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.dt The Crimson Sign, by S. R. Keightley
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Transcriber’s Note:
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effects. Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.
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Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
see the transcriber’s #note:endnote# at the end of this text
for details.
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|[See page 288.
“GERVASE DROPPED NOISELESSLY INTO THE WATER”
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THE CRIMSON SIGN
A Narrative of the Adventures of
Mr. Gervase Orme, Sometime
Lieutenant in Mountjoy´s
Regiment of Foot
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BY
S. R. KEIGHTLEY
AUTHOR OF “THE CAVALIERS”
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WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
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NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
1898
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BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
.hr 5%
.in 2
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THE CAVALIERS. A Novel. By S. R. Keightley.
Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 50.
.in
.sp 1
“The Cavaliers” is healthy in tone, spirited in treatment,
and written in a manner calculated to attract lovers of historical
adventure.... A capital book.--Academy, London.
.hr 5%
.ce
Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.
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.sp 4
.h2
CONTENTS
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CHAPTER | |PAGE
I.|OF WHAT BEFELL ON THE ROAD TO ENNISKILLEN | #1#
II.|OF THE ENTERTAINMENT THEY HAD AT THE INN | #28#
III.|OF THE WAY MY LORD GALMOY SAT IN JUDGMENT | #44#
IV.|OF HOW THE VICOMTE PAID HIS DEBT | #54#
V.|OF A MAN´S MEMORY | #69#
VI.|OF HOW THE HEROINE COMES UPON THE STAGE | #81#
VII.|OF THE RESCUE FROM GREAT PERIL | #101#
VIII.|OF THE RETURN TO THE CITY | #130#
IX.|OF HOW CAPTAIN MACPHERSON FULFILLED HIS TRUST | #151#
X.|OF THE STAND IN THE TRENCHES | #159#
XI.|OF A SERIOUS COMMUNICATION | #184#
XII.|OF A WARM MORNING´S WORK | #195#
XIII.|OF A STRATAGEM OF WAR | #208#
XIV.|OF A GAME OF CHANCE | #222#
XV.|OF HOW THE VICOMTE WAS BROUGHT BACK TO LIFE | #245#
XVI.|OF A DEED OF TREACHERY | #259#
XVII.|OF A GREAT ADVENTURE | #280#
XVIII.|OF HOW GERVASE REACHED THE SHIPS | #304#
XIX.|OF A STORMY INTERVIEW | #313#
XX.|OF HOW THE GREAT DELIVERANCE WAS WROUGHT | #325#
XXI.|OF HOW THE VICOMTE MADE HIS GREAT RENUNCIATION | #336#
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ILLUSTRATIONS
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"GERVASE DROPPED NOISELESSLY INTO THE\
WATER" | #Frontispiece:frontis# |
"THE STRANGER CAUGHT HIS HORSE BY THE\
REIN" | Facing page| #62:i070#
"SHE STOPPED SHORT AND LOOKED ROUND HER\
CAUTIOUSLY" | ” | #188:i198#
“JASPER BUCKLING HIS SWORD ABOUT HIM” | ” | #254:i266#
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.h1
THE CRIMSON SIGN.
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER I. | OF WHAT BEFELL ON THE ROAD TO ENNISKILLEN.
.sp 2
In the year of grace 1689 men were not a whit
more long-suffering nor more patient than they are
to-day. The choleric captain who had been pacing
the guard-room for a quarter of an hour showed evident
signs that he was fast losing what temper he possessed.
As he marched with a hasty stride up and down the
oaken floor, and wheeled with military abruptness on
the broad stone that formed the hearth, the rafters of
black oak rang with the clank of his sword and
the jingling of the spurs on his heavy jack-boots.
He pulled with a gesture of impatience at the grizzled
white moustache that concealed his mouth, and
muttered anathemas which, had they been heard in
the pious city of Londonderry, would have been
deemed little in keeping with his reputation. Nor
did he seem a man with whom others would take
unwarrantable liberties, or keep dangling upon their
careless will and pleasure.
