The Fishguard Invasion by the French in 1797 Read online

  CHAPTER III.THE FATE OF THE CLOCK.

  Great bonfires now lit up the side of the hill beneath Trehowel—in theplace still called the French camp—and scores of dark figures rushedabout with torches flaring wildly in their hands; the whole scenereminding one forcibly of Pandemonium, that is, if one is capable ofbeing reminded of a place one has never seen and that one has no desireto see.

  Even the thought of it at the moment was unpleasant to me as bringing myneglected studies to my mind, so I hastily turned my attention once moreto the French.

  The boats and the sailors had now returned to their ships, having landedthe invading hordes (which was the term we usually applied to the Gallicsoldiers), who now seemed more bent on cooking than on conquering, onsupping than on surprising.

  [Picture: Cottage at Castell]

  We watched the erection of beams and bars over the huge fires; and theslinging on to the bars of great pots and pans of all sorts—mostlyintimate friends of poor Nancy who watched all these proceedings withmany a groan and warm ejaculation as she thought of all her wastedscrubbings in the back kitchen of Trehowel. The precise number of themen who landed that night on a bit (though remote) of Great Britain wasfourteen hundred; of whom six hundred were regular troops, and eighthundred were convicts of the basest sort, described, indeed, in thepamphlets of the time as the sweepings of the gaols. Besides these,there were two women; and had the fourteen hundred been animated by thespirit which possessed these two of the weaker sex, the result might havebeen much more unpleasant to the Principality than it actually was.

  The Welsh woman beside me was not by any means deficient in spiriteither, it even sometimes took the form of temper, yet to my astonishmentI heard the sound of sobs which could only proceed from her, as Llewelynwas hardly likely to relieve his feelings in this way.

  “Oh, Master Dan, wherever is Davy?” she again asked. She called me“master” when she remembered what I was going to be, otherwise my fatherbeing only a small tradesman in Fishguard, I was more frequently calledDan. I do not think I have given any description of Ann George, boys donot, as a rule, think much of personal appearance; nor did I. My idea ofNancy had been chiefly connected with the peppermints she had been in thehabit of giving me as a child; I thought her a person of a free andgenerous disposition. She was a tall, fine young woman of five andtwenty, with dark hair and eyes (these last being dark grey not brown),decided but pretty eyebrows, a well-shaped nose, and rather large mouthwhich disclosed when she laughed or talked (which was frequently)handsome white teeth. In short, she was the type of a good-looking Welshwoman. She had also a healthy colour, a warm heart, and a splendidappetite. It was not very surprising that she had (or had had) twoadmirers.

  I at once referred to this fact with a boy’s utter want of delicacy inmatters of sentiment.

  “What are you bothering about Davy for? I thought it was Jim you liked.”

  “Don’t you ever say that fellow’s name to me again, Dan’el,” said Nancywith animation, her tears dried up and her eyes sparkling. “I hope neverto hear of James Bowen again so long as I live.”

  I whistled. “Was that because he got into trouble for horse-stealing?Why, as to that, Davy’s none too particular.”

  “Dear anwyl, Dan, talk of what you understand, or hold your tongue! Whatdo I care for their customs and laws? ’Deed to goodness, nothing at all.As to James Bowen if it had been only that—but there, a child like youcan’t understand things.”

  “Can’t I!” I shouted, thoroughly incensed—of course we spoke in Welsh,and used a good many more exclamations than I have set down here. “Can’tI, indeed. I only know smuggling is—”

  “Don’t quarrel, children,” said Llewelyn, who was of a quiet disposition.“And don’t shout or you’ll bring the French upon us. Silence holds ithere. {80} Just look there!”

  He pointed towards the opposite direction to that in which we had beenlooking, and where the French were still clambering about the cliffsdragging up the last of their barrels of ammunition and brandy. Hepointed towards the steep road which leads from Goodwick to Fishguard.This road was thronged with people, horses, carts, furniture, cattle allmixed together, and all (the animate ones at least) making their way withsuch speed as their legs and the hill permitted away from the immediateneighbourhood of the invaders. The lights which some of them carried,and the glare from some gorse which had been set on fire, lit up thestraggling, toiling multitude.

