This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler.
[Picture: Disembarkation]
THE FISHGUARD INVASION
BY THE
FRENCH IN 1797
* * * * *
SOME PASSAGES TAKEN FROM THE DIARY OF THE LATE
REVEREND DANIEL ROWLANDS, SOMETIME
VICAR OF LLANFIANGELPENYBONT
* * * * *
London
T. FISHER UNWIN
PATERNOSTER SQUARE
MDCCCXCII
Dedicated
BY PERMISSION
TO
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
THE
EARL OF CAWDOR
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 9
WEDNESDAY.
_THE FIRST DAY_.
CHAP.
I. THREE FRIGATES 43
II. THE LANDING 54
III. THE FATE OF THE CLOCK 75
IV. THE PRIEST’S PEEP-HOLE 88
THURSDAY.
_THE SECOND DAY_.
V. DAVY JONES’ LOCKER 109
VI. WELSH WIVES 125
VII. GENERAL TATE’S LETTER 139
FRIDAY.
_THE THIRD DAY_.
VIII. THE GATHERING AT GOODWICH 159
IX. THE CAPITULATION 171
X. TREHOWEL ONCE MORE 180
SEQUEL.
_THE GOLDEN PRISON AT PEMBROKE_.
XI. THE GENERAL THANKSGIVING 193
XII. INSIDE THE GOLDEN PRISON 204
XIII. AWAY! AWAY!! 222
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
THE DISEMBARKATION (_From an old print_) _Frontispiece_
STAND OF ARMS IN TENBY MUSEUM 20
THE FRENCH FRIGATES (_From an old print_) 43
CARREGWASTAD 54
COTTAGE AT CASTELL 75
A RANSACKED FARMHOUSE 109
THE “ROYAL OAK” AT FISHGUARD 139
TREHOWEL: GENERAL TATE’S HEADQUARTERS 184
INTRODUCTION.
The very curious incident related in the following narrative took place
nearly a hundred years ago, and, as men’s memories are short, and the
whole affair reads like fiction—and very improbable and imaginative
fiction—it may be as well to write a few lines of introduction, and to
give my authorities for the facts mentioned in the story.
In the first place, the evidence of persons who had witnessed the
landing, and who recollected it perfectly, and who have told the story to
me—I have met many such in the course of my life, as my home was within
sight of Fishguard Head. Probably the last of these eye-witnesses was
the old woman who died a short time ago—on February 8, 1891. Her demise
was announced by the Pembrokeshire papers as “The Death of a
Pembrokeshire Centenarian.”
The death occurred on Sunday morning at the Dyffryn Cottages, near
Fishguard, of Eleanor (Nelly) Phillips at the age of 103. Her age is
pretty accurately fixed by a statement she was wont to make, that she was
nine years old when the French landed at Fishguard. She was a spinster,
and had been bedridden for eight years. When a mere girl she was in
service at Kilshawe, near Fishguard, and was driving cows from a field
when the French frigates appeared off the coast in 1797.
In the second place, the following books and pamphlets:—
Fenton’s “Pembrokeshire,” pp. 10, 11, and 12.
“The Book of South Wales,” by C. F. Cliffe, p. 251.
A curious and scarce pamphlet, written by Williams of Crachenllwyd, a
place near St. David’s; he was the farmer who sent his servant to give
the alarm. The pamphlet was called “The Landing of the French,” and was,
I believe, printed at Haverfordwest.
“The Red Dragon,” 1885. _Western Mail_ Office, Cardiff.
“An Authentic Account of the Invasion of the French Troops (under the
command of General Tate) on Carrig Gwasted Point, near Fishguard,
Wednesday, the 22nd day of February, 1797, and their Surrender to the
Forces of His Britannic Majesty on Goodwick Sands, on Friday, the 24th of
February; likewise some occurrences connected therewith: never before
published. Haverfordwest: Joseph Potter, printer, High Street, 1842.”
This pamphlet was written by H. L. ap Gwilym—and was signed as correct by
two eye-witnesses, Fishguard Fencible men, Peter Davies and Owen
Griffith.
