One day after dinner at Ystrad Feen, in company with the baronet, Squire Prothero, our hero, and the ladies, he rudely asserted the superiority of his own horse to any in that country, when both our baronet and the squire seemed nettled at his disparaging remarks, which, had he not been his guest, it is probable Sir George would have resented.
He offered to wager fifty pounds that his horse should surpass the best of theirs in running or leaping, be the given feat what it might. Great and gratifying was their surprise when our hero, with much emphasis cried “done!” Adding, “I have a mare of no very splendid exterior that shall perform a feat, with myself on her back, that you and your boasted hunter dare not follow for your lives.”
“Done! for fifty pounds,” cried the London buck; “I’ll back him for a hundred, without knowing what he is at,” exclaimed the baronet; “And so will I,” roared and laughed the excited Squire Prothero. With unusual alacrity up rose all four, bent on having the bet lost or won instanter. “Now hasten all together up the hill towards Craig Ddu, and I will be with you in the cracking of a whip,” said Twm, as he hurried off in another direction. The two neighbours looked at each other, and wondered what would be the upshotof this adventure; but, having all faith in Twm, they attended the boastful Londoner to the place appointed.
The summit of Craig Ddu (the Black Rock) was soon reached, where they waited Twm’s arrival. The town-bred buck expressed impatience at the delay; adding with great complacency, “I intend, gentlemen, to teach this youngster a lesson that he will not forget as long as he lives.” “Ho, ho, ho!” laughed the portly Squire Prothero, “take care that he does not teach you one!” Scarcely were these words uttered when our hero appeared among them; but what was their dismay, and the sneers of his antagonist, when they beheld him mounted on a sorry old blind mare, scarcely worth a dozen shillings!
“You’ll do as I do?” asked our hero, addressing the Londoner, “or forfeit fifty pounds?” “That I will, and something more too!” cried the buck, vauntingly, “in which case the forfeit of that sum will be yours.”
“Agreed!” replied Twm; and gradually facing his animal towards a rising sward or ditch, that had been raised to prevent the cattle from falling over the almost perpendicular side of a deep ravine; “Now for it then,” cried he, imitating the sound of a trumpet, and spurring his sorry jade, “neck or nothing for the fifty pounds!” and at the word the blind mare reached the ditch, and obedient to the spur and rein, sprung over, and was out of sight in an instant.
“Good God, he has gone to a sure death!” cried Prothero; the stout heart of the baronet (accustomed as he was to such mad freaks,) seemed to have leapt to his throat and choked his utterance, as he expanded his singular white eyes in a chalky stare towards the spot of his disappearance. The party rode forward, and, with the most thrilling anxiety looked down the precipice.
Down at the bottom of the ravine, lay the poor old mare, evidently having concluded a hard life by an equally hard death. But they had no time for sympathy with the unfortunate beast; they were too anxiousabout its daring rider to waste much consideration on it. Their phrenzied eyes at length rested on the object of their search; scarcely six feet beneath their standing place lay the redoubted son of Catty, sound in wind and limb!
The baronet yelled a terrificview halloothat made the old rocks echo with his dissonance, and the kind-hearted old Prothero was so over-joyed at his safety that he actually failed to laugh. Our hero, who had dexterously thrown himself off at the critical instant that the mare sprung over, and fell, as he had calculated, on a projecting ledge, which was thickly covered with a mass of heath and long grass; so that, although rather stunned, he was but little hurt. An instant’s delay in throwing himself off would have precipitated him to the bottom, and the fate of the poor mare would have been his own.
Great was the delight of his friends to see him rise, and wave a handkerchief in token of his safety, and in a few minutes he stood before his disconcerted antagonist, who had calculated, from the appearance of the ground, that a race was the thing in contemplation; but when the feat here narrated took place, the pallid hue of his countenance evinced his inward feelings. “Now, sir, it is your turn,” cried our hero, bowing courteously to Mr. Tomkins, who looked paler and paler as he peered down the declivity; and as his eye for a moment rested on the dead mare in the bottom, his teeth chattered, and he turned away shuddering.
“I have no notion of such mad doings,” muttered the crest-fallen Mr. Tomkins. “Then you lose the bet,” cried Prothero; “which I can afford to pay, as well as any one here,” replied the Londoner, in a tone of haughty sulkiness, as he witnessed the applause bestowed on our hero by the admiring baronet and his friend the squire.
Mr. Tomkins rightly arguing that he had lost caste by this little transaction, had sense enough to leave the district and take his departure for town, dispensingwith the ceremony of bidding farewell to any of those country friends, of whose hospitality he had so often partaken.
TheLand of Dreams. Twm’s journey to London. A bet upon a bull. Ready Rosser outwitted, and Squire Prothero’s fright.
When Twm had any leisure or reflection, his mind was occupied with but one subject, so that at this period of his life he could hardly be said to be a man of many ideas. This remark applies only to the time when he indulged in retired country rambles, or when he was in the solitude of his own apartment. Confront him with any specimen of male humanity extant, and his faculties returned in all their natural vigour, and success generally attended his enterprises.
As before related, the moment he first set his eyes on the remarkable and pleasing countenance of the lady of Ystrad Feen, he felt a conviction that it was not the first time that he experienced the pleasurable sensation that then pervaded his whole soul. His continued intercourse with her during his prolonged stay stubbornly maintained his first conviction that they had met before; but when, where, and under what circumstances, he could not discover. At length, when the mind had been repeatedly fatigued with these vain tuggings at the nerve of memory, although compelled by exhaustion to give up the point, it was only for a season, to be resumed on the first opportunity for putting his powers of recollection again into practice.
After analyzing these mental enquiries with the closest precision, he came to the successive negative conclusions, that he could not possibly have seen hereither at Graspacre Hall, at Inco Evan’s, nor, most assuredly, at the cottage of his mother. “Then, where on earth else?” muttered he, wiping his moist brow, which was a little fevered by the intensity of his labours in this mental research. Determined, for his future ease, to dismiss the thought altogether, he answered himself peevishly, “nowhere, surely, but in the land ofdreams.”
Yes, indeed, this chance thought provided him with the key so long sought, to his remembrance of the face and form of his charming hostess, for scarcely had he uttered those talismanic words than they acted on his memory like Ithuriel’s spear;—the sentence fell like a flash of fire on the touch-spring of the whole mystery, and flashed in full effulgence, illuminating fully his long-darkened powers of recollection!
Little had he thought of putting to himself what appeared so vain a query, whether it was at Morris Greeg’s home of misery that he had beheld the never-to-be-forgotten face of beauty and intellect—but at length he traced it! And, of all places in the world, the most unfitting to be associated with it—the murky hay-loft of Cwm y Wern Ddu: in short mysterious still as the inference gave out, Lady Devereaux, in every glance, feature, and movement, was indeed the spirit of his glorious vision—the lady of his dream!
Thoroughly absorbed by this unexpected and most interesting discovery, he forgot altogether the lapse of time, and was startled by the sudden appearance of Sir George by his bed side. The friendly baronet inquired with much concern, if he was unwell, as they had been waiting breakfast for him full half an hour. On being assured of the contrary, and that he had only overslept himself, Sir George hastened down with the glad tidings, as the whole family feared the consequence of his temerity on the day before.
