January 1, 2011

     We were a motley looking group who gathered in Oysterville Saturday for the traditional New Year’s Day firing of the cannon.  It was cold and threatening rain, for one thing, so people were bundled up accordingly.  And there was an afternoon clam tide immediately afterwards, so many outfits included boots or other beach gear.
     Men outnumbered women, as is the way with cannon aficionados and, I assume, with most militias.  Our group is The Honorary Oysterville Militia and our sole purpose is to make a big noise by firing our replica 1841 Mountain Howitzer on every grand occasion we can think of.  There are 108 names on our roster (including one cat!), 19 of whom receive their mail at the Oysterville Post Office.   A dozen members plus spouses, friends, and visiting onlookers were present for the January 1, 2011 celebration and,  as usual, there were many good-natured suggestions offered by the crowd as the firing crew readied the cannon for the big boom. 
     I couldn’t help but wonder how our group compared to the original Oysterville Militia which was a part of the Company of Reserves of the Pacific County Regiment of Militia of Washington Territory, 1855.  On that roster, 15 of the 35 members were from Oysterville; the rest were from Pacific City (8), Wallacot (5), Chinook (6) and Shoal Water Bay (1).   That original group was not formed for fun, of course.  They were a serious bunch.  According to my uncle Willard’s account in Oysterville: Roads to Grandpa’s Village the story goes like this:
     In the 1850s, reports of Indian uprisings, sent spasms of apprehension through Washington Territory.  Forts rose in the forests almost as fast as high-rise apartments shoot up today in Manhattan.  Even Oysterville, perhaps more to be in fashion than through true worry, organized a militia.  Grandpa (R.H. Espy) was elected commander, with the rank of Major.
     Finding that the available ordnance was limited to a dozen dubious jager rifles and a few shotguns, grandpa dispatched an urgent plea back east for modern weapons.  He also ordered his men to construct a fort north of the village.  It did not occur to anyone to set up a picket stockade around the fort, and for the next few weeks, the Siwashes spent much of their time at the edge of the clearing, exchanging ribald comments among themselves while the white men sweated; though for hard cash the reds did occasionally lend a hand with the fitting of one log to another.
     By the time the walls were in place, it was generally agreed that the Siwashes had never represented a danger.  Besides, an exceptionally good run of oyster tides was due, and not to utilize them would have been criminal negligence.  So the militiamen never got around to putting a roof on the fort.  Instead, they returned to their oystering.
     A few months later, the weapons grandpa had ordered – rifles as good as most fired later in the Civil War – reached Oysterville.  The settlers, having enough guns already for their hunting needs, sold the government issue to the Indians.  And…that’s how grandpa became a Major.
     I’m assuming from Willard’s description that the 1855 Oysterville Militia was probably every bit as motley as our current group.  Hooray for that!