As we drew near to the house we found from the uproar therein that it was already full of Frenchmen. Very cautiously we approached a window and peeped in. We saw a strange sight. The kitchen was filled with ragged ruffianly fellows, all gesticulating with all their limbs, and screeching with all their lungs. Of course we did not understand a word they said, which, perhaps, was no loss under the circumstances. They were dressed in all sorts of uniforms—some of them in a dusky red (our soldiers’ coats dyed, as I afterwards heard), others wore the regular dark blue of the French army. An enormous fire blazed on the hearth, on which they had placed a large brass pan, geese and fowls only half-feathered had been hastily thrown into it, and now they were literally cramming it with butter, which they dug out of a cask they had dragged in from the dairy. Suddenly a shout arose, apparently from the ground beneath us. “Deuks!” said Llewelyn, again. “They’ve found the port.” Llewelyn did not allude to any of the harbours in the neighbourhood, but rather, it may be, to the lack of one, which had perhaps occasioned the wrecking of a vessel from Oporto laden with the wine of the district. “No odds, don’t fret for the wine,” whispered Nancy. “We’ll get plenty again. I only hope there’s a good store of brandy in the houses, too.” We got our brandy in a different way, but also inexpensively, and there was at times a considerable stock of it, and tobacco, too, in the farmhouse cellars. Llewelyn, however, was much perturbed: he had volunteered to stay to look after the household goods, and he didn’t seem to be able to do much. The delight of the Frenchmen at such an unexpected treasure-trove was indeed exasperating. Down flowed the generous liquid through throats the outsides of which were much in want of shaving, elbows were raised, and voices also in the intervals of quaffing. Suddenly one man paused in his potations, the brass face of the old clock that stood in the corner had caught his eye, and the loud ticking of it had caught his ear. Screeching something that sounded like “enemy,” he levelled his musket and fired straight at the clock. The bullet went through the wood-work with a loud sound of splitting. “Brenhin mawr!” yelled Llewelyn, forgetting all caution in his exasperation. “The scoundrels have shot our eight day clock!”