignorance of his drift; but he resumed “what you don’t understand me? haven’t you seen this farmer’s plump partridge of a daughter, the pretty Gwenny Cadwgan, you young dog! I am determined to have that bird down, some way or other, and you must help me.” Before Twm could reply, the squire alighted and entered the cottage, at the door of which the farmer and Gwenny Cadwgan, now grown a fine and blooming young woman, met and welcomed their landlord. Some oaten bread, butter and cheese, and a cup of homely ale was put before him; and while he ate, the pretty Gwenny carried a portion to Twm, as he held the horses in the yard. While he received the welcome food from the hand of the happy smiling girl, he perceived the blush with which she gave it, and felt in his breast certain sensations no less new than agreeable; thus, while each made brief allusions to their days of childhood, a tear started in the eyes of Twm, on seeing which the bright eyes of Gwenny were also suffused, till the pearly drops over-ran her fresh ruddy cheeks. Her father then calling her in, she suddenly shook hands with, and left our hero, who in that hour became a captive to her charms, while the innocent girl herself then felt the first shootings of a passion that daily grew, in sympathy with his own.
The squire having finished his hasty lunch, he remarked to his tenant Cadwgan in a hurried manner, that he should have company, the next day to entertain at his house, and would thank him to let his lass come to the hall to assist in attending on them. The farmer of course assented, in words, for what small farmer would dare to deny his landlord such a favor, though his heart might tremble with apprehension?
After the squire’s departure, Cadwgan became deeply distressed at the predicament in which he found himself; to deny his landlord, was probably to lose his farm; and to assent to his specious proposal, was to endanger, if not utterly ruin the innocence of his darling daughter; as, since the death of Mistress Graspacre, more than one of the neighbouring damsels had to rue their intimacy with the squire. He passed a sleepless night of bitter reflection, and saw daylight with an agonized spirit; but the active mind imbued with honorable ideas, never fails in due season to work its own relief. When Twm appeared next morning on horseback before his door, with a pillion behind, for the reception of Gwenny, Cadwgan’s terrors had vanished, his indignation at the premeditated injuries intended him, was roused, and with braced nerves, and a firm heart, he determined to deny the squire, and abide the consequences, be what they might. But honest Nature was elsewhere at work in Cadwgan’s favor, and unknown to him, had raised a friend to save him from those impending perils, to the preservation both of his farm and his more precious daughter, in the person of young Twm Shôn Catti.
On his journey home the last evening, while listening to his master’s commands, and hearing his plans to inveigle the innocent Gwenny, Twm was silent and meditative, mentally engaged in seeking some mode to preserve her from his clutches; and at length heroically determined to save the object of his admiration, even at the risk of losing his place and being cast again on the wide world. He fed his fancy all night in dwelling on her beauty, and the merit of preserving her, while he ardently enjoyed in anticipation, the sacrifice he was about to make for her sake; considering he should feel himself amply repaid if favored by the sweet girl with a smile of approbation.
The morning came, and the squire gave the dreaded order, “Take the horse Dragon, put a saddle and pillion on him, and bring the farmer’s lass behind you here; tell Cadwgan not to expect her back to-night, but she shall be brought home to-morrow.” Although Twm had been preparing himself to give a doughty reply, and so commence the heroic character he had modelled, yet when the moment came, his resolution failed him, and the high-sounding words were not forthcoming; although the determination to disobey remained as strong as ever. He rode off, through Tregaron, and up the hills, in a melancholy mood, and without any settled purpose, except that of straight-forward resistance to the orders he had received. As he jogged on listlessly, he was suddenly roused from his reverie by the braying of Cadwgan’s ass, that was grazing in a green lane which he was about to enter. Such an animal being a rarity in that country, Twm, with surprise, audibly muttered, “What the devil is that?” An old woman at that moment opening the gate, which she civilly held for our hero to pass into the lane which she was leaving, hearing his words, replied “It is only Cadwgan’s ass.” Twm, whose thoughts ran entirely on the farmer’s fair daughter, mistaking what she said, rejoined “Cadwgan’s lass, did you say?” “You are very ready with your mocks and pranks, Master Twm,” cried the old woman, slamming the gate against the buttocks of the horse, “but you know very well that I said Cadwgan’s ass, and not his lass, for I should be sorry to compare the good and pretty Gwenny Cadwgan to such an ugly ill-voiced animal.” Twm laughed at his mistake, made his apology, and rode on with revived spirits, having now, from this very ludicrous circumstance, hatched the trick which he intended to play off on his master.
The farmer’s mind being made up, as before observed, to refuse the attendance of his daughter at his landlord’s, he was astonished to hear Twm say, “Master Cadwgan, it was squire Graspacre’s order to me, that I should saddle this horse, come to your house, and with your consent, bring your ass to him, on the pillion behind me.” Cadwgan stared doubtfully, and Twm resumed “I hope you are too sensible to question or look into the reasonableness of his whims, and will be so good as to catch the strange animal, which I passed on the road, that we may tie him across the pillion.” Cadwgan immediately concluded this to be a providential mistake of the young man’s, that might have the most desirable effect of relieving him from his apprehended troubles, and with a ready presence of mind said, laughing, “To be sure it is no business of mine to look into the oddness of his fancies, and he shall have my ass by all means.” “Put an L to ass, and ’twill be lass,” said Twm seriously, and with emphasis, “and such is the squire’s demand: but,” said the youth with rising enthusiasm, “I would risk my life to save your daughter from his snares, and will feign that I thought he said ass instead of lass, to be brought on the pillion.” Affected by this instance of generosity, the farmer, as well as his lovely daughter, burst into tears, thanking and blessing him; the former assuring him, that if in consequence of this undertaking, he should be dismissed from his place, his roof, hearth, and table should be at his service.
