Nocturnal Journey—Maes y Lynn—The Figure—Earl of Leicester—Twm Shone
Catti—The Farmer and Bull—Tom and the Farmer—The Cave—The Threat—Tom a
Justice—The Big Wigs—Tregaron.
It was dusk by the time I had regained the high-road by the village of
the Rhyd Fendigaid.
As I was yet eight miles from Tregaron, the place where I intended to
pass the night, I put on my best pace. In a little time I reached a
bridge over a stream which seemed to carry a considerable tribute to the
Teivi.
“What is the name of this bridge?” said I to a man riding in a cart, whom
I met almost immediately after I had crossed the bridge.
“Pont Vleer,” methought he said, but as his voice was husky and
indistinct, very much like that of a person somewhat the worse for
liquor, I am by no means positive.
It was now very dusk, and by the time I had advanced about a mile farther
dark night settled down, which compelled me to abate my pace a little,
more especially as the road was by no means first-rate. I had come, to
the best of my computation, about four miles from the Rhyd Fendigaid when
the moon began partly to show itself, and presently by its glimmer I saw
some little way off on my right hand what appeared to be a large sheet of
water. I went on, and in about a minute saw two or three houses on the
left, which stood nearly opposite to the object which I had deemed to be
water, and which now appeared to be about fifty yards distant in a field
which was separated from the road by a slight hedge. Going up to the
principal house I knocked, and a woman making her appearance at the door,
I said:
“I beg pardon for troubling you, but I wish to know the name of this
place.”
“Maes y Lynn—The Field of the Lake,” said the woman.
“And what is the name of the lake?” said I.
“I do not know,” said she; “but the place where it stands is called Maes
Llyn, as I said before.”
“Is the lake deep?” said I.
“Very deep,” said she.
“How deep?” said I.
“Over the tops of the houses,” she replied.
“Any fish in the lake?”
“Oh yes! plenty.”
“What fish?”
“Oh, there are llysowen, and the fish we call ysgetten.”
“Eels and tench,” said I; “anything else?”
“I do not know,” said the woman; “folks say that there used to be queer
beast in the lake, water-cow used to come out at night and eat people’s
clover in the fields.”
“Pooh,” said I, “that was merely some person’s cow or horse, turned out
at night to fill its belly at other folks’ expense.”
“Perhaps so,” said the woman; “have you any more questions to ask?”
“Only one,” said I; “how far is it to Tregaron?”
“About three miles: are you going there?”
“Yes, I am going to Tregaron.”
“Pity that you did not come a little time ago,” said the woman; “you
might then have had pleasant company on your way; pleasant man stopped
here to light his pipe; he too going to Tregaron.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said I; “I am never happier than when keeping my own
company.” Bidding the woman good night, I went on. The moon now shone
tolerably bright, so that I could see my way, and I sped on at a great
rate. I had proceeded nearly half a mile, when I thought I heard steps
in advance, and presently saw a figure at some little distance before me.
The individual, probably hearing the noise of my approach, soon turned
round and stood still. As I drew near I distinguished a stout burly
figure of a man, seemingly about sixty, with a short pipe in his mouth.
“Ah, is it you?” said the figure, in English, taking the pipe out of his
mouth; “good evening, I am glad to see you.” Then shaking some burning
embers out of his pipe, he put it into his pocket, and trudged on beside
me.
“Why are you glad to see me?” said I, slackening my pace; “I am a
stranger to you; at any rate, you are to me.”
“Always glad to see English gentleman,” said the figure; “always glad to
see him.”
“How do you know that I am an English gentleman?” said I.
“Oh, I know Englishman at first sight; no one like him in the whole
world.”
“Have you seen many English gentleman?” said I.
“Oh yes, have seen plenty when I have been up in London.”
“Have you been much in London?”
“Oh yes; when I was a drover was up in London every month.”
“And were you much in the society of English gentlemen when you were
there?”
“Oh yes; a great deal.”
“Whereabouts in London did you chiefly meet them?”
“Whereabouts? Oh, in Smithfield.”
“Dear me!” said I; “I thought that was rather a place for butchers than
gentlemen.”