Our hero was soon among them, tendering his apologies, and parrying the graceful banterings and rallyings of the ladies, who rated him playfully for a sluggard anda lie-abed. The baronet soon recurred to the punishment inflicted by our hero on the intolerable vanity and presumption of the London buck. A knock at the parlour door checked the current of his discourse, and, on permission being given, in walked that little comical undersized fellow, familiarly called Tommy Thomas, the second whipper-in, with a face of ruefully long dimensions.
After a very worshipful bow, accompanied with many a bodily turn and twist, while his fingers wandered among the regions of his head and his whiskers, it turned out that honest Tom Thomas came to report a calamitous visitation that had befallen this very respectable house. During this worthy functionary’s absence at Llandovery, yesterday, (of course his stay was not prolonged by his curiosity to examine the quality of the different taps there!) he said that some audacious villain had been to the stable, and stolen all the food which he had purchased for the hounds.
“What food—what food?” inquired the baronet; for everything was important to him that was in any way connected with his darling hounds. “Why look you now, I wass py an oil plind mare for ten shillings and two quarts of beer from a travelling packman that wass sold off his goots, and not want her agen; so I did pargen for hur, see you now, and wass paay for hur, and dit put hur in te stapples, for foots for te hounce; and look you now, some loucey peggar wass steal hur.”
All the party except the baronet laughed heartily at this intimation; but our hero soon relieved both Sir George and honest Tommy Thomas, by informing the latter that his bargain was to be found at the bottom of the Craig Ddu ravine; on which the poor fellow joyfully withdrew. Twm immediately called him back, and astonished him with the present of a broad piece, in company with divers smaller silver coins, in acknowledgment that his precious bargain had enabled him to win his bet from the Londoner.
This was another piece of information for the baronetand his friends, and the cause of another explosion of triumphant laughter, at the expense of their late nuisance, the bragging Mr. Tomkins,—Sir George declaring that he had repeatedly thought of asking the question as to how he had possessed himself of the wretched animal; and now the mystery was amusingly explained.
One long winter’s morning, when the weather was so stormy as to forbid all hope of being able to stir out for the day, the baronet broke an unusually protracted silence by saying, “Mr. Jones, I have a favour to ask you.”
“Glad in my heart,” replied Twm, “for some change to make any return for the favours I have received.”
“Fiddle-de-dee with your favours! you talk like a mountainer, lad,” cried Sir George; “balance against us—owe thee much—Joan’s life—thy merry company; but how the devil to part with thee!—joy to thee, this London—death to me—no fox-hunting, all smoke and devilment!”
Lady Devereaux came out and explained that Sir George had a pressing necessity which he had long put off, of sending to London a considerable sum, due to a certain Mr. Martyn, being the last instalment of the purchase-money for some land bought of him by our baronet.
Having just received an application for the cash, Sir George was startled to find how much time had elapsed in the delay caused by his aversion to going personally to London; for nothing less would do in those days, except by a trusty messenger. “Thou’rt a lad of mettle, Twm, head as well as heart,” resumed Sir George—“arms to fight, and legs to run—roads full of thieves—can’t fight them all—out-wit them!”
Twm was at no loss to discover that the baronet was loth to leave his family residence, his fox-hunting, and his neighbours’ society, to encounter the perils and discomforts of a journey to the metropolis, and that he was wishful that Twm should go there as his representative, and accordingly he declared himselfready to commence his journey whenever Sir George might please.
“Let us have a little fine weather first,” replied his engaging hostess, “and in the meantime we will make the necessary preparations for your departure.”
Our hero gazed on her animated friendly face, with an admixture of the romantic gallantry of the knights of old, and the religious veneration of a devotee towards his patron saint; for he felt that his fate was somehow mysteriously connected with her influence, and never forgot that she was the spirit of his glorious vision, the lady of his dream.
Squire Prothero’s hearty laugh disturbed somewhat these gentle reflections. He had just bought a bull and hired a servant, and was in high glee at what he considered the accomplishment of a favourable bargain. The bull, he said, was a large and glorious white creature of the Herefordshire breed, and the man a small black one, of the true Cardiganshire runt description; but cunning as a fox, and keen as a kite. A fellow, the worthy squire said, who was proverbially known in the neighbourhood of Aberteivy for his exceeding shrewdness, by no other cognomen than Ready Rosser.
Twm chuckled inwardly at his recollection of the swain whom he had outwitted at Cardigan; and, in the hair-brain spirit that often possessed him, longed to break a lance with this worthy once more. As robbing the fields and hills was the prevalent villainy of the period, and as Prothero, as well as some of his neighbours, had been a considerable loser in numerous instances, he was the more elated with his present acquisition. “I have now,” quoth he, with the usual accompaniment of a hearty laugh, “a guardian for my ox and my ass, my bull, and my bulwarks, and I defy the most cunning thief in the country to ferret away my live things from the custody of Ready Rosser of Aberteivy.”
“Well, I’ll undertake to walk off with your bull, in spite of Ready Rosser, if you’ll leave it out threenights, let him do what he pleases,” said Twm, with a confident air.
“Done!” roared the merry Prothero, with a loud ho, ho! that shook the room; but recollecting himself, he added—“but hark ye, my buck of bucks; my bull shall not be left out to starve of these cold winter nights; he shall be secured within the shelter of the cow-house, and if thou canst abduct him from thence, within the three days and nights, welcome shalt thou be to his carcase, and twenty pounds to reward thy cleverness.”
“Done!” cried the baronet, “and I’ll pay forty pounds for him if he fails.”
“Remember, three days and three nights is the time given,” cried Twm, “as it will take two to get all in train.”
The squire lost no time in communicating his wager to the members of his household, and putting them on their guard. “Now mind,” he exclaimed, “our friendly antagonist is a sharp fellow, and you must sleep with your eyes open during the next three days. Look out, Ready Rosser.”
The worthy thus addressed merely laughed at the impudence of any one that could venture on such a bet. The emphasis which Twm laid upon the period of three days was merely aruse de guerreof his, to throw his opponents off their guard, as he fully intended commencing operations soon as darkness came on.
The snow was thick on the ground; therefore, as the nearest approach to invisibility, our hero arrayed himself in a white frock and a cloth cap of the same colour, and sallied forth at eight o’clock in the evening, on a march of observation. Having arrived at Llwyn-mawr, the residence of Prothero, crossing the garden hedge, he coolly leaned over the gate, and listening to the squire and his party in the adjoining farm yard heard the whole plan of defence, as laid down by that skilful Cardiganshire engineer, Ready Rosser. The white bull the hero of the present wager,had been placed in his stall for the night, the door of the cow-house duly locked; and now the whole party of farm servants, under the command of Rosser, were busily employed by lantern light in forming the outward fortification.
In the first place, four harrows were laid one upon the other, across the entrance to the cow-house; on the upper harrow was placed a heavy roller, then a new implement in Welsh farming, and beside it two ploughs; the whole being surmounted by a sledge, used in those days for a harvest cart. To make this sledge, which was placed across the ploughs and roller, still more unmovable, Rosser had it heaped with hay, duly trodden down, carefully, as if intended for the foundation of a rick. His last stroke of masterly management was to suspend to one of the shafts of the sledge a large bell, which the squire, at the request of vicar Prichard, had procured from Bristol, to ornament the dome of his school, and to call the boys to their meals and studies. Rosser shrewdly remarked that any movement of these barricades, would be announced by its peal in the night.
