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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.
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