At first sight there was no mistaking him for
anything but a soldier, and one who had seen lengthened
service where hard blows had been struck and
long marches had to be made. His lean face was
brown and seamed with lines, each of which had
.bn 009.png
.pn +1
in all likelihood its history; and a great scar, half
concealed by his broad beaver, ran from the temple
almost to his chin. His mouth was firm and resolute,
giving its character to a face that did not seem apt
either to lighten in humour or to soften in pity.
He wore his own hair, which was nearly white,
and, though he must have been close on sixty, his
carriage was upright and soldierly, with a certain
stiffness, probably learnt in early life from the drill-master.
The Town clock struck five. Halting suddenly
in his walk he turned to the door, and his hand
was on the latch when a young man entered hurriedly
and stumbled against him. When they recovered
themselves, they stood looking at one another inquiringly
for a moment. Then the young fellow, who
wore a military uniform, drew back a step and
saluted gravely. “You are Captain Macpherson, I
think?”
“I was Captain Macpherson, sir,” the other answered,
“a moment since, but what I am now I
hardly know till my wits come back. You have a
strange way of forcing your company on your
neighbours.”
“Such sudden acquaintanceship was wholly unexpected,
I assure you, sir,” the young man answered,
with a pleasant smile that lit up his handsome face.
“I was directed to meet you here. My name is Orme.”
The old soldier, without speaking, retired into the
embrasure of the window followed by the younger
man, and then turned round sternly.
.bn 010.png
.pn +1
“Mr. Orme, you must know it hath struck five by
the Town clock. A soldier´s first duty is discipline, and
here have I, your commanding officer, for such I take
myself to be, been awaiting your coming a full
quarter of an hour. I have been in countries where
the provost-marshal would have known how to deal
with such offences. Cities have been sacked and
great battles lost and won, by less delay than that.”
“I have left the Colonel but now, sir. He said
nothing of the time, but told me that I should meet
you here.”
“Very like, very like,” growled the other. “I
know the breed of old. Feather-bed soldiers who need
a warming-pan in camp. They take no heed of time.
I was brought up in a different school, and would
have you know that while you keep me company,
you must learn my ways. How long have you
served?” He asked the question abruptly, bending
on his companion a keen and penetrating look that
nothing seemed to escape.
“I have carried the colours for nearly two years
in Mountjoy´s regiment.”
"And never seen man stricken in fair fight, I
warrant; that is before you and will come speedily.
Hath Colonel Lundy spoken of the work we are
about to take in hand?"
“Only that I was to receive my instructions from
you, and place myself under your orders.”
“That is well, at any rate. You are green and
tender for the business, but you may show the
right stuff when the time comes. Things are going
.bn 011.png
.pn +1
crookedly here in Londonderry and elsewhere, Mr.
Orme. We go neither back nor forward, but stand
swaying like men who know not whether to turn
to the right hand or to the left. We would fight
but we dare not; we would flee but we cannot.
And all the while there are stout fellows here who
would handle a musket or trail a pike with the
best troops in Europe, if there were a man to lead
them. These cursed councils and divided plans
breed nothing but failure. You will see Hamilton
with his levies across the Bann and round the wall
of Londonderry, before the month is out.”
“I humbly trust not, but if we do never fear but
we shall give a good account of ourselves.”
The old soldier smiled dubiously. “There is plenty
of talk and furbishing of weapons, but little of the
strict drill and discipline that makes soldiers; I am
but a plain man myself and I have spoken out
plainly. The city is open as a village. There are
ramparts to be strengthened, ravelines and fascines
to be constructed, supplies to be furnished, and
arms to be collected. We talk of standing a leaguer,
as if these things would do themselves. But needs
must when the Devil drives, and I know whither
that carries. These councils have many tongues
and no head. They put forth declarations and think
all is done when they set their hands to paper with
much spluttering of ink. I remember when Francesco
de Mello and de Fuentes----But that is an old
story and may be told again.”
“I doubt not,” said Orme, “you have ripe experience,
.bn 012.png
.pn +1
but I would do my own work like a simple
gentleman, and leave these things to those whose
business they are.”
