Chapter 9 THE CAPITULATION.

Suddenly the listening people caught a far-off sound; it came nearer and nearer rapidly, one's ears seem to go out to meet it.

"Here they come!" came in a hoarse growl from hundreds of guttural throats-speaking of course in Welsh.

"Hst," came the return growl from the other portion of the crowd.

The sound became louder and louder; it was plainly the beating of brass drums. A sort of thrill-sometimes called goose-skin passed over me, and I doubt not over most of my neighbours. Enoch Lale's dream was the thought that stirred us; there was something of second-sight about it that awed one even in the morning air and among that crowd of living beings. For a minute I saw again the spectral army of Enoch's vision. Then, being a boy, the practical aspect of the matter struck me.

"I hope the wife hasn't taken the poor old fellow out of ear-shot," I observed to Mr. Mortimer, near whom I had placed myself. "He heard those drums thirty years ago, sir-and he'd like to know he was right."

"No doubt, most of us do," assented Mr. Mortimer. "Oh, Enoch's somewhere about, never fear. Hush, my boy, look there!"

All our senses were focussed in our eyes, something shining and moving we saw, and what could that be save the bayonets of the enemy? Still the shrill clanging of the brass drums went on, broken only by the thud of the sea breaking upon the sand. Every head was turned towards the west (even Nancy's and Davy's for I looked to see) towards the rocky stronghold of Carnunda, past the houses and trees of Goodwick, all along the white road which runs like a riband placed aslant on the hill-side.

The glittering points turned the corner and came into full view; it was at exactly two o'clock that the first of the Frenchmen appeared in sight. On they came, a moving mass of dark blue, carrying no colours, neither gay tricolor nor white flag of peace, but beating their drums so as to put a good face on the matter. A moment later this was changed.

As the column rounded the corner of the road, our hills suddenly started into life and their silence was broken by a prolonged yell so fierce and threatening that the French recoiled and then halted. I could not, even at the moment, blame them; there seemed every probability that they would be massacred. The Welsh had jumped to their feet as with one bound, and they were making up for their long silence now, the men all brandishing every conceivable kind of weapon, the women shaking their fists at the invaders and screeching at them at the top of their voices. I had only a pocket-knife about me and concluded to keep that for my bread and cheese, of which I was badly in want at this moment.

Jemima Nicholas dashed past me, rushing down the hill at full speed with a pitchfork in her hands, followed by some other war-like women of her stamp-some of them armed with straightened scythes. I got out of their way quickly. "Come on, my daughters!" yelled the fierce cobbler-for that was her trade-"come on and cut them down into the sea!"

There is no doubt that she certainly wished to do it, indeed, there was a manifest disposition on the part of the peasantry, male and female, to come at once to close quarters with the enemy. Then rushed a sudden thunder of hoofs along the shore, as Lord Cawdor and his yeomanry galloped in front of the angry people, ordering them back and impressing their commands with the flat of their drawn swords.

Strong guards were also posted in every path that led from the hills to the sands, while the road on which the French were now meditating a hasty retreat was especially strongly guarded by detachments of the Cardiganshire Militia and the Fishguard Fencibles. At last, seeing these precautions against popular fury and that no sudden violence was now likely to occur, the French once more took heart and resumed their downward march and drums. They were accompanied by Lord Cawdor's aide-de-camp, the Hon. Captain Edwardes, and by Mr. Millingchamp, who bore a large white flag of truce; these had already given the order to "open pans and shed priming" and to march on peaceably: and they were obeyed.

Colonel Colby marched his men down from Windy Hill, and as he passed the spot where I was, I heard him say, "Let us all be ready, my boys, perhaps they may disappoint us still."

But the gallant colonel's hopes of a fight were doomed to be unfulfilled-and so were Jemima's-the French troops were thoroughly demoralised and had no fight in them. They marched on to the sands in columns, halted before Lord Cawdor and his staff backed by a handful of men (for most of our troops were employed in keeping back the excited populace), and then quietly laid down their arms and marched on.

When they had thus deposited their old flint guns some of them looked around them. It is impossible to describe the chagrin depicted on their features when they realised how trifling (numerically speaking) was the force to which they had succumbed. Still greater was the annoyance they experienced when they discovered that the scarlet flash which had so scared them was produced-not by the red coats of a body of regulars-but by the whittles worn by a parcel of women! These individuals now allowed the fallen foe to have a near view of their tall hats and scarlet mantles, for dashing down the hills on to the sands in spite of the guards (who were indeed too much occupied in looking after the piles of muskets to heed minor matters) these bellicose dames and damsels gathered closely around the Frenchmen, addressing manifold observations to them in their Welsh tongue, in the use of which most of them possess extraordinary fluency.

But their Gallican sisters also can talk and scold. I had by this time got very near to the unlucky commander of the expedition, General Tate; and I was close by when Madame Tate who had accompanied the troops flew at him like a fury. She, too, had discovered the paucity of our numbers, and that Lord Cawdor's "ten thousand men" were-in Spain perhaps-and that the English regulars were-well, very irregular forces attired in scarlet whittles. Her remarks as to the conduct of the campaign were evidently of a most uncomplimentary nature; though I cannot say I understood French, I understood that. In my heart I felt sorry for General Tate.

"Look here, mum," I ventured to remark, "if you want to have it out with somebody, here's a lady of your own weight and age. Tackle Jemima."

Madame Tate, though understanding never a word, turned furiously on Jemima, who returned the shower of epithets. The General, giving me a look of pure gratitude, hastened away, and I followed his example.

The troops were marched away in columns by fours, and, guarded by our men, set off at once for their various destinations-chiefly gaols; our bands now taking up the strain and making the welkin ring with joyous airs, to which we added all our lungs' strength of voice in songs and cheers.

So ended the famous capitulation of the French on Goodwick Sands.