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.