“Fairly rebuked. You are right, my lad, and I
am an old fool to stand prating of what hath no
concern for you. But ´tis an old trick of mine to
find fault where I cannot mend. Natheless, the
onfall at the castle of Carrickfergus and the break
of Dromore give me cause to grumble, and Rawdon
and Beresford and the rest of them might have
taken a lesson from a plain soldier like myself,
that they might have profited by. They think me
only good enough to fetch and carry, spaniel-like--and
you say that Colonel Lundy hath told you
nothing?”
“Merely that I should place myself at your disposal;
nothing else.”
“We ride pell-mell for Enniskillen; you and I
and some dozen troopers, less or more, without
drawing bridle or tarrying by the way. There is
a precious cartel these Enniskilleners must digest
forthwith, inviting them to leave the safety of their
water-walls and, as I hear, good store of provender,
to take their chance with us and fight it out behind
these petty dykes and fences here. If they ask
counsel of mine--but it is our business to see
that it carries safely.”
“I had hoped,” said Orme, “that we might have
seen some service; this doth not hold out much hope
of that.”
“Hear how these young cockerels are given to
.bn 013.png
.pn +1
crowing!” cried Macpherson; “I promise you this
means no evening stroll upon the battlements, but
a work of danger which may try your mettle. I
mean not the gathering of the desperadoes who
make war upon the defenceless, though these have
stood to their half-pikes and other outlandish weapons
ere now, but I am much mistaken if the royal troops
be not on the roads and give us play enough. In
this barbarous country we do not look for the
courtesies of war, or even the interchange of
prisoners; my Lord Galmoy and others, whom I
hope to remember, have shown that a gentleman
can play the hangman, and a soldier hath other
trades than fighting. The journey is like to prove
adventurous though it end in nothing. See that
your horse be sure and fresh, and your pistols such
that a man may place his life on them. I remember
me when my life was placed in jeopardy
once by a rotten girth. It was in Flanders in sixty-nine--but
this gossip hath no interest for you. It
were more to the purpose that I told you we
set out at three in the morning with what
secrecy we can observe, and that you meet me at
the Bishop´s gate. Hackett, who is, I am told, a
sergeant of your company, and knows the country,
will bring our horses to the gate. You know the
man; of what character is he?”
“As true and loyal as any in the city--the best
man, I think, in the regiment.”
“And discreet? these good men are ofttimes
inconsiderate.”
.bn 014.png
.pn +1
“He is no babbler, sir,” Orme answered, somewhat
nettled by the tone of his companion, “though a
pious man and God-fearing.”
“I, Ninian Macpherson, like him none the worse
for that, young gentleman,” answered the other
“Our religion hath placed you and me, I
humbly trust, in arms this day, and sends us forth
on this embassage to the no small peril of our lives.
But the ways of grace are not always the ways of
worldly prudence, and it behoves me who am
answerable for our safety to act with diligence.
Now, look you, Mr. Orme, I have watched you
carefully, and I think you honest--dull it may be
but honest, and I speak you plainly. I am suspicious
of your colonel--I do not understand his ways.
There is treason in the air, though who is free
and who is touched I hardly know, but I who have
lived among designing men for nigh on seven-and-fifty
years think I know somewhat of honest work,
and I was fearful this was but another trap.”
“I think, sir, Colonel Lundy is honest and devoted
to Their Majesties.”
“I do not doubt you do, but we shall see. The
citizens will give him a short shrift if they find him
a rogue. But I had liked to see such zeal as
befits one who commands a city, and would not
be taken unprepared. When the regiments arrive
from England they will find their entertainment of
the poorest. If empty magazines and disordered
companies are evidence of loyalty you might find a
sign to hang up before every house in the city.
.bn 015.png
.pn +1
But Ulster hath a proud heart and a stiff neck and
will fight when she is pushed.”
“The Kingdom´s safety and the Protestant religion
depend upon her stoutness; she will die hard.”
