WELSH WIVES.
We did prefer (as soon as we had got our breath again) knowing what was
going on in our usual world overhead to remaining in ignoble security in
Davy’s locker, for so we named his cave. Accordingly we scrambled and
crawled and pushed our way up the far-end of the cavern, till at last the
aperture resembled a chimney lined with ferns instead of soot more than
aught else. We emerged at last into the open air full of morning
sunshine, and perceived that we were now quite beyond the enemy’s lines
and once more among our own people.
The first thing to be done in this situation was naturally—to talk; as
good and true Celts we all agreed to that; and when we got into the
high-road we found no dearth of people to talk to. They were gathering
like ants from every quarter, and the one topic which each man liked to
discourse on was simply this: how he was going to fight the French. The
bonfires last night had aroused the country, and some of the men we met
had come from distant parts of the county.
Among other items of news they told us that the men of St. David’s had
rushed in a body to their cathedral, from the roof of which they had
insisted on tearing off the lead; six blacksmiths had come forward, and
had at once cast the said lead into bullets. Old and young, master and
man, all had turned out. A dissenting minister was there (the Reverend
Mr. Jones was his name), and after him marched all the men of his
congregation. The news had come as he was preaching to them, and the
worthy man had at once changed rhetoric for action. “Let us fight a good
fight,” said he, and proceeded to put his words to the proof and himself
at the head of his men.
A choleric major rode about the lanes near St. Dogmael’s collecting
recruits. He met a Mr. Jones (another one): “Come along to fight the
French,” was Major James’ greeting. But Mr. Jones had business which
called him elsewhere.
“By the Lord Harry,” said the Major, drawing his sword, “if you don’t
come this minute I’ll slice your head off like a turnip.”
The fear of the French was an unknown quantity, but the fear of the Major
was very well known indeed, and Mr. Jones went.
We mingled exultantly with the throng of our people, and presently our
eyes were gladdened by the sight of a gallant body of men—all well
equipped and well mounted—the Castle Martin Yeomanry. These were joined
by the Cardiganshire Militia, the Fencible Infantry of Colonel Knox, and
some seamen and artillery, the whole under the command of Lord Cawdor.
We had got into Fishguard by this time, and we hung about the door of the
“Royal Oak,” where a council of war was being held by our
officers—namely, Lord Milford, Lord Cawdor, Colonel Knox, Colonel Colby,
Colonel Ackland, Colonel Dan Vaughan, Major James, and the Governor of
Fishguard Fort, Colonel George Vaughan. The troops formed in the
turnpike road just outside the town, and here we three had to separate,
for Davy wished to accompany the troops, Ann to join her Aunt Jemima, and
I to get something to eat at my father’s house, for I had only had hasty
snatches hitherto, and I had a growing boy’s appetite. My parent was so
much astonished at the course of events that he was not even surprised to
see me when I walked, as bold as brass, into his shop; and never even
asked if I had taken French leave of my master. But before satisfying my
natural filial affection I (together with Davy) escorted Nancy to the
abode of her relative, who, however, was not at home. As we turned to
go, Nancy having taken leave of Davy in an affectionate manner, because,
as she said, he had appeared just in the nick of time, we espied that
stalwart female, Jemima Nicholas, coming along the road from Goodwick
surrounded by twelve Frenchmen, {129} whom she had had the courage and
address to bring—probably allured by false promises—all the way from
Llanunda; assisted by the military, she now conducted them into the
guard-house at Fishguard.
Leaving Nancy under the efficient protection of her aunt with light
hearts, Davy and I went our several ways; but ere long, after recounting
my adventures and receiving a large amount of hero-worship from my
mother, I once more found myself on the road leading to the scene of
action. It seemed impossible to keep away. On the top of a high rock I
saw a crowd of people in a state of great and evident excitement. I
hastened to join them, and perceived at once the reason of their
gesticulations. There were the three tall men-of-war and the lugger,
with all sail set, standing out from the land, and apparently sailing
away with all speed to the place from whence they came. We could hardly
believe our eyes. We looked at Carnunda; there floated the French flag,
and the rocks were dark with men.
“The Lord hath delivered them into our hand,” said the Reverend Mr.
Jones, who stood near.
This sight increased the confidence of our people amazingly, as much as
(we afterwards heard) it struck dismay into the hearts of General Tate
and his men, they not being animated by the spirit which moved the
classic heroes to burn their boats so as to destroy the means of retreat
and to force themselves to action. The base desertion of their comrades,
the large supply of brandy in the farm-house cellars, and a providential
but comic mistake, seem to have been the three principal causes of the
failure of the French—one may say of the utter and singular collapse of
their undertaking.
