Chapter 3 THE FATE OF THE CLOCK.

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.

The boats and the sailors had now returned to their ships, having landed the invading hordes (which was the term we usually applied to the Gallic soldiers), who now seemed more bent on cooking than on conquering, on supping than on surprising.

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 women; and had the fourteen hundred been animated by the spirit which possessed these two of the weaker sex, the result might have been much more unpleasant to the Principality than it actually was.

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 had been chiefly connected with the peppermints she had been in the habit of giving me as a child; I thought her a person of a free and generous disposition. She was a tall, fine young woman of five and twenty, with dark hair and eyes (these last being dark grey not brown), decided but pretty eyebrows, a well-shaped nose, and rather large mouth which disclosed when she laughed or talked (which was frequently) handsome white teeth. In short, she was the type of a good-looking Welsh woman. She had also a healthy colour, a warm heart, and a splendid appetite. It was not very surprising that she had (or had had) two admirers.

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."

"Don't you ever say that fellow's name to me again, Dan'el," said Nancy with animation, her tears dried up and her eyes sparkling. "I hope never to hear of James Bowen again so long as I live."

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 shout or you'll bring the French upon us. Silence holds it here. [80] Just look there!"

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 never to be forgotten; a sight that had not been seen in this island for centuries. From our high nest in the rocks we had but to turn our heads to see all. In front of us to the north stretched the sea; a little to the north-west was the creek where the French had landed, where we could dimly discern the tall masts of the war-ships lighted up fitfully by cressets of fire. At the top of the cliff was Trehowel, and close by was the French camp surmounted by the tricolor flag. A little nearer us was Brestgarn, where Llewelyn lived, and just at our feet was the village and church of Llanunda. Goodwick lay to the east of us; there was a steep hill down to it, a magnificent flat of sands, with sea on one side and marsh on the other, and then a steep hill up from it leading ere long to Fishguard. The sea came round the corner from the north in order to form that deep and beautiful Goodwick Bay, where trees and rocks, gardens and wild waves, luxuriant vegetation and marshy barrenness are so strangely mixed. Behind all, to the south and southeast came the mountains; and towards the fastnesses therein most of these fugitives were wending their way.

"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 me, my dear," said Nancy, our short-lived quarrel being happily over.

"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 in all sorts of uniforms-some of them in a dusky red (our soldiers' coats dyed, as I afterwards heard), others wore the regular dark blue of the French army. An enormous fire blazed on the hearth, on which they had placed a large brass pan, geese and fowls only half-feathered had been hastily thrown into it, and now they were literally cramming it with butter, which they dug out of a cask they had dragged in from the dairy. Suddenly a shout arose, apparently from the ground beneath us.

"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," whispered Nancy. "We'll get plenty again. I only hope there's a good store of brandy in the houses, too."

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 like "enemy," he levelled his musket and fired straight at the clock. The bullet went through the wood-work with a loud sound of splitting.

"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 were; and then his righteous anger had rendered him rather breathless before he began to run. He was now surrounded by a crowd of foreigners, all jabbering and gesticulating as hard as possible. Our hearts were sore at having to leave our companion in this plight, but there was no help for it, to attempt a rescue would have been, under the circumstances, worse than folly. So we ran along across country, avoiding all roads, and making straight for Goodwick.