“And what kind of justice of the peace did Tom make?”
“Ow, the very best justice of the peace that there ever was. He made the old saying good: you must get one thief to catch one thief. He had not been a justice three year before there was not a thief in Shire Brecon nor in Shire Car, for they also made him justice of Carmarthenshire, and a child might walk through the country quite safe with a purse of gold in its hand. He said that as he himself could not have a finger in the pie, he would take care nobody else should. And yet he was not one bloody justice either; never hanged thief without giving him a chance to reform; but when he found him quite hardened he would say: ‘Hang up de rogue!’ Oh, Tom was not a very hard man, and had one grateful heart for any old kindness which had been sewn him. One day as Tom sat on de bench with other big wigs, Tom the biggest wig of the lot, a man was brought up charged with stealing one bullock. Tom no sooner cast eye on the man than he remembered him quite well. Many years before Tom had stole a pair of oxen, which he wished to get through the town of Brecon, but did not dare to drive them through, for at that very time there was one warrant out against Tom at Brecon for something he had done. So Tom stands with his oxen on the road, scratching his head and not knowing what to do. At length there comes a man along the road, making towards Brecon, to whom Tom says: ‘Honest man, I want these two oxen to be driven to such and such a public-house two miles beyond Brecon; I would drive them myself only I have business to do elsewhere of more importance. Now if you will drive them for me there and wait till I come, which will not be long, I will give you a groat.’ Says the man; ‘I will drive them there for nothing, for as my way lies past that same public-house I can easily afford to do so.’ So Tom leaves the oxen with the man, and by rough and roundabout road makes for the public-house—beyond Brecon, where he finds the man waiting with the oxen, who hands them over to him and goes on his way. Now, in the man brought up before him and the other big wigs on the bench for stealing the bullock, Tom does recognise the man who had done him that same good turn. Well! the evidence was heard against the man, and it soon appeared quite clear that the man did really steal the bullock. Says the other big wigs to Tom: ‘The fact has been proved quite clear. What have we now to do but to adshudge at once that the domm’d thief be hung?’ But Tom, who remembered that the man had once done him one good turn, had made up his mind to save the man. So says he to the other big wigs: ‘My very worthy esteemed friends and coadshutors, I do perfectly agree with you that the fact has been proved clear enough, but with respect to de man, I should be very much grieved should he be hung for this one fact, for I did know him long time ago, and did find him to be one domm’d honest man in one transaction which I had with him. So my wordy and esteemed friends and coadshutors I should esteem it one great favour if you would adshudge that the man should be let off this one time. If, however, you deem it inexpedient to let the man off, then of course the man must be hung, for I shall not presume to set my opinions and judgments against your opinions and judgments, which are far better than my own.’ Then the other big wigs did look very big and solemn, and did shake their heads and did whisper to one another that they were afraid the matter could not be done. At last, however, they did come to the conclusion that as Tom had said that he had known the fellow once to be one domm’d honest man, and as they had a great regard for Tom, who was one domm’d good magistrate and highly respectable gentleman with whom they were going to dine the next day—for Tom I must tell you was in the habit of giving the very best dinners in all Shire Brecon—it might not be incompatible with the performance of their duty to let the man off this one time, seeing as how the poor fellow had probably merely made one slight little mistake. Well: to make the matter short, the man was let off with only a slight reprimand, and left the court. Scarcely, however, had he gone twenty yards, when Tom was after him, and tapping him on the shoulder said: ‘Honest friend, a word with you!’ Then the man turning round Tom said: ‘Do you know me, pray?’ ‘I think I do, your honour,’ said the man. ‘I think your honour was one of the big wigs, who were just now so kind as to let me off.’ ‘I was so,’ said Tom; ‘and it is well for you that I was the biggest of these big wigs before whom you stood placed, otherwise to a certainty you would have been hung up on high; but did you ever see me before this affair?’ ‘No, your honour,’ said the man, ‘I don’t remember ever to have seen your honour before.’ Says Tom, ‘Don’t you remember one long time ago driving a pair of oxen through Brecon for a man who stood scratching his head on the road?’ ‘Oh yes,’ says the man; ‘I do remember that well enough.’ ‘Well,’ said Tom; ‘I was that man. I had stolen that pair of oxen, and I dared not drive them through Brecon. You drove them for me; and for doing me that good turn I have this day saved your life. I was thief then but am now big wig. I am Twm Shone Catti. Now lookee! I have saved your life this one time, but I can never save it again. Should you ever be brought up before me again, though but for stealing one kid, I will hang you as high as ever Haman was hung. One word more; here are five pieces of gold. Take them: employ them well, and reform as I have done, and perhaps in time you may become one big wig, like myself.’ Well: the man took the money, and laid it out to the best advantage, and became at last so highly respectable a character that they made him a constable. And now, my gentleman, we are close upon Tregaron.”