  Further off the semi-circle of hills blazed with warning beacons. It wasa sight never to be forgotten; a sight that had not been seen in thisisland for centuries. From our high nest in the rocks we had but to turnour heads to see all. In front of us to the north stretched the sea; alittle to the north-west was the creek where the French had landed, wherewe could dimly discern the tall masts of the war-ships lighted upfitfully by cressets of fire. At the top of the cliff was Trehowel, andclose by was the French camp surmounted by the tricolor flag. A littlenearer us was Brestgarn, where Llewelyn lived, and just at our feet wasthe village and church of Llanunda. Goodwick lay to the east of us;there was a steep hill down to it, a magnificent flat of sands, with seaon one side and marsh on the other, and then a steep hill up from itleading ere long to Fishguard. The sea came round the corner from thenorth in order to form that deep and beautiful Goodwick Bay, where treesand rocks, gardens and wild waves, luxuriant vegetation and marshybarrenness are so strangely mixed. Behind all, to the south andsoutheast came the mountains; and towards the fastnesses therein most ofthese fugitives were wending their way.

  “Deuks!” said Llewelyn, “they are coming out to see what they can get,the scoundrels; I must run back to Brestgarn.”

  “Let me come,” said I, on the impulse of the moment—though my knees shookas I saw small dark clumps of men leaving the main mass and comingtowards us; but Llewelyn inspired confidence, and curiosity has a courageof its own; then I suddenly bethought me of Ann George.

  “But what will you do, Nancy?” I asked.

  “I will go to my Aunt Jemima, I’ll be safe enough with her; don’t troubleabout me, my dear,” said Nancy, our short-lived quarrel being happilyover.

  “That is in Fishguard, you can’t go there alone, wait a bit for me,” saidI, with youthful assurance.

  “I can hide you at Brestgarn if you want to come, but better go on toFishguard,” said Llewelyn.

  By this time, however, we were almost at the farm, for we had run downthe steep side of Carnunda without any delay.

  As we drew near to the house we found from the uproar therein that it wasalready full of Frenchmen. Very cautiously we approached a window andpeeped in. We saw a strange sight. The kitchen was filled with raggedruffianly fellows, all gesticulating with all their limbs, and screechingwith all their lungs. Of course we did not understand a word they said,which, perhaps, was no loss under the circumstances. They were dressedin all sorts of uniforms—some of them in a dusky red (our soldiers’ coatsdyed, as I afterwards heard), others wore the regular dark blue of theFrench army. An enormous fire blazed on the hearth, on which they hadplaced a large brass pan, geese and fowls only half-feathered had beenhastily thrown into it, and now they were literally cramming it withbutter, which they dug out of a cask they had dragged in from the dairy.Suddenly a shout arose, apparently from the ground beneath us.

  “Deuks!” said Llewelyn, again. “They’ve found the port.”

  Llewelyn did not allude to any of the harbours in the neighbourhood, butrather, it may be, to the lack of one, which had perhaps occasioned thewrecking of a vessel from Oporto laden with the wine of the district.

  “No odds, don’t fret for the wine,” whispered Nancy. “We’ll get plentyagain. I only hope there’s a good store of brandy in the houses, too.”

  We got our brandy in a different way, but also inexpensively, and therewas at times a considerable stock of it, and tobacco, too, in thefarmhouse cellars.

  Llewelyn, however, was much perturbe
d: he had volunteered to stay to lookafter the household goods, and he didn’t seem to be able to do much. Thedelight of the Frenchmen at such an unexpected treasure-trove was indeedexasperating. Down flowed the generous liquid through throats theoutsides of which were much in want of shaving, elbows were raised, andvoices also in the intervals of quaffing. Suddenly one man paused in hispotations, the brass face of the old clock that stood in the corner hadcaught his eye, and the loud ticking of it had caught his ear.Screeching something that sounded like “enemy,” he levelled his musketand fired straight at the clock. The bullet went through the wood-workwith a loud sound of splitting.

  “Brenhin mawr!” yelled Llewelyn, forgetting all caution in hisexasperation. “The scoundrels have shot our eight day clock!”

  Unfortunately his remark was overheard; and indeed his yell shot into themidst of those rioting ruffians like a pebble into a wasp’s nest. Outthey flew, evidently infuriated; but we waited for no explanations,taking to our heels on the instant, with the promptitude of extreme fear.Nan and I were light of heel, and favoured by the darkness—yet more blackto those who came from that blaze of light—we got clear away; but turningere long to look, we perceived that Llewelyn had not been so fortunate,he was older and a good deal heavier than we were; and then his righteousanger had rendered him rather breathless before he began to run. He wasnow surrounded by a crowd of foreigners, all jabbering and gesticulatingas hard as possible. Our hearts were sore at having to leave ourcompanion in this plight, but there was no help for it, to attempt arescue would have been, under the circumstances, worse than folly. So weran along across country, avoiding all roads, and making straight forGoodwick.