In the year of our Lord, 1797, there was a right fair day in February. The day was a Wednesday, the twenty-second of the month, and it was indeed the most pleasant day for that harsh season of the year that I can call to mind on looking back through the course of a long life. But it was not only the unusual beauty of it that made that Wednesday in February a day of mark, or I might scarcely have kept it stored in a corner of my mind for seventy years A day still remembered by old Welsh fishwives, and still used by them as a means of terror wherewith to hush to sleep unquiet grandbabes, or to stir to patriotism stout but supine grandsons. I was, at the time of which I speak, but a youth of fifteen, as thoughtless and careless as most lads of that age; not very sensible to danger, save when it presented itself face to face with me at no more than arm’s length, under which circumstances candour compels me to own I did not always enjoy it. I trust that I may say without undue boasting that But that my nephews, nieces, and neighbours generally may know the truth concerning this matter—the landing of the French at Fishguard in 1797, I, Daniel Rowlands, clerk, being aged, but still of sound mind, have written this narrative—which when duly set forth will, I hope, convince the most sceptical as to the sort of spirit which animated my countrymen (if not myself), and still more my countrywomen. “Whither so fast, John?” I shouted, in our own tongue. He was past me as I spoke. “The French, the French!” came back to me on the breeze mingled with the sound of his horses’ rushing hoofs. His voice or my ears failed, for I heard no more save—when John’s words had left me much astonished. I knew—from my studies under the divine above referred to—that the French lived in France, where some of them had lately been engaged in beheading the rest with the help of a newly discovered machine. So much I knew, but why John Trelethin should yell “French” at me as he passed, riding apparently for his life, I knew not. What were the French to him or to me? As I advanced pondering the matter—but in a purely impersonal manner, and without any keen interest—at a little distance further along the cliff I espied the owner of Trelethin, John’s master, standing very firm on his legs against a background of bright sea, his head inclining somewhat backward, while with “Take a look for yourself, my boy,” he said—he was a man singularly free from pride—“Take a look at the blessed Frenchmen.” (He did not say exactly blessed, but “Frenchmen!” I cried. Then those were the French in those three vessels. I did not count the lugger, not being sure of her. Strange to say the first thought that flitted through my brain was one of pure joy; here was an excuse, real, tangible, and startling, for having shirked my studies. With a little help from imagination (his and mine, which might act on each other as flint on steel, for he was an excitable man), I trusted I might so alarm my clerical guide and master as to make him quite forget the fact that I had given to St. David’s Head the time I should have given to my own. The excuse might be made effective even should they prove to be not quite really French. “They’ve English colours, sir,” I said to Mr. Williams. “Foreigners are deceitful,” says he, “up This was the moment afterwards immortalised by a local bard in these words—
The three tall ships sailed on calmly, with the clear shining of the sea around them, dark objects in all that flood of light. They went northward—along our Pembrokeshire coast, where (had Providence so willed it) they might have made shipwreck on the The alarm spread quickly; men and boys came bounding over the gorse in every direction; even the women, with the curiosity of their sex, came forth from their homesteads, leaving the cawl The crowd on the cliffs followed in the direction of the ships, keeping them ever in sight. Helter-skelter we ran along, crossing deep gullies, then along bare headlands covered only with gorse and large grey stones, then passing under a great mass of rock, like to some gaunt castle or fort (but alas, lacking cannon), then, at rare intervals, where a stream ran into the sea, we would dip suddenly into a smiling little valley filled At two o’clock, for no apparent reason, the Frenchmen came to anchor. This was opposite to a rocky headland called Carn Gwastad, which forms a portion of Fishguard Bay, some distance to the west of the town of that name, and, by reason of an intervening headland, quite invisible from it, and Besides Mr. Williams’ John, who had been despatched at full speed to St. David’s to rouse the inhabitants, another man was sent to give the news to the Lord-Lieutenant of the