The Fishguard Invasion by the French in 1797 Part 7

Consciousness and speech returned to them, and took the outward form of maledictions.

I, however, was more interested in watching the demeanour of the gentlemen within than of my fellow-townsmen without the house. His lordship, though his back was not so supple as the Frenchman's, still received the letter with every mark of good breeding; and after a few formalities opened the communication.

"Mark all they do!" I whispered to one of my rib-bending neighbours, who, being of a higher cla.s.s and better parts than the rest, I imagined would understand me. "Mark it well, Mr. Evans, for this is how History is made!"

"History!" repeated Mr. Evans, blankly. "History happened long ago; this is only to-day."

"Hst!" said the crowd.

In fact, Lord Cawdor had now commenced to read the letter aloud to his officers. It was, happily for us outsiders, and perhaps even for some of the gentlemen within, in English; for the leader of the invaders, being an Irishman, probably understood English at least as well as French, while most of us understood it a good deal better. The letter was short: it was briefly a proposal for the surrender of the entire French force, on conditions. As I had subsequently the privilege of seeing it, I give here the actual words of the letter:-

"CARDIGAN BAY, "5_th_ _Ventose_, "5_th_ _Year of the Republic_.

"SIR,-The circ.u.mstances under which the body of troops under my command were landed at this place render it unnecessary to attempt any military operations, as they would tend only to bloodshed and pillage. The officers of the whole corps have, therefore, intimated their desire of entering into a negotiation, upon principles of humanity, for a surrender. If you are influenced by similar considerations, you may signify the same to the bearer, and in the meantime hostilities shall cease.

"Health and respect, "TATE, _Chef de Brigade_."

Lord Cawdor, however, did not signify the same to the bearer, but a slight smile lit up his features, while the French officers went on to explain that they were ready to capitulate on condition that they should be sent back to Brest at the expense of the English Government. A low murmur broke out among the onlookers. The Frenchmen's ships had deserted them and they wanted us to give them a free pa.s.sage home. But Colonel Knox had something to say to that. The uncertain light of lanterns and candles (mostly dips, for the resources of the "Royal Oak" and, indeed, of Fishguard, were limited) fell on his white hair and handsome uniform, flickering on the gold of the embroideries, and no one but those who knew would have believed that his fancy was as brilliant as that glittering braid.

"We have ten thousand men now in Fishguard," said he, "ten thousand more are on the road. Unconditional surrender are our only terms."

The messengers looked very blank when they understood the tenour of these words, but they appeared still more impressed when Lord Cawdor in a stern voice, but with his usual courtesy of manner, gave them an answer. He informed them that he should at once write an answer to General Tate, which he should send to him in the morning, but that they might tell him in the meantime that his troops would be expected to parade for surrender on the following day.

His lordship, who had hitherto been standing, sat down and consulted for a few moments in an undertone with some of his suite. Then taking up a pen, he quickly wrote an answer, dusted sand over it to dry the ink, and standing up once more he read it aloud in clear and ringing tones. It commanded the admiration and approbation of all present on both sides of the window, except perhaps of the aide-de-camp and his fellow, who probably did not understand the English tongue, and if they had would not perchance have admired the style of the composition. We did, however-that is, those of the crowd who heard it-and the rest taking it on trust, we signified our approval by three cheers, delivered with excellent intention, but in the usual disjointed Welsh fashion.

Lord Cawdor merely remarked in his letter that with his superior force (save the mark!-and the old women!) he would accept of no terms except the unconditional surrender of the whole French force as prisoners of war. And that he expected an answer with all speed, this being his ultimatum: Major Ackland would present himself at the camp at Trehowel early on the following morning to receive this answer, for which Lord Cawdor would not wait later than ten o'clock.

These were the actual words of the letter which was delivered on the following morning at Trehowel to General Tate and six hundred Frenchmen, drawn up in line, by his lordship's aide-de-camp, the Hon. Captain Edwardes, his white flag of truce being carried by Mr. Millingchamp.

"FISHGUARD, _Feb._ 23_rd._

"SIR,-The superiority of the force under my command, which is hourly increasing, must prevent my treating upon any other terms short of your surrendering your whole force prisoners of war. I enter fully into your wish of preventing an unnecessary effusion of blood, which your speedy surrender can alone prevent, and which will ent.i.tle you to that consideration it is ever the wish of British troops to show an enemy whose numbers are inferior. My major will deliver you this letter, and I shall expect your determination by 10 o'clock, by your officer, whom I have furnished with an escort who will conduct him to me without molestation.

"I am, &c., "CAWDOR."

The major referred to was Major Ackland who accompanied Captain Edwardes to Trehowel.

We thought it very fine-and so it was; and the words we didn't understand we thought the finest. After this the French envoys were dismissed, with their white flag still grasped firmly. They were also provided with a strong escort to take them back safely to their own lines, and indeed they required it, for by this time we had quite wakened up; and as the two men were led forth from the inn blindfolded with thick shawls lest they should spy the poverty of the force, we greeted them with a yell which must have made their hearts shake. My countrymen are beyond all comparison better at yelling than at cheering; it was cowardly no doubt of it, considering the difference of our numbers; but when was a mob anything but cowardly?

