A gracious Lawyer. Twm determines to “pedestrianize” a bit. Watt’s horrible tale. A fair bevy of lasses from Cardigan. Guilt and the punishment.

Next morning, Twm had the horse which he had taken from the robber, cried through the town of Reading, in the honest hope that he should find the rightful owner. He was right in his conjecture that it would prove to be the property of some one in that town, for a wealthy attorney claimed it, with a considerable degree of hauteur and insolence. So far was this limb of the law from either allowing our hero anything for the loss of his own humble beast, or even thanking him for his instrumentality in recovering a valuable horse, that he told him he might think himself very lucky he was not prosecuted for its being found in his possession. Our worthy did think himself so, and took a precipitate departure accordingly.

Being now within eight-and-thirty miles of London, he resolved to throw off his disguise, and walk the rest of the journey. Accordingly, he bought a suit of clothes at Reading, in which he concealed his money and valuables, with a pair of pocket pistols; and thus provided he resumed his journey to the metropolis. Having walked twelve miles, he attained the town of Maidenhead.

On a seat outside the Bear Inn, he beheld a jovial company of topers, and in the midst of them, Watt the mole-catcher. It turned out that he had sold his pigs without going to London, and was now sauntering from tavern to tavern, squandering the money that was not his own. The moment he recognized our hero, he started on his legs, and offered him his hand.

“Twm, I take shame to myself for the manner in which we met and parted last, but I was sober then! and in my grave and sober moods all the evil and bitterness of my heart come out; now I am rather mellow, there’s nothing but good in me.” On being asked when he intended to return to Tregaron, Watt ground his teeth and exclaimed—“never!” adding, “it is not from fear of old Inco Evans, for I stayed there as long as I pleased, in spite of him, notwithstanding my promise to the contrary. But for other reasons Tregaron has been made too hot for me.”

The whole of the drinking party having gradually dropped off, Watt and our hero were left alone, when the latter with much feeling asked his old companion what was the meaning of the extraordinary change of manner, and of character, which he perceived in him.

“I’ll tell thee, lad, what’s the meaning—it means that instead of the frank merry fellow I was in the dear gone days, I now am—call it what you like, but,”—cried Watt, laughing with wet eyes, “some of my dear friends who scorn flattery, would say a d—ed rascal, and I quite agree with them. But never mind—I belong to the strongest party after all.”

Our hero here pressed him for something of a connected account of his adventures since he left Tregaron; on which Watt immediately assented, and ran them over in the following off-hand strain.

“You remember, I dare say, Twm, that when you were only a child, that I was famed throughout the village as a wit and joker; in short, that I was the funny fellow of Tregaron, and my ambition was to retain this title. The comical tricks and humorous saying of Watt the mole-catcher, made mirth at every farmer’s heath, and their tables were spread with food for me whenever I called. As I grew older, my pleasures and antipathies acquired a stronger cast; and there were but few in our adjoining parishes who were subject either to execration or ridicule, and dreaded my satire and exposure.

“I formed attachments more than once among the daughters of the farmers, whom I had frequently entertained at the social evening hearth; but although my jests were relished, my overtures were rejected. In short, I found that while mirth, innocence and harmless wit were my companions, parents generally disposed of their daughters to young men of characters directly opposite to mine—the stupidly grave, and thrifty, no matter how knavish. My eyes were at length opened; and I found that the funny man, however amusing as an acquaintance, was coveted by none as a relative, but considered as a mere diverging vagabond at best. Well, thought I, this will never do; but since gravity is the order of the day, I will be as grave and roguish as the most successful of my fellow-men. Having come to this conclusion, I studied knavery, that is to say, thrifty rascality like a science.

“As the first step I went immediately to my grandmother, who had often exhorted me to quit my sinful mirth and become serious, when I assured her of my conversion, in token of which I threw myself on my knees, and entreated her blessing. She afterwards took me to a puritanic chapel, and in that assembly, where I had often pinned the skirts and gown-tails of the elect together, the poor old doting soul in the pride of her heart exhibited her convert to the gaze of the saints; but neglected to inform them that I had robbed her that same evening of half the contents of her pocket, as she lay asleep. I was not long in discovering that a sedate aspect was a goodly mask for the most profitable villainy, and therefore determined to wear it for life. Laughter, jest, and mirthful humour, and all those thriftless indications of the light and harmless heart, I abjured for ever.

