The Mayor of Troy | Page 3

But when, as summer drew on, news came that the infamous usurper
was collecting troops at Boulogne, and flat-bottomed boats, to invade
us; when the spirit of the British people armed for the support of their
ancient glory and independence against the unprincipled ambition of
the French Government; when, in the Duchy alone, no less than 8511
men and boys enrolled themselves in twenty-nine companies of foot,
horse and artillery, as well out of enthusiasm as to escape the general
levy threatened by Government (so mixed are all human motives); then,
you may be sure, Troy did not lag behind.
Ah! but we had some brave corps among the Duchy Volunteers!
There was the St. Germans Subscription Troop, for instance, which
consisted of forty men and eleven uniforms, and hunted the fox thrice a
week during the winter months under Lord Eliot, Captain and M.F.H.
There was the Royal Redruth Infantry, the famous "Royal Reds," of
103 men and five uniforms. These had heard, at second hand, of
Bonaparte's vow to give them no quarter, and wore a conspicuous patch
of red in the seat of their pantaloons that he might have no excuse for
mistaking them. There was the even more famous Mevagissey Battery,

of no men and 121 uniforms. In Mevagissey, as you may be aware, the
bees fly tail-foremost; and therefore, to prevent bickerings, it was
wisely resolved at the first drill to make every unit of this corps an
officer.
But the most famous of all (and sworn rivals) were two companies of
coast artillery--the Looe Diehards and the Troy Gallants.
The Looe Diehards (seventy men and two uniforms) wore dark blue
coats and pantaloons, with red facings, yellow wings and tassels, and
white waistcoats. Would you know by what feat they earned their name?
Listen. I quote the very words of their commander, Captain Bond, who
survived to write a History of Looe--and a sound book it is. "The East
and West Looe Volunteer Artillery was established in 1803, and kept in
pay from Government for six years. Not a single man of the company
died during the six years, which is certainly very remarkable."
But, when you come to think of it, what an even more remarkable boast
for a body of warriors!
We of Troy (180 men and two uniforms) laughed at this claim. Say
what you will, there is no dash about longevity, or very little. For
uniform we wore dark-blue coats and pantaloons, with white wings and
facings, edged and tasselled with gilt, and scarlet waistcoats, also
braided with gilt. We wanted no new name, we! Ours was an inherited
one, derived from days when, under Warwick the King-maker, Lord
High Admiral of England, we had swept the Channel, summoned the
men of Rye and Winchelsea to vail their bonnets--to take in sail, mark
you: no trumpery dipping of a flag would satisfy us--and when they
stiff-neckedly refused, had silenced the one town and carried off the
other's chain to hang across our harbour from blockhouse to blockhouse.
Also, was it not a gallant of Troy that assailed and carried the great
French pirate, Jean Doree, and clapped him under his own hatches?
"The roaring cannons then were plied, And dub-a-dub went the drum-a;
The braying trumpets loud they cried To courage both all and some-a."
"The grappling-hooks were brought at length, The brown bill and the

sword-a; John Dory at length, for all his strength, Was clapt fast under
board-a."
That was why we wore our uniforms embroidered with gold (dores).
The Frenchmen, if they came, would understand the taunt.
But most of all we were proud of Solomon Hymen, our Major and our
Mayor of Troy.
I can see him now as he addressed us on the evening of our first drill,
standing beside the two long nineteen-pounders on the Old Fort; erect,
with a hand upon his ivory sword-hilt, his knops and epaulettes flashing
against the level sun. I can see his very gesture as he enjoined silence
on the band; for we had a band, and it was playing "Come, Cheer Up,
My Lads!" As though we weren't cheerful enough already!
[But "Come, come!" the reader will object. "All this happened a
hundred years ago. Yet here are you talking as if you had been
present." Very true: it is a way we have in Troy. Call it a foible--but
forgive it! The other day, for instance, happening on the Town Quay, I
found our gasman, Mr. Rabling, an earnest Methodist, discussing to a
small crowd on the subject of the Golden Calf, and in this fashion:
"Well, friends, in the midst of all this pillaloo, hands-across and
down-the-middle, with old Aaron as bad as any and flinging his legs
about more boldacious with every caper, I happens to