The infantry was drawn up in a field on the east side of the bay, just under Windy Hill, to which farm the field belonged. The force consisted of the Cardiganshire and Pembrokeshire Volunteers—about three hundred strong: together with the Fishguard Fencibles. Numerically weak we were indeed, but on our own ground and with right on our side. Added to which we had had the pleasing news of the enemy’s faint-heartedness: so that altogether we felt ourselves animated by the courage of lions.
Major Ackland had had his promised interview with General Tate in the early morning at the French headquarters in the old house of Trehowel. The interview had been a short one, and much to the point; he declined altogether to parley, or parlez-vous. He insisted on instant and unconditional surrender; then sticking spurs in his horse he galloped away without any compliments.
Lord Cawdor and his staff were riding up and down the sands when the gallant Major appeared bringing the glorious news that the French were coming, and at once, and that they were prepared to surrender at discretion. But the Colonel still continued his work of inspecting the whole of the British troops. He still thought, perhaps hoped, that there might be a passage of arms.
Then came a time of deep silence when each individual among us concentrated his senses in his ears. I, being but a boy, allowed my eyes a little freedom; most other eyes were concentrated on the road where the French would first appear, but I permitted mine to gaze around me, when I at once made a discovery. The cart against which Nancy had leant contained a man, the outline of the back of whose head seemed strangely familiar to me. I could only see the back of his head for he was leaning out of the cart with his face turned away from me, but towards another person who was standing on the other side of the cart. Some bushes, behind which the cart had been drawn up, prevented a clear view, so I shifted my position a little—in fact, went straight up to the group, who seemed to be placing rather a blind confidence in their retired situation, and in the magnetic attraction of the enemy. I rounded the cart; the young man was, as I had imagined, Davy Jones, wounded foot and all; the young woman was, as I had guessed, Nancy George. Their heads were very near together, perhaps they were talking about splints.
“Why, Nancy!” I exclaimed, “is that you?”
“Yes, of course it is, Master Dan—and why shouldn’t it be?” cried Nancy, as red as a turkey-cock, and as inclined to show fight.
“Oh, all right. I only thought you must be somebody else,” I returned, politely.
Davy broke into a roar of laughter, and Ann, in spite of her indignation, showed her row of white teeth.
“Go away, you tiresome boy, and look out for the French,” was her recommendation.
“And not for the—” but my sentence was cut short by a shove from Nan’s vigorous arm which sent me flying for some paces.