By nine o’clock the whole party, including, the squire, were wrapt in sound slumber, and the field was open to the operations of our hero, who, in the meantime had returned to Ystrad Feen, and brought back from thence the tools that he required for the purpose. These consisted of an iron crow-bar and a saw, a bag containing something, and little Tommy Thomas for hisavante courier, or look out, in case of surprisal. Twm had observed that the cow-house was formed of two pine-ends, substantially built of stone, while the back and front, were on planks, nailed across horizontally. The cunning Rosser had effectually fortified the front, where there was a door, but entirely neglected the back, where there was none; considering perhaps that the duck-pool or horse-pond, which ran parallel the length of the lowly edifice, would prove a sufficient rear-guard.But greatly did that scheming wight err in his estimation of the ingenious daring of his adversary; for although three feet deep, black, and full of frogs and their spawn, it was through the middle of this domestic lake, our Twm, shouldering his crow-bar, made his way to commence the attack, while Tommy Thomas occupied his post of observation on the top of an old blighted oak stump.
To the great satisfaction of our hero, his onset was auspicious; he succeeded without noise in wrenching off numerous planks, and in a short time entered the building. He made up at once to the grand object of his enterprise, and approached the mighty brute with deference; then patting him kindly with a patronizing air, he called familiarly by his name, which he had learnt was Bishop, from the fair resemblance perhaps, of his outward bull to the outward man of the lord of the lawn sleeves; or, in his dignified rotundity, to some specimens of that princely priest of our favoured land. Bishop having sniffed and snorted a little, wondering at the temerity of the two-legged animal that so daringly sought his acquaintance treated his advances as due homage, and resumed his easy contemplative posture, like a politic Autocrat that condescendingly gives audience to a loyal peasant. Guessing the yearning of his mighty mind, and no less mighty carcase, our hero presented him with a small bag of oats, to conciliate his good-will, which being graciously received, gave goodly omen of the magnanimity of his disposition.
Twm now proceeded to his task of enlarging the opening for his egress. After having heaved up, with his crowbar, two of the uprights which formed the ribs of the old cow-house, from which he had removed its sinews the planks, just as he was enjoying his conquest over his worst obstructions, he found to his dismay, that he had reckoned without his hostess, as Lady Fortune claimed more from his exertions than he thought due. A strong square heart-of-oak piece of timber ran along, horizontally, the whole length ofthe building, which nothing but a saw could remove. As the bull, Bishop, was too lordly and unaccustomed to diminish his lofty altitude by dropping on his knees, like the meek docile camel, and too stiff and heavy to spring like the active dog, nothing remained but to remove in some way, the stout wood that formed a bar across his furious-looking forehead.
As he considered the noise of sawing would rouse the Philistines of Llwynmawr, for an instant Twm’s inventive powers were at a stand; but they soon rallied, and he how had to strike a bold stroke, that promised anything but success, while certain failure would otherwise be his lot. From the bag he took two pairs of top-boots which he had provided, and drew them, one at a time, with the toes pointing backward, on the feet of the bull, Bishop, who seemed at first modestly to decline such an unusual honour. But as Twm was very pressing, he meekly submitted, like a bashful maid to don her wedding robes, or like King Richard, to have fortune buckled on his back; for he in fact endured to have his boots corded above his knees.
Twm now took the crow-bar to the front of the house, and fixed it firmly through an old-fashioned iron ring in the farm-house door, so as utterly to prevent the opening of it from the inside. Fastening next a halter to the bell attached to the sledge-shaft, he instructed Tommy Thomas to ring and roar “fire” with all the strength of his arms and might of his lungs; applying as he spoke, a candle to the hay on the sledge, while he retreated to saw, amid this din, the stubborn wood that barred alike the bull’s departure and the progress of the enterprise.
Whiz, crick, crack went the blaze! ding, dong! went the clapper of the bell! fire, fire! roared the scare-crow voice of little Tommy Thomas; Twm’s saw being unheard through the prevalence of these mightier sounds. The squire was the first awakened by the unusual noise, and terrible was the fat man’s fright on seeing the blazing pyramid that illumined the whole house inwardly, and all over the yard, whilehe beheld some little devil ringing the bell and roaring “fire!” like a sergeant major while drilling a battalion.
The activity of a fat man in a fright is truly ludicrous. The nimbleness of the thinnest frightened tailor that ever hid himself behind a fishing-rod, was mere sluggishness compared to the flea-hopping trips of Squire Prothero, although almost too large to conceal himself behind a church, in some mountain parishes of Wales. Down stairs he rolled, ten steps at a time, and tried in vain to open the outward door. Up he rushed again, as if his unbreeched hams and shirted shoulders had wings appended to them, to assist his upward flight, bellowing “fire! fire!” till hoarseness silenced him.
Just as he lost his voice, he found a deputy for it in a broomstick, with which he ran into the men’s room, cudgelling Ready Rosser and the rest through the bed-clothes, till they roared a dissonant chorus to the hoarse bass of “fire, fire!” “get up and be d—ned to you, or be fried in your own tallow!”
Still the bell rung, and still Tommy Thomas lustily roared “fire!” Ready Rosser, overwhelmed with fear and stupidity, proved his name to be henceforth a misnomer, having, with the rest of the clowns, utterly failed to open the door. Running up stairs again, they met the squire at the top, flourishing his cudgel like a flail about their heads. In his extremity, to give poor Rosser his due, he tried the notable plan of rising above his troubles by climbing up the chimney; but when he had nearly attained the top, like many other ambitious aspirants, he lost his footing, and tumbled down to the bottom, blackened with soot, and smarting with his bruises. At length this scene of confusion received a turn by the adventurous daring of Gaby Snipe, a parish apprentice boy, who, squeezing himself through a narrow casement, dropped to the ground, and ultimately succeeded in removing the crow-bar and opening the door.
During this scene of dire confusion, Twm’s enterprise had progressed swimmingly, and he had his worship the bull out of the cow-house, through thehorse-pond, over the snow-clad field, and into a lane that led to the parish road, which brought them to a sheep-cot on the high mountain top, that almost overhung the mansion Ystrad Feen. Just as he had bestowed his precious charge within the aforesaid shelter, he was joined by little Tommy Thomas, terribly out of breath with running and laughing. Our hero had also his full share of laughter, daylight having now pretty well advanced, in noting the paces of the mighty brute as he stamped it along in his top-boots, with, the toes reversed, being the first of the family, as he deemed, that ever was honoured with such a dashing leg and heel trimmings.
Tommy Thomas related that on the descent of Gaby Snipe, he quitted his bell-rope and hid himself awhile to witness the result of the outpouring from the house. The rush was whimsical to witness, for fear, as usual, had exaggerated the danger, and when in the yard they ran to and fro like scared rabbits, not knowing what to do, nor what was required of them. The hay being all consumed, and the fire self-extinguished, Ready Rosser called out, “water, water!” which, in their confusion and imperfect state of wakefulness, they dashed, by pailsful, at one another, till at length a general fight commenced in the farm-yard; and when the squire came and parted them, not one could tell how the fray began, any more than they could account for the stirring incidents that had frightened them all out of their senses.
Philosophyof smiles. Twm sets out for modern Babylon. New use of a pack-saddle. A gentleman of the road, and how Twm borrowed his horse.
Laughter was the order of the morning at Ystrad Feen. Grief causes the loss of the appetite, but mirth produced the same effect in a different way on this particular occasion, as no one seemed to have strength nor leisure to attack the tempting delicacies spread before them in such profusion. Laughter, loud, strong, boisterous, hearty ringing laughter, burst forth again and again as Twm, in the drollest manner, excited their risibility by a relation of what had passed the preceding evening.
