DAVY JONES’ LOCKER.
The fear of the French returning suddenly shook the drowsiness out of my
eyes. I gave them a final rub, then stumbled down the crooked steps
after Nancy. How she could have guessed that it was now near dawn—as in
our corner it was still pitch-dark—was a mystery to me; but probably the
habit of waking up daily at an extremely early hour, as was the wont of
milk-maids in those days, had accustomed her to know the time to a
nicety.
We crept as quietly as we could down from our uncomfortable hiding-place,
so stiff and cramped that we could only move with difficulty, and every
bone made its particular position known with great accuracy, even to us
who were totally unacquainted with anatomy. Then we carefully
reconnoitred our situation.
[Picture: Ransacked Farmhouse]
As far as we could see, looking through the church windows on every side,
we gazed only into the dim dusk of early morning into a lifeless world.
No little bird as yet sent up his morning song; there were no sheep or
cattle to be seen, their lawful owners or the invaders having driven them
off to securer quarters or to sudden death, as the case might be. The
church itself, after the late uproar, seemed very silent now; the fire
had quickly died down, smothered by the pillow; only the heavy smell of
smoke remained to prove that the wild doings of the night had not been a
terrifying dream.
We crept along to the leper’s hole, using the other end of it now; for
the unfortunate outcasts of former days had gazed through the tube into
the church, while we unhappy fugitives looked warily from the interior
into the porch, to see if haply some blue-coated soldier might have been
left there on guard. But if this had been the case he had certainly
declined to stay, which was not unlikely considering the lax discipline,
or, rather, total want of discipline, which prevailed in the French
force. At all events, the porch was empty.
So after a little getting behind each other and a slight backwardness in
going forward, owing more to uncertainty of light than natural timidity,
at last we ventured out boldly into the porch, and took a good look, our
necks stretched out over the churchyard and round the country. The
former seemed silent and deserted, the tombstones looming darkly into dim
twilight, which still lay heavy on the land; nor could we even discern
any sound of snoring. Carnunda was crowned with fires and thronged with
soldiers, but it was not very near, and we thought we might slip away
unnoticed. So, cautiously we closed the door behind us, and fared forth.
The porch lay to the south of the church; we were stealing round the
building to the north, or seaward side, as being further removed from
Carnunda, when we were stopped by a sudden shout, proceeding apparently
from the air above us. Our hearts stood still and our blood froze with
terror—at least, I know mine did, and Nancy turned an ashy white in the
grey dawn. In an instant we looked up to the place from which our enemy
had spied us—the roof of the church, where he had been stationed as a
sentinel. He sat astride on the ridge, which could be easily gained by
means of a flight of steps, made on the outside of the roof, as a
look-out place from which to signal to those at sea; but never designed
for such a purpose as the present. The discipline had not been so lax as
we hoped. For a moment we were stupefied, wishing only that one of the
graves would open and take us in. Then we took to our heels. Down came
the Frenchman clattering over the roof of the church, from the edge of
which he dropped to the ground, only a distance of eight or nine feet;
then he came full cry after us. His shouts had attracted the attention
of a couple of his fellows, who were strolling along the cliffs in search
of what they could devour, or, still better, drink. They joined the
chase instantly, and all three came full tear after Nancy and myself, who
had headed straight for the cliffs, as one of our own foxes would have
done, though what we were to do when we gained them save plunge into the
sea we knew not. However, we were not fated to gain them just at
present, for one of the Frenchmen had outrun Nancy, whose limbs were
still cramped, and who was weary from want of rest and sleep. I was
stiff and tired too, but fear of the French made me fly, and would have
done so I think had I been doubled up by rheumatism. However, though Nan
was caught, and warned me of her disaster by a shrill scream, I am glad
to say she preserved her usual Welsh spirit, as she plainly showed by
fetching the Frenchman a sounding box on the ear. I hesitated what to
do, divided between fear of the French and the desire of standing by my
friend. I am glad to say I had advanced a few steps towards an attempt
at rescue, when some dark body rushed past me in the dawning light, and
ere I could even exclaim, the Frenchman lay flat on the ground. The
other two, half drunk, and wholly stupefied, perceiving that things were
going somewhat crookedly, departed as quickly as they could, making for
the camp at Carnunda. Our rescuer had a mind to follow them, but Ann
laid a restraining hand upon his arm.
“Oh, Dio bach,” {115} she said, “I am glad to see you this time, if I
never was before.”
And she really looked as if she could have kissed him.
“Nancy, how came you here; why didn’t you go away with the rest?” asked
Davy Jones, abruptly, his voice rough and angry. He had had too great a
scare to be tender or even civil.
“Why, I had to stop and see to everything—and the silver spoons,” said
Nancy, quite meekly.
“Hang the silver spoons,” said Davy. “Now what’s to be done with this
carcase?” And he pointed to the unconscious Frenchman. “Get out of the
way, Nancy, and I’ll shove him over the cliff.”
“No, no, don’t waste time,” exclaimed Nancy; “we’ll have the whole lot
after us in a minute; they’re as thick as ants on Carnunda. How can we
get away?”
“Down the cliff as fast as you can. I’ve got a boat down below; if we
can get to the caves we’ll do; but I had some of them after me a little
while ago, and I landed here to get rid of them, and to find out what had
become of you, for Llewelyn of Brestgarn told me you were somewhere
near.”
“Llewelyn is a prisoner; did you see him? Is he safe?” asked Nancy, as
we hurried along.
“Hush, quick and quiet; I’ll tell you in the boat,” whispered Davy.