county, while others wended their way to various points on the range of mountains which divides Pembrokeshire into two parts; the result of their mission being apparent when night fell and beacons flared along the line of heights from Vrenny Vawr to Carn Englyn—the mountain of the angels, so named from the angel-visits received by a pious hermit who dwelt Many other messengers were sent in various directions, but though in this way persons at a distance were warned of danger, many of those who dwelt close by were as yet insensible of it. Chiefest of these was the owner of the old manor house, Trehowel, situated just above the bay where the ships were lying-to—of which house we shall hear more anon. Mr. Mortimer was of a generous and confiding disposition—and, as a bishop should be, he was in truth—much given to hospitality. He was, moreover, about to celebrate the marriage of his son, and he had made ample provision of cakes and ale, not to mention meats and spirits for this purpose. The wedding was to be on the following day (Thursday, the 23rd of February, to be exact); the new daughter-in-law was much Nothing would serve this hospitable gentleman but that the English officers should partake of his good cheer; so his orders flew forth in every direction—compliments and invitations to the officers, and directions to the servants as to the setting forth of a sumptuous repast. In the meantime one of the great ships, heaving anchor, had quietly slipped round the corner—by which I would say, rounded the next headland, Pen Anglas, in an undemonstrative manner. Thus coming in sight of the men occupying the fort near Fishguard; these fired as in duty and fair observance bound—a salute to the flag that had braved a thousand years, and The astonishment of those men in the fort at this unexpected transformation-scene must have been akin to an electric shock such as may be produced on the unwary by the careless placing of a hand on a magnetic eel. They had been completely deceived by the mock flag, and were more unprepared for the change than those men who had already scrutinised the three frigates with very doubtful eyes as they made their way along the coast of Pembrokeshire. All disguise was now over; the enemy showed under their true colours at last, and On her way she intercepted a sloop which had—perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps from some nobler motive—ventured too near; probably the master of the sloop had not expected this sudden rearward movement—anyway he found himself a prisoner, and his boat a prize. I had jumped up from my reclining position, and stood watching his fate with anxiety and awe, knowing him to be a friend (for I was a Fishguard boy, and intimate with all the varieties of seamen to be found there), but being, at that distance, unable to tell which friend. The sun was setting as the first boats set down their load on British soil. There were not many spectators of this act (the only one of a like nature since 1066, as far as my knowledge—not very profound—of history went), the inhabitants of the district, when they perceived that the landing was Suddenly there rose a shriek, or, rather, a succession of shrieks breaking through She was shortly after followed by Mr. Mortimer himself, who came across the courtyard laughing in spite of the seriousness of the occasion, for he must needs smile at a joke. He spied me, for indeed I had jumped up to question Sally, and he came towards me. “The poor maid has had a scare,” said “Oh, there’s a pity,” said I; “about Master Mortimer’s wedding—and all the meats and drinks!” “Well, yes, I never meant them for the parley-vous,” said he, mounting his horse which one of his farm-boys had brought out; “but I dare say they’ll enjoy them all the same—they won’t be wasted.” He turned in the saddle to give a last look at his old house, standing dark against a yellow-green twilight sky, pranked out with all the mockery of boughs and flowery arches. The trees in the courtyard had not yet put forth their leaves, but branches of myrtles and ever-blooming gorse and great bunches of primroses had made the place gay. Mr. Mortimer’s face changed as he looked; he made no movement with “Oh, master,” she cried, running up to us, “ar’n’t you off yet! Quick, there isn’t a minute; they are coming up the hill. For the young master’s sake,” she whispered. “Remember, you have got the money and the papers. Quick!” He nodded, then shaking his rein, rode off without a word. “And what are you going to do, Nancy?” said I. “Isn’t it time for you to be off too?” “Oh, no odds about me. I’ll slip off somehow, but I must get the silver spoons first.” “Wherever is Davy—oh, wherever is he?” she sobbed. “Cheer