Laws, “Little England beyond Wales,” p. 367.
I am indebted to the kindness of Mr. Leach, the editor of the _Tenby
Observer_, for many particulars, and especially for information as to how
the news was conveyed to England. He found the following entry in the
overseer’s accounts for the borough of Tenby:—
“_Thursday_, _Feb._ 23, 1797. Cash paid by Mr. Mayor’s order to John
Upcoat, for going out to the Road for a skiff to go over to the
English side to give information concerning the landing of about
1,400 French Troops at Fishguard in the County, who on the next day
surrendered themselves up to the Welsh etc., that went to oppose them
as _prisoners of war_, and were marched accordingly by Saturday 25th
to Haverfordwest. . . 1s.”
This entry could not have been entirely made on Feb. 23rd, unless the
worthy overseer had the gift of prophecy.
The messenger probably came on to Tenby from Stackpole, where he aroused
Lord Cawdor with the tidings in the middle of Wednesday night. The news
conveyed by John Upcoat must have been taken across the Channel to
Somersetshire and thence to London; the manner of proceeding at the _fin
de siècle_ of the eighteenth century contrasts amusingly with the
rapidity of the nineteenth, but possibly our time will be scoffed at and
considered slow by the twentieth.
The _European Magazine_ of the period gives the names of the vessels: _La
Résistance_, commanded by Monsieur Montague, 40 guns, eighteen pounders
on her main deck, 345 men. The other frigate _La Constance_, commanded
by Monsieur Desauny, mounted 24 nine-pounders on her main deck, with 189
men. {14}
One of the frigates and the corvette were eventually captured off Brest
by the _St. Fiorenzo_ frigate (Captain Sir H. B. Neale, Bart.) and the
_La Nymphe_ (Captain J. Cooke), who took them both into Portsmouth, where
the frigate was repaired and rechristened the _Fisgard_, presumably the
French pronunciation of Fishguard, and was until quite lately the
receiving ship at Sheerness. The other frigate and the lugger managed to
get safely into Brest.
The officers present at the council of war held at the “Royal Oak,”
Fishguard, were the Lord-Lieutenant of the county, Lord Milford (who from
age and infirmity had given up the command of the troops to Lord Cawdor),
Lord Cawdor, Colonel Knox, Colonel Colby, Major Ackland, Colonel Dan.
Vaughan, Colonel James, Colonel George Vaughan, the governor of Fishguard
Fort, and other gentlemen. The troops consisted of the Castle Martin
Yeomanry Cavalry, the Cardiganshire Militia, the Cardiff Militia (which
was then stationed in Pembrokeshire), some Fencible infantry, and a few
sailors under Lieutenants Mears and Perkins, in all 750 men.
The letters that passed between General Tate and Lord Cawdor are given in
the narrative, but the following letters from Lord Milford and Lord
Cawdor to the Duke of Portland, Secretary of State for the Home
Department, may be found interesting:—
_From Lord Milford_.
“HAVERFORDWEST,
“_February_ 26, 1797, Six o’clock A.M.
“Since I had the honour of writing last to your Grace by express I
received information of the French ships having sailed and left 300
men behind, who have surrendered themselves prisoners. The great
spirit and loyalty that the gentlemen and peasantry has shown on this
occasion exceeds description. Many thousands of the latter
assembled, armed with pikes and scythes, and attacked the enemy
previous to the arrival of troops that were sent against them.”
* * * * *
“HAVERFORDWEST,
“_February_ 24, Nine o’clock P.M.
“I have the honour and pleasure to inform your Grace that the whole
of the French troops, amounting to near fourteen hundred men, have
surrendered, and are now on their march to Haverfordwest. I have
taken the first opportunity of announcing the good news to your
Grace, and shall have the honour of writing again to your Grace by
tomorrow’s post.”
The following letter was written by Lord Cawdor to the Duke of Portland:—
“FISHGUARD,
“_Friday_, _February_ 24, 1797.