While Cadwgan went out to catch the long-eared victim, Twm spent a delicious half hour in the company of the fair Gwenny; and took that opportunity to protest the ardor of his affection for her, and vowed that when Fortune favored him with the means of getting a livelihood independent of servitude, it would be the glory of his life to come and ask her to be his own. The maiden heard him with streaming eyes and passion-heaving breast, nor withdrew her cheek when her lover imprinted on it affection’s first kiss; which she considered a sacred compact, the seal of true love’s faithful covenant, never to be broken by the intrusion of another.
Cadwgan at length returned, with his charge in a halter, grumbling and abusing the beast at every step, in consequence of having been led a pretty dance in chase of her; for, as if conscious of her coming troubles, the moment he approached, she scampered off through the lane, and right through the river, nor stopped until fairly fast in a bog, from whence, with much trouble, the farmer roughly rescued her. With the assistance of Twm and a neighbouring cottager, he now tied the animal’s legs and lifted her into the seat of the pillion, a situation that her struggling and resistance indicated to be more elevated than comfortable. Twm, however, rode on slowly with his grotesque companion, without the occurrence of an accident till they arrived at Tregaron; when the whole town, men, women, and children, came out to enjoy the strange sight, amidst roars and shouts of laughter. Whether the principal figure in the group felt her dignity hurt, or her modesty offended, by such an exhibition of her charms to the rude ribaldry of a mob, or whether instigated by the rational motive of seeking ease by change of position, it may not be an easy matter to determine, but certain it is, that straining every nerve to liberate her captive limbs, she at length succeeded, bursting the cord by which she was fastened to the pillion, and tumbled in a heap to the ground, where, as if inspired by the genius of perseverance she again struggled hard and soon shook off every remnant of her hempen gyves; and in all the pride of high achievement and newly acquired freedom, ran with all her might through the town, brandishing her heels to right and left, whenever any person approached to impede her career, till through a long narrow lane she reached the mountains. Here she seemed to defy her numerous pursuers, but after a long chase which lasted till dusk, she was surrounded, secured, and placed in her former situation behind our hero on the pillion. At length he reached Graspacre Hall, and made his approach at the back of the house. His stepfather assisted both him and his companion to alight, leading the latter to the stable, while Twm went to inform his master of his arrival, and the cause of his long delay. A sudden terror arrested his steps awhile, he felt himself in a peculiar dilemma, out of which he would have been right glad to be delivered; but after his fit of apprehension had lasted a few minutes, he plucked up his courage and his breeches at the same time, exclaiming, “Well! he can’t kill me for it, a beating and a dismissal will be the worst of it:” and thus self-comforted he entered the house.
The squire at this time was seated at the head of the table, pushing about the bottle among his friends, principally formed of the neighbouring gentry. In the course of the day he had sent several times to know whether Twm had arrived. When little Pembroke at length went in to announce his return, he desired he should be immediately sent in, and Twm approached him with a burning cheek and an agitated heart. He questioned the youngster in an under tone, asking if he had brought her, and where he had been so long; to which Twm replied “Yes sir, I have brought her, and much trouble I had with her, for she didn’t like to come, thinking perhaps you meant her foul play; and once she escaped off the pillion into the mountain.” “The devil she did!” cried the squire, “but you caught her again?” “Oh yes sir, after losing much time, I have brought her here at last, and she is now much tamer than at first.” “A good lad Twm, a good lad, remind me to give you a guinea for this day’s work; but what have you done with her? where is she?” “Why sir,” cried Twm, “I tied her up to the manger and locked the stable door, to prevent her escape.” “Shame Twm, shame, you ought not to have done that, for she will think it was by my orders, and hate me perhaps for cruelty,” quoth the squire, thinking all the time that Cadwgan’s lass, and not his ass, was the subject of discussion. “No sir,” replies Twm, “but it is likely though, that she will have an ill will towards me, as long as she lives, for it.” “Well well,” said his master hastily, “take her from the stable into the housekeeper’s room, and tell Margery to comfort her and give her a glass of wine.” This was too much for Twm, and the smothered laugh burst out in spite of his efforts; on which, his master, with a severe brow, asked how he dared to laugh in his presence. “Indeed I could not help it,” cried Twm, “but I don’t think she ever drank a glass of wine in her life, and perhaps might not like it.” “Why that’s true; then tell the butler to give out a bottle of the sweet home-made wines for her—let it be a bottle of the cowslip wine, and say that I am very sorry for the trouble and vexation she has had.” “Yes sir,” cried Twm, who made his bow, and retired to the servant’s hall, where he made them acquainted with the squire’s freak of having Farmer Cadwgan’s ass brought there on a pillion behind him; and that it was his master’s orders that she was to be brought into the housekeeper’s room, and a glass of wine given to her, and that Margery was to make her comfortable.
They were all aware of their master’s occasional eccentricities, and that he was as absolute in demanding obedience to his wildest whims as to the most important matter in the world; and therefore, one and all, they assisted in bringing the ass from the stable, and with much trouble forcing her into the housekeeper’s room, where Glamorgan Margery spread a small carpet for her to lie down on, and amidst the side-aching laughter of the servants, offering her a glass of wine, which no persuasions could induce her to accept.
The squire had given orders that no person was to answer the bell the rest of the evening but Twm, and as it was now rang, in went our hero, when he was asked “How is she now?” “Rather fatigued sir; she doesn’t like wine, nor would she touch a drop of it.” “Well well,” said the squire, “if she likes ale better, let her have some, with a cold fowl, and something of the nicest in the house, though perhaps she would prefer a cup of tea to anything. After she has taken the refreshment she choses, tell Margery to put her to bed, in the green chamber, then lock the door and bring me the key.” Here Twm’s risible faculties were again oppressed to bursting, but a look from his master checked him.