up, Nancy, my maid,” said I, being well acquainted with her, and only ten years younger—an inequality made up for by my superior station and parts. “Wherever Davy is he’s in mischief—that you may take your davy of; but he always comes out of it somehow.” I hope the reader will pardon this expression, but I was not at this time even a curate—being but fifteen—and the chance of my ever attaining that station seemed but remote. At this moment the clang of arms and the sound of high-pitched voices broke on our ears. “I’ll have those spoons if I die for it!” exclaimed Ann, who was not much given I will not deny now, after the lapse of so many years, that my heart at this moment beat unpleasantly fast. I had already watched the landing of some of the French troops, but from a considerable distance, and there had been something unreal about the scene, something like to play-acting, or a dream; but now that I actually heard their voices, the effect was very different. They were really here, close by; there was no mistake about it. I had an almost overwhelming desire to take to my heels and run for it, but in spite of a very real fear, two feelings restrained me—one was a hesitation on account of Nancy, whom it seemed mean to desert; I could stand no more. With one bound I passed from behind my bushes in through the back door of the house— “Nancy, hang those spoons!” I spoke in Welsh, and I fear my expression was still more forcible. “Come this minute, I’ll wait no longer.” “Why, who asked you to wait?” said Ann George, ungratefully. “I thought you’d be half-way to Goodwick ere this.” At this moment her speech was interrupted by a sound as of thunder at the front door, while the parlour window came flying into the room before the butt-ends of French muskets. Even Ann George thought it now high time to take her leave. So we departed as quickly and as silently as possible through the back door, while the front door was being shivered to atoms, and “They’ll make short work with your master’s ale, Nan,” I gasped, as we ran along under the cover of the earthen banks topped with gorse. “Aye, and of the wine and the spirits, and of all the poor young master’s wedding feast. Oh, indeed, I wish I had known they were coming when I was baking those pies and brewing that ale!” I did not waste my breath by inquiring the reason of this aspiration, for the hill was rather heavy on my lungs, and her meaning was obvious. In a very short time we “Let us go to the top of Carnunda,” suggested this man. “We can see everything from there.” Carnunda is a rock situated just above most things in this region; more especially just under it lies the tiny village and church of Llanunda—Unda being manifestly a saint, though I cannot truthfully say I ever heard anything about him—or her. First at the creek beneath us. It was now pitch dark—for the night was as black as the day had been bright—but the three tall ships of war were lighted up with cressets of fire; the lugger was there and the captured sloop, and the sea around them was alive with boats, still conveying troops to the land. The torches that they carried were reflected on the waves, elsewhere inky black—but here bearing long broken lines of light. Dark figures swarmed at the landing place, if so one could call, what was merely some flat slabs of rock; and all up the cliffs we saw ant-like beings crawling, and even (by the aid of a little imagination) “Thank the Lord for that,” said Llewelyn. Nancy and I laughed aloud. It is impossible to give any idea of the exultation that we felt. “Oh, don’t I wish we were near enough to hear them!” said I, totally unmindful of my future profession. But shortly after we had even greater cause of rejoicing. The enemy (as we had already learnt to call them) were disembarking their cannon, and lowering these unwieldly articles of war into a long boat, but zeal outstripping discretion, they so over-weighted the boat, that lurching forward heavily she upset, and the whole of her cumbrous cargo was shortly at the bottom of the sea. It was a satisfaction even to think of it. Aye, and we may think of it still, for to this very day those foreign cannon are rolling about and rusting in the unquiet waters of Carrig Gwastad creek—a proof, should one ever be needed, of the truth of this strange story. “Thank the Lord again,” said Llewelyn. Great bonfires now lit up the side of the hill beneath Trehowel—in the place still called the French camp—and scores of dark figures rushed about with torches flaring wildly in their hands; the whole scene reminding one forcibly of Pandemonium, that is, if one is capable of being reminded of a place one has never seen and that one has no desire to see. Even the thought