“It may come to that. Now, young gentleman,
get you gone. He that would be early afoot should
be early abed, and see that you get to rest betimes.
Let there be no late revelling. We meet
at three.”
Gervase Orme who had been lately an ensign
in Mountjoy´s regiment of foot, had been quartered
with his company in Londonderry, when his Colonel
was appointed Governor of the City. Like other
gentlemen of his faith he had not wavered in his
allegiance or dreamed of taking up arms against
the House of Stuart, till loyalty had become a
crime and resistance an imperative duty. His own
slender patrimony was in peril; his faith was
threatened and in danger of being proscribed; his
friends, whose safety and honour were his own, were
placed at the mercy of their bitter and hereditary
foes. Civil war was imminent and he could not
hesitate as to the course he should adopt. James
had broken faith with his people; the native Celtic
population, steadfast in this, while they were wayward
and fickle in all else, were determined to drive the
English garrison into the sea, and the instincts of
religion and of race intensified their hatred of the
dominant caste.
When Colonel Lundy took the oath of allegiance
to William and Mary, Gervase Orme willingly
.bn 016.png
.pn +1
followed the example of his Colonel, and embarked
with enthusiasm on the impending struggle. To
him it was the one course left open, and he felt,
like the other simple gentlemen of his time, that
when he drew his sword it was for fatherland, for
faith, and even for life itself. Nor did he very much
doubt the result. The descendent of a Saxon
colonist he looked down on the men of Munster
and of Connaught as a race fit only for hewing
wood and drawing water, for Fontenoy and other
stricken fields had yet to be fought in which the
Irish proved their splendid qualities as fighting men.
And he had the Saxon´s profound faith in himself
and his people.
Therefore it was when Colonel Lundy had
directed him to place himself under Macpherson´s
orders, with some prospect of service, he had obeyed
with alacrity, hopeful that their destination might
be one of those towns upon the Bann where the
Protestant forces were awaiting the coming of the
Irish army which was rapidly advancing north.
In this he had been disappointed, but he was
glad to forsake for a time the comparative inactivity
of garrison life, and almost hoped that
Macpherson´s anticipation of danger might be
realized.
The night was raw and cold when he arose
unwillingly from his bed, and his preparations being
complete overnight, hurriedly dressed and endeavoured
to partake of the meal his careful landlady
had provided the evening before. When he
.bn 017.png
.pn +1
reached the gate Macpherson was already there
before him. The old soldier, wrapped in a long
military cloak, was standing with his back to the
wall, reading from a small volume in a loud monotonous
tone, and the men were drawn in a circle
round him, holding their horses by the bridle. One
of the troopers held a lantern for the reader, who
closed the book as Orme came up, and thrust it
into his breast.
“You are close on your time, Mr. Orme. We
have just been having our stirrup-cup from the
Word, that, mayhap, will put us in heart for our
cold ride. ´Tis an excellent morning dram. The
sergeant hath seen to the arms and tells me they
will serve.”
“Both arms and men, sir,” said Hackett, in a
low tone, “I will answer for them with my life.”
“´Tis well. Now open the gate and get to
horse, for we must put many a mile between us
and the city before daybreak. A mile at the start
is worth two at the end.”
Macpherson leapt with surprising activity on
the grey charger that Hackett had brought down
to the gate, and the little troop sat patiently on
their horses waiting till the drawbridge had been
lowered and the great gate swung open. With a
solemn “God speed” from the men on duty, they
rode silently out into the darkness, Hackett leading
at a round trot over the rough and broken road.
For three hours they pursued their way in a
silence broken only by an occasional word of command,
.bn 018.png
.pn +1
or by a cry of warning from one of the
troopers who had stumbled over some obstacle, or
had floundered deep in the bog by the road side.
They were all rejoiced to see the first grey streak
of light that gave promise of the coming day.
The morning had broken red through the mists
that lay thick along the valley as they gained the
top of the hill up which they had been climbing.
The road was already visible, winding through a
deep gorge, and skirted by great masses of rock,
green with ferns and bramble. Here and there
scattered through the uplands lay a farm steading,
surrounded by its stretch of tilth and orchard close.
