“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.