After descending a hill we came to what looked a small suburb, and presently crossed a bridge over the stream, the waters of which sparkled merrily in the beams of the moon which was now shining bright over some lofty hills to the south-east. Beyond the bridge was a small market-place, on the right-hand side of which stood an ancient looking church. The place upon the whole put me very much in mind of an Andalusian village overhung by its sierra. “Where is the inn?” said I to my companion.
“Yonder it be;” said he pointing to a large house at the farther end of the market-place. “Very good inn that—Talbot Arms—where they are always glad to see English gentlemans.” Then touching his hat, and politely waving his hand, he turned on one side, and I saw him no more.
CHAPTER XCIII
Tregaron Church—The Minister—Good Morning—Tom Shone’s Disguises—Tom and the Lady—Klim and Catti.
I experienced very good entertainment at the Tregaron Inn, had an excellent supper and a very comfortable bed. I arose at about eight in the morning. The day was dull and misty. After breakfast, according to my usual fashion, I took a stroll to see about. The town, which is very small, stands in a valley, near some wild hills called the Berwyn, like the range to the south of Llangollen. The stream, which runs through it and which falls into the Teivi at a little distance from the town, is called the Brennig, probably because it descends from the Berwyn hills. These southern Berwyns form a very extensive mountain region, extending into Brecon and Carmarthenshire, and contain within them, as I long subsequently found, some of the wildest solitudes and most romantic scenery in Wales. High up amidst them, at about five miles from Tregaron, is a deep, broad lake which constitutes the source of the Towy, a very beautiful stream, which after many turnings and receiving the waters of numerous small streams discharges itself into Carmarthen Bay.
I did not fail to pay a visit to Tregaron church. It is an antique building with a stone tower. The door being open, as the door of a church always should be, I entered, and was kindly shown by the clerk, whom I met in the aisle, all about the sacred edifice. There was not much to be seen. Amongst the monuments was a stone tablet to John Herbert, who died 1690. The clerk told me that the name of the clergyman of Tregaron was Hughes; he said that he was an excellent, charitable man, who preached the Gospel, and gave himself great trouble in educating the children of the poor. He certainly seemed to have succeeded in teaching them good manners: as I was leaving the church, I met a number of little boys belonging to the church school: no sooner did they see me than they drew themselves up in a rank on one side, and as I passed took off their caps and simultaneously shouted, “Good-morning!”