The mistake occurred in this manner. Large numbers of the country-women
(among whom were Jemima and Nancy) had assembled on a hill commanding an
extensive prospect, including the French outpost at Carnunda, desiring,
with the curiosity of their sex, to see as much as possible of what was
going forward. It was, by the way, the same hill on which I had also
stationed myself. Most of the women wore their distinctive shawl, a
scarlet whittle, this being the colour appropriated by the daughters of
Pembrokeshire; while their Cardiganshire neighbours have adopted the
white whittle. All of them at that time wore high black hats. Lord
Cawdor, as he was riding about inspecting things in general, was struck
by the resemblance of a mass of these women to a body of regulars, and he
called upon the daughters of Cambria to give a proof of their patriotism
by marching towards the enemy in regular order. The females responded by
a considerable cackle, which, however, signified assent. I saw Jemima
and her niece in the front of the regiment which moved forward boldly
towards the enemy. Ere long a sudden dip in the ground rendered them
invisible to the French, at which place, turning into a side lane, they
came again to the back of the hill whence they had started, and renewed
their former course; it was done almost in the way in which, I am told,
these effects are managed in a theatre. This manœuvre caused much
laughter among the spectators, and no little puffing and panting to the
fair sex who accomplished it, many of whom were somewhat stout and not
very young. However, it had the desired effect. General Tate
acknowledged afterwards that they had been taken for a regiment of
regulars, and the French troops (greatly composed of convicts) utterly
lost heart. If they had but realised that it took a matter of seven days
for the news to travel to London, they need not have distressed
themselves on the score of quick aid from England.
In the meantime parties of marauders in a half-drunken state continued to
prowl about the neighbourhood. A considerable number of militia and
peasantry encountered five of these men, who were dragging with them a
young calf. They dropped the calf and advanced to the combat, while our
men, thinking the odds unfair, singled out five of our sailors (of whom
Davy Jones was one), and Mr. Whitesides, a Liverpool gentleman who
assisted, as a stranger, at the selection, dismissed them to their work
with this benediction:—
“Take time, my boys, and do it well!”
The French soldiers fired, and one of our men fell, wounded in the foot;
then it was the tars’ turn, and they fired with such judgment that three
of the enemy lay flat on the ground, and the remaining two departed
rapidly. One of the three proved to be dead, the other two badly
wounded. This encounter of a few, with a multitude looking on, took one
back to the old days of Arthur’s knights, or to the still older days of
Goliath of Gath.
Considerable numbers of Frenchmen were by this time in a very unpleasing
state of body and mind in consequence of rash indulgence in port wine and
poultry boiled in butter. They were captured in small groups by the
peasantry, who laid in wait for them behind the gorse bushes which abound
in this region, and who jumped out on them with scant ceremony whenever
they had a chance. A man belonging to Llanunda village, taking a
cautious peep through his own little window from the outside, perceived
one of the enemy making free with his food and wine; the Frenchman was
enjoying himself thoroughly, he had made an excellent fire from most of
the furniture, and he was toasting his legs thereat as he sipped the
generous wine with the air of a connoisseur. This was more than the
Taffy could stand. He had not saved that wine from a wreck at
considerable personal risk to see it sending a glow through the veins of
a foreigner; he flung himself into the room with a strong expression
behind his teeth and a hay-fork clenched tightly in his hand. The
Frenchman jumped up and thrust with his bayonet at the master of the
house, who turned aside the blow, then, taking the foe on his pitchfork,
tossed him into the fire, as he might have pitched a truss of hay on to
the rick.
A party of marauders set forth with the view of plundering Manorowen, a
gentleman’s seat in the vicinity; but being followed by a detachment of
the Yeomanry, they returned in a very different manner from what they had
anticipated.
And now we, on our knoll—and there were some thousands of us, including
peasantry, fishermen, shopkeepers, and the resident gentry of three
counties—raised a shout of pride and triumph as Lord Cawdor at the head
of his small troop of Yeomanry Cavalry rode off to inspect the enemy at
close quarters. The sinking sun shone on their glittering accoutrements
and splendid uniforms, and a glow of satisfaction filled our hearts as we
noted the fine chargers they bestrode, for a Pembrokeshire man loves
horseflesh as truly as a Yorkshire man; and not even my cloth has ever
restrained me from being a genuine Philhippos. The Castle Martin
Yeomanry have always been celebrated for their horses; and indeed it was
no matter of surprise to any one to hear, as we did hear afterwards, that
General Tate mistook these men for the staff surrounding some English
general, the main body of whose troops were defiling around the side of
the mountain; in truth, as the courteous reader knows, none other than
the old women. Lord Cawdor, at the head of his forty yeoman, trotted
close under Carnunda, the stronghold of the enemy, who could, if they had
possessed guns, have swept them all off the face of the earth. As it was
they narrowly escaped falling into an ambush. A force of French soldiers
were lying in wait for them a little further up the road, and had Lord
Cawdor taken this route, as was his lordship’s first design, his men
might have been surprised, though even in that case we may well believe
they would have given as good as they got.
However, darkness falling suddenly, caused a change of plans; Lord Cawdor
and the reconnoitring party rejoined the main body, and the British
troops took up their quarters for the night in Fishguard.