Squire Graspacre now secretly anticipated the completion of his scheme, anxiously waiting for the departure of his guests, who by their noisy hilarity had long given notice that a very little more devotion to the bottle would lay them all under the table. The wily squire however desisted, before he had passed the boundary of what topers call half and half, considering in the mean time, that his plan would best succeed by not appearing before Gwenny Cadwgan till midnight, when all his household would be asleep, and himself supposed to have retired to his room.
After some trouble, which was heightened by forced suppression of laughter, that, however, broke out in spite of them, the servants got the donkey up stairs, having previously fed her with bread, oaten cakes, and oats, on her rejection of ale, wine, fowl, and tea, which to their own great amusement they had successively offered in vain. Having brought the poor animal into the green room, the best chamber in the house, and kept only for particular guests, they placed her on the fine handsome bed; the legs being already tied, they fastened them also to the bed posts. Twm heightened the drollery of the scene by cutting two holes in a night cap, drawing through them the ass’s ears, and slitting it at the edge, he drew the cap down towards the eyes. Thus secured and accoutred, they bade her good night, locked the door, and gave the key to their master.
The guests at length dispersing, they all rode off as well as their muddled heads would let them, to their respective homes; the squire, as was his custom, locked the door himself, and saw every light in the house out before he retired himself. At length he gained his chamber, and all was still in Graspacre Hall. The amorous squire, chuckling at his luck as he thought of the fair lass in the green chamber, grew too impatient to wait till the proposed hour of midnight, and leaving his candle on his own table, took off his shoes, and softly approached the casket, that he deemed contained his precious jewel. Applying the key, he opened the door very gently, and cautiously approaching the side of the bed, said in a whisper towards the pillow, “Don’t be alarmed Gwenny, my dear, ’tis I, the squire; fear nothing my girl, this will be the making of your fortune my dear; and if you are as kind and loving as I could wish you to be, you may soon become the second Mrs. Graspacre.” Hearing no reply, he considered that according to the old adage, silence gives consent, and proceeded to bend his face down to kiss the fair one, when a severe bounce inflicted by a toss of his incognita’s snout, knocked him backwards off the bed to the floor, and set his nose a-bleeding. After recovering himself a little, though labouring under the delusion that the blow had been struck by the hand of a fair maiden, he exclaimed in an under tone, “You little vixen, how dare you treat me in this manner?” Proceeding more roughly again towards the bed, he was completely horror-struck at the loud bray which the terrified ass sent forth; while the poor animal, after a hard struggle, liberating her limbs, struck him a severe blow on the forehead with her hoof, and getting off the bed, made a terrible clatter with her shod feet over the boards of the room. The unfortunate squire, although hitherto a loud decrier of superstition, now felt a thrill of the utmost horror pervade him, while he deemed himself ensnared by the enemy of man, as the punishment of his guilty intentions; and after a clamorous outcry fell senseless on the floor.
The servants, having but concealed the lights, expecting some denouement of this sort, now rushed in, and saw their fallen master ghastly pale, with streams of perspiration running over his forehead, while his wildly-staring eyes alternately looked at and turned from the monster of alarm. When he had sufficiently recovered to learn the real stand of the affair, from little Pembroke, who had been made Twm’s confidante in this matter—how that wight had brought the farmer’s ass according to his orders behind him on the pillion, although he had been in some doubt whether he had said Cadwgan’s ass, or Cadwgan’s lass, the squire’s rage was boundless. Exasperated at the trick put upon him by a mere youngster, and a menial, and scarcely less provoked at the exposure he had made of himself before his servants, down he rushed into the hall, and snatched a heavy horse-whip, unlocked the door, and made his way towards our hero’s chamber over the lawndry; but when he reached the bed-side, prepared to inflict the severest punishment that the thong of a whip was capable of, how great was his mortification to find the bird flown! his chagrin and resentment were anything but lessened, when he took up a sheet of paper off the bed, on which in a large hand were written these pretty lines.
If from lass you take the letter L,
Then lass is ass if I have learnt to spell;
Yet ass and lass methinks are coupled ill,
Though human asses follow lasses still;
An ass were I too—one yclept a ninny—
If now I stay’d to claim my promised guinea.
CHAP. XII.
Carmarthen Jack’s churlishness to Twm. His mishap in consequence. Squire Graspacre reforms his conduct. Sends for his son and daughters home. A delicate Devonshire lady, Twm’s satire on the cook. Gives the young squire a thrashing, and runs away. Visits Rhys and Cadwgan. About to be married to Gwenny. A dreadful adventure on the hills that ruins all his prospects.
Twm reached his mother’s at Tregaron about one o’clock in the morning, and alarmed her greatly by the account he gave of his flight from the squire’s, and the cause which led to it. Jack made the best of the affair, in his own manner, by assuring his wife that her son had been the absolute ruin of both himself and her, unless they did their utmost to conciliate the squire by turning Twm adrift, and refusing him a temporary shelter. While Jack beneath the bedclothes was grunting these suggestions of worldly wisdom, Catti, half-drest, was making up a bed for her son, who, the while, was sitting dejectedly in the chimney corner. Having caught the drift of his father-in-law’s mutterings, he rose abruptly, snatched up his hat, and while striding towards the door, cried, “Good night mother.” Alarmed at his precipitate movement, and the tone with which he spoke, “Where are you going Twm?” said Catti. Turning round, while he held the door in his left hand, he replied, “Any where mother—the world is wide—and I’ll go headlong to the devil rather than stay here, when I am not welcome.” With that he closed the door, and was in a moment out of sight, notwithstanding the cries and entreaties of his mother, who ran after, and earnestly sought to bring him back.