“A bull in boots!” chuckled the Baronet, laughing till the tears ran down his florid countenance. “A bull in boots!” cried the lady of Ystrad Feen, till a sweet glow diffused itself over her whole countenance, developing, by the effort a pair of the finest dimples that ever lent their attraction to a female face. “A bull in boots!” cried the Reverend John David Rhys, whose excited countenance bore animated contrast to the “pale cast of thought” that usually distinguished him, and with whom laughter was not habitual.
“A bull in boots!” tittered Miss Meredith, with something more than a simper, or small grin, used to exhibit a fine set of teeth (which Parson Rhys thought peerless;) for honest, hearty, spleen-dispersing laughter, was not voted to be vulgar in those days; nor gentility and insipidity considered as synonymous terms.
“A bull in boots!” muttered a tall elderly gentleman with a long saturnine nose, that seemed to curl away, half disdainfully, from the mouth beneath it, which laughed, however, in spite of the nose, inclining to extend itself from ear to ear, in revenge for never having so indulged itself before. “A bull in boots!”repeated he sneeringly; “how ridiculous! I should have as soon thought to see a pig in pattens.”
In the midst of this merriment, Tommy Thomas made his appearance, to announce something; but catching the exclamation of “a bull in boots,” and “a pig in pattens,” was immediately infected with the general contagion, and laughed and snorted like a pig in a hay-field, when a cunning cur has suddenly seized him by the buttocks. The new arrival promised additional fun, and all were prepared to enjoy it. At length he explained himself in a brief sentence, “Mr. Prothero is coming!”
Twm now made a hasty retreat for some unexplained purpose; and in a few minutes the portly figure of Squire Prothero was seen in the yard, sitting on his horse, and laughing till too convulsed to alight. The company ran out and greeted him, while the good-natured squire co-mingled with their mirthful peals as hearty a “ho, ho, ho!” as ever shook his jolly fat sides.
“Laugh away, ho, ho, ho! laugh away,” cried he, “I know I look an ass, after bragging up such a nincompoop as my fellow against this young wag of yours. But where is he? where is the young dog? I suppose my noble bull is slaughtered by this time.”
“Tough steaks he gave us for breakfast,” cried the baronet, “tough as an alligator with his scales on.”
“Fine fun if he had choked you all! but never mind!” returned the squire, “a joke is a joke, and a bet is a bet; and I have come to pay mine.”
Scarcely had he uttered these magnanimous sentiments, that proved him worthy of the Grand Master’s chair in a society of laughing philosophers, than the booted bull, Bishop, gravely approached, with our hero on his back. A fresh explosion now burst from the party, to note the stately and apparently conceited paces of the buskind king of the kine, who now wore his boots with toes foremost, like any other gentleman; but none laughed so heartily as Prothero himself, who seemed in raptures to find his bull unbutchered.
“This fellow would tame a fiery dragon,” quoth he, “aye, and ride him through the air, too, without fear, or he could never have coaxed Bishop into such a good humour as to become a steed for him.”
The whole party now entered the house, and Prothero narrated, to their boundless amusement, their ultimate discovery of the bull’s abduction. Rosser and his fellows had been sent in a body to trace the foot-prints of the bull in the snow, and recapture him if possible; but as such signs were utterly invisible, Rosser returned in the utmost dismay, with a face half a yard long, from the effect, he said, of a new light that had just broken in upon him. With great solemnity, he declared his conviction that the supposed bull was no beast at all, but the devil in disguise, as not a print of his hoof was to be found anywhere, although four set of human feet were traceable, backwards and forwards.
“That was no bull,” said the wise Rosser; “it was a devil which, after kicking down the cow-house, and firing the hay with his brimstone breath, flew away in a clap of thunder, which indeed I heard myself, as plainly as I hear my own voice at this moment.”
“For all these abominable bounces,” quoth the squire, “I called him a liar and a fool, when the fellow turned upon me with ‘the devil take the bull! you didn’t think I could keep him in my pocket!’ Now the whimsicality of the idea of a fellow’s pocketing a bull, tickled me so much that I forgave him everything!” Another chorus of the trebles and bass aforesaid burst out again, and, at the conclusion, the ladies declared they had almost laughed themselves into illness.
“Never mind, fair ones, let the stay-laces crack—cut them asunder, and give the lungs and laughter fair play!” cried the squire; closing his period with as hearty a “ho, ho, ho!” as usually formed the climax of his sayings and doings. In the present instance the elderly gentleman chimed in with him, andexclaiming, “droll as ever, Prothero, but now outwitted by a mere boy.”
“True, Sir John, (your pardon for the omission of my respects thus long),” cried the squire, as he cordially shook his hand, “but such a boy as our combined manhood here never met with before.”
The worthy here referred to, and before noticed as the gentleman with the saturnine nose, was no less a personage than Sir John Price, Baronet, of Priory House, Brecon, the highly respected father of Lady Devereaux. He had arrived the preceding evening, about the time that Twm commenced his attack upon the bull.
Lady Devereaux explained to her father the great and gallant services which she had received at Twm’s hands, and her statement was made in the most earnest and impassioned manner, as if her gratitude was as great as on the day she was attacked by Dio the Devil, and rescued by our hero. Sir John Price at once rose from his chair, in a way that strongly contrasted with his usual cold and ceremonious habit, and extending his white, diamond-ringed, aristocratic hand to Twm, assured him of his friendship and protection in all things wherein he could serve him.
Twm would not accept the money which Prothero tendered in liquidation of his bet. “No,” said the successful champion, “it was all for fun and amusement, and you will allow that we have had some enjoyment out of it, and all I ask is that, when I am far away, and you are brought face to face with your well-prized bull, Bishop, you will think of me.”
The generosity of his sentiments met with the encomiums of all present; and the worthy squire reluctantly consenting to receive back his bull without fee or fine, absolutely insisted on leaving the forfeited twenty pounds in the hands of Lady Devereaux, who received it accordingly. Recollecting the manner in which he had been hunted from Tregaron, it was truly gratifying to his feelings, and flattering to his pride, to hear persons of the rank of the present company expresstheir regret that he was to leave them the next morning.
The following day was the one appointed for Twm’s departure to London, and he arose with a sorrowful heart, (for he was thinking of the lady of his dream,) to make a preparation for his departure. The baronet having presented him with a sum of money for his expenses, insisted on his leaving behind him, with Lady Devereaux, whatever cash he possessed, till his return; while the lady herself, playfully promising to be a faithful banker, threw on his neck a heavy golden chain, as her present. Twm had often seen her wear it; and fervently kissing the splendid article, returned it to her keeping till his return.
If anything could add to his satisfaction, it was to experience the attention of his two fast friends, Rhys and the Squire, who even at this early hour had hastened to bid him farewell. Right glad was he of the opportunity of sending some cash to his mother, and to remit what he had borrowed from his friend, Cadwgan. In the yard, he had to receive the good wishes and parting civilities of every man and maidservant in the establishment, particularly of the huntsman and the whippers-in, with whom he had become an amazing favourite.
