“What do you mean?”
“Mean! Why, we mean that we have been a-watching of you all night.”
“I wish you had made your presence known,” said I. “I would have made it worth your while.”
“Ah, but we don’t do business in that way. No, no! a good catch like this for us is better than a good catch of fish is for you. We saw your lights a mile off.”
I was more puzzled than ever. Except an occasional fusee for my pipe, and the marsh-light, I had passed the whole weary night without seeing a light at all.
But on further explanation I began to comprehend that the river-watchers had suspected me of having been flame-poaching all night, and followed me to the cottage.
I protested that I was no poacher, but a benighted tourist who had accidentally lost his way upon the hills, and that I could prove my assertions if taken to the Coach and Horses.
All I could say was of no avail, and with a fellow-prisoner—a peasant, now brought in—I was marched off to Rhyadder; where, at eleven o’clock on the same day, we were taken before a bench of magistrates, charged with having “unlawfully, by means of torches and spears, captured salmon during the night season.”
An anxious night had been passed at the Coach and Horses in consequence of my absence. Messengers had been despatched in all directions to inquire and search; and it was not until my messenger arrived, requesting the landlord of the Coach and Horses to come at once and identify me, that the apprehensions of my friends were allayed.