Long before they entered the town it had put on its holiday attire. Homes were decorated, windows garlanded, doors swung wide open, and the bells of old St. Michael were booming and pealing in the festival which the abrasion of centuries could not obliterate. From the upper portion of the town came the pealing of fifes and rattling of drums and the drawling voices of old men mingled with the more melodious voices of boys and girls, singing the ancient Hal Lan Tow chant. Up in front of the Helston Grammar School stand the authorities of the borough demanding a holiday in behalf of the pupils, and when it is granted, according to custom, how the lads and young men pour out of the old dormitory, with hats tossing in the air! Vehicles, from the humble cart to the emblazoned coach of the gentleman, keep rolling into town, while every road and footpath is dotted with foot travellers. The streets begin to crowd more and more. Citizens in the finest broadcloth rubbed elbows with the humble fustian of farmers, and ladies in the finest brocades and silks pass, with kindly greetings, the figures of country maidens and women in humbler attire. Lads are blowing whistles, and others are shouting to their fellows. But now the noon hour has come, and from the head of Coinage Hall street come the rolling of drums, the signal for the commencement of the annual, festival, street dance. In front of the forming procession are the two town beadles with wands, fancifully and artistically garlanded with flowers. The wands are the emblems of their authority. They are the great men of the hour. Behind them are the drummers, the fifers, and the serpent players, with their instruments and forms so festooned with flowers and evergreen that it is almost impossible to see their features. They are in motion. The old beadles prance in a dignified way in front of the advancing procession, waving their wands and giving directions in the meantime. The music of the various instruments are pealing out in one steady strain, punctuated here and there with the sullen, "boom, boom—boom—boom" of the big drums, and the "rat a-tat-tat" and occasional roll of the kettle drums. Now they are dancing, hand in hand in the rear, to the first half of the melody. Now with a rattle of the lesser drums the second half begins. The gentleman with the second lady releases her hand and seizes the first and whirls her out of the procession in a circle and returns. The action is continued by the second gentleman and so on down the line. Then again the first refrain is taken up and the procession moves onward. They are followed by a great crowd of spectators. Now the beadles have disappeared. They have but entered one of the homes. The procession of merrymakers follow. The beadles emerge from another door and on goes the festival parade. Is that customary? Oh, yes. It is one of the customs of time immemorial, and the party owning any of the homes thus entered feels highly honoured. Through all the streets wends the dance and then it is brought to a close by a turn on the Bowling Green. Now follows a dance of the tradespeople in one of the inns of the town, while the gentry enter the renowned Angel Inn for a purpose similar.
A porter stands at the door of the hall above the Angel Inn to solicit sixpences to defray expenses. A dignified, aged man, with hair and beard neatly trimmed, passes in with the others. He is followed by another, a younger one, his exact counterpart in height and facial appearance. Both of them are well tanned by exposure, and their garments seem to be of foreign make. They are the old Major and his son, Ande Trembath.
"Bless my soul!" exclaims a rugged old fellow, stumping up with a slight limp in one limb. He stands in front of Major Trembath and stares at him; then passes a hand, rough and brown and heavy, through his grey hair, throwing it back from his brow, revealing a long, livid scar along the forehead.
"Bless my soul! You are my old comrade, Tommy Trembath, or my eyesight fails me. Is it not so?"
"I am that person," said the Major, smiling, and grasping the extended hand he shook it warmly. "And how is my Captain Tom Lanyan?"
"I am right well, and I can't say how glad I am to see my old comrade, once more, back in England. We all thought you dead. You haven't been on British soil the last eighteen years. Where have ye been wandering all this time?"
The Major related a part of his adventures briefly.
"The honour of our family is established, Captain Tom; my father was no traitor and the proof of it is in the hands of the government authorities at this time," concluded the Major.
"I always knew it; I always knew it," said Captain Tom. "I have always had my beliefs, and I'm right glad now that they have come true."
"Aye, I know it," said the Major. "You were always my stoutest friend, in the camp and out."