It had been concerted that his best mode of travellingincog.would be on a mean horse, with a pack-saddle, and disguised as a lowly country lad. Thus mounted and accoutred, behold him at length disappearing through the yard-gate of Ystrad Feen; the cash and papers entrusted to his care having been studiously concealed about his person. Although but ill-contented with his homely harness, he found his mountain pony, like his race in general, far better than his looks promised; so that he rode on with a heart full of glee, proud of the honours which he had gained, and glowing with bright anticipations of the future.
Through his native principality, his journey was interesting enough, so we need not note the scenes, which,however charming in their rural beauty and romantic wildness to Twm, would lose most of their attraction in mere description. He jogged on steadily and perseveringly till he had left Bristol behind, and he had even passed through Bath and Chippenham before a single adventure occurred worthy of record.
Riding late one evening, between the last-named town and Marlborough, he found it necessary to put up at a small public-house on the road-side, distinguished by the sign of the “Hop-pole,” the obscurity of which he considered favourable to his safety.
Having fed his beast and eaten his supper, he went immediately to bed; and, with a view of preserving his treasure in the best manner, slept without divesting himself of his clothes. He had slept some hours, and day was just breaking, when he was aroused by the trampling of a horse, and the gruff voice of a traveller whom he heard alight and enter the house.
A strong impulse of curiosity determined him to rise from his bed; and, as the large treble-bedded room which he occupied was over the parlour, to which the guest was introduced, he listened, to learn whether anything portended danger to himself. He found, to his surprise and dismay, that he was the subject of conversation between the landlady and her guest, whom he discovered to be no other than the very character of which he stood most particularly in peril—a highwayman.
He had heard himself described to him by the landlady, as an uncouth booby of a countryman from the Welsh mountains, miserably mounted on a piece of animated carrion, for which the crows cawed as it limped along; and what booty was to be expected from such a beggar inquired she?
“You are wrong, mistress, you are quite wrong,” cried the stranger; “from your account I expect much from him. I have robbed more than one such, dressed like a scarecrow, while making for London, and bearing with him the twelvemonth’s rent of half-a-dozen of his neighbours to pay the landlord in town. I shall beat this fellow as soon as he quits your roof; I have no doubt but what he is a prize, and if he is, you of course come in for shares.”
Having learnt thus much, Twm, in some trepidation, retired to his bed, and began to consider how he should contrive, in order to preserve the property in his possession. He rose again, thinking to escape through the window, but found it too small to admit his egress, and therefore gave up the idea.
As he looked out through the miserable casement, busily plotting to hatch a scheme of deliverance, he could perceive no favourable object to aid his purpose except a large pool on the road-side, in which he thought of dropping his cash if he could reach it, and do the act unobserved, so that he might recover it at his leisure.
As nothing better offered, he determined to adopt his plan immediately; and therefore, after making a studied clattering in putting on his shoes, he went down stairs, and called for a jug of beer and toast for his breakfast. The freebooter did not show himself, but the landlady and her daughter, who seemed to be in the habit of sitting up all night to receive and entertain such guests, scrutinized our hero very closely.
The worthy hostess asked him some apparently careless questions respecting his business in travelling the country, to which he replied he was trying to overtake a brother pigman, who was driving their joint charge to London.
While at breakfast, Twm’s brain showed him another project for securing his valuables, which he considered an improvement upon the pond scheme. To give a more clownish character to his manners, the night before, he had carried the old pack-saddle up stairs, brought it down in the morning, and while at breakfast sat on it before the fire, instead of a stool.
It occurred to him that this peculiarity of his would have been attributed to other motives, and that, no doubt, the honest inmates of the place thought that he would not have exhibited such care for his pack-saddleif it were not worth more than it looked. He was ultimately convinced that they had decided that all his treasure was contained therein.
Indeed, it was not a bad idea, for he could then sit on it all day and make a pillow of it by night. He determined to encourage their suspicions; accordingly, bursting a hole in the fore end of it, he called the landlady to receive her reckoning, and in her presence, pushing his fist into the straw cushion of the pack-saddle, he drew out several pieces of gold, and asked her if she could give him change; but she answered in the negative, on which he again thrust his hand into the pack-saddle, and brought out more gold and silver intermixed; and with the latter settled his bill, and went to the stable for his horse.
Securing all his money about his person, he mounted his Rosinante. Having cut away the girths from the pack-saddle, he bade the landlady farewell, and rode with all his might towards the pool, which was about a quarter of a mile forward on the road. He soon heard the highwayman brushing forward in his rear, with many oaths calling on him to stop, a summons that increased our hero’s speed, till, being opposite the pond, his pursuer overtook him.
Twm rode to the edge of the water, and threw the pack-saddle, with all his strength, towards the centre of the pool; but in bustling to regain a steady seat as he made towards the road, he fell headlong from his horse. The free-booter cursed him for a Welsh fool, and with a thundering voice ordered him to hold his horse, or he would blow his brains out, (brandishing his pistol all the while,) that he might go into the water to recover the booty.
Twm appeared to be frightened out of his senses, and trembled with very visible terror as he approached to do the robber’s bidding; but no sooner had the highwayman reached the centre of the pool, and began groping about for the object of his search, than Twm, with one spring, mounted his fine tall horse, and rode away with all his might.
So far all went well; but, to Twm’s unspeakable horror, the knight of the road, finding himself thus tricked, placed his fingers in his mouth and gave a loud whistle, on which his horse immediately stopped quite still.
Twm, in real terror, as he was within pistol-shot, roared “murder!” with all his might; when the horse, to his great amazement, took his exclamation of terror for a counter order, and again started into a gallop. The freebooter repeated his whistle, and again the horse stood still as a mile-stone: Twm reiterated “murder!” with all the power of his lungs; and the well-taught horse instantly resumed his gallop.
Thus the highwayman’s whistle and Twm’s roaring of “murder!” had an alternate effect on the noble animal, till at length, our hero got completely out of hearing of the baffled robber. As he rode on triumphantly, he sang the old Welsh pennill or stanza—[203]
“No cheat is it to cheat the cheaterNo treason to betray the traitor:Nor is it theft, but just deceiving,To thieve from him who lives by thieving.”
“No cheat is it to cheat the cheaterNo treason to betray the traitor:Nor is it theft, but just deceiving,To thieve from him who lives by thieving.”
As he rode into Marlborough, in the highest spirit, one of the church chimes was playing “See the conquering hero comes!” which appeared to him to be a singularly appropriate greeting, and which he accepted as a personal tribute to his ingenious trickery upon the highwayman, whom, Twm secretly hoped, had not yet got out the old pack-saddle from the pool.
How Twm laughed when he pictured to himself the rage and dismay of the villain when he discovered its contents! That was a thought to chuckle over and enjoy. It would extort many a boisterous “ho, ho, ho!” from old Squire Prothero, when he should have the pleasure of giving him the story.
He received great commendation at the inn where he stayed for the night, when he related his adventure; and many of the inhabitants were loud in their congratulations to the young Welshman, who had so cleverly outwitted the English highwayman.
Watt, the mole-catcher, in a pleasant mood. Twm hears of his old love, Gwenny Cadwgan. Tom Dorbell, and his feats. Another adventure with a knight of the road.
Twm had reason to be satisfied with his progress on his road to London, for he had met danger, and his wit and ingenuity had proved equal to any emergency. But success did not make him over-confident, and consequently careless; but, on finding himself yet seventy-four miles from his journey’s end, he prepared for more trials of his skill and courage. He was sent for next morning by the mayor of Marlborough, who had heard of his adventure, and required to bring the horse with him, which he had so adroitly won.
