King, Consul,
Emperor--it knew these French rulers of old, under whatever title
they might disguise themselves. More than four centuries ago an
English King had sent his pursuivants down to us with a message that
"the Gallants of Troy must abstain from attacking, plundering, and
sinking the ships of our brother of France, because we, Edward of
England, are at peace with our brother of France": and the Gallants
of Troy had returned an answer at once humble and firm: "Your Majesty
best knows your Majesty's business, but _we_ are at war with your
brother of France." Yes, we knew these Frenchmen. Once before, in
1456, they had thought to surprise us, choosing a night when our
Squire was away at market, and landing a force to burn and sack us:
and our Squire's wife had met them with boiling lead. His Majesty's
Ministers might be taken at unawares, not we. We slept Bristol
fashion, with one eye open.
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.
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