Catti, with a bitter consciousness, now found that her son had a stepfather, and she a husband, who was a rude and churlish tyrant. The severity of this reflection preyed heavily on her mind; nor could she be persuaded to go to bed again, but sitting at the fireless hearth she loudly wept and lamented her hard fate. To give him his due, Jack was far from being regardless of her sorrow, but shewed the tenderness of a husband in comforting her, in the manner most natural to himself. “What signifies crying for such an imp of the devil as that,” said this kind stepfather, “if he starves in the field by being out to-night, it will save him from dying at the gallows, where he would be sure to come some day or other.” This tender-hearted speech had the unexpected effect of immediately curing Catti’s grief, which turned to a desperate fit of rage, and without a word to signify the transition wrought by his oratory, she snatched up a stout broom-stick from the floor, and be-laboured him with all her strength, as he lay beneath the bedclothes, till he roared like a baited bull: had she taken a wager for thrashing a given quantity of corn in a certain number of minutes, she could not have laid on her blows more briskly or vigorously. When the strength of her arms failed, the energy of her tongue commenced, and after rating him soundly, she concluded her harangue with eloquent pithiness, hoping that she had left him a shirtful of broken bones; after which exertion she thought proper to disappear.
Jack although he received some hard blows, by dodging under the bedclothes, escaped better than his help-mate intended he should; he soon rose, dressed himself, and went to his master’s, sauntering sullenly about the outhouses till daylight, when a servant informed him, after narrating Twm’s trick on his master, that he was to take Cadwgan’s ass home.
Squire Graspacre, since the death of his wife, gave such free range to his licentious pleasures, as placed him, especially at his years, in a most unseemly light. His only son had been two years at Oxford, returning only occasionally during vacations; while his two daughters, on the death of their mother, were sent to a boarding school at Exeter. Thus in his own family he had no witnesses of his vices and follies. He soon found, however, that in Wales, his offences against religion and morality were not to be committed with impunity. The respect in which he was formerly held by the country people gradually declined, while those who had daughters became extremely shy, and sent their female inmates out of the way whenever he approached. Never deficient in penetration, he was not long in discovering this change in the bearings of his tenants and neighbours, which to a mind like his, proud, fond of domineering, and being looked up to as the superior—the grand central luminary of his sphere, round which all others moved as silent and respectful satellites—was a very hell. The minds of men, however, his knowledge of mankind told him, were not to be over-ruled, and with a wisdom rare as effective, he immediately resolved, as the only mode of re-establishing his credit and happiness, to retrace his steps—to which end he sent for his daughters home, at a time when his son was about to return from Oxford—and thus, by the presence of his children, place a restrictive guard upon his future conduct. With this change in his ideas, it will be no wonder that Twm Shôn Catti was again taken into favor, and replaced in his former situation.
At length the merry bells of Tregaron announced the arrival of the heir, and the young ladies of Graspacre Hall, which mansion soon became a scene of festivity. The meeting of the squire with his daughters was ardently affectionate; but his son Marmaduke had nothing of cordiality in his nature. His figure was tall and spare, with loose joints and ill-knit bones, while his countenance indicated both phlegm and a fidgetty, nervous peevishness. A curious eye might also discover in it decisive marks of late hours and dissipated habits. Proud, rash, and self-sufficient, his dislike of Wales and Welshmen surpassed his father’s partiality for them. He condescended, however, to say, that until he could get a clever English servant, in the place of the last, who ran away from him, he must put up with one of the Welsh savages. Accordingly, our hero was appointed to be his temporary valet, and ordered to attend exclusively on the young squire.
With the ladies came their aunt, the squire’s younger sister, a very affected fantastical spinster from Exeter; who gave every fashion its full Devonshire latitude in her conformation to it, carrying the mode to an extreme that left London absurdity far in the back ground. The Misses Graspacre were neither imitators nor very ardent admirers of their aunt, whose silly affectation of excessive delicacy became their standing point of ridicule, which they put in practice on the very evening of their arrival. The hearty girls wanted something substantial for their supper, after travelling their long journey; but their aunt intimated her desire to have something that would be light on he stomach: but great was her dismay on finding a duck and green pease brought to the table. She resolved however, even on this fare, to shew her superior Devonshire breeding; and while the young ladies lifted their pease from their plates to their mouths in half-dozens or more at a time, she, delicate soul, cut every pea in four, and swallowed a quarter at a time! This display of refinement excited stares of wonder from the squire and some of his friends, whom he had invited on the occasion, but in her nieces, nothing but smothered laughter.
Another circumstance of note happened at this supper, which, as it relates to our hero, must be here told. It seems that during Twm’s disgrace, and consequent absence from the hall, the servants there indulged themselves and one another in making remarks on his conduct, and its probable consequence. This discussion displayed their various dispositions; some spoke of him with charity, and dwelt upon his rare qualities of good nature and cheerfulness; while others took a malignant pleasure in speaking of his satirical and mischievous propensities. Among the latter was the cook. Twm, on his return, heard of her kindness, and determined to take the first opportunity of shewing his sense of the obligations she had laid him under. On the removal of the remains of the duck and its accompaniments, the company having just been helped round with tart or pie, their attention was suddenly arrested by the voice of Twm, in the passage, who loudly sung the following distich.
“Apple pie is very rich,
And so is venison pasty,
Our cook has got the itch,
And that is very nasty.”