Many gentlemen having assembled at the entrance to the town-hall, our hero appeared in all the pride of a conqueror, mounted on his goodly steed; although so humbly clad, their hats were doffed, and loud shouts of applause were immediately given. It was soon ascertained by the mayor and the gentlemen present, that the horse was regularly bred to the road, and instructed by a highwayman, therefore, not, as at first conjectured, the property of any person deprived of it by one of these free-faring gentry; consequently, his worship, with many comments on his cleverness and courage told our hero that the horse was his own by right ofconquest; but that if he were inclined to part with it, he would give forty pounds for it Twm directly assented; and the money was paid to him the same morning.
Being now in want of an animal on which to continue his travel, Twm determined to walk on to Hungerford, and purchase one nearly like the one he had set out upon at the commencement of his journey, as he was still of the same opinion, that the less temptation in his outward appearance to the gentlemen of the road, the less likely were they to interfere with him.
About three miles out of Hungerford, he saw before him a pig-drover, with a large herd of porkers, that he alternately cursed in his ancient British tongue, and cut up with a whip; while at intervals between these amusing recreations he loudly sang, or roared, certain scraps of Welsh songs. Twm’s ear was quick in recognizing the well-known voice, and he soon stood side by side with his old friend Watt the mole-catcher. After mutual expressions of wonder and congratulation, Twm immediately asked him how his mother was, as well as farmer Cadwgan and his daughter Gwenny.
Watt replied that his mother and her husband were well; but instead of answering the latter question, enquired his adventures since he left Tregaron. Twm, with animated vanity, ran over that bright portion of his history, occasionally heightening the colour of events, according to the general practice of story-tellers, from time immemorial; dwelling particularly on his fortunate preservation of the lady of Ystrad Feen, and the benefits which accrued to him in consequence, from the liberality of Sir George Devereaux, whose confidential agent he then was, on business of the utmost importance, to London.
These extraordinary events were intended by Twm to astonish the sulky-looking mole-catcher, Watt, who was not in an impressionable mood; but Twm, nothing daunted, still ran on, saying, in allusion to his “friend” Sir George,—“Well, Watt, were he ten times as rich and happy as he is, I should never envy him anything he possessed, but one lovely piece of property.” “And what might that be?” asked Watt. “Why,” replied the other, “could I once forget poor Gwenny Cadwgan, which I never can, I should envy him the possession of his charming young wife, the beautiful lady of Ystrad Feen—the finest, the handsomest, and cleverest woman I ever saw! and although now married to a second husband, she is little more than one-and-twenty years of age. But I was asking of my old sweet-heart Gwenny, poor Gwenny Cadwgan.”
“Poor Gwenny Cadwgan indeed!” echoed Watt.
The sneering manner in which the mole-catcher spoke this, alarmed our hero; “What of her, Watt?” cried he eagerly; “is anything the matter? tell me quickly, for Heaven’s sake!” Watt replied evasively, that great trouble had come to both her and her father, in consequence of their having harboured him when the hue and cry was up. That fact, he said, was discovered a few days after his disappearance, by old Rachel Ketch, who sold the secret to the Squire for the highest price she could get; and would have sold her own soul on similar terms to the Devil himself.
Twm observed Watt writhing as he spoke, and struggling inwardly, with some terrible feeling, that for awhile deprived him of utterance. He noticed with regret the deep furrows of worldly care on his cheek, so lately ruddy and mirthful; and thought he observed a sinister expression in his sunken eye and trembling lips, that now were paler than his sallow face. Fiercely resenting the closeness of our hero’s scrutiny by an assumption of rude abruptness, he said “but why do I waste time in talking here, when—but I must be off—good-bye!”
“But you have not told me of Gwenny and her father,” quote Twm, in amazement at his demeanour.
“That is soon told,” replied Watt, pettishly; “the squire turned him out of his farm, and made so many claims one sort or other, that Cadwgan was beggared, and left him so poor that he could scarcely take a cottage for himself and daughter. If I hadn’t let himmine, he would have had none.” “Good heavens!” exclaimed Twm, “thy hovel for farmer Cadwgan and the gentle Gwenny!”
“Why not?” replied Watt, with a lowering brow; “is he not a day labourer? it served mewhen I was one, for many a bitter day. His daughter too, the dainty Gwenny, she was too good for me—turned with scorn from poor Watt the mole-catcher—but never mind! she was a bit of a sweet-heart of thine too, Twm, I remember; but set thy heart at rest, lad, if she won’t be mine, she will never be thine, at any rate.”
All this was uttered in a tone of bitter sarcasm, that both surprised and enraged our hero; especially when he thus learned from his own mouth that Watt had sought to win the affections of the fair and generous Gwenny Cadwgan. He replied—“Well, the devil take thee when he will, for he must have marked thee for his own, long since, or thou wouldst never have had the impudence to court Gwenny Cadwgan!”
“Ha! ha!” laughed Watt, with a bitter snarl; “she will never be thine nor mine! so don’t burden thy memory with one who has already forgotten thee. Farewell! and better luck with thy next sweet-heart!” With that he cracked his whip and drove on his herd of swine, with an air of excited fierceness that was actually fearful to witness.
So much hurt was Twm at the bearing and conduct of Watt that he allowed him to go without asking more questions. His sorrow to hear of the change in the fortunes of Cadwgan and his lovely daughter, threw a heavy cloud over his mind; and he regretted that his remittance to him, by the hand of his friend, was so small. He felt rather relieved by the reflection that however small the sum was, it would be deemed a “God-send” to them under present circumstances; and at the same time prove to friends that he was not unmindful of them, nor ungrateful for their boundless kindness in his dark days of peril. However, he felt somewhat embittered by theinsinuations of Watt, that the fair Gwenny’s regard for him was on the wane, if not altogether given to another; and right glad would he have been to learn the exact bearing of the whole affair, at which the mole-catcher’s hints but darkly hinted.
Twm was detained at Hungerford for some days, by starving weather; and while looking about for another animal, was taken by an old pedlar, down a green lane, to a creature of his, left there to graze. He was not a little surprised to find it to be his own pony, left in exchange with the highwayman, having on his back the identical pack-saddle in which he had formerly concealed his money. Twm made a purchase of both, and the next morning took his departure from Hungerford.
His enforced leisure at Hungerford had not been unprofitably spent, for he had listened attentively to the conversation of the different drinking parties at the tavern where he stayed; and found the dangers of the road to be the general theme. The great hero of the turnpikes at this time, was a certain knight of the road called the Gallant Glover, alias Tom Dorbell, originally a leather-breeches maker and glover. It appeared that he was a man who, by his shrewdness in general, as well as particular instances of cunning, combined with his dauntless daring, had become so much an object of admiration to those who had nothing to lose, as of terror to the men of money, who had become the victims of his audacity.
The following anecdote of him, told by one of these tavern worthies, interested our worthy much, and had the effect of putting him on his mettle, in case of an accidental meeting with him during his journey.
