landed,' and the Volunteers were going out to meet them. The student,
having disposed of this report, settles to work again, when 'the strains
of a soul-stirring march, with abundant drum, were borne on the air, and
the servant again bounded into the room to proclaim the return of
the--th Regiment, "with only 200 returned out of 600, sir, colours shot
through and through, poor fellows, all looking terribly tanned--here
they are, sir, just passing the door." The pageant is witnessed by the
student, and as the tumult subsides he resumes his scholarly pursuits.
Soon a great gun shakes every window in the house. "What can this mean?"
Enter Sam once more. "I beg your pardon, sir, but they say a
man-of-war's in the Sound, bringing in two ships of the line, French
prizes. All the people are running to the Hoe, sir; I hope you'll let me
go." Down goes the book once more, and the student is as mad as his
neighbours as the victorious ship and her prizes, with the Jack flying
triumphantly over the tricoloured flag, sails majestically into the
harbour amid deafening cheers.... Such was the average Plymouth day.'

Several times the town was threatened by a French invasion and badly
scared, but the greatest fear was felt in 1779, when for four days the
united French and Spanish fleets lay off the Sound. Plymouth had every
reason to be afraid; for, had the enemy but known it, there were at that
moment but two small armed vessels to defend the harbour. Crowds of
women and children left the town in haste and confusion, thousands of
country-people tramped to the coast to have a look at the enemy. A few
private persons made single-handed efforts to strengthen the defences,
and a little later 'the bustle was again revived by the hourly arrival
of troops, baggage, waggons, and powder.'

It is said that in Totnes the saying, 'Going to Paignton to meet the
French,' is still a synonym for meeting trouble halfway. Amongst endless
stories of fears and flights, there is one of delightful
imperturbability:

'One old sailor ... had his wits about him, when his daughter shook him
out of a deep sleep with the news that the French had landed. Rubbing
his eyes, he told her to go and look at the weathercock. She came back,
saying the wind was from the north. "I thought so," said he, "and so it
was yesterday. The French can't land with this wind." And so the ancient
mariner turned round and went to sleep again.'

Alarms, suspense, and occasional ecst