Ye gods! what sounds for ears polite! The young ladies laughed immoderately on perceiving the distress of their aunt, who shewed a wry-faced consciousness of having partaken of food prepared by unclean hands; her countenance underwent various contortions, which terminated in the grand climax of a shriek and a fit. The squire’s anger was instantly kindled against Twm, probably from an unquenched spark of his former resentment, which he evinced by telling his son to “give that rascal a good thrashing.” Proud of the commission, out ran Marmaduke, and finding Twm in the hall, ran up and struck him a blow in the face, but great was the amazement of the servants to see the young man turn upon him like a lion, and with the most dexterous management of his fists overpowering their young master in an instant, whom he left groaning with pain, and covered with bruises, and then made a precipitate retreat.
While walking to Tregaron, it occurred to Twm, that for that night at least, he might be favored with a lodging by his constant friend, Rhys the curate. Thither he went, and found the worthy man by his parlour fire, with a book in his hand, and papers before him, busily employed in preparing for the press a new edition of his Welsh Grammar. He was received by him with his usual kindness; and when Twm had told him his tale, with the important addition that he must leave his native place for ever, and immediately, he shewed the goodness of his heart by assuring him of a retreat for the present, and a little pecuniary aid on his departure. He however gave him a friendly lecture on the impropriety of his conduct; observing, that if he must be satirical, he ought to choose the subjects for his lash from the infamous among the great and wealthy, and not the puny and defenceless, to attack whom, he said, evinced a paltry and most dastardly spirit; concluding with the pithy injunction, “while you live, whatever your state while on earth, act the generous and manly part; and never, never, either manually or with the lash of satire, war with the weak.” These words were never forgotten by Twm, and however reprehensible his erratic courses in after life, they were much less so from his reception of this noble sentiment, which became his standing rule of conduct. Had it been Twm’s lot to have lived in a loftier sphere and in the days of chivalry, he would doubtless have had inscribed on his shield those words so deeply written on his memory “War not with the weak.” Our hero was heartily pleased with his preceptor, inasmuch, that amidst all its observations and lectures he imputed to him but slight blame for his retaliation on young Graspacre; but when he vowed further vengeance, should he ever meet him alone in the mountains, remonstrated with him on the risk he ran, urged the necessity of self-preservation, and advised him not to endanger himself needlessly.
The next morning Rhys assured Twm that he had reflected on the peculiarity of his case, and found it by no means so bad as he had imagined. “As to leaving this place,” said he “I see no necessity; merely keep out of the way awhile, and in due time make your submissions to the squire, and as he is by no means a hard man, I have no doubt but all will speedily be well again.” Twm in a manner adopted this idea, though he ill stomached the thought of submission, or asking pardon for an act of manliness which he would on a similar case of aggravation repeat. Thus matters rested for the present; and in the dusk of evening he crossed the hills towards Cadwgan’s, and soon had the grateful satisfaction of seeing once more his beauteous mistress, sitting by her father before a cheerful fire. Her mild kind face was unusually pale, but brightened on his approach, and when he related his new mishap, and that he thought of immediately quitting the country in consequence, her cheek assumed an ashy paleness, and she nearly fainted in her father’s arms. Cadwgan dissuaded him from the thought of quitting his native place for such a trifle, and advised him by all means to follow up the worthy curate’s suggestion; and when the fair Gwenny repeated her father’s wishes as her own, Twm at once acquiesced, and resolved not to quit.
Cadwgan daily witnessed the affection of the young pair, and at length thus addressed the young man. “You are a brave and generous lad; you love my daughter—” “In my heart and soul I do,” said he, enthusiastically interrupting him; “And I am sure my Gwenny is not behind hand with you in affection: are you my girl?” Poor Gwenny blushed deeply, then shed tears, and sobbed heavily, in the midst of which, she gave her hand to her lover, which he pressed, shed tears upon, and kissed ardently. Cadwgan continued “And therefore my boy, as nobody deserves her so well, you shall have her before the best in the county; and you know how many sweethearts she has refused for you.” Twm grasped his hand in silence, and before an hour had expired since the commencement of this discourse, the wedding day became the subject of discussion, but which could not be fixed until Twm had made his peace with the squire. Thus time passed on pleasantly, for some days, when our hero, who was constitutionally formed for active life, felt the effect of being immured day and night within doors, and said he longed exceedingly for a day’s coursing on the neighbouring mountains. Cadwgan remarked that as the squire had shown no desire to seek or pursue him, as he had heard at Tregaron, he conceived there would be no danger; and in accordance with his opinion, he lent him his dog and gun, both great favorites, and never before entrusted to any one breathing. He advised him to confine his excursion to a certain remote hill called Twyn Du (Black hill) which being rugged of ascent and marshy, seldom invited the steps of the sons of pleasure in the character of sportsmen.
Thus with dog and gun, and accoutred with a shot-belt, our hero felt himself another and superior being to what he had ever been before, especially as Gwenny assured him that the sportsman’s paraphernalia became him exceedingly. Flattered with the joint encomiums of the father and daughter, and with a consciousness that they were not without good foundation, in full health and high spirits, with an eye sparkling with happiness, he shook Cadwgan’s hand, kissed the lips of his fair mistress, and gallantly sallied forth; having gone a few yards, he turned his face back to assure them, as they looked anxiously after him, that he should soon return, and well loaded with game.
While the buoyancy of youth uplifted his gay heart, and dazzled his perception with bright dreams of the future, little thought he of the sorrows so soon to overtake him, or that the sombre hill of Twyn Du was to colour with its gloom the closing scene of his innocent hopes, and form the most important epoch of his life.