And now something with respect to the celebrated hero of Tregaron, Tom Shone Catti, concerning whom I picked up a good deal during my short stay there, and of whom I subsequently read something in printed books. [14]
According to the tradition of the country, he was the illegitimate son of Sir John Wynn of Gwedir, by one Catherine Jones of Tregaron, and was born at a place called Fynnon Lidiart, close by Tregaron, towards the conclusion of the sixteenth century. He was baptised by the name of Thomas Jones, but was generally called Tom Shone Catti, that is Tom Jones, son of Catti or Catherine. His mother, who was a person of some little education, brought him up, and taught him to read and write. His life, till his eighteenth year, was much like other peasant boys; he kept crows, drove bullocks, and learned to plough and harrow, but always showed a disposition to roguery and mischief. Between eighteen and nineteen, in order to free himself and his mother from poverty which they had long endured, he adopted the profession of a thief, and soon became celebrated through the whole of Wales for the cleverness and adroitness which he exercised in his calling; qualities in which he appears to have trusted much more than in strength and daring, though well endowed with both. His disguises were innumerable, and all impenetrable; sometimes he would appear as an ancient crone; sometimes as a begging cripple; sometimes as a broken soldier. Though by no means scrupulous as to what he stole, he was particularly addicted to horse and cattle stealing, and was no less successful in altering the appearance of animals than his own, as he would frequently sell cattle to the very persons from whom he had stolen them, after they had been subjected to such a metamorphosis, by means of dyes and the scissors, that recognition was quite impossible. Various attempts were made to apprehend him, but all without success; he was never at home to people who particularly wanted him, or if at home he looked anything but the person they came in quest of. Once a strong and resolute man, a farmer, who conceived, and very justly, that Tom had abstracted a bullock from his stall, came to Tregaron well armed in order to seize him. Riding up to the door of Tom’s mother, he saw an aged and miserable-looking object, with a beggar’s staff and wallet, sitting on a stone bench beside the door. “Does Tom Shone Catti live here?” said the farmer. “Oh yes, he lives here,” replied the beggar. “Is he at home?” “Oh yes, he is at home.” “Will you hold my horse whilst I go in and speak to him?” “Oh yes, I will hold your horse.” Thereupon the man dismounted, took a brace of pistols out of his holsters, gave the cripple his horse’s bridle and likewise his whip, and entered the house boldly. No sooner was he inside than the beggar, or rather Tom Shone Catti, for it was he, jumped on the horse’s back, and rode away to the farmer’s house which was some ten miles distant, altering his dress and appearance as he rode along, having various articles of disguise in his wallet. Arriving at the house he told the farmer’s wife that her husband was in the greatest trouble, and wanted fifty pounds, which she was to send by him, and that he came mounted on her husband’s horse, and brought his whip, that she might know he was authorised to receive the money. The wife, seeing the horse and the whip, delivered the money to Tom without hesitation, who forthwith made the best of his way to London, where he sold the horse, and made himself merry with the price, and with what he got from the farmer’s wife, not returning to Wales for several months. Though Tom was known by everybody to be a thief, he appears to have lived on very good terms with the generality of his neighbours, both rich and poor. The poor he conciliated by being very free of the money which he acquired by theft and robbery, and with the rich he ingratiated himself by humorous jesting, at which he was a proficient, and by being able to sing a good song. At length, being an extremely good-looking young fellow, he induced a wealthy lady to promise to marry him. This lady is represented by some as a widow, and by others as a virgin heiress. After some time, however, she refused to perform her promise and barred her doors against him. Tom retired to a cave on the side of a steep wild hill near the lady’s house, to which he frequently repaired, and at last, having induced her to stretch her hand to him through the window bars, under the pretence that he wished to imprint a parting kiss upon it, he won her by seizing her hand and threatening to cut it off unless she performed her promise. Then, as everything at the time at which he lived could be done by means of money, he soon obtained for himself a general pardon, and likewise a commission as justice of the peace, which he held to the time of his death, to the satisfaction of everybody except thieves and ill-doers, against whom he waged incessant war, and with whom he was admirably qualified to cope, from the knowledge he possessed of their ways and habits, from having passed so many years of his life in the exercise of the thieving trade. In his youth he was much addicted to poetry, and a great many pennillion of his composition, chiefly on his own thievish exploits, are yet recited by the inhabitants of certain districts of the shires of Brecon, Carmarthen, and Cardigan.