Here, again, another difficult question occurs, which recalcitrant History once more declines to solve. The Frenchmen had hardly been observed to cast their single anchors in Cardigan Bay, before they were also observed to pull them up again, and go on. Why? The commander of the expedition had doubted already at Ilfracombe--was he doubting again in Cardigan Bay? Or did he merely want time to mature his plans; and was it a peculiarity of his nature that he always required to come to anchor before he could think at his ease? To this mystery, as to the mystery at Ilfracombe, there is no solution; and here, as there, nothing is certainly known but that the Frenchman paused--threatened--and then sailed on. III. OF ONE WELSHMAN IN PARTICULAR, AND OF WHAT HE SAW. He was the only man in Great Britain who saw the invading army land on our native shores--and his name has perished. It is known that he was a Welshman, and that he belonged to the lower order of the population. He may be still alive--this man, who is connected with a crisis in English History, may be still alive--and nobody has found him out; nobody has taken his photograph; nobody has written a genial biographical notice of him; nobody has made him into an Entertainment; nobody has held a Commemoration of him; nobody has presented him with a testimonial, relieved him by a subscription, or addressed him with a speech. In these enlightened times, this brief record can only single him out and individually distinguish him--as the Hero of the Invasion. Such is Fame. The Hero of the Invasion, then, was standing, or sitting--for even on this important point tradition is silent--on the cliffs of the Welsh coast, near Lanonda Church, when he saw the four ships enter the bay below him, and come to anchor--this time, without showing any symptoms of getting under weigh again. The English colours, under which the Expedition had thus far attempted to deceive the population of the coast, were now hauled down, and the threatening flag of France was boldly hoisted in their stead. This done, the boats were lowered away, were filled with a ferocious soldiery, and were pointed straight for the beach. It is on record that the Hero of the Invasion distinctly saw this; and it is _not_ on record that he ran away. Honour to the unknown brave! Honour to the solitary Welshman who faced the French army! The boats came on straight to the beach--the ferocious soldiery leapt out on English soil, and swarmed up the cliff, thirsting for the subjugation of the British Isles. The Hero of the Invasion, watching solitary on the cliffs, saw the Frenchmen crawling up below him--tossing their muskets on before them--climbing with the cool calculation of an army of chimney-sweeps--nimble as the monkey, supple as the tiger, stealthy as the cat--hungry for plunder, bloodshed, and Welsh mutton--void of all respect for the British Constitution--an army of Invaders on the Land of the Habeas Corpus!