Those justices of the peace, although appointed by his Majesty, have never been a comfort to me, saving only Colonel Lougher. They never seem to understand me, or to make out my desires, or to take me at my word, as much as I take them at theirs. My desire has always been to live in a painfully loyal manner, to put up with petty insults from customers who know no better, leaving them to self-reflection, and if possible to repentance, while I go my peaceful way, nor let them hear their money jingle, or even spend it in their sight. To be pleased and trustful also with the folk who trust in me, and rather to abandon much, and give back twopence in a shilling, than cause any purchaser self-reproach for having sworn falsely before the bench⁠—now, if all this would not do, to keep me out of the session-books, can any man point out a clearer proof of the vicious administration of what they call “justice” around our parts? And when any trumpery case was got up, on purpose to worry and plague me, the only chance left me, of any fair-play, was to throw up my day’s work, and wear out my shoes in trudging to Candleston Court, to implore that good Colonel Lougher to happen to sit on the bench that day.

When those two gentlemen alighted from that rickety old coach, and ordered that very low constable to pace to and fro at the door of my house, boldly I came out to meet them, having injured no man, nor done harm of any sort that I could think of, lately. Stew came first, a man of no lineage, but pushed on by impudence; “Anthony Stew can look you through,” an English poacher said of him; and this he tried always to do with me, and thoroughly welcome he was to succeed.

I will not say that my inner movements may not have been uneasy, in spite of all my rectitude; however, I showed their two worships inside, in the very host style of the quarterdeck such as I had gathered from that coroneted captain, my proud connection with whom, perhaps, I may have spoken of ere this, or at any rate ought to have done so, for I had the honour of swabbing his pumps for him almost every morning; and he was kind enough to call me “Davy.”

Every Briton, in his own house, is bound to do his utmost; so I touched my grey forelock, and made two good bows, and set a chair for each of them, happening to have no more just now, though with plenty of money to buy them. Self-controlled as I always am, many things had tried me, of late, almost to the verge of patience; such imputations as fall most tenderly on a sorrowful widower; and my pure admiration of Bardie, and certainty of her lofty birth, had made me the more despise such foulness. So it came to pass that two scandalous men were given over by the doctors (for the pole I had cut was a trifle too thick), nevertheless they recovered bravely, and showed no more gratitude towards God, than to take out warrants against me! But their low devices were frustrated by the charge being taken before Colonel Lougher. And what did that excellent magistrate do? He felt himself compelled to do something. Therefore he fined me a shilling per head for the two heads broken, with 10s. costs (which he paid, as usual), and gave me a very severe reprimand.

“Llewellyn,” he said, “the time is come for you to leave off this course of action. I do not wonder that you felt provoked; but you must seek for satisfaction in the legal channels. Suppose these men had possessed thin heads, why you might have been guilty of murder! Make out his commitment to Cardiff Gaol, in default of immediate payment.”

All this was good, and sustained one’s faith in the efficacy of British law; and trusting that nothing might now be amiss in the minds of these two magistrates, I fetched the block of sycamore, whereupon my fish were in the habit of having their fins and tails chopped off; and there I sat down, and presented myself both ready and respectful. On the other hand, my visitors looked very grave and silent; whether it were to prolong my doubts, or as having doubts of their own, perhaps.

“Your worships,” I began at last, in fear of growing timorous, with any longer waiting⁠—“your worships must have driven far.”

“To see you, Llewellyn,” Squire Stew said, with a nasty snap, hoping the more to frighten me.

“Not only a pleasure to me, your worships, but a very great honour to my poor house. What will your worships be pleased to eat? Butcher’s meat I would have had, if only I had known of it. But one thing I can truly say, my cottage has the best of fish.”

“That I can believe,” said Stew; “because you sell all the worst to me. Another such a trick, Llewellyn, and I have you in the stocks.”

This astonished me so much⁠—for his fish had never died over four days⁠—that nothing but my countenance could express my feelings.

“I crave your pardon, Justice Stew,” said the tall grey gentleman with the velvet coat, as he rose in a manner that overawed me, for he stood a good foot over Anthony Stew, and a couple of inches over me; “may we not enter upon the matter which has led us to this place?”

“Certainly, Sir Philip, certainly,” Stew replied, with a style which proved that Sir Philip must be of no small position; “all I meant, Sir Philip, was just to let you see the sort of fellow we have to deal with.”

“My integrity is well known,” I answered, turning from him to the gentleman; “not only in this parish, but for miles and miles round. It is not my habit to praise myself; and in truth I find no necessity. Even a famous newspaper, so far away as Bristol, the celebrated Felix Farley’s Journal⁠—”

“Just so,” said the elder gentleman; “it is that which has brought us here; although, as I fear, on a hopeless errand.”

With these words he leaned away, as if he had been long accustomed to be disappointed. To me it was no small relief to find their business peaceable, and that neither a hare which had rushed at me like a lion through a gate by moonlight, nor a stupid covey of partridges (nineteen in number, which gave me no peace while excluded from my dripping-pan), nor even a pheasant cock whose crowing was of the most insulting tone⁠—that none of these had been complaining to the bench emboldened me, and renewed my sense of reason. But I felt that Justice Stew could not be trusted for a moment to take this point in a proper light. Therefore I kept my wits in the chains, taking soundings of them both.

“Now, Llewellyn, no nonsense, mind!” began Squire Stew, with his face like a hatchet, and scallops over his eyebrows: “what we are come for is very simple, and need not unsettle your conscience, as you have allowed it to do, I fear. Keep your aspect of innocent wonder for the next time you are brought before me. I only wish your fish were as bright and slippery as you are.”