“Great place for gentlemen, I assure you,” said the figure; “met there
the finest gentleman I ever saw in my life; very grand, but kind and
affable, like every true gentleman. Talked to me a great deal about
Anglesey runts, and Welsh legs of mutton, and at parting shook me by the
hand, and asked me to look in upon him, if I was ever down in his parts,
and see his sheep and taste his ale.”
“Do you know who he was?” said I.
“Oh yes; know all about him; Earl of Leicester, from county of Norfolk;
fine old man indeed—you very much like him—speak just in same way.”
“Have you given up the business of drover long?” said I.
“Oh yes; given him up a long time, ever since domm’d railroad came into
fashion.”
“And what do you do now?” said I.
“Oh, not much; live upon my means; picked up a little property, a few
sticks, just enough for old crow to build him nest with—sometimes,
however, undertake a little job for neighbouring people and get a little
money. Can do everything in small way, if necessary; build little
bridge, if asked;—Jack of all Trades—live very comfortably.”
“And where do you live?”
“Oh, not very far from Tregaron.”
“And what kind of place is Tregaron?”
“Oh, very good place; not quite so big as London but very good place.”
“What is it famed for?” said I,
“Oh, famed for very good ham; best ham at Tregaron in all Shire
Cardigan.”
“Famed for anything else?”
“Oh yes! famed for great man, clever thief, Twm Shone Catti, who was born
there.”
“Dear me!” said I; “when did he live?”
“Oh, long time ago, more than two hundred year.”
“And what became of him?” said I; “was he hung?”
“Hung, no! only stupid thief hung. Twm Shone clever thief; died rich
man, justice of the peace and mayor of Brecon.”
“Very singular,” said I, “that they should make a thief mayor of Brecon.”
“Oh Twm Shone Catti very different from other thieves; funny fellow, and
so good-natured that everybody loved him—so they made him magistrate,
not, however, before he had become very rich man by marrying great lady
who fell in love with him.”
“Ah, ah,” said I; “that’s the way of the world. He became rich, so they
made him a magistrate; had he remained poor they would have hung him in
spite of all his fun and good-nature. Well, can’t you tell me some of
the things he did?”
“Oh yes, can tell you plenty. One day in time of fair Tom Shone Catti
goes into ironmonger’s shop in Llandovery. ‘Master,’ says he, ‘I want to
buy a good large iron porridge pot; please to show me some.’ So the man
brings three or four big iron porridge pots, the very best he has. Tom
takes up one and turns it round. ‘This look very good porridge pot,’
said he; ‘I think it will suit me.’ Then he turns it round and round
again, and at last lifts it above his head and peeks into it. ‘Ha, ha,’
says he; ‘this won’t do; I see one hole here. What mean you by wanting
to sell article like this to stranger?’ Says the man, ‘There be no hole
in it.’ ‘But there is,’ says Tom, holding it up and peeking into it
again; ‘I see the hole quite plain. Take it and look into it yourself.’
So the man takes the pot, and having held it up and peeked in, ‘as I hope
to be saved,’ says he, ‘I can see no hole.’ Says Tom, ‘Good man, if you
put your head in, you will find that there is a hole.’ So the man tries
to put in his head, but having some difficulty, Tom lends him a helping
hand by jamming the pot quite down over the man’s face, then whisking up
the other pots Tom leaves the shop, saying as he goes, ‘Friend, I suppose
you now see there is a hole in the pot, otherwise how could you have got
your head inside?”’
“Very good,” said I; “can you tell us something more about Twm Shone
Catti?”