of it at the moment was unpleasant to me as bringing my neglected studies to my mind, so I hastily turned my attention once more to the French. We watched the erection of beams and bars over the huge fires; and the slinging on to the bars of great pots and pans of all sorts—mostly intimate friends of poor Nancy who watched all these proceedings with many a groan and warm ejaculation as she thought of all her wasted scrubbings in the back kitchen of Trehowel. The precise number of the men who landed that night on a bit (though remote) of Great Britain was fourteen hundred; of whom six hundred were regular troops, and eight hundred were convicts of the basest sort, described, indeed, in the pamphlets of the time as the sweepings of the gaols. Besides these, there were two The Welsh woman beside me was not by any means deficient in spirit either, it even sometimes took the form of temper, yet to my astonishment I heard the sound of sobs which could only proceed from her, as Llewelyn was 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 father being only a small tradesman in Fishguard, I was more frequently called Dan. I do not think I have given any description of Ann George, boys do not, as a rule, think much of personal appearance; nor did I. My idea of Nancy I at once referred to this fact with a boy’s utter want of delicacy in matters of sentiment. “What are you bothering about Davy for? I thought it was Jim you liked.” 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! What do 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 you can’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’t I, indeed. I only know smuggling is—” “Don’t quarrel, children,” said Llewelyn, who was of a quiet disposition. “And don’t He pointed towards the opposite direction to that in which we had been looking, and where the French were still clambering about the cliffs dragging up the last of their barrels of ammunition and brandy. He pointed towards the steep road which leads from Goodwick to Fishguard. This road was thronged with people, horses, carts, furniture, cattle all mixed together, and all (the animate ones at least) making their way with such speed as their legs and the hill permitted away from the immediate neighbourhood of the invaders. The lights which some of them carried, and the glare from some gorse which had been set on fire, lit up the straggling, toiling multitude. Further off the semi-circle of hills blazed with warning beacons. It was a sight “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 shook as I saw small dark clumps of men leaving the main mass and coming towards us; but Llewelyn inspired confidence, and curiosity has a courage of 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 trouble about “That is in Fishguard, you can’t go there alone, wait a bit for me,” said I, with youthful assurance. “I can hide you at Brestgarn if you want to come, but better go on to Fishguard,” said Llewelyn. By this time, however, we were almost at the farm, for we had run down the steep side of Carnunda without any delay. As we drew near to the house we found from the uproar therein that it was already full of Frenchmen. Very cautiously we approached a window and peeped in. We saw a strange sight. The kitchen was filled with ragged ruffianly fellows, all gesticulating with all their limbs, and screeching with all their lungs. Of course we did not understand a word they said, which, perhaps, was no loss under the circumstances. They were dressed “Deuks!” said Llewelyn, again. “They’ve found the port.” Llewelyn did not allude to any of the harbours in the neighbourhood, but rather, it may be, to the lack of one, which had perhaps occasioned the wrecking of a vessel from Oporto laden with the wine of the district. “No odds, don’t fret for the wine,” We got our brandy in a different way, but also inexpensively, and there was at times a considerable stock of it, and tobacco, too, in the farmhouse cellars. Llewelyn, however, was much perturbed: he had volunteered to stay to look after the household goods, and he didn’t seem to be able to do much. The delight of the Frenchmen at such an unexpected treasure-trove was indeed exasperating. Down flowed the generous liquid through throats the outsides of which were much in want of shaving, elbows were raised, and voices also in the intervals of quaffing. Suddenly one man paused in his potations, the brass face of the old clock that stood in the corner had caught his eye, and the loud ticking of it had caught his ear. Screeching something that sounded “Brenhin mawr!” yelled Llewelyn, forgetting all caution in his exasperation. “The scoundrels have shot our eight day clock!” Unfortunately his