It seems, a gentleman’s son was taken for robbing on the highway; and as he had been formerly pardoned, he despaired of mercy a second time. Upon this, Tom Dorbell opened a treaty with his wealthy relatives, and undertook, for five hundred pounds, to bring him off. It was stipulated and agreed to, that one half of that sum be paid in hand, and the other halfwhen the deliverance was effected. On the trial of the young gentleman, he was found guilty; but just as the judge was about to pass sentence, Tom Dorbell cried out “Oh! what a sad thing it is to shed innocent blood!” and continuing to reiterate the expression, he was apprehended, and the judge asked him what he meant by such exclamations, he answered,—“May it please your Lordship, it is a dreadful thing for a man to die wrongfully; but one may see how hard-mouthed some people are, by the witnesses swearing that this gentleman now at the bar robbed them on the highway, at the time stated in the indictment, when, indeed, my Lord, I was the person who committed that robbery.”
Accordingly the “Gallant Glover” was taken into custody, and the young gentleman liberated. Being brought to trial the following assizes, to the astonishment of the court, he pleaded not guilty. “Not guilty!” exclaimed the judge in a voice of thunder, “did you not at the last assizes own yourself guilty of the robbery in question?”
“I don’t know,” replied Tom Dorbell, as meek as a mouse, “how far I was guilty then, but, upon my word, I am not guilty now; therefore, if any person can accuse me of committing such a robbery, I desire them to prove the same.” No witnesses appearing, the Gallant Glover was of course acquitted.
What Twm had heard about the Gallant Glover and his achievements, warned him that fresh trials on the road awaited him; but he was no “Bob Acre,” and, “screwing his courage to the sticking-point,” he manfully resumed his journey.
He had got within ten miles of Reading, in Berkshire, anxiously hoping to reach it without disaster, when the sudden discharge of a pistol, close to his ear, convinced him that he was in the centre of danger. Instantly a horseman, well mounted, rode fiercely down a lane that entered the road, and ordered him to stop and deliver in a minute, or have his brains scattered on the hedge beside him.
“Catch a weasel asleep!” You might do that, but to surprise Twm Shon Catty when he had reason to be on the alert, was almost impossible. Assuming an air of clownish simplicity, he replied, “Lord bless ye master, I ha gotten nothing to deliver but an old testament, a crooked sixpence, and a broken fish-hook, and—and—” “And what, you prevaricating young scoundrel!” roared the highwayman. “Why, this purse,” continued Twm, “which uncle Timothy gave I to market for him, and pay his bills at Reading to-morrow;” producing at the same time an old stocking, which he had stuffed with old nails and cockle shells, in order to make a jingle.[210]The robber made a grasp at the supposed well-stocked purse, which Twm dexterously evaded, and flung it over the hedge into the adjoining field, riding on; while the former instantly alighted, blustering out a string of oaths and threats as he made his way to the field to search for the coveted treasure.
Twm was, of course aware that as soon as the robber had discovered how he had been tricked, that he would doubtless ride after him, and in his rage, shoot him on the spot. As Twm’s poor pony would have no chance in a race with the highwayman’s high-spirited charger, he determined that a daring act, if carried out successfully, would both ensure his safety and prove profitable to him likewise. The knight of the road, when he alighted, had thrown his bridle over a hedge-stake; so Twm, abandoning his pony for the second time, watched the robber into the field, crawled along the ditch till he reached his horse, which heinstantly seized by the bridle, mounted and rode off in a hot gallop, till he got safe into the ancient town of Reading, as the clear-toned bells of St. Lawrence were chiming their last evening peal.
AgraciousLawyer. Twm determines to “pedestrianize” a bit. Watt’s horrible tale. A fair bevy of lasses from Cardigan. Guilt and the punishment.
Next morning, Twm had the horse which he had taken from the robber, cried through the town of Reading, in the honest hope that he should find the rightful owner. He was right in his conjecture that it would prove to be the property of some one in that town, for a wealthy attorney claimed it, with a considerable degree of hauteur and insolence. So far was this limb of the law from either allowing our hero anything for the loss of his own humble beast, or even thanking him for his instrumentality in recovering a valuable horse, that he told him he might think himself very lucky he was not prosecuted for its being found in his possession. Our worthy did think himself so, and took a precipitate departure accordingly.
Being now within eight-and-thirty miles of London, he resolved to throw off his disguise, and walk the rest of the journey. Accordingly, he bought a suit of clothes at Reading, in which he concealed his money and valuables, with a pair of pocket pistols; and thus provided he resumed his journey to the metropolis. Having walked twelve miles, he attained the town of Maidenhead.
On a seat outside the Bear Inn, he beheld a jovial company of topers, and in the midst of them, Watt the mole-catcher. It turned out that he had sold hispigs without going to London, and was now sauntering from tavern to tavern, squandering the money that was not his own. The moment he recognized our hero, he started on his legs, and offered him his hand.
“Twm, I take shame to myself for the manner in which we met and parted last, but I was sober then! and in my grave and sober moods all the evil and bitterness of my heart come out; now I am rather mellow, there’s nothing but good in me.” On being asked when he intended to return to Tregaron, Watt ground his teeth and exclaimed—“never!” adding, “it is not from fear of old Inco Evans, for I stayed there as long as I pleased, in spite of him, notwithstanding my promise to the contrary. But for other reasons Tregaron has been made too hot for me.”
The whole of the drinking party having gradually dropped off, Watt and our hero were left alone, when the latter with much feeling asked his old companion what was the meaning of the extraordinary change of manner, and of character, which he perceived in him.
“I’ll tell thee, lad, what’s the meaning—it means that instead of the frank merry fellow I was in the dear gone days, I now am—call it what you like, but,”—cried Watt, laughing with wet eyes, “some of my dear friends who scorn flattery, would say a d—ed rascal, and I quite agree with them. But never mind—I belong to the strongest party after all.”
Our hero here pressed him for something of a connected account of his adventures since he left Tregaron; on which Watt immediately assented, and ran them over in the following off-hand strain.
“You remember, I dare say, Twm, that when you were only a child, that I was famed throughout the village as a wit and joker; in short, that I was the funny fellow of Tregaron, and my ambition was to retain this title. The comical tricks and humorous saying of Watt the mole-catcher, made mirth at every farmer’s heath, and their tables were spread with food for me whenever I called. As I grew older, my pleasuresand antipathies acquired a stronger cast; and there were but few in our adjoining parishes who were subject either to execration or ridicule, and dreaded my satire and exposure.
“I formed attachments more than once among the daughters of the farmers, whom I had frequently entertained at the social evening hearth; but although my jests were relished, my overtures were rejected. In short, I found that while mirth, innocence and harmless wit were my companions, parents generally disposed of their daughters to young men of characters directly opposite to mine—the stupidly grave, and thrifty, no matter how knavish. My eyes were at length opened; and I found that the funny man, however amusing as an acquaintance, was coveted by none as a relative, but considered as a mere diverging vagabond at best. Well, thought I, this will never do; but since gravity is the order of the day, I will be as grave and roguish as the most successful of my fellow-men. Having come to this conclusion, I studied knavery, that is to say, thrifty rascality like a science.
“As the first step I went immediately to my grandmother, who had often exhorted me to quit my sinful mirth and become serious, when I assured her of my conversion, in token of which I threw myself on my knees, and entreated her blessing. She afterwards took me to a puritanic chapel, and in that assembly, where I had often pinned the skirts and gown-tails of the elect together, the poor old doting soul in the pride of her heart exhibited her convert to the gaze of the saints; but neglected to inform them that I had robbed her that same evening of half the contents of her pocket, as she lay asleep. I was not long in discovering that a sedate aspect was a goodly mask for the most profitable villainy, and therefore determined to wear it for life. Laughter, jest, and mirthful humour, and all those thriftless indications of the light and harmless heart, I abjured for ever.