“MY LORD,—In consequence of having received information on Wednesday
night, at eleven o’clock, that three large ships of war and a lugger
had anchored in a small roadstead upon the coast, in the
neighbourhood of this town, I proceeded immediately with a detachment
of the Cardiganshire Militia and all the provincial force I could
collect to the place. I soon gained positive intelligence they had
disembarked about 1,200 men, but no cannon. Upon the night setting
in a French officer, whom I found to be second in command, came in
with a letter (a copy of which I sent your Grace, together with my
answer), {18} in consequence of which they determined to surrender
themselves prisoners of war, and, accordingly, laid down their arms
this day at two o’clock. I cannot, at this moment, inform your Grace
the exact number of prisoners, but I believe it to be their whole
force. It is my intention to march them this night to Haverfordwest,
where I shall make the best distribution in my power. The frigates,
corvette, and lugger got under weigh yesterday evening, and were this
morning entirely out of sight. The fatigue we experienced will, I
trust, excuse me to your Grace for not giving a more particular
detail; but my anxiety to do justice to the officers and men I had
the honour to command, will induce me to attend your Grace with as
little delay as possible, to state their merits and, at the same
time, to give you every information in my power on this subject. The
spirit and loyalty which has pervaded all ranks throughout the
country is infinitely beyond what I can express.
“I am, &c.,
“CAWDOR.”
[Picture: Stand of Arms in Tenby Museum]
Lord Cawdor’s “distribution” took the form of placing 700 men in the
beautiful old church of St. Mary’s (which they greatly injured), 500 in
the Town Hall, and the remainder in the store-houses of Haverfordwest.
The officers were allowed out on parole, and one of them showed scant
respect for his word of honour, for he was discovered at a silversmith’s
trying to barter an old silver cup for coin of the realm, with which
doubtless to escape to France. There were some letters on the cup which
he chose to decipher as “La Vendée”; they turned out on inspection to be
“Llanwnda,” from which church the chalice had been stolen, and where it
was at once returned, while the officer was transferred from the “Castle
Hotel” to the Castle jail—a very different place.
A number of the prisoners were shortly after sent on to Carmarthen and to
Pembroke, where the romantic episode of the escape from the Golden Prison
occurred exactly as given in the narrative. The arms and ammunition
taken from the French filled fifty-five carts; their muskets were the
ordinary weapon of the period, with flint locks, barrels 3ft. 7in., whole
length 4ft. 10in., weight 9¾lbs. Lord Cawdor presented two of these
muskets to the Tenby Museum, and Mr. Mathias gave a short sword and
scabbard. On each side of the sword are represented sun, moon, and
stars, with the inscription _Cassaguard_, _Fourbisseur du Roy_, _Nantes_.
There are half-a-dozen cannonballs—nine pounders—at the house of Eleanor
Rees, of Goodwick, which were given to her father by the French—a curious
toy for a small boy of two or three years of age. The invaders seem to
have been very kind to this young Taffy, nursed him on their knees, and
made much of him, and finally presented him with this strange _gage
d’amour_. He was probably a plucky little fellow, for he grew into a
brave man, and was awarded a medal for having at various times saved many
lives, going out in his own boat to shipwrecked vessels and rescuing the
crews—when the _Lady Kenmare_ foundered he saved, among others, two
ladies and some children, bringing them through a tremendous sea, “in
their night-dresses, as wet as sops,” the narrator added.
Most of the prisoners were finally sent back to France, when it was
discovered what manner of men they were. Lord Cawdor took General Tate
and some of the other officers to London, whence they were consigned to
Dartmoor. This personally-conducted journey through England was not
without peril. The people were greatly incensed against the French, and
were quite ready to carry out Lynch law on these unhappy men, and in the
excitement of the moment a mob does not always discriminate between its
friends and its foes. It was fortunate for Tate and his fellows, and
still more fortunate for Pembrokeshire, that the conduct of the whole
affair from first to last was in such able and determined hands as those
of Lord Cawdor. A letter from him to Lady Cawdor (hitherto unpublished,
and for which I am indebted to Mr. Laws), gives a very vivid account of
this journey.
“OXFORD STREET,
“_Monday morn_, _March_ 13, 1797.
