Twm’s remorse and terror on the perpetration of his first crime.
Determined to make restitution of the stolen property. Stopped by a
highwayman and robbed. His reflections. Robbed again by a gypsy and
ballad-singer, at Aberayron. Determined to sing ballads at Cardigan
fair.
TWM took a circuitous route over the mountains towards Lampeter, and when
he felt himself secure from pursuit, his first thought was to change his
feminine attire for his own, as more convenient for riding, which was
soon accomplished, and the suits changed places in the bundle. In his
ignorance of the world, he scarce knew where to direct his course after
reaching Lampeter, where he arrived between one and two o’clock in the
morning. He recollected that this was a central place, from which
different roads led to Aberystwyth, Llandovery, Carmarthen, Aberayron,
and Cardigan; but found a difficulty in deciding which way to take. It
suddenly occurred to him that there was to be a fair at Cardigan the next
day, and he determined to go there to sell the parson’s horse. The whole
town being wrapped in slumbers, he was now at a stand, not knowing the
road which led through Aberayron to Cardigan, but rousing a cottager, he
soon gained the necessary information and proceeded on.
The distant roaring of the sea gave him notice of his approach to
Aberayron, and the awful sound struck an indescribable dread into his
mind, that seemed unaccountable. Severe self-accusing reflections on the
atrocity of his last act, succeeded the triumphs of enmity that had at
first given a gust to its perpetration: consciousness of gilt and terror
of punishment at once assailed him, for he was yet young in crime. To
give immediate ease to the agony of his mind, he determined on
dismounting and leaving the parson’s horse behind, and to return him, by
the first opportunity, his coat and money.
While these first, and consequently bitter, agitations of remorse and
terror were racking his breast, the clatter of a distant galloping horse
increased his terrors; and the day beginning to break he discerned both
horse and rider, and making briskly towards him. Strange as it may
appear, notwithstanding the opposite quarter from whence the danger
proceeded, in the wildness of his apprehensions he conceived it could be
no other than Squire Graspacre, Parson Evans, and their party. He was
actually glad when made to understand that the horseman was a highwayman.
When the desperado approached within a few yards, he stopped his horse,
levelled a pistol, and commanded him, with a tremendous oath, to
surrender his money to “Dio the devil!” {129} or take his death at once.
The name of this terrific freebooter, who had among many other
descriptions of persons, robbed half the farmers in the country, and was
supposed to have committed more than one murder, had its full effect on
Twm. He instantly resigned the Parson’s purse, assuring him it was all
he possessed, and begged that he would allow him to retain one guinea;
these terms the robber in a manner, acceded to, giving him two guineas,
but in return, insisting on having his horse and great coat, which Twm
gave up. Dio the devil, then insolently bade him good morning, rode off
towards Lampeter, holding the parson’s horse by the bridle.
No sooner had the highwayman disappeared, than Twm was struck with a full
conviction of the folly of the fears he had entertained, which, by
depressing his mind, he thought, led to confusedly yielding his property
too easily: vowing to himself, after some reflection, that if possessed
of a pair of pistols, no highwayman in the world should make him stand.
His thoughts taking their course through this channel, wandered and
diverged, till his mind rested on new, but perilous prospects. “What a
life,” thought he, “this Dio the devil leads—a gentleman of the road—the
terror of wealthy scoundrels, who are themselves the terror of the
hapless poor that are starved into crime—famed, feared, and maintained at
the general cost, while many an honest fool toils like the galled
drudge-horse, crawls through the world half starved, and is despised for
his meanness.” Thus he pondered and soliloquised, and after being silent
for a while, he continued “Let others do as they please, but for me, I
have no taste for buffetings or drudgery, and had I but a good horse and
pistols—” At this moment a countryman was about to pass him on the road,
in whose hand he recognized his bundle, containing his feminine attire,
which in his terror he had dropped, and it rolled from the side of the
road, it seems, into the ditch, previous to the halt of the highwayman.