“Oh yes; can tell you plenty about him. The farmer at Newton, just one
mile beyond the bridge at Brecon, had one very fine bull, but with a very
short tail. Says Tom to himself: ‘By God’s nails and blood, I will steal
the farmer’s bull, and then sell it to him for other bull in open market
place.’ Then Tom makes one fine tail, just for all the world such a tail
as the bull ought to have had, then goes by night to the farmer’s stall
at Newton, steals away the bull, and then sticks to the bull’s short
stump the fine bull’s tail which he himself had made. The next market
day he takes the bull to the market-place at Brecon, and calls out; ‘Very
fine bull this, who will buy my fine bull?’ Quoth the farmer who stood
nigh at hand, ‘That very much like my bull, which thief stole t’other
night; I think I can swear to him.’ Says Tom, ‘What do you mean? This
bull is not your bull, but mine.’ Says the farmer, ‘I could swear that
this is my bull but for the tail. The tail of my bull was short, but the
tail of this is long. I would fain know whether the tail of this be real
tail or not.’ ‘You would?’ says Tom; ‘well, so you shall.’ Thereupon he
whips out big knife and cuts off the bull’s tail, some little way above
where the false tail was joined on. ‘Ha, ha,’ said Tom, as the bull’s
stump of tail bled, and the bit of tail bled too to which the false tail
was stuck, and the bull kicked and bellowed. ‘What say you now? Is it a
true tail or no?’ ‘By my faith!’ says the farmer, ‘I see that the tail
is a true tail, and that the bull is not mine. I beg pardon for thinking
that he was.’ ‘Begging pardon,’ says Tom, ‘is all very well; but will
you buy the bull?’ ‘No,’ said the farmer; ‘I should be loth to buy a
bull with tail cut off close to the rump.’ ‘Ha,’ says Tom; ‘who made me
cut off the tail but yourself? Did you not force me to do so in order to
clear my character? Now as you made me cut off my bull’s tail, I will
make you buy my bull without his tail.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ cried the mob; ‘as
he forced you to cut off the tail, do you now force him to buy the bull
without the tail.’ Says the farmer, ‘What do you ask for the bull?’
Says Tom: ‘I ask for him ten pound.’ Says the farmer, ‘I will give you
eight.’ ‘No,’ says Tom; ‘you shall give me ten, or I will have you up
before the justice.’ ‘That is right,’ cried the mob. ‘If he won’t pay
you ten pound, have him up before the justice.’ Thereupon the farmer,
becoming frightened, pulled out the ten pounds and gave it for his own
bull to Tom Shone Catti, who wished him joy of his bargain. As the
farmer was driving the bull away he said to Tom: ‘Won’t you give me the
tail?’ ‘No,’ said Tom; ‘I shall keep it against the time I steal another
bull with a short tail;’ and thereupon he runs off.”
“A clever fellow,” said I; “though it was rather cruel in him to cut off
the poor bull’s tail. Now, perhaps, you will tell me how he came to
marry the rich lady?
“Oh yes; I will tell you. One day as he was wandering about, dressed
quite like a gentleman, he heard a cry, and found one very fine lady in
the hands of one highwayman, who would have robbed and murdered her. Tom
kills the highwayman and conducts the lady home to her house and her
husband, for she was a married lady. Out of gratitude to Tom for the
service he has done, the gentleman and lady invite him to stay with them.
The gentleman, who is a great gentleman, fond of his bottle and hunting,
takes mightily to Tom for his funny sayings and because Tom’s a good hand
at a glass when at table, and a good hand at a leap when in field; the
lady also takes very much to Tom, because he one domm’d handsome fellow,
with plenty of wit and what they call boetry—for Tom, amongst other
things, was no bad boet, and could treat a lady to pennillion about her
face and her ancle, and the tip of her ear. At last Tom goes away upon
his wanderings, not, however, before he has got one promise from the
lady, that if ever she becomes disengaged she will become his wife.