“I have at length the satisfaction of an hour’s time free from
interruption to give you a short account of our employment, etc.,
since I quitted you, but shall reserve much of the detail for your
amusement when we meet, a moment I ardently long for. Near Tavern
Spite I met a messenger, with the D. of Portland’s despatches to me
signifying the King’s approbation of my conduct, which probably
General Rooke has shown you, accompanied also by a handsome and
flattering private letter from the Duke. Upon my arrival at
Carmarthen I immediately sent off the messenger with my letters, and
finding the impossibility of procuring horses until the following
morn was in the expectation of getting a quiet night, having procured
a bed at a private house; but an alarm of a fire in the town joined
to confusion created by the report of a landing in great force in
Glamorganshire, which I knew must have no foundation, prevented my
obtaining sleep for one moment. Early in the morn we left
Carmarthen, with three chaises; in the first, Joe Adams had charge of
Tate and Captain Tyrell, the first alarmed and confused, the second a
stupid Paddy. I had Le Brun with me, as dirty as a pig, but more
intelligent and better manners; in the last, Lord E. Somerset had the
care of Captain Norris and Lieutenant St. Leger, both greatly
frightened, they had but little conversation. The whole road we
passed through great crowds of people at all the places were (_sic_)
we changed horses, and thro’ Wales tho’ the indignation of the people
was great, I found my influence would protect them without
difficulty. The women were more clamorous than the men, making signs
to cut their throats, and desiring I would not take the trouble of
carrying them further. All the military assistance I could get at
Oxford as a guard for the night was a sergeant of your friend and
landlord, and two recruits, but I had no apprehension of their escape
as their remain (_sic_) with us was the only thing that ensured their
safety. At Uxbridge the rage of the mob was chiefly directed against
Tate, who was supposed to be Wall, and he trembled almost to
convulsions, by a little arrangement I contrived to bring them quiet
through the parks, and lodged them in the Duke of Portland’s before
any crowd was assembled. My time since that moment has been taken up
with attendance at the different offices, etc., and ministers are so
bewildered by the difficulties at the Bank, etc., that it is more
than usually difficult to get access to them for any time, but I have
seen them all and stated to them plainly and decidedly, the situation
of Pembroke, etc., giving every testimony in my power. The weather
is extremely cold, the town I hear dull and unpleasant, everybody I
have seen much interested about you, Mrs. Wodehouse . . . and desires
her love. Joe his respects.”
[No signature.]
Having disposed of the rank and file of the expedition, there comes the
natural question, what was its _raison d’étre_? Some persons think it
was merely a fine stroke of political economy on the part of the French
Government, for a considerable number of the men were convicts, and to
have them killed or imprisoned at the expense of the English would
undoubtedly have been a good financial arrangement; but the biography of
Lazare Hoche {26} proves that a much larger idea than this was in the
mind of the originator of the invasion. He was a successful general and
an ambitious man, and his imagination was fired by the prowess of
Napoleon:—“La France couvrait alors ses frontières de jeunes républiques,
et Bonaparte saisissait les imaginations par ses merveilleux exploits en
Italie. Hoche, retenu par les pénibles soins de la pacification de
l’Ouest, avait suivi de son ardente pensée le vainqueur d’Arcole à
travers, tous ses champs de victoire: ‘Glorieux jeune homme, s’écriait-il
en se frappant le front,’ que je te porte envie! Il brûlait de faire
d’aussi grandes choses, et de trouver un champ de gloire digne de son
génie; il projetait donc de révolutionner l’Irlande, de la transformer en
république; puis de passer en Angleterre et de la frapper au cœur. Il
fit adopter son projet par le gouvernement qui, aprês s’être concerté
avec les chefs des révolutionnaires irlandais, prépara à Brest une grande
expédition dont Hoche eut le commandement. . . Hoche y joignit deux
légions, qu’il nomma légions des Francs: il composa la première des
officiers et des soldats les plus résolus, audacieux jusqu’ à la
témérité; il forma la seconde, il faut le dire, d’éléments indignes, et
c’est un reproche pour sa mémoire. Détestant l’Angleterre, partageant de
tristes prejujés et regardant, en haine du gouvernement britannique, le
peuple anglais comme le suppôt de ministres perfides et d’une odieuse
aristocratie, tous les moyens lui semblaient permis pour abaisser et pour
désoler cette fière nation: il agit en conséquence et fit entrer dans
cette seconde légion tout ce qu’il put ramasser de gens perdus, de
bandits et de massacreurs, et il la mit sous le commandement d’un chef
étranger connu par sa sauvage énergie. Cette légion devait aborder en
Angleterre pour abuser l’ennemi sur la véritable destination de l’escadre
portant le corps expeditionnaire: elle eut l’ordre de débarquer à
l’embouchure de la Saverne, de se porter de nuit sur Bristol, d’incendier
cette ville et de semer la devastation dans les campagnes environnantes;
puis de se rembarquer pour jeter plusieurs détachements sur différents
points du littoral en portant partout la mort, le ravage et l’incendie,
attirant ainsi sur elle et retenant en Angleterre une partie considérable
des forces britanniques, tandis que l’expédition cinglerait viers la côte
irlandaise.”