“I now gave a respite to the rats and moles, and set up as a butcher at Tregaron; and for one sheep that I bought of the farmers, I stole three, and slaughtered them either by moonlight on the hills, or by candle-light in my own cottage. Although I daily bettered my condition, I considered this but a slow and creeping course of thrift; and therefore, as conscience no longer stood in my way, I meditated some bolder way of leaping into property at once.

“You know that wrinkled old she-usurer of Tregaron, Rachel Ketch, who made money, Heaven knows how, and increased it by lending out to country people, at a higher rate than city usurers dared to ask. In the bitterness of my heart, after losing all hope of a girl, whom I had long doated on, I went to the old Jezabel and sought her hand in marriage; aye, and would have taken her were she ten times as loathsome, in the anxious hope of her speedy death, and of succeeding to her golden hoards. I strove to recommend myself by assuring her I was the most finished scoundrel in existence; and that when gain was my object, theft, perjury, and even murder, however hideous to silly innocents, had no power to scare me from my pursuit. This avowal of my noble qualifications I thought would have won her heart forever, but I was mistaken. The keen-eyed hag, who was never seen to smile before, laughed outright at my proposal.

“‘What! you want the old woman’s gold, master cut-throat of the muttons, do you? to slit her weasand also, and make away with her a month after marriage, like a troublesome old ewe;’ screamed she, as her spiteful black and broken snags grinned defiance, and her shrill tones broke out in laughs of mockery. I never saw mirth so damnable before! I felt myself the butt of her ridicule, humbled and degraded; and as my anger rose against the beldame, I resolved that since I could not wed her, to rob her would answer my purpose full as well. Accident supplied an opportunity; the little boys who had formerly been my favourites, and who in their innocence failed to recognize my change of character, I found it difficult to drive from me.“A neighbour’s child one day asked me to lift him up to Rachel Ketch’s thatch, to take from it a wren’s nest, which he had long watched, and said he was sure that the young ones were on the eve of flying. It was a winning little urchin that made the request, and I could not refuse him. The moment that I raised him to a standing position on my shoulders, he eagerly thrust his little hand into the thatch, and cried, ‘Dear, dear, how cold!’ when a snake which he had felt, that had destroyed the young birds, coiled itself round in the nest, darted out into his face, and the youngster shrieked and fainted in my arms. I carried him home, where he soon died of the fright, for it appeared he was not stung.

“Supposing there was a nest of these reptiles in the old rotten straw thatch, I poked it in all directions with a long hooked stick, and at last felt something attached to it. As I drew it forward and examined it, to my great astonishment, I found it to be an old woollen stocking, closely stuffed with various golden coins. Here was a discovery! I felt myself a man for ever! The old woman was at this time in Carmarthenshire, where she had gone to enforce her claims to certain debts among her former neighbours; and therefore, having no fear of detection, I pushed back the golden prize and went away, intending to return for it at night. As I anxiously watched the hours and minutes pass away, reflecting on my newly-acquired wealth, a raging savage spirit of avarice so possessed me, that I determined to plunder old Rachel’s cottage of all the money I could find.

“Night came, and with breathless haste I made an entrance through the thatch, on the side furthest from the street, and at midnight went away with a heavy booty, the greater part of which I buried beneath the floor of my own cottage, determined to seek an opportunity of quitting Tregaron for ever. Fortune seemed to favour me beyond my hopes; Squire Graspacre having a numerous herd of fine pigs, engaged me to drive them to England, and sell them at a good price; I have done so, and pocketed the cash, not one farthing of which will the squire ever handle. To relate all my rogueries since I became a grave man, would take too much of your time; so here ends my story.”

Twm had heard Watt’s tale with sorrow and regret, and his spirits were fast sinking below zero, when a party of Cardiganshire lasses, who were making their annual journey to weed the gardens in the neighbourhood of London, passed opposite the tavern door where our worthies were sitting. With heart-touched delight, our hero recognized the comfortable and not unpicturesque costume of his native country; and his satisfaction was still increased when he found among the rural damsels, two Tregaron girls; one of whom, named Martha Gwyn, was a fast friend of Gwenny Cadwgan’s. These poor girls expressed their gladness to see their long-lost “neighbour’s child,” as their homely but touching phrase went; but their recognition of Watt amounted to such terror and abhorrence that the rose of health and innocence faded on their cheeks, while their expanded eyes were fearfully fixed on his countenance, as if something unearthly met their stony stare.

At length they found words to say that he was charged, not only with the robbery of Rachael Ketch’s cottage, but with murder; that the constables were out to search for him in all quarters, and that Squire Graspacre had sent out a man to supersede Watt in the care of his pigs.