Well, after some time, the lady’s husband dies and leaves her all his
property, so that all of a sudden she finds herself one great independent
lady, mistress of the whole of Strath Feen, one fair and pleasant valley
far away there over the Eastern hills, by the Towey, on the borders of
Shire Car. Tom, as soon as he hears the news of all this, sets off for
Strath Feen and asks the lady to perform her word; but the lady, who
finds herself one great and independent lady, and moreover does not quite
like the idea of marrying one thief, for she had learnt who Tom was, does
hum and hah, and at length begs to be excused, because she has changed
her mind. Tom begs and entreats, but quite in vain, till at last she
tells him to go away and not trouble her any more. Tom goes away, but
does not yet lose hope. He takes up his quarters in one strange little
cave, nearly at the top of one wild hill, very much like sugar loaf,
which does rise above the Towey, just within Shire Car. I have seen the
cave myself, which is still called Ystafell Twm Shone Catty. Very queer
cave it is, in strange situation; steep rock just above it, Towey River
roaring below. There Tom takes up his quarters, and from there he often
sallies forth, in hope of having interview with fair lady and making her
alter her mind, but she will have nothing to do with him, and at last
shuts herself up in her house and will not go out. Well, Tom nearly
loses all hope; he, however, determines to make one last effort; so one
morning he goes to the house and stands before the door, entreating with
one loud and lamentable voice that the lady will see him once more,
because he is come to bid her one eternal farewell, being about to set
off for the wars in the kingdom of France. Well, the lady who hears all
he says relents one little, and showing herself at the window, before
which are very strong iron bars, she says: ‘Here I am! whatever you have
to say, say it quickly and go your way.’ Says Tom: ‘I am come to bid you
one eternal farewell, and have but one last slight request to make, which
is that you vouchsafe to stretch out of the window your lily-white hand,
that I may impress one last burning kiss of love on the same.’ Well, the
lady hesitates one little time; at last, having one woman’s heart, she
thinks she may grant him this last little request, and stretching her
hand through the bars, she says: ‘Well, there’s my hand, kiss it once and
begone.’ Forthwith Tom, seizing her wrist with his left hand, says: ‘I
have got you now, and will never let you go till you swear to become my
wife.’ ‘Never,’ said the lady, ‘will I become the wife of one thief,’
and strives with all her might to pull her hand free, but cannot, for the
left hand of Tom is more strong than the right of other man. Thereupon
Tom with his right hand draws forth his sword, and with one dreadful
shout does exclaim,—‘Now will you swear to become my wife, for if you
don’t, by God’s blood and nails, I will this moment smite off your hand
with this sword.’ Then the lady being very much frightened, and having
one sneaking kindness for Tom, who though he looked very fierce looked
also very handsome, said,—‘Well, well! a promise is a promise; I promised
to become your wife, and so I will; I swear I will; by all I hold holy I
swear; so let go my hand, which you have almost pulled off, and come in
and welcome!’ So Tom lets go her hand, and the lady opens her door, and
before night they were married, and in less than one month Tom, being now
very rich and Lord of Ystrad Feen, was made justice of the peace and
chairman at quarter session.”
“And what kind of justice of the peace did Tom make?”
“Ow, the very best justice of the peace that there ever was. He made the
old saying good: you must get one thief to catch one thief. He had not
been a justice three year before there was not a thief in Shire Brecon
nor in Shire Car, for they also made him justice of Carmarthenshire, and
a child might walk through the country quite safe with a purse of gold in
its hand. He said that as he himself could not have a finger in the pie,
he would take care nobody else should. And yet he was not one bloody
justice either; never hanged thief without giving him a chance to reform;
but when he found him quite hardened he would say: ‘Hang up de rogue!’
Oh, Tom was not a very hard man, and had one grateful heart for any old
kindness which had been sewn him. One day as Tom sat on de bench with
other big wigs, Tom the biggest wig of the lot, a man was brought up
charged with stealing one bullock. Tom no sooner cast eye on the man
than he remembered him quite well. Many years before Tom had stole a
pair of oxen, which he wished to get through the town of Brecon, but did
not dare to drive them through, for at that very time there was one
warrant out against Tom at Brecon for something he had done. So Tom
stands with his oxen on the road, scratching his head and not knowing
what to do. At length there comes a man along the road, making towards
Brecon, to whom Tom says: ‘Honest man, I want these two oxen to be driven
to such and such a public-house two miles beyond Brecon; I would drive
them myself only I have business to do elsewhere of more importance. Now
if you will drive them for me there and wait till I come, which will not
be long, I will give you a groat.’ Says the man; ‘I will drive them
there for nothing, for as my way lies past that same public-house I can
easily afford to do so.’ So Tom leaves the oxen with the man, and by
rough and roundabout road makes for the public-house—beyond Brecon, where
he finds the man waiting with the oxen, who hands them over to him and
goes on his way. Now, in the man brought up before him and the other big
wigs on the bench for stealing the bullock, Tom does recognise the man
who had done him that same good turn. Well! the evidence was heard
against the man, and it soon appeared quite clear that the man did really
steal the bullock. Says the other big wigs to Tom: ‘The fact has been
proved quite clear. What have we now to do but to adshudge at once that
the domm’d thief be hung?’ But Tom, who remembered that the man had once
done him one good turn, had made up his mind to save the man. So says he
to the other big wigs: ‘My very worthy esteemed friends and coadshutors,
I do perfectly agree with you that the fact has been proved clear enough,
but with respect to de man, I should be very much grieved should he be
hung for this one fact, for I did know him long time ago, and did find
him to be one domm’d honest man in one transaction which I had with him.
