TWM risks another visit to Tregaron. Alarms his friend Watt. Danger of
betrayal by him. His cunning is more than a match for Watt, Parson
Evans, and his wife. Escapes, and with a good booty. Disappearance of
the Parson’s horse, great coat, and cash.
It was a dull heavy night, in which fog and darkness contended for
precedence, and the moon gleamed as if about to retire altogether, when
Twm Shon Catty shaped his course over the mountain, in the direction
which led to Lampeter; he looked instinctively towards his dear native
town, which a fashionable tourist would perhaps have called the most
wretched village in the universe; but, to him, it was full of sweet
associations, and recollections the most agreeable; the scene of his
childhood, the home of his mother:
Dear to all their natal spot,
Although ’twere Nature’s foulest blot;
For, wherever we may roam,
There’s ne’er a place like Home, sweet Home.
He stopped, and looked wistfully towards Tregaron; the lights were
glistening in their various humble casements, and he fancied that among
them all he could distinguish his mother’s—his kind fond mother’s—whom,
perhaps, he was never to see again,—and now he recollected many instances
of her tenderness, which had long slumbered in his recollection. His
eyes filled with tears, and the softness of his heart was put at once
into mournful harmony.
A sudden thought, no less eccentric than daring, now took him, that thus
disguised, he might safely pass through Tregaron, and perhaps see his
mother before his departure. This idea was no sooner started than acted
upon; and, before an hour had expired, he found himself once more in the
long and almost only street in Tregaron. He met two or three old women
whom he knew well, but there was no recognition on their part, only a
long, vacant stare of astonishment, no doubt wondering who the stranger
could be, venturing into Tregaron at that late hour. His mother’s door
was closed for the night, and he durst not call to her, as Jack was not
to be trusted. He moved on, looking earnestly to every door. The whole
street seemed still as death, except that various snores, here and there,
reminded Twm of the sweet sleep enjoyed by others though denied to him;
while the stray villagers whom he had met were busy locking their doors,
or barring them with the wooden sash.
He sauntered slowly along, meditating on the circumstance that made him
afraid to face those who knew him, till opposite to the cottage of his
old companion and elder brother in mischief, Watt the mole-catcher. Watt
had long lived with a widowed mother, who had recently died, and now
sojourned alone in her solitary hut; it was even reported that he had
forsaken all his wicked ways, grown serious, and was consequently likely
to do well. It occurred to Twm that he had often heard Watt deny the
existence of ghosts and hobgoblins, and vaunt that nothing of that
description could in the least frighten him; and now, thought Twm, I’ll
put his courage to the trial.
Peeping through the casement, he saw Watt in bed, at the farther end of
the cottage, and the fire burning through the peat heaped up to preserve
it for the night, so that the white walls within were brightened by the
gleams cast on them from the hearth. Softly lifting the latch, he opened
the door, entered, and, walking quietly towards the hearth, sat on the
three-legged stool, took up the old snoutless bellows, and began blowing
the fire with all his might. Watt awoke in extreme terror, and seeing
the figure of a tall woman in the chimney corner, deeming it no other
than his mother’s spirit, his fright increased.
Trembling and almost dissolved in perspiration, he at last burst out into
a roar of “Lord have mercy on me! oh, mother’s dear spirit, pity me!”
Twm laughed out, and ran to his bed-side to stop his roaring cries,
exclaiming, “Silence, man, ’tis I, Twm, your old friend, Twm Shon Catty.”
Watt slowly awoke to the consciousness that his theory did not stand the
test of practice, and that this had been proven by one who had often
heard him vaunting as to his fearlessness of the supernatural.
Convinced of his identity, and having heard our hero’s story, he said,
“’Twere better you were at the bottom of a river, Twm, than here, for I
have been compelled, by Parson Evans, to make an oath that if you came
here, I would immediately either send or run myself to inform him of your
arrival; and I can’t break, an oath, Twm, for anybody.”
“I did not think,” said our hero coolly, “that you, who have broken so
many laws, would scruple much about breaking a forced oath; but old
companionship pleads weakly, opposed to the reward that will be given for
my apprehension; I thought, though the whole town were to turn against me
that you, Watt would have been my friend, for you have led me into many
troubles, and I never laid a jot of blame to your charge, but took all to
myself, and have often suffered on your account.”
Watt, who by this time had nearly dressed himself, was much affected by
this appeal, and said, “No, Twm, I will never betray you, but, if I were
known in the least to favour you it would ruin all my hopes of success in
life. I am, next week, to be married to Betsy Gwevelheer, {140} Parson
Evan’s maid that I have courted these ten years; and the parson has
promised to do great things at the bidding: and more than that, I am to
be the parish clerk and grave-digger when old Morgan Meredith dies, and
he can’t live long, as I have made him a present of a good church-yard
cough, by breaking a hole in the thatch over his bed, by which he has
gained a great hoarseness, and nearly lost his voice; so that I expect to
be called in to officiate for him next Sunday.”
