The Comical Adventures of Twm Shon Catty (Thomas Jones, Esq.), / Commonly known as the Welsh Robin Hood

by T. J. Llewelyn Prichard

Mike winked at his wife, intimating that he knew his customer. Next morning our hero called at the mat-man’s house, with the laudable desire of putting him on his guard, intending to communicate the adventures and disclosures of the preceding day. But he was doomed to disappointment. Mike had “cleared out” three hours before, escorted by the Israelite, whilst the wife had been left behind to “take care of the things,” and to be the link that should join them to more auspicious times. This breach of good-fellowship on the part of Moses, in leaving him so abruptly, piqued and fretted him not a little. With a commendable spirit that disdained to act the paltry part of a run-away, he entered the house of Morris Greeg at the usual breakfast hour, and took his meal in silence. Sheeny kept her bed this morning, overcome by the tumults of the preceding evening, and Shaan officiated in her place.

The absence of Moses was very slightly commented upon, both father and daughter declaring it would have been well for them if he had taken himself off much sooner; yet, under all this feigned indifference, it was very perceivable to Twm that his loss was much felt by them. Under a couple of old sacks on the settle by the fire lay the damaged body of Hukin Heer, where he had been groaning all night. Without the slightest reference to the past, Twm was told that his first job that morning would be to take Hukin home in a dung-cart, charging him to put plenty of clean straw under him, so that he might ride in style and comfort.

Thus Twm had to perform an office for an enemy, who the day before volunteered to do the same for him,—under different circumstances, that he was to be pinioned like a felon, bound hand and foot, and escorted to the county jail, a reversion of the scene which Twm liked rather than otherwise. It reminded him of the gallows which the scriptural Jew had made for some one else, but eventually took his position there himself.

On Twm’s return, after depositing Hukin with his wife, whose inquiries he cut short, by urging his haste, he was surprised to find that although it was the dinner hour, no food was prepared, nor was any one member of the family to be seen or heard. This unusual stillness he considered as strangely contrasting with the bustle and agitation of the previous day, nor could he in any way account for it. At length the deep silence was feebly broken by some voices upstairs, in the softened tones of pitying condolement, succeeded by the heavy sobbing of a female, amidst the earnest and agonized prayer of a gruff broken voice, which he at once knew to be that of Morris.

At length he recognized the well-known voice of Sheeny, amidst the loud wailing of her daughters, passionately exclaiming, “It is—O God, it is—that murderous disorder, the white-plague pest!” Such was the expressive name by which that awful visitor since known by the name of small-pox, was announced to be in the house. An indescribable vague feeling of terror thrilled through his whole frame, as the dreadful fact became known to him. As in those days scarcely any one knew how to treat this remorseless enemy of the race of man, its very existence in the neighbourhood was deemed a certain messenger of doom, and even in those rare cases where the life of the infected was spared, the envious demon stamped fearful foulness on the face of beauty, and hideously scarified the smoothest cheek, so that the parent knew not the features of his child.

The first hasty thought that crossed our hero’s mind, was to fly, and escape while yet clear of the contagion; but in an instant his nobler though mistaken feelings abjured the thought, bad as they had been to him, of deserting this afflicted family in the dark day of their heavy visitation. However, his presence was no more noticed than his absence would have been. Day after day, things remained in a similar state; at length the lower part of the house was absolutely deserted, or inhabited by him alone. Even the fire was extinguished, and the house might have been uninhabited for anything to be seen to the contrary. There were no sounds, except the occasional groans of Morris, and the cries of the frightened females. The family assembled together upstairs, almost courting infection by their presence, and Twm was therefore left to provide for his own wants.

Rarely could he meet with any one to enquire, as his feelings prompted, who were the sufferers, and how they fared. The third day since the commencement of the sickness, as he sat lonely and languidly, from the disordered state of his stomach, unable to partake of the dry food before him, a shriek of women announced some fatality to have taken place. Morris came down, with streaming eyes and agitated face, and for the first time in his life grasping his hand in friendly wise, emphatically proved how suffering had subdued his selfishness, and humanized his hard heart. At length, with broken voice, he said, “She is gone—my youngest girl is gone,—and I fear my little Gwen will follow soon.”

Even while commiserating with Morris, Twm complained of a head-ache, and a loathing sickness, with a feverish burning of the whole frame, that was overwhelming him. Morris immediately saw that he was infected, and told him to go and lie down; informing his family of the feeling evinced by him for their suffering, and that he was decidedly in the disorder. Then taking his staff he hurried to the different cottages that were thinly scattered among the lonely mountain cwms or dingles, with the hope that either kindness or considerations of interest would induce an elderly female or two to engage with him as nurses, to watch and attend the sick.

Accordingly, two that had gone through the ordeal of the frech wen, or the white pest, as the small-pox was called, accompanied him home. They commenced their office by making a regular, roasting fire, and feasting themselves in the best manner the house afforded, attending to number one first, as it behoved all nurses to do, their patients for the time being of course quite a secondary consideration. Feasting to inaugurate their arrival, they averred was an ancient custom, and must be adhered to. He knew not whether it was an ancient one; but that it is a convenient one, none could deny. Twm soon found himself at the height of the malady. Well for him was it, that the fever and other accompaniments of this fearful disorder removed from him all desire for food—for none was brought to him; none called to offer their kindly offices, nor to inquire how he fared; and he had to feel in the acutest degree the abandoned lot of that “no man’s child,” the sick and suffering parish apprentice. His bed in the hay-loft was an old hop-sack, half filled with the chaff of oats; and his covering an old tattered blanket, and a musty rug that had served several offices for horses.

Thus, with the whistling of the wind through the numerous crevices of the crazy walls, and the rain dripping on him at times, through the imperfect rotten thatch, he remained hours, days, and dreary nights, groaning away his time, impatiently longing for death, or speedy recovery. When daylight dawned, his mind wearied by aches and pains of the body, and by a complete absence of the power of thought, would seek some occupation and amusement in speculation on the formation of the dark heavy folds of the numerous cob-webs that waved to and fro over his head, from the mouldy beams and rafters, like the triumphant flags of squalid penury; while the squeaking of mice, that ran in troops about him, became the miserable music that served to vary the monotony of his heavy hours.