So my wordy and esteemed friends and coadshutors I should esteem it one
great favour if you would adshudge that the man should be let off this
one time. If, however, you deem it inexpedient to let the man off, then
of course the man must be hung, for I shall not presume to set my
opinions and judgments against your opinions and judgments, which are far
better than my own.’ Then the other big wigs did look very big and
solemn, and did shake their heads and did whisper to one another that
they were afraid the matter could not be done. At last, however, they
did come to the conclusion that as Tom had said that he had known the
fellow once to be one domm’d honest man, and as they had a great regard
for Tom, who was one domm’d good magistrate and highly respectable
gentleman with whom they were going to dine the next day—for Tom I must
tell you was in the habit of giving the very best dinners in all Shire
Brecon—it might not be incompatible with the performance of their duty to
let the man off this one time, seeing as how the poor fellow had probably
merely made one slight little mistake. Well: to make the matter short,
the man was let off with only a slight reprimand, and left the court.
Scarcely, however, had he gone twenty yards, when Tom was after him, and
tapping him on the shoulder said: ‘Honest friend, a word with you!’ Then
the man turning round Tom said: ‘Do you know me, pray?’ ‘I think I do,
your honour,’ said the man. ‘I think your honour was one of the big
wigs, who were just now so kind as to let me off.’ ‘I was so,’ said Tom;
‘and it is well for you that I was the biggest of these big wigs before
whom you stood placed, otherwise to a certainty you would have been hung
up on high; but did you ever see me before this affair?’ ‘No, your
honour,’ said the man, ‘I don’t remember ever to have seen your honour
before.’ Says Tom, ‘Don’t you remember one long time ago driving a pair
of oxen through Brecon for a man who stood scratching his head on the
road?’ ‘Oh yes,’ says the man; ‘I do remember that well enough.’
‘Well,’ said Tom; ‘I was that man. I had stolen that pair of oxen, and I
dared not drive them through Brecon. You drove them for me; and for
doing me that good turn I have this day saved your life. I was thief
then but am now big wig. I am Twm Shone Catti. Now lookee! I have saved
your life this one time, but I can never save it again. Should you ever
be brought up before me again, though but for stealing one kid, I will
hang you as high as ever Haman was hung. One word more; here are five
pieces of gold. Take them: employ them well, and reform as I have done,
and perhaps in time you may become one big wig, like myself.’ Well: the
man took the money, and laid it out to the best advantage, and became at
last so highly respectable a character that they made him a constable.
And now, my gentleman, we are close upon Tregaron.”
After descending a hill we came to what looked a small suburb, and
presently crossed a bridge over the stream, the waters of which sparkled
merrily in the beams of the moon which was now shining bright over some
lofty hills to the south-east. Beyond the bridge was a small
market-place, on the right-hand side of which stood an ancient looking
church. The place upon the whole put me very much in mind of an
Andalusian village overhung by its sierra. “Where is the inn?” said I to
my companion.
“Yonder it be;” said he pointing to a large house at the farther end of
the market-place. “Very good inn that—Talbot Arms—where they are always
glad to see English gentlemans.” Then touching his hat, and politely
waving his hand, he turned on one side, and I saw him no more.