“I see you are still my friend,” said Twm, who had been lost in a reverie
during part of Watt’s remarks, “and I give you joy of your fair
prospects, which I would not destroy on any account; you shall serve me,
and, at the same time keep your oath. You know my talent at mimicry, and
see how well this dress becomes me; aye, I become the dress equally as
you shall see. Had I not already disclosed myself, I could have
discoursed to you a whole hour at mid-day, fearless of a discovery; but
let us see how this cloak becomes you, Watt.” With that he took off the
cloak and put it on Watt, and, after a little jesting on the subject, Twm
suddenly exclaimed, “Only sit down here with the cloak on your shoulders
for ten minutes, while I step out, and, with the assistance of my bundle,
I will astonish you with my transformation.”
All this was uttered with the gay rapidity of an anticipated freak, and
Watt taken by surprise, immediately acquiesced, without knowing what he
was about. Twm ran immediately to the Rectory House, and making a great
clatter, roused Parson Evans, who opened the window and asked what was
the matter; when, assuming Watt’s voice, he said hastily, “Mister Evans!
Mister Evans! Twm Shon Catty is now in my cottage, dressed in a cloak,
and sitting at the fire. You had best be quick and secure him. He
wanted me not to betray him, but I could not break my oath, you know; so
pray you, Parson, make haste if you would have your desire.”
Delighted with this intelligence, Evans awakened the whole house,
especially two strapping fellows, whom he called his bull-dogs, sometimes
employing them as husbandry servants, at others, on account of their
large size, and muscular power, as constables. Both these fellows were
first sent to saddle his horse, in case he should have to take Twm to
Cardigan gaol,—and then to attend him to Watt’s cottage, where the trio
soon went.
Peeping through the casement, Evans discovered a tall figure wrapped in a
cloak, as described. “There he is sure enough,” quoth he in a whisper;
“now get your cords ready for binding his hands, and stay here till I
call you in; be sure that you watch the door well.” With that he lifted
the latch and went in. Watt, who, in the interim of our hero’s absence,
had made up a good fire, now stood up, and, as he saw the clerical
magistrate before him, exclaimed, “Well done, Twm, my boy! I now give
you credit; well, well, well, this is indeed strange; a wonderful
disguise; you look the old rascal to the life; if you had not told me
before-hand of your intended transformation, I could have sworn you were
old Evans himself; you look now just as he did when he promised to make
me parish clerk.”
Evans remained petrified with astonishment till the last words were
uttered, when he replied, “Parish devil! you infernal scoundrel, have you
roused me out of my bed at midnight to hoax and insult me in this manner?
but you shall dearly repent your insolence.”
Watt stared with wonder, and replied, “Well, well, well! I never did
hear such a thing in my life; you have just the old villain’s voice and
swaggering way; I wish I may die if you don’t so frighten me; and I could
almost swear the spiteful old Evans himself stood before me; hang him, I
hate his very looks, and I am only holding a candle to the devil, in
hopes of the parish clerkship, by seeming so civil to him.” Evans
thought him certainly either mad or drunk; and without any further
explanation, he called the two men in, and ordered them to secure him.
The light at length broke in on Watt’s mind; Twm’s trick on him, and the
real state of the case appeared; and he struggled hard before the fellows
could secure him.
At length he cleared up his confused and chagrined countenance, and said,
in an undaunted tone, “Well, well, well, I see the worst; farewell to
mole-catching; farewell to parish-clerkship, and Bessy Gwevelheer; and
you, you evil-minded old scourge, may bid farewell to all hopes of having
me to father your brat, of which your maid Bessy is big. I will make the
country ring with the stories of your rascalities if you dare to send me
to the round house; but if you liberate me at once, I shall leave
Tregaron for ever, in the course of a few days, and go abroad, to see the
world and seek my fortune.”
To the great surprise of the men, and, perhaps, of Watt himself, Evans
seemed cowed by his threats, and, after a little show of parleying, gave
him that freedom of which he had no right to deprive him. Leaving him
alone in his cottage, he shuffled home, accompanied by his worthless
followers.
While Watt’s cottage became the theatre of the above-described scene, Twm
Shon Catty had a performance of his own elsewhere—a dance if you will—to
which the same reverend gentleman was doomed to pay the piper. Having
watched the party to Watt’s door, Twm hastened to the parson’s, calling
loudly in the assumed voice of one of the fellows who accompanied,
“Mistress Evans! Mistress Evans! make haste and send master his
pocket-book with his money, immediately; Twm Shon Catty is taken, and we
are going off with him to Cardigan gaol.”
Mrs. Evans sleeping in a front room, heard him instantly, and with
unusual alacrity jumped off bed; she soon threw down the pocket-book,
which was caught by Twm, and asked him, “Doesn’t he want his
weather-proof great coat also?” Our hero replied, “Yes, but, dear me, I
did forget that,” and immediately received the great coat likewise. Mrs.
Evans wishing them safe home from Cardigan, shut the window. The saddled
horse was already at the gate, and Twm, well coated and cashed, instantly
mounted and rode off, glorying in his triumph over his old rancorous
enemy. “Here,” thought Twm, “is tangible revenge for all the trouble and
persecution this reverend gentleman has brought upon me.” A full
pocket-book, a good horse, and a warm great coat, after all, were not bad
equivalents for Twm’s injuries. Some philosophers might consider that
outraged feelings could not be solaced in this way. But in Twm’s case,
at any rate, they were mistaken.