“I now gave a respite to the rats and moles, and set up as a butcher at Tregaron; and for one sheep thatI bought of the farmers, I stole three, and slaughtered them either by moonlight on the hills, or by candle-light in my own cottage. Although I daily bettered my condition, I considered this but a slow and creeping course of thrift; and therefore, as conscience no longer stood in my way, I meditated some bolder way of leaping into property at once.
“You know that wrinkled old she-usurer of Tregaron, Rachel Ketch, who made money, Heaven knows how, and increased it by lending out to country people, at a higher rate than city usurers dared to ask. In the bitterness of my heart, after losing all hope of a girl, whom I had long doated on, I went to the old Jezabel and sought her hand in marriage; aye, and would have taken her were she ten times as loathsome, in the anxious hope of her speedy death, and of succeeding to her golden hoards. I strove to recommend myself by assuring her I was the most finished scoundrel in existence; and that when gain was my object, theft, perjury, and even murder, however hideous to silly innocents, had no power to scare me from my pursuit. This avowal of my noble qualifications I thought would have won her heart forever, but I was mistaken. The keen-eyed hag, who was never seen to smile before, laughed outright at my proposal.
“‘What! you want the old woman’s gold, master cut-throat of the muttons, do you? to slit her weasand also, and make away with her a month after marriage, like a troublesome old ewe;’ screamed she, as her spiteful black and broken snags grinned defiance, and her shrill tones broke out in laughs of mockery. I never saw mirth so damnable before! I felt myself the butt of her ridicule, humbled and degraded; and as my anger rose against the beldame, I resolved that since I could not wed her, to rob her would answer my purpose full as well. Accident supplied an opportunity; the little boys who had formerly been my favourites, and who in their innocence failed to recognize my change of character, I found it difficult to drive from me.
“A neighbour’s child one day asked me to lift him up to Rachel Ketch’s thatch, to take from it a wren’s nest, which he had long watched, and said he was sure that the young ones were on the eve of flying. It was a winning little urchin that made the request, and I could not refuse him. The moment that I raised him to a standing position on my shoulders, he eagerly thrust his little hand into the thatch, and cried, ‘Dear, dear, how cold!’ when a snake which he had felt, that had destroyed the young birds, coiled itself round in the nest, darted out into his face, and the youngster shrieked and fainted in my arms. I carried him home, where he soon died of the fright, for it appeared he was not stung.
“Supposing there was a nest of these reptiles in the old rotten straw thatch, I poked it in all directions with a long hooked stick, and at last felt something attached to it. As I drew it forward and examined it, to my great astonishment, I found it to be an old woollen stocking, closely stuffed with various golden coins. Here was a discovery! I felt myself a man for ever! The old woman was at this time in Carmarthenshire, where she had gone to enforce her claims to certain debts among her former neighbours; and therefore, having no fear of detection, I pushed back the golden prize and went away, intending to return for it at night. As I anxiously watched the hours and minutes pass away, reflecting on my newly-acquired wealth, a raging savage spirit of avarice so possessed me, that I determined to plunder old Rachel’s cottage of all the money I could find.
“Night came, and with breathless haste I made an entrance through the thatch, on the side furthest from the street, and at midnight went away with a heavy booty, the greater part of which I buried beneath the floor of my own cottage, determined to seek an opportunity of quitting Tregaron for ever. Fortune seemed to favour me beyond my hopes; Squire Graspacre having a numerous herd of fine pigs, engaged me to drive them to England, and sell them at a good price; Ihave done so, and pocketed the cash, not one farthing of which will the squire ever handle. To relate all my rogueries since I became a grave man, would take too much of your time; so here ends my story.”
Twm had heard Watt’s tale with sorrow and regret, and his spirits were fast sinking below zero, when a party of Cardiganshire lasses, who were making their annual journey to weed the gardens in the neighbourhood of London, passed opposite the tavern door where our worthies were sitting. With heart-touched delight, our hero recognized the comfortable and not unpicturesque costume of his native country; and his satisfaction was still increased when he found among the rural damsels, two Tregaron girls; one of whom, named Martha Gwyn, was a fast friend of Gwenny Cadwgan’s. These poor girls expressed their gladness to see their long-lost “neighbour’s child,” as their homely but touching phrase went; but their recognition of Watt amounted to such terror and abhorrence that the rose of health and innocence faded on their cheeks, while their expanded eyes were fearfully fixed on his countenance, as if something unearthly met their stony stare.
At length they found words to say that he was charged, not only with the robbery of Rachael Ketch’s cottage, but with murder; that the constables were out to search for him in all quarters, and that Squire Graspacre had sent out a man to supersede Watt in the care of his pigs.
This unexpected news, and the evident horror evinced by the fair maidens for him, quite overcame Watt, and he showed unmistakable signs of the fear which had taken possession of him. From Martha Gwyn, Twm learned that poor Gwenny’s affection for him was unchanged, but it was thought, for all that, said the candid girl, that she will be married to a Breconshire farmer’s son, who met her in Herefordshire, when she went a hop-picking there.
“But if Gwenny has him,” said Martha, “it will be for the sake of making a home for her poor father.”
Twm’s generous heart prompted him to give each maiden a piece of silver; and, having made them eat heartily of a good homely, substantial meal of cheese and bread and ale, he dismissed them on their journey. Watt, in great agony of mind, exclaimed—
“Oh God, where shall I fly! all my supposed security I find but a dream, and misery alone awaits me! When I told you the tale of my enormities, I kept back the relation of one crime—a dreadful one—which, lost as I am, I felt averse to acknowledge, and too heart-smote with the consciousness of its atrocity, to turn to it my most secret thought—’twas a deed of blood, the crime of murder!
“You remember a tall, thin, skeleton-like man, generally dressed in a suit of grey, who lived in a cottage on the mountain, in the neighbourhood of Tregaron, known by the nickname of Stalking Simon the Mooncalf, from his wandering by moon-light over the hills. This man was known to be a spy, employed and paid by all the neighbouring farmers. His habits were, to sleep all day and to spend the night on the hill, watching to identify the hedge-pluckers and sheep-stealers. Many poor persons who depended on their nightly excursions for fuel, while they deemed themselves unobserved of any human being, cutting down a tree, or drawing dry wood from an old hedge, would suddenly find themselves in the presence of Stalking Simon. So instantaneous was his appearance, as to startle his victims with the idea of an apparition suddenly sprung up through the ground, as his approach was never seen till close upon them.
“‘’Tis only me, neighbour,’ would be the hypocrite’s reply, ‘searching for my stray pony:’ but when two persons had been executed and three transported, on his evidence, the nature of his employment became known, and he was execrated by the whole country.
“One moon-light night, as I was skinning a fine weather, which I had suspended and spread out on an old storm-beaten thorn, in a field adjoining the mountain, easy in mind, and so fearless of danger, that Iwhistled in a half hushed manner, as I followed my illicit occupation, a circumstance took place that wrought a violent change in the tone of my mind. My thoughts ran on the whimsicality of the idea of selling this very mutton to the rightful owner, on the morrow, which was market-day, and laughing inwardly at the thought: all at once, Stalking Simon, with a single stride, moved from behind a mossy dwarf thorn, gray as his own suit, and stood before me. My blood curdled with terror; but when the old stone-hearted wretch made the old Judas-like reply—