Twm had been on Twyn Du about an hour and a half, and in that time had killed several birds, when the report of his gun attracted others to the spot. He could see several persons on the hill contiguous, and one well mounted, descending into the deep dingle, that, like a gulf, yawned between the two hills, and making his way up the steep side of Twyn Du. He now felt a presentiment that this visit portended him no good, but scorning an ignominious flight, he carelessly paced the brow of the hill till the sportsman approached, when, to his great amazement, who should present himself before him but his inveterate foe, Marmaduke Graspacre. He approached Twm with the fury of a demoniac, asking how he dared fire a gun on those grounds, and after a few harsh words of abuse, which our hero returned with interest, he took an aim at Cadwgan’s pointer, and instantly shot him on the spot.
Aware of the regard in which Cadwgan held his excellent dog, this outrage drove Twm furious, and he was further aggravated by the young squire’s demanding his gun and laughing the while at his distress and rage. The youth was not formed of stuff so tame as to endure his insolent triumph; snatching up his loaded gun with desperate rapidity, he in a moment lodged the contents in the head of the squire’s fine hunter, on which his enemy sat taunting him. No sooner had Marmaduke reached the ground, disengaged himself from the fallen horse, and stood up, than Twm flew at him, and disregarding his threats, with his dexterous fists inflicted the most perfect chastisement; leaving him in a far worse predicament than after their first encounter.
By this time the men who attended the young squire, hearing the report of the guns, and fearing that their young master had fallen in with poachers, made the best of their way down across the dingle, and up the sides of Twyn Du.
Roused by their shouts, he left his vanquished foe groaning on the ground by the side of the dead hunter, and darting down the opposite side he made a safe retreat.
CHAP. XIII.
A hue and cry after Twm. He conceals himself in a wood. Ventures to Cadwgan’s house and is kindly received. Sought there by Parson Evans. Escapes, disguised as a woman. Affectionate parting with Cadwgan and his daughter.
No sooner was Marmaduke Graspacre taken home, and the affair made known by him to his father, with some little exaggeration against the assailant, such as the trifling mis-statement that the blows inflicted on him were by the butt end of the fowling-piece, instead of the fist, than the squire’s indignation was roused. “As this is not his first offence, and my forbearance has encouraged his atrocious conduct, I am now determined to make an example of him,” said he, and immediately sent a servant for Parson Evans, who, in his capacity of magistrate, was ordered to take cognizance of the affair, and send constables in all directions to arrest the culprit. This was an office that well accorded with the feelings of this malignant man, and well pleased was he to set the myrmidons of justice abroad to hunt an unfortunate young man, whom he hated for the trifling offences of youth, that at a distant period, it seems, stung his consequence. The hue and cry instantly was raised and spread abroad, and excited as great a commotion throughout the country, as if a convicted murderer was chased through the land. All Twm’s known haunts were searched, especially his mother’s and Farmer Cadwgan’s; in each of which places there was heaviness and wailing for his misfortunes; and Parson Evans, who went there in person, took care to assure them, that when caught, all the world could not save him from the gallows, as he had attempted to murder the young squire of Graspacre Hall. But with all the vigilance of his enemies, Twm’s retreat remained undiscovered, and those who were friendly disposed towards him, began to wonder among themselves what could have become of him. Some thought that in a fit of despondency he had drowned himself, and others that he had escaped into the neighbouring counties of Pembroke, Carmarthen, or Brecon, or shipped himself in some vessel at Aberaeron or Aberystwyth, and got off in safety. The constables, however, had visited each of these places, and at length, like heavy war-ships that vainly chaced a smart privateer, returned without any further intelligence than that their journey had been in vain.
While the search had been most hot, our hero had concealed himself in a small patch of marshy underwood, a spot on which the keen eye of suspicion had never glanced, his pursuers having passed the edge of it several times, without a thought occurring of seeking him there. In this retreat he fed himself on nuts and blackberries, and in the night roved about for recreation, but returned to his green-wood shelter before daylight. This continued four days, when exceedingly tired of his solitude, he one midnight ventured to Cadwgan’s door, and both surprised and gratified the kind farmer and his kinder daughter, when they heard the lost one’s voice once more. They rose and let him in immediately, made a fire, gave every necessary refreshment, and then persuaded him to go to bed.
Twm remained hidden here a week, when suspicion fixed upon Cadwgan’s house, although searched before, as the probable place of his concealment. One day, Gwenny, in a fright ran in to tell her father to conceal Twm immediately, as the constables, headed by Parson Evans were coming. Twm started up and said, “Bolt the door for ten minutes, and I shall be safe.” Gwenny said they could not be there in that time, as they were then descending the opposite side of the Cwm, which was three long fields off, and they approached slowly, with fox-like cunning, so as to excite no suspicion of their purpose. With that, at Twm’s request, they both went up stairs with him, for a purpose he was there to explain to them, as neither of them could conceive in what manner he was going to preserve himself. They all remained above, till the loud summons of authority, in the raven voice of old Evans, brought Cadwgan down, when the cleric magistrate told him, in no gentle terms, that there was a suspicion attached to his house, as the place where the young villain, Twm Shôn Catti was concealed. The farmer replied, “I must say this is very hard usage, as I have nobody with me but my daughter and my eldest sister, who has come on a few week’s visit. But as you are come, you may search and welcome.” After a brief scrutiny below, they all went up stairs, where sat, busily employed at their needles, the fair Gwenny Cadwgan and the ingenious Twm Shôn Catti, excellently disguised in the dress of Cadwgan’s late wife, which, having been the property of a tall woman, fitted him very well; his face was slightly coloured with the juice of blackberries; beneath his chin was pinned a dowdyish cap, which, in the scant light of a small window, by the aid of a pair of spectacles he appeared a complete old granny. On the entrance of these amiable visitors, he turned his full spectacled face on Parson Evans, muttering in the tone of an old woman, which he mimicked well “lack a day! lack a day! this is sad usage,” then whispered Gwenny, who took his hint, and while they were searching, laid some hog’s-lard on different part of the stairs, so that on their descent the precious party, with their rascally leader, fell headlong down from top to bottom, to the great amusement of those above. On being charged of this contrivance, each denied all knowledge of it, and the quick-witted Gwenny, accounted for the cause of their accident by saying they had been carrying butter and lard to the store, up stairs, the whole morning.