In the appendix of the same work we find the source from which Hoche
compiled his instructions.
“NOTE D.
“Extrait du projet de Carnot pour l’organisation d’une chouaunnerie
en Angleterre, et dans lequel Hoche puisa les instructions données
par lui à la seconde légion des Francs.
“Les hommes employés à cette expédition devront être, autant que
faire se pourra, jeunes, robustes, audacieux, d’une âme accessible à
l’appât du butin.
“Il faut qu’à l’exemple de ce que faisaient les filibustiers dans les
Antilles, ils sachent porter, au milieu de leurs ennemis, l’épouvante
et la mort.
* * * * *
“On pourrait incorporer dans ces troupes les condamnés par jugement
aux fers ou à la chaine en qui l’on reconnaîtrait les dispositions
physiques et morales requises pour les individus employés à cette
expédition. On assurerait à ces individus la possession du butin
qu’ils feraient. On leur en promettrait la jouissance tranquille
dans quelques-unes de nos colonies. Il faudrait en outre faire
espérer aux condamnés la rémission de leurs peines, en récompense des
services qu’ils auraient rendus à la patrie.
“Le premier noyau de ces hommes, au nombre d’environ deux mille,
serait organisé en compagnies d’environ cinquante hommes chacune, qui
auraient leurs officiers et seraient subordonnés à un chef unique
chargé de l’ensemble des opérations. Ce chef serait investi d’une
très-grande autorité.
* * * * *
“Il ne faut pas perdre de vue qu’une expédition tentée d’abord avec
aussi peu de monde ne peut réussir que par des moyens
extraordinaires.
“Il ne faut point de grands approvisionnements en effets
d’habillement: les ressources de la troupe seront dans son courage et
dans ses armes.
* * * * *
“Il faut que le débarquement se fasse sur plusieurs points de la
côte, soit parce que la désolation et la terreur portées dans une
grande étendue de terrain multiplieront aux yeux de nos ennemis la
quantité de nos forces, soit parce que les moyens de subsistance en
seront plus faciles.
“En arrivant, les chefs s’annonceront, eux et leurs soldats, comme
_vengeurs de la liberté et ennemis des tyrans_.
* * * * *
“Il faut que la troupe jure _querre aux châteaux_ et _paix aux
chaumières_, et que sa conduite, surtout au début, soit conforme à
cette déclaration.
“A mesure qu’ils avanceront, ils ouvriront les prisons, recruteront
les détenus, les incorporeront: ils appelleront les ouvriers, les
indigents, les mécontents, à faire cause commune avec eux, leur
présenteront des armes, des subsistances; leur offriront l’appât du
butin. Ils briseront toutes les voitures.
* * * * *
“Il faut poursuivre l’ennemi à outrance quand il est battu, et ne
point faire quartier aux prisonniers.
“Il faut rompre les ponts, couper les communications, arrêter et
piller les voitures publiques, brûler tout ce qui appartient à la
marine . . . sommer les communes de rendre leurs armes; exécuter
militairement celles qui resisteraient.”