This unexpected news, and the evident horror evinced by the fair maidens for him, quite overcame Watt, and he showed unmistakable signs of the fear which had taken possession of him. From Martha Gwyn, Twm learned that poor Gwenny’s affection for him was unchanged, but it was thought, for all that, said the candid girl, that she will be married to a Breconshire farmer’s son, who met her in Herefordshire, when she went a hop-picking there.

“But if Gwenny has him,” said Martha, “it will be for the sake of making a home for her poor father.”Twm’s generous heart prompted him to give each maiden a piece of silver; and, having made them eat heartily of a good homely, substantial meal of cheese and bread and ale, he dismissed them on their journey. Watt, in great agony of mind, exclaimed—

“Oh God, where shall I fly! all my supposed security I find but a dream, and misery alone awaits me! When I told you the tale of my enormities, I kept back the relation of one crime—a dreadful one—which, lost as I am, I felt averse to acknowledge, and too heart-smote with the consciousness of its atrocity, to turn to it my most secret thought—’twas a deed of blood, the crime of murder!

“You remember a tall, thin, skeleton-like man, generally dressed in a suit of grey, who lived in a cottage on the mountain, in the neighbourhood of Tregaron, known by the nickname of Stalking Simon the Mooncalf, from his wandering by moon-light over the hills. This man was known to be a spy, employed and paid by all the neighbouring farmers. His habits were, to sleep all day and to spend the night on the hill, watching to identify the hedge-pluckers and sheep-stealers. Many poor persons who depended on their nightly excursions for fuel, while they deemed themselves unobserved of any human being, cutting down a tree, or drawing dry wood from an old hedge, would suddenly find themselves in the presence of Stalking Simon. So instantaneous was his appearance, as to startle his victims with the idea of an apparition suddenly sprung up through the ground, as his approach was never seen till close upon them.

“‘’Tis only me, neighbour,’ would be the hypocrite’s reply, ‘searching for my stray pony:’ but when two persons had been executed and three transported, on his evidence, the nature of his employment became known, and he was execrated by the whole country.

“One moon-light night, as I was skinning a fine weather, which I had suspended and spread out on an old storm-beaten thorn, in a field adjoining the mountain, easy in mind, and so fearless of danger, that I whistled in a half hushed manner, as I followed my illicit occupation, a circumstance took place that wrought a violent change in the tone of my mind. My thoughts ran on the whimsicality of the idea of selling this very mutton to the rightful owner, on the morrow, which was market-day, and laughing inwardly at the thought: all at once, Stalking Simon, with a single stride, moved from behind a mossy dwarf thorn, gray as his own suit, and stood before me. My blood curdled with terror; but when the old stone-hearted wretch made the old Judas-like reply—

“‘It is only me, searching for my pony,’ I knew my danger, and my terror changed to savage ferocity against the vile informer, who had ruined so many of my friends and neighbours. I darted on him, grasped his collar with one hand, and with the other stabbed him to the heart.”

Watt’s tale was now ended, and he seemed to be terribly agitated at the recollection of old Simon’s murder, and of the dreadful position into which his crime had brought him.

“O God! what shall I do; where shall I fly?” he exclaimed, “I cannot return, for that road leads straight to the gallows, and in London I should be in hourly danger of being seen by somebody from the country. Since the perpetration of this deed of blood, I have not known an hour’s peace. Heaven is my witness, I could be content with slavery, and smile beneath the man-driver’s whip—could strip myself and wander the world in nakedness, or herd with beasts, to regain my former peace and innocence! Oh, I could labour till my bones ached, and my exhausted body dropped to the earth with fatigue, to be once more free from the keen stings of a guilty conscience!”

Twm was but a poor comforter; for his strict ideas of justice and retribution made him look upon Watt’s terrible agony as part of the punishment which he was called upon to pay for the awful crime of murder.

After all, Watt’s distress was due quite as much to the fear of the gallows, which he now saw to be in close proximity to him, as to regret and repentance for his unwarrantable deed.

Twm hardly recognized Watt as he sat there, his face blanched with fear, large drops of sweat rolling down his pale checks, with quivering lips and staring eyes, all showing the effect which his knowledge of the dreadful penalty which, from every prospect, speedily awaited him.

A grey-coated man now approaching the tavern, brought dreadful associations to Watt’s terrified conscience, and, in the utmost trepidation, he darted out at the back door of the inn, and ran across the fields with the speed of a pursued murderer.