They were no sooner gone than Twm assured Cadwgan, that he saw there was no safety for him, except in flight, which must take place that very night. His plan, he said, was matured, that he had no fear but he should do well, and that his only regret was in parting with them. He purposed, he said, to make his way towards Carmarthenshire, or perhaps further, and seek employment among the farmers; or what was more agreeable to him, he might, perhaps, get to some village, where he might set up a school: so that after saving a sum of money, to begin life with, he might return, and make Gwenny his wife. With tearful eyes Cadwgan expressed his admiration of this plan, while poor Gwenny wept herself almost into fits, at the thought of his perils, and sudden departure. “At any rate, my boy, thou shalt not go pennyless to wander the wide world,” said Cadwgan, and put an old pocket book containing three guineas and near twenty shillings in silver, which Twm reluctantly took, promising its return doubly, when fortune favored him. “I have two favors more to ask,” said he, “the first is, that you will make the best of my affair when you tell my poor mother and the worthy Mr. Rhys of my flight, and my future plans in life; and my next request is, that you will give me this old woman’s dress, with the red cloak belonging to it, as it will answer for a disguise, should I be troubled before I get far enough off.” Cadwgan kindly acquiesced, though he smiled at the latter whimsical fancy. At length, thus attired, to avoid observation, with his own clothes in a bundle, he took an affectionate and affecting leave of them, and made a hasty departure from their friendly door.
CHAP. XIV.
Twm ventures to Tregaron in the night. Frightens Wat the mole-catcher. In danger of being betrayed by him. Outwits Wat, Parson Evans, and his wife. Escapes, with the Parson’s horse, great coat, and money.
It was a dull heavy night, in which fog and darkness contended for precedence, and the moon gleamed dimly as if about to retire altogether, when Twm Shôn Catti shaped his course over the mountain, in the direction which led to Lampeter: he looked instinctively towards his dear native town, which a fashionable tourist would perhaps have called the most wretched village in the universe; but to him it was full of sweet associations, and recollections the most agreeable, the scene of his childhood, the home of his mother;
Dear to all their natal spot,
Although twere Nature’s foulest blot.
He stopped, and looked wistfully towards Tregaron; the lights were glistening in their various humble casements, and he fancied that among them all, he could distinguish his mother’s—his kind fond mother, whom perhaps he was never to see again—and now he recollected many instances of her tenderness, which had long slumbered in his recollection. His eyes filled with tears, and the softness of his heart was put at once into mournful harmony, from thus accidentally touching its first string, thrilled by reminiscences of maternal tenderness. He sat on a stone and gave his excited feelings full vent, till at length his heart-pangs subsided to a calm and sensitive melancholy. A sudden thought, no less eccentric than daring, now took him, that thus disguised, he might safely pass through Tregaron, and perhaps see his mother before his departure. This idea was no sooner started than acted upon; and before an hour had expired, he found himself once more in the long, and almost only street in Tregaron. His mother’s door was closed for the night, and he durst not call to her, as Jack was not to be trusted. He moved on, looking earnestly to every door, but saw no signs of people being up, any where; the whole street seemed still as death, except that various snores here and there, reminded Twm of the sweet sleep enjoyed by others, though denied to him. He sauntered slowly along, meditating on the circumstances that made him alone a watcher, till opposite to the cottage of his old companion and elder brother in mischief, Wat the mole-catcher. Wat had long lived with a widowed mother, who had recently died, and now sojourned alone in her solitary hut; it was even reported that he had forsaken all his wicked merry ways, grown serious, and was consequently likely to do well. It occurred to Twm that he had often heard Wat deny the existence of ghosts and hob-goblings, to the great horror of the elect, who considered such a declaration scarcely less impious than the denial of his creed; and vaunt that nothing of that description could in the least frighten him: and now, thought he, I’ll put his courage to the trial. Peeping through the casement, he saw Wat in bed, at the further end of the cottage, and the fire burning through the peat heaped up to preserve it for the night, so that the white walls within were brightened by the gleams cast on them from the hearth. Such a wonder as a lock, or even a bolt, Twm knew was rarely to be found in Tregaron, and therefore softly lifting the latch, he opened the door, entered, and walking quietly towards the hearth, sat on a three-legged stool, took up the old snoutless bellows, and blew the fire with all his might. Wat awoke in extreme terror, and seeing the figure of a tall woman in the chimney corner, deeming it no other than his mother’s spirit, his fright increased, trembling and almost dissolved in perspiration, he at last burst out into a roar of “Lord have mercy on me! oh mother’s dear spirit pity me!” Twm laughed out and ran to his bed-side to stop his roaring cries, exclaiming, “Silence man, ’tis I, Twm, your old friend Twm Shôn Catti.”
Convinced, at length, of his identity, and having heard of our hero’s story, he said, “Twere better you were at the bottom of a river Twm, than here, for I have been compelled by Parson Evans to make oath that if you came here I would immediately either send or run myself to inform him of your arrival, and I can’t break an oath, Twm, for any body.” “I did not think,” said our hero, coolly, “that you, who have broken so many laws, would scruple much, about breaking a forced oath; but old companionship pleads weakly opposed to the reward that will be given for my apprehension; and I thought, though the whole town might turn against me, that you Wat, would have been my friend, for you have led me into many troubles, and I never laid a jot of blame to your charge, but took all to myself, and have often suffered on your account.”