Mr. Laws has kindly shown me an “Authentic Copy of the Instructions given
by General Hoche to the American officer, Colonel Tate, who commanded the
men employed in the French Invasion of South Wales in 1797.” It
commences thus:—
“There will be placed under the command of Colonel Tate a body of
troops completely organised to the number of one thousand and fifty,
all resolute, determined men, with whom he may undertake anything.
They are to be called ‘La Seconde Légion des Francs.’
“The legion is completely armed; he will be likewise furnished with
fast-going vessels with which he is to proceed before, with, or after
the squadron; the vessels will be victualled for the passage, but the
legion will bring on shore nothing but their ammunition, which is to
be musquet cartridges.
“Colonel Tate is to have command in chief of the legion; the Admiral
will give the necessary orders to the officer commanding the naval
force, which will proceed up St. George’s Channel, and the landing is
to be effected, if possible, in or near Cardigan Bay.”
The instructions then give directions that the expedition should make a
feint of landing in Somersetshire, as was afterwards done; and the most
minute and careful suggestions are made on the primary object of securing
the co-operation of the Welsh people—General Hoche remarks that the poor
are the most easy to rouse, as hunger makes people discontented. His
followers, however, hardly carried out this truism in the way he
intended; they devoured everything they could lay their hands on, and
certainly succeeded in rousing the peasantry, but not exactly to
co-operation. The loyalty of the people must have been an unpleasant
surprise to the framers of the expedition.
It appears from the directions that two other legions were to have
simultaneously invaded the counties of Northumberland, Durham, and York;
these latter, however, never put in an appearance. The primary object to
be attained by the Second Legion was the destruction of Bristol and
Liverpool. On reaching Severn Sea should the former prove impracticable,
then the legion was to land in Cardigan Bay, and march through Wales to
Chester and Liverpool.
These instructions are taken from a pamphlet printed for J. Wright, 169,
Piccadilly (1798), the text of which is copied from attested transcripts
of the original documents. The instructions continue:—
“The expedition under the command of Colonel Tate has in view three
principal objects. The first is, if possible, to raise an
insurrection in the country. The second is to interrupt and
embarrass the commerce of the enemy. The third is to prepare and
facilitate the way for a descent by distracting the attention of the
English Government.” {36}
There is no doubt that the frigates did go up the Channel as far as
Ilfracombe, causing consternation among the small craft, and great
excitement on shore. They proceeded as far as Ilfracombe, where they
scuttled some merchantmen. A letter is extant written by the town
authorities to the Home Secretary. The volunteer regiments were on the
alert, and a considerable force was quickly mustered, which was possibly
the reason that the French did not land in Somersetshire, but returning
down the Channel made without any delay for the north coast of
Pembrokeshire.
As has been seen, the local regiments here were no less brisk than their
Somersetshire fellows. The Castle Martin Yeomanry Cavalry now carry
“Fishguard” on their standard as well as upon the sabretaches of the
officers, and upon the pouches of the troopers, a distinction granted to
them in 1853, when the following letter was written by Lord Palmerston to
Sir John Owen.
“WHITEHALL, _May_ 18, 1853.
“SIR,—I have had the honour to lay before the Queen the memorial of
the officers, non-commissioned officers, and privates of the Castle
Martin Yeomanry Cavalry (which you transmitted to me), and I have the
satisfaction to inform you that Her Majesty is graciously pleased to
approve of the corps bearing the word ‘Fishguard’ on their standard
and appointments.
“I have the honour to be, sir,
“Your obedient servant,
“PALMERSTON.
“Sir John Owen, Bart., M.P.”
It is satisfactory to state that the Castle Martin Yeomanry Cavalry still
maintains its reputation for efficiency and smartness, its team of ten
men having won the inter-regimental challenge cup, and proved themselves
the best shots among the forty competing yeomanry regiments in 1890,
Corporal Williams, of St. Florence, having made the highest score of any
yeoman in the kingdom. Thus giving us—the inhabitants of
Pembrokeshire—the satisfactory assurance that, should invaders land on
our coast now, they would meet with at least as warm a reception as they
did a hundred years ago. And this suggests the idea that, in this age of
centenaries, this strange occurrence should not be forgotten, but that in
1897 the landing of the French at Fishguard should be duly celebrated.
