A few miles farther down the coast the famous estuary of Milford Haven opens seaward between the sheltering heights of St. Anne's Head, and the long, crooked peninsula of Angle. Wonderful are the ramifications of this magnificent waterway, within whose spacious roadstead the whole British navy might with ease find anchorage; while its land-locked tidal reaches bear a modest local traffic to many a remote inland district, calling up memories of savours nautical beside the grass-grown quays of Pembroke and 'Ha'rfordwest.'
Well might Imogen marvel why Nature should have singled out 'this same blessed Milford' for such a priceless endowment, exclaiming:
'Tell me how Wales was made so happy as
To inherit such a Haven.'
The quaint author of 'Polyolbion' no less enthusiastically remarks:
'So highly Milford is in every mouth renown'd,
Noe Haven hath aught good, that in her is not found;'
while lastly, not to be outdone, George Owen, the old Pembrokeshire chronicler, declares his beloved 'Myllford Havon' to be the 'most famouse Porte of Christendome.'
Ever since those legendary days when St. Patrick sailed for the Emerald Isle upon the traditional millstone, this incomparable haven has continued to be a favourite point of departure for the opposite shores of Ireland; and several historical personages appear at intervals in the annals of local events. Hence, for example, Henry II. sailed away upon his conquest of old Erin; while in the Fourth Henry's reign a large body of French troops disembarked upon these shores, to co-operate in the wars of 'the irregular and wild Glendower.' Yet another famous individual, ycleped Henry ap Edmund ap Owain ap Meredydd ap Tydwr, better known as Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond, landed at Milford Haven in the year of grace 1485, to set forth upon the historical campaign which won for him a crown on Bosworth field. Here, again, the ubiquitous Oliver Cromwell embarked with an army of some 15,000 men, to carry his victorious arms against the rebellious Irish; and hence, in these piping times of peace, the mail-boats sail at frequent intervals to the seaports of the Emerald Isle.
Penetrating thus deeply into the country, one crooked arm of the great estuary 'creketh in' beneath the stately ruins of Carew Castle, in such wise as to partially 'peninsulate' a remote but interesting portion of South Pembrokeshire, which is still further isolated by the low range of the Ridgeway, between Pembroke and Tenby. This little district contains within its limited compass a wonderful variety of ruined castles, ancient priories, quaint old parish churches and curious, fortified dwelling-houses of the English settlers.
Nestling in the more sheltered hollows, or clinging limpet-like to the storm-swept uplands, these characteristic structures arouse the wayfarer's interest as he paces the short, crisp turf rendered sweet by the driven sea-spray. Occasionally he will set his course by some prominent church steeple, which at the same time affords a landmark to the passing mariner as he sails around the wild and iron-bound headlands of the southern coast.
Throughout the length and breadth of Pembrokeshire, the constant recurrence of camps, cromlechs, hut-circles and other prehistoric remains, points to the existence of an extremely ancient people, whose origin is involved in the mists of unrecorded antiquity. These primæval monuments, seemingly old as the bleak hills they crown, suggest many an insoluble conundrum to the curious visitor, who, gazing in wonder upon their weather-beaten yet indestructible masses, disposes of the archaic enigma as best he may by exclaiming: 'There were giants in those days!'