Of course to a boy it was pure delight, and my enjoyment that evening made up for the cramp of the night before. The escort kept us at more than arm's length, but no friendly force could have kept us from running after these representatives of the enemy, or from shouting at them, or even from throwing a few stones and sticks at them. The men remembered the wine and brandy, the women the slaughtered ducks and geese, and they hurled stones and curses mixed at the two devourers we could get at. The escort certainly received the brunt of the battle and most of the stones, and sent back many objurations at us in return; but we were too hurried to discriminate friend from foe.

We ran as far as a place called Windy Hall, {154} from whence there is a wide-stretching view of Goodwick Sands and the most perfectly-exposed down-hill slope that could possibly be desired for the final volley of stones with which we wished them goodnight.

I was pretty well tired out by this time, so returned home to see how my parents fared in these strange days, and to have a second supper, and then to bed in my own particular little den, which usually I had only the felicity of occupying in the holidays: and so the Thursday came to an end.

FRIDAY.

_THE THIRD DAY_.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE GATHERING AT GOODWICK.

Nor many hours did the little den hold me after all, for in the early morning I woke with the feeling that something strange was astir. Then came a vague terror-the memory of my yester-morn's awakening, and then a sense of jubilant triumph as I recalled the Frenchmen's offer and the stout answer of our chief. Surely they would capitulate now without more talking or more fighting. I should have liked to have witnessed a little fighting well enough-from a distance. But then a fight is a very uncertain thing, it twirls about so, you never know where it will get to next, or where you are sure to be in it, or still more, safe to be out of it.

The men quartered in our house were astir early, and perhaps their heavy footfalls had more to do with rousing me than my own excitability. Still quick-silver seemed to be running about all over me as I hastily swallowed my breakfast-which, however, I did full justice to-and then rushed out of the house to join everybody else on the road to Goodwick.

What a throng there was! Every man, woman, and child in Fishguard and all the country round seemed to have turned out, and to be making for the great sands at Goodwick. The people gathered from every direction, east, west, and south, until the semi-circle of hills was dark with them.

Chiefly, however, the throng came from the east and south, for Trehowel lay to the west, and there were but few of the natives left in that direction; besides which the steep white road that mounts the hill on that side of the sands was left clear for the descent of the enemy. No one wished to interfere with them needlessly; quite the contrary: at all events, till they had got within reach of our trained men. In the meantime we would give them a wide berth lest they should turn and rend us.

Suddenly a wild voice and a wild figure smote our senses-both eyes and ears.

"The dream, the dream!" it yelled. "The dream is coming true!"

"What dream? What is it?" asked every one, but there were more askers than answerers.

"Use your ears and listen!" continued the wild voice. "Use your eyes and see!"

"Whoever is he, Jemima?" I asked, finding myself near a reliable woman.

Nancy stood some little way off leaning against a cart.

"Why, it's old Enoch Lale," said Jemima. "I know him well enough, he lives over there under Trehowel, by Carreg Gwastad, just where these blacks landed."

Why Jemima always persisted in calling the French "blacks," I know not; possibly because they were foreigners, possibly she meant blackguards.

"My dream! I told it to ye, unbelieving race, aye, thirty years ago!"

yelled the old man.

"'Deed, that's true for him," remarked Jemima. "I heard him tell it many a time, years and years ago. Well, I always thought he was soft, but now he seems real raving."

"Thirty years ago I had the vision, and you know it, men and neighbours."

"Yes, yes, true for you, Enoch Lale," answered many a voice in the crowd; chiefly this response came from elderly persons who had doubtless heard the tale many a time.

"But I haven't heard it. I wasn't born then," I remarked.

Whether Enoch Lale heard this gentle protest, or whether he was resolved not to be baulked of his story, I cannot say. "I only know," he continued, "I had a vision of the night, and the future was revealed to me in a dream; yea, and more than a dream, for I rose up out of my bed and went down on to the rocks and there-on Carreg Gwastad-the French troops landed, and I saw them-aye, as plain as ever any of you saw them two days ago. And that was thirty years ago, yet it has come true! But wait, and listen! and ye shall hear the bra.s.s drums sounding, as I heard them sound that night! Listen! Listen!"

"Come down off that cart and be quiet, Enoch Lale, or you'll be having a fit. We all know, you've told your dream often enough; why you woke me up that very night to tell it."

And the prophet was taken possession of by a quiet elderly woman, his better half.

"Well, we got rid of old I-told-you-so rather suddenly," I observed to Jemima. "But it is very queer about his dream."

"There's a many things," replied Jemima, "as we don't know nothing about-and dreams is one of them."

It was marvellous to watch the gathering of troops and people. The hills to the south of the bay were covered with peasant men, and the red-whittled women who had done such good service to their country, and whose conduct has never been rewarded by any faintest token of grat.i.tude or even of recognition by that country.