We plunged down through dry bracken, gorse bushes, and large boulders of
stone, interspersed with steep pieces of cliff. We jumped, slid, and
tumbled down, clutching hold of grasses and ferns to stay our speed, and
in a few moments we had reached the level of the sea.
The boat had been so cunningly hidden—with the dexterity of constant
practice—that Nan and I quite failed to discover it. Davy, however, had
it out in a trice.
“Jump in, boy, and give a hand to Nancy.”
Nancy did not require a hand, she jumped in very steadily, and took the
rudder. Davy threw me one oar, took the other himself, and we were off,
stealing noiselessly along under the great cliffs, where darkness still
dwelt. But the sky over our heads grew lighter every moment, and we
ruefully perceived that ere long it would be broad day. Yet it seemed
safer to be on the water than on the land, where we could even now
discern dim figures looking for us.
“Ah, what is that?” in a horror-struck whisper from Ann.
_That_ was a dark blue object, very unpleasing to behold, sodden with
water, and wedged in a crevice of the cliffs.
“That is one of them,” said Davy, grimly, “cleft to the chin by a scythe
in a Welshman’s hands. The ruffians had burnt his cottage, with his old
mother in it; he caught this one, that’s all. I wish I had served that
fellow up there the same, Nancy.”
“Where have you been, Davy?” I asked, to divert his remorseful thoughts,
and unable to restrain my curiosity.
“Among these blacks of parlez-vous. They nabbed me last night as neat as
could be—we had a bit of a scrimmage though. I was coming back from a
little bit of business.”
“Oh, Davy, you shouldn’t!” from Ann.
“And I got in too near, never expecting ships here; who would? We were
round the corner and on them almost, before we knew it; we made off then,
but they saw us and gave chase. We made as fast as we could for a place
I know, a good out-of-the-way cave—we’ve got a few about here, Nan—and
they came after us. They’d some man who knew the coast among them, that
I’ll swear; any stranger must have found out the sharpness of our rocks;
but not a bit of it. On they came quite comfortable, and close behind us
they were as we got to the mouth of the cave. Levi Mathias stood up in
the bow of the boat ready to jump ashore when one of the French marines
shot him. I hope to have something to say before that’s done with yet.
Out tumbled our men anyhow, running through the surf and up the cliffs,
into the darkness anywhere, for the Frenchmen carried torches as well as
muskets. Well, they nabbed me.”
“You didn’t like to leave Levi,” said Nancy, softly.
“I didn’t like to leave the brandy,” said Davy. “They got it, though,
and me, tight enough. It put them into a good temper, however, and they
didn’t shoot me through the head, like they did a farmer that they made
help to roll up their casks of ammunition, when he tried to escape. They
made me carry up one of my own kegs which went against the grain; then
they took me to their chief.”
“Did you see the chief?” I asked, eagerly.
“’Deed to goodness, yes—General Tate—no more a Frenchman than I am;
Irish, I’m thinking. He seemed very uneasy, and none of his men minded
him. I had company—John Owen, of the sloop _Britannia_, laden with culm
for Llanstinan—they didn’t care for culm, and were cross to him, and a
mortal fright he was in, but had sense enough left to tell them a lot of
lies. Then I saw Llewelyn, and had a word on the sly with him; he told
me you were hereabouts; I watched my chance, and an hour or two ago I
slipped down over the cliffs, seized this boat, and made off; but they
saw me from one of the ships, and gave chase, and—”
A cry interrupted him, succeeded by a loud splashing of oars.
“And, hang them, there they are again. Why-ever couldn’t you hold your
tongue, Dan?”
This was unjust, as Davy had done all the talking himself; but the
present was no moment for arguing. We bent to the oars with a will and
in silence, till my hands were blistered, my heart panting, and my back
breaking, and still the enemy were gaining on us.
Nancy leant forward.
“Change with me for a spell, Dan. I can row.”
On we went again, fast, faster, and still the other boat came on after us
yet more rapidly—it was like a nightmare. We came in very close to the
cliffs now, and Davy took both oars. In between two reefs of rocks we
went—a deep channel, yet full of treacherous windings and turnings.
“I think we’ll do now,” said Davy. “Please Providence, they may easily
be smashed to atoms here.”
And he looked gratefully at the sharp rocks.
But I turned after a little, and beheld that phantom-like pursuer still
following us closely through the windings of the passage. The reefs had
now become high cliffs, and seemed to close us in on every side; but as
we came round another corner we saw before us a low archway. Through
this we shot, and we found ourselves as it were at the bottom of a
tea-cup, with precipitous walls on every side; just in front of us a
little sandy beach. Davy pushed the boat towards a narrow slit in the
rocks.
“Jump in there, my girl,” he said. “Don’t be afraid; if you slip, I’ll
catch you.”
Nancy jumped at once, I followed her, landing half in and half out of the
water, but quickly drawing myself up to be out of Davy’s way, who came
with a mighty rush—at the same time spinning the boat to the other side
of the creek—only just in time, the Frenchmen were in the archway.
“Go on as far as you can,” whispered Davy. “If they see this slit, they
can only come one at a time, and—”
He didn’t finish, but it wasn’t necessary. Nan and I stumbled on in the
interior, and found ourselves ere long in quite a large cave, where even
in the dusky light we could discern objects extremely like kegs, also
bales and packages of all sorts. Outside we heard the cries and screams
of the Frenchmen, baulked of their prey; for (probably fortunately for
themselves) they did not discover the narrow and hidden entrance to our
cave. We were soon joined by Davy, who remarked that if they had a guide
with them, there were a few things he didn’t know yet.
“There’s plenty of food here—and spirits—if we want to stay,” he
continued; “but perhaps we may as well get to the top and see what is
going on.”