remark was overheard; and indeed his yell shot into the midst of those rioting ruffians like a pebble into a wasp’s nest. Out they 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 black to those who came from that blaze of light—we got clear away; but turning ere long to look, we perceived that Llewelyn had not been so fortunate, he was older and a good deal heavier than we As Nancy and I puffed and panted in as noiseless a manner as possible up the steep hill from Brestgarn, we saw, or, more strictly speaking, we heard all around us, foraging parties of the enemy, who were making off with everything they could lay their hands upon. The screeching of poultry, the quacking of ducks, the cackling of geese, the grunting and squealing of pigs (I might go on as long as some foreign Delectus, but that I fear to weary the reader) together with the oaths and laughter of the Frenchmen, formed a medley of sound that might Not a single inhabitant of this district seemed to be left, every cottage was deserted; all had fled for the present, in order to turn again with greater force and rend the intruder—as one may draw back for a space so as to gain the necessary impetus for a spring. We had reached the village of Llanunda, when we heard a considerable body of the enemy marching along the road near us, on their way to take possession of our rocky nest on the top of Carnunda. This very strong position formed the enemy’s outpost, To our great dismay we now heard voices approaching us from the other side; these proved to be some of the foraging parties making themselves acquainted with the larders and cellars of all the neighbouring houses. We crouched down lower among the gorse bushes, and I at least knew precisely the sensations experienced by a hunted and hiding hare. When this danger, too, was happily overpast, at all events for the moment, Nancy whispered to me— “Dan, they are a deal too near us here, and there’s more coming. I know a better hiding-place than this. Let’s make for the church.” I assented willingly; and we made as fast as we could for the church. It was a small but ancient building, full of queer holes and We then looked with eagerness through this orifice, and perceived gladly that the building was dark and empty. So pushing open the door, we entered our sanctuary as though it had been a veritable city of refuge. Our first care was to secure the door as well as we could on the inside; then Nancy sat “What have you come here for, Nan?” I inquired. “I don’t like it—we’ll be caught here like rats in a trap. We can’t hide in the pulpit. I’d rather a gorse-bush in the open, now.” “Wait a bit, Dan, till I fetch my breath—and don’t talk; they may hear you,” said Nancy, not considering that she was talking herself. “Oh do make haste with your breath,” said I, “and tell me where it is.” I was full of curiosity to know where her hiding-place could be: the church was pitch dark, a few minutes of silence there seemed an age. “It’s not in a vault, is it?” I continued. “A vault—bless the boy—no! I’m not going into a vault before I can help it. Well, if you won’t be quiet, I suppose I’d better We did go across as quietly as we could, considering the pitch darkness of the place, all blocked up with high pews according to the fashion of the time. In my after-career I had often occasion to reprove the occupiers of like boxes, who, trusting to their wooden walls to screen them, slumbered happily within a few yards of me, utterly forgetful of the treachery of their own noses. After having injured her shins several times over unexpected obstacles, Nancy sighed forth, “Oh for a light!” “Oh for something to eat!” I responded. “I’ve got a flint and steel in my pocket; but I can’t eat that. You can have it if you like.” “I daren’t strike a light,” said Nancy; “but I’ve got a bit of cheese in my pocket along with the silver spoons. Here, stretch out your hand.” “Not I. I had my dinner as usual. I put it in my pocket in case of meeting—a friend.” “Do your—friends like cheese?” I asked with my mouth full. “You seem to, any way,” retorted Nancy. “I hear them coming.” I bolted the cheese in a panic. I felt much more afraid of the French since I had seen them so near in Brestgarn kitchen, and since they had nabbed Llewelyn. “Here’s the hole—you go first. I’ll close it up after us with a pew door.” Nancy dexterously lifted one off its hinges, while I, mounted on the back of a pew, groped my way into a pitch dark cavity in the wall, the entrance to which was situated at the height of some three or four feet above the floor-level. “Get on a bit higher up, Dan,” whispered Ann, as she followed me, dragging the door after her as quietly as she could. Nancy was certainly a