Here the general attention was called to the entrance of the ex-proprietor of the roll of flannel, who almost deafened them by the vehemence of her complaints, which, however, were too incoherently expressed to be immediately understood. “Oh! my roll of flannel, my fine, excellent flannel! all of my own spinning too,—eight and twenty good yards, and a yard and a half wide—my wooden shoe too that I lost in the crowd—and my poor corns trod off by the villains—my dear sweet flannel, all of my own carding and spinning—nobody but the devil himself, or his first cousin Twm Shôn Catti, could have taken it in such a manner—it was whisked from me as if a whirlwind had swept it away.” At length she paused for want of breath, and Twm approached her with the air of a comforter, and read from his book, “Were a woman as quick with her feet as with her tongue, she would catch the lightning to kindle her fire in the morning.” It is probable that she did not perfectly hear this passage, as, on perceiving Twm, she gave a shout of joy, and then, as incoherently as before, appealed to the magistrate; “This honest man, your worship, knows it all. I told him, the moment I lost my flannel—this worthy man, your worship,—a good man, a wise man, a man who reads books, your worship, he can witness.”
A fresh hubbub at the entrance of the hall, now diverted all the attention from the old woman’s complaint, and loud were the shouts of laughter on beholding the object that now presented itself. Supported by two constables, who rather dragged forward, than led him, came Twm’s friend the hardwareman, crowned with the identical iron pot before-named, which the officers, as a matter of official formality, or to indulge their own facetiousness, refused to remove, till in the presence of a magistrate. When his laughter had a little subsided, Prothero ordered the pot to be removed, and his hands untied. The hardwareman then told his lamentable tale in a few words; in conclusion, he declared, that having overheard certain words between the robber and his accomplice, he had learned that the thief was no other than Twm Shôn Catti. His eye now caught the figure of our hero, and with a yell as astounding as if the eternal enemy of man stood before him, he cried, “There he is! there he is! As heaven shall save me, there stands the man, or devil, who crowned me with the iron pot, while his accomplice ran off with another.” “And who robbed me of my flannel!” roared the old woman, who now changed her opinion, as her earliest suspicions became thus suddenly confirmed. “And who stole my grey horse!” bawled Evans of Tregaron. “And who sold it to me, when disguised in straw-boots and cow-hide breeches,” cried Powell of Brecon, who had now closely examined his features.
A violent rush upon our hero, by the whole party, now ensued; but Twm eluded their eager attempts to grasp him, sprung upon the table before the bench, and, drawing a couple of pistols from his coat pockets, held one in each hand, and kept them all at bay, protesting that he would shoot the first who would advance an inch towards him. Loud was his laughter, as they all started back: but the great laugher, Prothero, now sat silently on the bench, alarmed for his safety, which he had thought to secure by giving him warning of his danger, in the feint of the proclaimed reward for his apprehension. As he stood in this manner, with extended arms, watchful eyes, and grasping the pointed pistols with a finger to each trigger, Powell of Brecon exclaimed, “Thou art a clever fellow, by Jove, Twm! very clever for a Cardy; but wert thou with us, the quick-witted sons of Brecon, thou wouldest soon find thyself overmatched and outwitted too. I dare thee to enter Brecon, to trust thy wit—come there, and welcome, and thou shalt stand harmless for me, in the affair of the grey horse.” Twm smiled, and nodded, in token of having accepted his challenge.
By this time Evans of Tregaron, with some of his followers, got behind him, and clung to his right arm, but with one violent effort Twm shook them away, as the mighty bull throws off the yelping curs that dare attack him. Then, with a single leap, he sprung from the table into the crowded court, where a lane was formed for him, and rushed out at the door unimpeded, and pursued by his accusers. They soon lost sight of him among the moving multitude, some of whom dispersed from fear of accidents, while others followed him as spectators. To the great astonishment of his pursuers, they next caught a view of him mounted on that grand subject of contention, the grey horse. He took the route to Ystrad Fîn, followed by them all, including several constables in the employ of Evans of Tregaron, and many disinterested people from the fair. Loud were the shouts of the numerous riders; loud the tramp of galloping horses; and wild the disorder and terror created, as Twm at different intervals turned on his pursuers, and fired his pistols. This caused a powerful retrograde movement among them, by which the foremost horses fell back on those behind them, unhorsing some, who lay groaning and crying on the ground, and frightening others altogether from further pursuit. It was on this occasion that a bard of that day wrote the stanza which appears in the title page, thus translated by the late Iolo Morganwg:
“In Ystrad Fîn a doleful sound
Pervades the hollow hills around;
The very stones with terror melt,
Such fear of Twm Shôn Catti’s felt.”
Twm at length, although closely followed, reached the foot of Dinas, where he dismounted, sprung from stone to stone, that formed the ford of the Towey, and climbed the steep side of that majestic mount, with the utmost agility and ease. Like a prudent sea-captain chaced in his small boat by a fleet of rovers, till he reaches his own war-ship, and springs up her fort-like side, in the extacy of surmounted peril, conscious strength, and superiority, Twm now attained the summit of a prominent gnoll, and waved his hand triumphantly, in defiance of his foes below. Evans of Tregaron, with his crew of catch poles, made an attempt to climb also; Twm permitted them to advance about twenty yards above the river, when he commenced, and at the same time ended his warfare, by rolling down several huge stones, that swept them in a mass into the very bed of the Towey, sadly bruised, and some with their bones broken, from whence they were extricated by the amazed and terrified spectators.
The Tregaron magistrate met a woful disaster on this occasion; starting aside, to avoid the dreadful leaping crags that threatened to crush him, his pistols went off in his pockets, and carried away, besides his coat-skirts and no small portion of his black breeches, a large portion of postern flesh, that deprived him forever after of an easy seat, on the agreeable cushion which nature had provided. Amusing to the population of Tregaron was the singular sight of their crest-fallen magistrate and his hated gang, brought home in a woful plight, as inside passengers of a dung-cart, which had been hired for the purpose; and more than all, that their discomfiture should have been caused by their long-lost countryman, Twm Shôn Catti.
Our hero, in the mean time, like a princely chieftain of the days of old, enthroned upon his native tower of strength, marking in his soul’s high pride the awkward predicament of his baffled foes, perceived them all depart; leaving him the undisputed lord of his alpine territory, the glorious height of Dinas. After witnessing, with his limbs stretched upon his mountain couch, the glorious beauty of the setting sun, he entered the cave, tore from its top a sufficiency of fern and heather to form his bed, threw on it his fatigued, over-exerted frame, and soundly slept till morning.
CHAP. XXVII.
Twm’s exploits at Brecon. The adventure of the ducks, the crow’s nest, and the crockery ware. His successes at the Eisteddvod, the Races, and the Ball. His singular marriage with the lady of Ystrad Fîn, and various other matters. Conclusion.