“May I humbly ask what matter it pleases your worship to be thinking of?”

“Oh, of course you cannot imagine, Davy. But let that pass, as you were acquitted, by virtue of your innocent face, in the teeth of all the evidence. If you had only dropped your eyes, instead of wondering so much⁠—but never mind, stare as you may, some day we shall be sure to have you.”

Now, I will put it to anybody whether this was not too bad, in my own house, and with the Bench seated on my own best chairs! However, knowing what a man he was, and how people do attribute to me things I never dreamed of, and what little chance a poor man has if he takes to contradiction, all I did was to look my feelings, which were truly virtuous. Nor were they lost upon Sir Philip.

“You will forgive me, good sir, I hope,” he said to Squire Anthony; “but unless we are come with any charge against this⁠—Mr. Llewellyn, it is hardly fair to reopen any awkward questions of which he has been acquitted. In his own house, moreover, and when he has offered kind hospitality to us⁠—in a word, I will say no more.”

Here he stopped, for fear perhaps of vexing the other magistrate; and I touched my grizzled curl and said, “Sir, I thank you for a gentleman.” This was the way to get on with me, instead of driving and bullying; for a gentleman or a lady can lead me to any extremes of truth; but not a lawyer, much less a justice. And Anthony Stew had no faith in truth, unless she came out to his own corkscrew.

“British tar,” he exclaimed, with his nasty sneer; “now for some more of your heroism! You look as if you were up for doing something very glorious. I have seen that colour in your cheeks when you sold me a sewin that shone in the dark. A glorious exploit; wasn’t it now?”

“That it was, your worship, to such a customer as you.”

While Anthony Stew was digesting this, which seemed a puzzle to him, the tall grey gentleman, feeling but little interest in my commerce, again desired to hurry matters. “Forgive me again, I beseech you, good sir; but ere long it will be dark, and as yet we have learned nothing.”

“Leave it all to me, Sir Philip; your wisest plan is to leave it to me. I know all the people around these parts, and especially this fine fellow. I have made a sort of study of him, because I consider him what I may call a thoroughly typical character.”

“I am not a typical character,” I answered, over-hastily, for I found out afterwards what he meant. “I never tipple; but when I drink, my rule is to go through with it.”

Squire Stew laughed loud at my mistake, as if he had been a great scholar himself; and even Sir Philip smiled a little in his sweet and lofty manner. No doubt but I was vexed for a moment, scenting (though I could not see) error on my own part. But now I might defy them both, ever to write such a book as this. For vanity has always been so foreign to my nature, that I am sure to do my best, and, after all, think nothing of it, so long as people praise me. And now, in spite of all rude speeches, if Sir Philip had only come without that Squire Anthony, not a thing of all that happened would I have retained from him. It is hopeless for people to say that my boat crippled speech on my part. Tush! I would have pulled her plug out on the tail of the Tuskar rather than one moment stand against the light for Bardie.

Squire Stew asked me all sorts of questions having no more substance in them than the blowing-hole at the end of an egg, or the bladder of a skate-fish. All of these I answered boldly, finding his foot outside my shoes. And so he came back again, as they do after trying foolish excursions, to the very point he started with.

“Am I to understand, my good fellow, that the ship, which at least you allow to be wrecked, may have been or might have been something like a foreigner?”

“Therein lies the point whereon your worship cannot follow me, any more than could the Coroner. Neither he, nor his clerk, nor the rest of the jury, would listen to common sense about it. That ship no more came from Appledore than a whale was hatched from a herring’s egg.”

“I knew it; I knew it,” broke in Sir Philip. “They have only small coasters at Appledore. I said that the newspaper must be wrong. However, for the sake of my two poor sons, I am bound to leave no clue unfollowed. There is nothing more to be done, Mr. Stew, except to express my many and great obligations for your kindness.” Herewith he made a most stately bow, and gave even me a corner of it.

“Stay, Sir Philip; one moment more. This fellow is such a crafty file. Certain I am that he never would look so unnaturally frank and candid unless he were in his most slippery mood. You know the old proverb, I daresay, ‘Put a Taffy on his mettle, he’ll boil Old Nick in his own fish-kettle.’ Dyo, where did your boat come from?”

This question he put in a very sudden, and I might well say vicious, manner, darting a glance at me like the snake’s tongues in the island of Das Cobras. I felt such contempt that I turned my back, and gave him a view of the “boofely buckens” admired so much by Bardie.

“Well done!” he cried. “Your resources, Dyo, are an infinite credit to you. And, do you know, when I see your back, I can almost place some faith in you. It is broad and flat and sturdy, Dyo. Ah! many a fine hare has swung there head downwards. Nevertheless, we must see this boat.”

Nothing irritates me more than what low Englishmen call “chaff.” I like to be pleasant and jocular upon other people; but I don’t like that sort of thing tried upon me when I am not in the humour for it. Therefore I answered crustily,

“Your worship is welcome to see my boat, and go to sea in her if you please, with the plug out of her bottom. Under Porthcawl Point she lies; and all the people there know all about her. Only, I will beg your worship to excuse my presence, lest you should have low suspicions that I came to twist their testimony.”

“Well said, David! well said, my fine fellow! Almost I begin to believe thee, in spite of all experience. Now, Sir Philip.”

“Your pardon, good sir; I follow you into the carriage.”

So off they set to examine my boat; and I hoped to see no more of them, for one thing was certain⁠—to wit, that their coachman never would face the sandhills, and no road ever is, or ever can be, to Porthcawl; so that these two worthy gentlemen needs must exert their noble legs for at least one-half of the distance. And knowing that Squire Stew’s soles were soft, I thought it a blessing for him to improve the only soft part about him.