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