Part 10 (1/2)

We heard afterwards that one of the s.h.i.+ps struck on the Arklow Banks, she was much injured and lost her rudder; one of her companions took her in tow and made for France. They got as far as just off Brest, and then, in sight of home, cruel fate overtook them in the shape of two English s.h.i.+ps, respectively under the commands of Sir H. B. Neale and of Captain Cooke. These two made short work of the Frenchmen, both s.h.i.+ps were taken and brought over to Portsmouth, where they were repaired, commissioned in the British service, and sent to fight our battles, one of them-oh glory for our little town-bearing henceforth the name of ”_The Fishguard_.”

The remaining frigate, accompanied by the lugger, got safely into Brest, where no doubt they were exceedingly relieved to find themselves after their disastrous expedition.

The scare that our squadron had caused extended from St. David's to Fishguard, all along the coast, in fact, from which the big vessels could be seen approaching the land. There were one or two other scares besides this, for our nerves had been shaken, and our imaginations set going; and truly for many a long year after the little phrase ”Look out for the French!” was enough to set women and children off at speed, and perhaps even to give an uncomfortable qualm in the hearts of the n.o.bler s.e.x.

CHAPTER XII.

INSIDE THE GOLDEN PRISON.

I went at Easter to pay a short visit to two maiden aunts who lived at Pembroke, where they kept a little millinery-shop I had almost said, but that would have vexed their gentle hearts-establishment. They were sisters of my mother, who came from this district, often called ”Little England beyond Wales,” the people who live there being in fact Flemings, not Cymri, and the language they speak, being a Saxon dialect, is worth studying, not from its beauty, but from its quaintness and originality.

Welsh is utterly unknown ”down below,” as the North Pembrokes.h.i.+re folks call the southern half of the county. My mother had great difficulty in acquiring even a superficial knowledge of Welsh, and she was always regarded as a stranger in Fishguard, though she lived there nigh upon fifty years. It was probably my early acquaintance with English (of a sort) that made my father decide to bring me up for the ministry.

However, to resume my story-which was strangely mixed up with that of the French prisoners-one of my chief pastimes during my visit to the worthy spinsters consisted in hanging about the entrance to the Golden Prison.

The foreigners were allowed to employ their clever fingers in the manufacture of knick-knacks, made of straw, bones, beads, and other trifles, which they sold in order to provide themselves with anything they might require beyond the bare necessaries of life. My good aunts, Rebecca and Jane Johnson, permitted these articles to be exhibited on a little table in their show-room, where ladies while idling away their time in choosing and trying on finery, might perchance take a fancy to some little object, and bestow some of their spare cash in helping the poor prisoners. What made my aunts first think of doing this kindly act was the representations of their a.s.sistant, a pretty young girl named Eleanor Martin, a daughter of the gaoler of the Golden Prison, who had had such a sudden accession to his numbers and his responsibilities.

One day Nellie had occasion to go to the prison with the money produced by these trifles, and she asked me if I would like to accompany her and see the Frenchmen at work. My answer may be readily imagined. So we set forth, and the first person whom we saw when we reached the limbo of incarcerated bodies, if not of despairing souls, was not by any means a repulsive object, being a remarkably pretty young woman, as like Nellie as two peas are like each other.

”Is't thee, Fan?” asked Nellie. ”Where be feyther?” Then, remembering her manners, she added, ”My sister Frances, Master Dan'l.”

Frances and I were speedily friends, in fact, the young woman saw too many strangers to be troubled by shyness.

”Feyther's main busy, and mustn't be spoke to,” she observed, with rather a knowing look at her sister. ”But the turnkey'll let us in. It's a mort easier to get in nor to get out of this old coop, Mas'r Dan'l.”

I quite a.s.sented to this proposition, but remarked that I hoped the turnkey would not make any mistake about us.

”No fear,” said Frances, ”I was born here and knows the ways on it.”

”What's that straw for, Frances?” I asked, for I loved to acquire information.

”For the Frenchers to make hats of. I brings them this much most days,”

she answered, looking down on her big bundle.

I must really have been growing up lately, for (for the first time in my life) an instinct of gallantry seized me, and I offered to carry it for her. She declined in rather a hurried manner.

”I'd liefer car' it myself, thanking you the same. It's no heft at all, and maybe ye'd shed it about.”

”Not I,” said I, indignantly, my gallantry gone. ”Do you think I've never carried a truss of straw before? That's just like a girl. But what's that in the middle of the bundle?” I continued, eyeing it curiously. ”Why, it's a bone, I believe!”

Frances threw the corner of her ap.r.o.n over the bundle in a very pettish manner, and to my great surprise grew as red as a poppy. What was there to blush about in a bone? Nell struck in hurriedly-

”Yes, of course it's a bone, Dan. And what could they make their b.u.t.tons and ivory boxes out of but bone?”

”I'm sure I don't know,” I said, not liking to suggest ”ivory” for fear, as tempers were ruffled, they might leave me outside.

”Then don't go for to ax silly questions,” retorted Nell. ”Can us go in, Roche?”

”Ay, my honies,” returned Roche, the turnkey, whom we had now reached.

”Leastwise you and Fan can, in the coorse of natur; but who be this young crut?” {209}