Part 9 (1/2)

However, Nancy was not to be put off so; she would go. She had been in service for some years at Trehowel and she considered that the kitchen belonged to her, and it went to her heart to think of the damage done.

She could have no peace till she could begin to repair it, and to set things once more in order to receive home the bride, as now the strangely postponed wedding would surely take place.

Davy Jones went too-I suppose because Nancy did; they seemed great friends now, though previously the young woman had been in the habit of giving him the cold shoulder, I imagine because of his habit of smuggling; but I did not take much interest in the matter as a boy, not understanding the fair s.e.x; indeed, even in after years I doubt if I ever quite succeeded in fathoming their method of reasoning. However, it is quite certain that as Nancy permitted it Davy was quite content to go wherever she did, and he gave her and me also a seat in his cart. I went too, for I thought that if there was anything to be seen I might as well see it; and I had heard that General Tate had gone back there after the surrender-on parole. I had some curiosity to see him again, and I thought it due to myself to witness the end of this affair, of which I had chanced to see the very beginning.

As we went up the steep hill from Goodwick, we were joined by a party of the Fishguard Fencibles, sent to look after the scattered inebriates, and to take the swords and words of the retiring French officers. When we got to Brestgarn we encountered the grinning face of Llewellyn, about whom Nancy and I had had many an uneasy thought. He told us that his captors had not ill-treated him beyond making him work for them, that they had kept a sharp eye on him for a day and two nights and then he had managed to escape. He had hidden for a while, but as soon as possible had returned to look after his master's goods. Llewellyn was a very ordinary looking man with unpolished-even uncouth manners, but it struck me that he had a stronger sense of duty than is usual.

[Picture: Trehowel: General Tate's Headquarters]

A few steps further brought us to Trehowel. Out rushed all the dogs, barking, jumping, tail-wagging-absolutely wild with delight at the recovery of their own master. A grey-haired gentleman came forward and addressed Mr. Mortimer with much courtesy-

”Sir, the dogs know you. I presume you are the master here?”

”I was so once. Down, Gelert! Quiet, Corge!”

The officer then introduced himself to Mr. Mortimer as General Tate. He went on to say that he had understood that the Welsh people were ripe for revolt and that they might march throughout Wales and even a good deal further with wooden swords. That it had been a great disappointment to him to find this was not the case, that it had also been a source of annoyance to him to be deserted by his s.h.i.+ps, but that the most unpleasant sensation he had ever experienced had been the failing of heart he had felt as his foot touched Welsh soil.

I listened with all my ears to this interesting discourse, which happily I was able to understand, for General Tate being an Irishman spoke English perfectly.

Our attention was diverted by a cry-a cry of surprise which broke from Nancy with a suddenness which startled all of us. We all turned hastily round and beheld the girl standing as if petrified, with her arm stretched out and her hand pointing towards a man who stood a few yards from her-apparently one of the stragglers among the French soldiers, for he was clothed in the same way as the majority of them-a British soldier's uniform which had been dyed a rusty brown. The man looked dumb-foundered but Nancy found her tongue.

”So it is you, James Bowen, who have betrayed your own people to strangers. Uch a fi, traitor; I could strike you where you stand!”

”Shall I do it for you, Nancy?” suggested Davy, ready to hobble out of the cart.

”No, he is not worth it. Let him go to gaol with his friends,” said Nancy, scornfully.

James Bowen looked utterly bewildered; he had evidently been drinking heavily and had not even heard of the surrender; had he done so he would hardly have come back to Trehowel, but would have made off into the interior. But Nancy's contempt roused him somewhat.

”It was your own fault,” he said, sullenly, ”you drove me away from here, you drove me to the bad.”

”And I suppose I drove you to steal a horse and then to break out of gaol, and to run off to France, and to fetch back foreigners here-showing them the entrance to Carreg Gwastad Creek! I helped in that too, perhaps?”

”You needn't pretend to be so particular, you've taken up with a smuggler yourself,” growled James.

Nancy's face flamed, but she took a step nearer to Davy and placed her hand in his defiantly.

”It is truth indeed, and I'm going to marry him too, for if he is a smuggler, he is an honest boy and isn't a traitor. I'd have thought nothing of the horse or the gaol-but to betray your own people to strangers-let me get out of the sight of you. 'Cursed for ever and throughout all ages be the traitor.'”

And with this vigorous denunciation of a crime so utterly hateful to the Welsh people, that they even abhor giving evidence in a court of justice, Nancy turned her back on the traitor at once and for ever, and hastily entering her domain at Trehowel, proceeded to restore the silver spoons to their own place.

The kindly dusk hid much of the damage that had been done; and after three days' absence, at the same hour as when she had quitted it, Nancy George was restored to the sovereignty of the kitchen at Trehowel.

And so ended in gladness of heart and rejoicing, Friday the 24th day of February, 1797; and so ended in pain and tribulation to themselves the three days' invasion of the French at Fishguard.

SEQUEL.

_THE GOLDEN PRISON AT PEMBROKE_.

CHAPTER XI.