Wat, who by this time, had nearly dressed himself, was affected by this appeal, and said, “No Twm, I will never betray you, but if I was known in the least to favor you, it would ruin all my hopes of success in life. I am next week to be married to Bessy Gwevel-hîr, Parson Evans’s maid, that I have courted these ten years; and the Parson has promised to do great things at the bidding: and more than that, I am to be parish clerk and grave-digger, when old Morgan Meredith dies, and he can’t live long, as I have made him a present of a good churchyard cough by breaking a hole in the thatch right over his bed, by which he has gained a great hoarseness, and nearly lost his voice; so that I expect to be called in to officiate for him next Sunday.” “I see you are still my friend,” said Twm, who had been lost in a reverie during part of Wat’s remarks, “and I give you joy of your fair prospects, which I would not destroy on any account; you shall serve me, and at the same time keep your oath. You know my talent at mimickry, and see how well this dress becomes me; aye, I become the dress equally as you shall see. Had I not already disclosed myself, I could have discoursed to you a whole hour at mid-day, fearless of a discovery, but let us see how this cloak becomes you Wat.” With that he took off the cloak, and put it on Wat, and after a little jesting on the subject, Twm suddenly exclaimed, “Only sit down here with the cloak on your shoulders for ten minutes, while I step out, and with the assistance of my bundle I will astonish you with my transformation.”
All this was uttered with the gay rapidity of an anticipated freak, and Wat being taken by surprise, immediately acquiesced, without knowing what he was about. Twm ran immediately to the Rectory House, and making a great clatter, roused Parson Evans, who opened the window and asked what was the matter; when, assuming Wat’s voice, he said hastily “Mister Evans! Mister Evans! make haste, Twm Shôn Catti is now in my cottage, dressed in a cloak, and sitting at the fire.”
Delighted with this intelligence, Evans wakened the whole house, especially two strapping fellows whom he called his bull-dogs, sometimes employing them as husbandry servants, and at others, on account of their large size and muscular power, as constables. Both these fellows were first sent to saddle his horse, in case he should have to take Twm to Cardigan gaol, and then to attend him to Wat’s cottage, where the trio soon went. Peeping through the casement, Evans discerned a tall figure wrapped in a cloak, as described. “There he is sure enough,” quoth he, in a whisper, “now get your cords ready for binding his hands, and stay here till I call you in; be sure that you watch the door well.” With that he lifted the latch and went in. Wat, who in the interim of our hero’s absence, had made up a good fire now stood up, and as he saw the clerical magistrate before him exclaimed, with a hearty laugh, “Well done Twm, my boy! I now give you credit; well, well, well, this is indeed strange, a wonderful disguise? you look the old rascal to the life: if you had not told me before-hand of your intended transformation, I could have sworn you were old Evans himself; you look now just as he did when he promised to make me parish clerk.” Evans remained dumb with astonishment till the last words, when he replied, “Parish devil! you infernal scoundrel, have you roused me out of my bed at midnight to hoax and insult me? but you shall dearly repent your insolence.” Wat stared with wonder, and replied, “Well, well well! I did never hear such a thing in my life, you have just the old villain’s voice and swaggering way, I wish I may die, if you don’t frighten me, and I could almost swear the spiteful old Evans stood himself before me; hang him, I hate his very looks, and I am only holding the candle to the devil, in hopes of the parish clerkship, by seeming so civil to him.” Evans thought him certainly either mad or drunk; and without any further explanation he called the two men in, and ordered them to secure him. The light at length broke on Wat’s mind; Twm’s trick on him, and the real state of the case appeared: and he struggled hard before the fellows could secure him. At length he cleared up his confused and chagrined countenance, and said in an undaunted tone, “Well, well, well, I see the worst, farewell to mole-catching, farewell to parish-clerkship, and Bessy Gwevel-hîr; and you, you evil-minded old scourge, may bid farewell to all hopes of having me to father your brat, of which your maid Bessy is big, I’ll make the country ring with the stories of your rascalities, if you dare to send me to the round-house; but if you liberate me at once, I shall leave Tregaron forever in the course of a few days, and go abroad to see the world and seek my fortune.”
To the great surprise of the men, and perhaps of Wat himself, Evans seemed awed by his threats, and after a little shew of parleying, gave him that freedom of which he had no legal right to deprive him. Leaving him alone in his cottage, he shuffled home, accompanied by his worthy followers.
While Wat’s cottage became the theatre of the above-described scene, Twm Shôn Catti had a performance of his own elsewhere—a dance if you will—to which the same reverend gentleman was doomed to pay the piper. Having watched the party to Wat’s door, Twm hastened to the parson’s, calling loudly, in the assumed voice of one of the fellows who accompanied him, “Mistress Evans! Mistress Evans! make haste, make haste, and send master his pocket-book with his money, immediately; Twm Shôn Catti is taken, and we are going off with him to Cardigan gaol.” Mrs. Evans sleeping in a front room, heard him instantly, and with unusual alacrity jumping out of bed, she soon threw down the pocket-book, which was caught by Twm, and asked him, “Doesn’t he want his weather-proof great coat also?” Our hero replied “Yes, but dear me I did forget that,” and immediately received the great coat also, Mrs. Evans wishing them safe home from Cardigan, shut the window. The saddled horse was already at the gate, and Twm, well coated and cashed, instantly mounted and rode off, glorying in his triumph over his old rancorous enemy.