Twm immediately claimed his property, but the fellow seemed but little
disposed to attend to him, until vehemently insisting on his right, he
evinced an inclination to battle with him; when satisfied with this very
convincing sort of logic, the clown made restitution.
With his mind full of pistols and highwaymen, he trudged on at a slow
ruminating pace, till he reached a humble public house at Aberayron.
This lowly tavern he found so full that he could scarcely get a seat.
With the exception of two or three fishermen and other sea-farers, these
were people who made a temporary halt on their way to Cardigan fair, low
booth-keepers, fruit and gingerbread sellers, and such like. Twm called
for beer and refreshment, and while eating, observed the habits of these
strange people with much curiosity. He had contrived to squeeze himself
into a window seat between two females who sat apart and civilly made
room for him, and pressed his acceptance of the place. This act of
good-breeding won upon him amazingly, and he could not help contrasting
their politeness with the rude indifference of the rest of the party; nor
was his opinion of them changed when one turned out to be a
fortune-telling gypsy, and the other a ballad singer. He could not do
less he thought than ask them both to partake of his cup, and they felt
themselves bound in honor, in their great devotion to his health, to
return it empty each time he handed it to them full. Such gallantry on
one hand, and confidence and affability on the other, begot a sudden
friendship between them; the gypsy insisting upon telling his fortune
gratis, and the ballad singer on his acceptance of two or three favorite
songs, while our hero, not to be behind-hand in disinterested kindness,
insisted that they would continue to partake of his cup.
While Twm was busily employed in looking over the bundle of ballads,
among which he met many old friends, which he had frequently sung, one of
the friendly nymphs was beckoned to, by a man at the opposite end of the
kitchen, with whom she went out, and the gypsy soon followed them.
Our hero having selected the songs that pleased him, waited impatiently
for the return of the damsels. Having waited about an hour and a half,
by which time all the fair people had dropped off, he discovered some
symptoms of surprise, and asked the landlord if he knew what had become
of the young women. He said he did not know, but that the whole party
had paid him and gone off, and that he had no further business with them.
Twm thought the ballad singer a singular good natured young woman, as she
had left her bundle of melody with him, doubtless as a present, and
merely taken herself away thus modestly, instead of ostentatiously
proclaiming her gift, and receiving his thanks. Putting his hand into
his pocket to settle his account, he was confounded on finding his two
guineas gone; his terror, agony, and confusion was manifested to the
landlord, by his sudden change of manner and appearance, who declared
that his face was turned as white as the wall. Having searched every
pocket over and over, at length the doleful tale came out that he had
lost his money, and could not tell how. “Why as to that,” said the
landlord with cool bitterness, “if it is any satisfaction to know _how_
you lost your money, I can tell you; it was by sitting between two
thieves—a gypsy and a ballad singer, and what could you expect else from
mixing with such cattle?” Poor Twm remained silent in a miserable mood,
with his elbows resting on the table, and his temples in the palms of his
hands for a full half hour, when the landlord disturbed his meditations
by asking payment for his fare; good-naturedly adding, “If you have no
money, I don’t wish to be hard with you, you can merely leave your jacket
with me instead.” “My jacket!” quoth he indignantly, “why, that is ten
times the value of what I owe you.” “May be so, but if you can’t pay you
must leave it, and be thankful that I condescend to take it instead of
cash;” replied the old gruffy. The fishermen in the mean time passed on
him their rough jokes, one observing “You can sing ballads without a
jacket, so I advise you to go on to the fair at Cardigan, where you may
perhaps meet your old friends.” This advice, given in ridicule, Twm at
once determined to take in earnest, and literally sing the ballads so as
to turn them into money. So without more ado he took off his jacket and
gave it to his host, muttering a curse on his cruelty, and commenced his
journey to Cardigan. The dress of Cadwgan’s wife was again put on, not
only as a fit disguise for his minstrel vocation, but as a more perfect
guard against the weather than his own, since deprived of his upper
garment; and in this garb, very low in spirits, and with no cheering
prospects before him, he trod the miry road towards the county town.