wonderful woman, with a head on her shoulders. At this moment I felt that it was so, for I was propelled somewhat violently upward by the member in question. I can also add my testimony that she was a hard-headed woman. She was also perhaps a little hard-hearted, for in answer to my remonstrance, “Hold hard, Nancy, that hurts!” she merely said, “Oh, do get on, Dan; I expect them here every minute.” I did get on, and found after mounting “What a queer place—what’s it for, Nancy?” I asked. “That is called the Priest’s Peep-hole; I suppose in old times he got a friend to go up there and keep an eye on the congregation—see who went to sleep, and what they were at altogether,” explained Nan; but at this moment her eloquence came to a sudden end. Our voices and our hearts died within us, for there came to our ears the dreaded The sounds came from the churchyard, but I doubt if even a company of good Welsh ghosts would have frightened us as much as these earthly foreigners. Very, very earthly and carnal-minded did they seem to us at this moment. “They won’t come into a church—they won’t rob a church!” I whispered to Ann, leaning my head down close to her’s—a difficult feat, but I was as thin as a lath then. “Won’t they?” said Ann, scornfully. “You wait a minute—Hst!” Nan’s appreciation of character and computation of time proved equally correct. She had fixed the pew-door by this time, and she held it firmly in its place by the handle, which she had taken care to put on the inward side when she lifted up the barrier across the entrance to the stair. “Hst!” retorted Nan; “hold your tongue, can’t you, and keep your head down; don’t let them see you peeping, Dan!” Nancy’s caution to me came not a moment too soon, for crash! a rush of men and muskets at the door, whose rickety bolts we had drawn when we entered, chiefly in the hope that they might not be tried. But if we drew them as a sort of charm, the spell was not strong enough, nor were the locks. C-r-a-ck—crack! the feeble bolts gave a groan, and open flew the door with a sharp, splitting sound. In rushed ten or a dozen Frenchmen, tumbling over one another in The noise in the church was terrific, but yet to my ears the beating of my heart was still louder. The more I tried to silence it, the more it ticked. “Perhaps they’ll think it’s a clock,” I reflected. “Oh, dear! oh, dear!” Yet after a while, as I grew more accustomed to the clamour, I became possessed by a desire to know what these men were doing. Very cautiously I raised my head. I feared my hair must be standing on end, which would make it more perceptible by an inch or two. Instinct had made me take off Unluckily the Frenchman had heard the sneeze, and some animated conversation went on between him and his companions, who, however, seemed inclined to ridicule his assertions. Judging from the tone of their remarks (for Nancy held too tight a grip of me to allow of my seeing anything), I should say that their language to each other was not so polite as one might have expected “Great Heaven, we shall be burnt like rats, Nan!” I whispered to my companion, but she answered by her favourite expression, “Hst!” One soldier, I imagine by way of a joke, now threw the pulpit cushion on the flames, Nancy insisted that we must bear our suffocation in silence and motionless, and though my eyes watered and my heart rebelled, not a cough nor a wheeze, nor even a word, did I suffer to escape me, but to my thoughts at least I gave free rein. After a while these too played the truant, wandering away from my enemies and dreamily fixing themselves on my master at St. David’s, my school friends, my books, the moving waters that framed in every picture of my life, till, becoming more and more indistinct, I imagine that I must have fallen fast asleep, though this is a matter that none can speak of with any certainty till it comes to the In this way, by a sharp fact, indeed, no other than Nancy’s elbow, I made the discovery that, in spite of my uncomfortable position, I must have fallen sound asleep, tired out by my long walk and many subsequent runs, and fatigued also by the number of new ideas forced on my mind by the action of the extraordinary events of the day and the many bewildering things I had seen and heard since breakfast time that morning. It seemed to me to have been but a few minutes from the time the French left us choking in the smoke till I felt that elbow of Nancy’s, of which I took no notice. Indifferent to this silent scorn, she now pulled me vigorously by the leg. “Wake up, Dan! Wake up, boy; we must We had, indeed, quite suddenly, as it seemed to me, reached the morning of Thursday. |
THE LANDING.
THE FATE OF THE CLOCK.
THE PRIEST’S PEEP-HOLE.