WEDNESDAY.
_THE FIRST DAY_.
CHAPTER I.
THREE FRIGATES.
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 well-nigh—remarkable as fine days are
in this climate that is chiefly renowned for fine rain; but for the
reason that this particular Wednesday was a day of utmost astonishment to
all the dwellers on this North Pembrokeshire coast, and (I may venture to
add) a day of much consternation to most of them.
[Picture: The French Frigates]
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 I did not fear anything greatly as long as it was out of sight, for
which reason I have often thought that had I been born a generation or
two later, and had I selected a soldier’s career instead of that of a
divine I might have fought excellently at a distance of a few miles from
the enemy: though at close quarters I will admit that any unexpected
danger might perchance produce a sense of amazement which the
uncharitable might set down to faint-heartedness.
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.
On this fair morning then, at about ten o’clock, when I ought to have
been pursuing my studies under the fostering care of one of the clergy at
St. David’s, I was in reality strolling along the headland of that name,
led astray by the beauty of the day, which seemed too fair for book-lore;
I was strolling along, doing nothing, thinking of nothing, wishing for
nothing, yet, having found for the nonce the secret of true happiness,
when I perceived a man on horseback approaching me at a furious rate. In
spite of the pace at which he was advancing I recognised him as a servant
of Trelethin.
“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 the thunder of the hoofs had ceased, the duller
but more continuous thunder of the waves rolling in freshly at the foot
of the rocks.
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 both his raised-up hands he clutched a long spy glass, the small end
whereof was applied to his eye. Following the direction of his
spy-glass, I perceived a yet more astounding sight—astounding to us used
to the world of lonely waters that lay stretched out in front of our
homes. Three ships of war were passing slowly along our coast not far
from land, they were accompanied by a smaller craft, which Mr. Williams
informed me was a lugger. As he had been a sailor I took his word for
it—but it did not make things clearer. What did it all mean? What did
those vessels—or their inhabitants want here? They carried the English
colours, I saw that for myself when Mr. Williams obligingly lent me the
instrument.
“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 out of respect to my cloth I subdue his expressions
slightly.)
“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 to any tricks. I can see the
scoundrels swarming on the decks.” (For by this time he again had
applied the spy-glass.) “Ah!” he continued, handing the glass to his
wife who had joined us, “If it was but night now and a bit stormy, we
might put out a false light or two and bring them on the rocks in no
time.”
This was the moment afterwards immortalised by a local bard in these
words—
“Mrs. Williams Trelethin was know every tide
From England to Greenland without guide.
Mrs. Williams Trelethin was take the spy-glass,
And then she cry out—There they Wass!”
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 sharp rocks anywhere. However
the day was too fair to admit of any such hope.
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 {51} and the children to
mind themselves, while their natural caretakers gaped open-mouthed at the
tall ships filled with untold dangers.
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 with trees and bushes. But the stones and crags prevailed greatly
over the softer scenes. I had now entered so fully into the spirit of
this race that all thought of my studies passed away; the fear of the
dominee was merged in the far greater fear of the French. And yet it was
not wholly fear that possessed me, but a sort of tremor of excitement,
and curiosity as to what might happen next. Noon passed, but none
stopped for food—nor even (till we came to a village) for a Welshman’s
comfort in perplexity—a glass of cwrw da. {52}
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 in truth from most other places. We had now come from St. David’s
Head, a distance of full ten miles, and I, for one, was glad to sit down
on a gorse-bush and meditate a little as to what all these things might
mean and where they were like to end, which I hardly dared to hope might
somehow take the form of a bit of dinner for myself. To stay hunger I
composed my mind for a nap while I reflected dreamily that my elders were
taking more definite steps for the defence of their country; and the
knowledge of this was gratifying to me.
[Picture: Carregwastad]