“Mark all they do!” I whispered to one of my rib-bending neighbours, who, being of a higher class 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,
“5th Ventose,
“5th Year of the Republic.“Sir,—The circumstances 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 passage 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.