But no sound of morning labour could be heard.
The fields were lying waste and untilled, and the
homesteads stood deserted. The clank of the horses
hoofs made a melancholy music in the silence. The
life and movement of the little troop brought into
still greater relief the desolation round them.
Macpherson halted on the top of the hill, and
dismounting loosened his horse´s girths. Then he
removed the saddle and taking off his gloves, began
to rub down the charger.
“That is my prince of steeds,” he said, contemplating
his task and caressing the glossy neck with
pride and affection; “nearly four hours´ hard riding
and never turning a hair! An old soldier, my young
friend,” he continued, turning to Gervase, “learns
a good many things on his rough journey through
the world. He learns to weigh a prince´s promises
and favours, the strength of friendship and the worth
.bn 019.png
.pn +1
of love. And he finds they are all vanity, even the
vanity of vanities, as the Hebrew hath it. But he
grows to love his horse. Together they have faced
the scathe of the battle, and the privations of the
march. Often and often this sleek skin hath been my
pillow, and but for him these useless bones had been
whitening on the sandy plains of Utrecht, or the rolling
uplands of the Maas. And for beauty--you youths
go mad for beauty--is there aught in the world to
compare with him for comeliness? That little head
and graceful neck, those swift strong legs and deep
shoulders fashioned as if by a cunning sculptor--there
is perfect beauty. And he is faithful even to
death. He will carry me till he drops and leave
a royal stable at the whistle of his homeless master.
I tell you, young sir, there is nothing in the world
like a noble horse and the joy of battle in a
righteous cause.”
“In truth,” said Gervase, “you are proud of
your horse with reason, but I trust there are other
things in the world one may love with as good
cause.”
“Aye,” answered the other bitterly, “you are
young, and youth is full of hope and trust. The
man you call your friend cajoles and tricks you,
and the woman whose favour is the breath of your
nostrils, deserts you at the first whisper of misfortune.
These things are of the world and they
endure for an hour; the son of perdition baits his
traps with them, but the man whose hope is fixed,
learns to shun them as a snare.”
.bn 020.png
.pn +1
“I have been taught otherwise,” said Gervase,
“and I have had no reason to question what I have
learnt. I have no trick of speech, but I hold by
love and friendship.”
“And I tell you they are but shadows. Here
there is no abiding city, and these things but wean
our hearts from the eternal. Seven-and-fifty years
have been the days of my pilgrimage, and at eighteen
I saw my first battle. The blood of the youth is
hot, the lusts of the flesh are strong upon him, and
he is slow to see the finger of God writing upon
the tablets of the heart. Mine was a wild youth
and a wayward, and like another prodigal I went
forth to riotous living. Surely I dwelt in the tents
of Meshech, but God hath seen good to open the
eyes of his servant.”
“Captain Macpherson,” said Gervase gravely, “I
do not ask you to vouchsafe me your confidence,
and I leave theology to the parson. I serve God
after the fashion of the Church of England, and
will do my duty as becomes my name and manhood.
In all other things I am at your service, but in this
we cannot walk together.”
He turned away and left the old soldier gazing
after him earnestly.
The sun had already risen above the morning
mists that had gathered themselves into fantastic
shapes and were dispersing slowly down the valley--the
promise of a lovely day in spring. The troopers
had dismounted, and were making a frugal meal
of dry rye bread and cold bacon, washed down by
.bn 021.png
.pn +1
a draught of the spring water that trickled down
the rock by the roadside. Weary with their long
march, covered with mud and flaked with foam,
the horses cropped the long grass that grew luxuriantly
under the hedge of thorn. Gervase threw
himself down on the grassy sward by the road-side,
and watched the picturesque scene around
him. Then, tired as he was, a heavy drowsiness
overtook him, and the deep valley and the swelling
uplands, and the horses, and the travel-stained
troopers became part of a broken dream. Over his
head he seemed to hear the jubilant notes of a
thrush in the white thorn, and in a little while a
deep voice reading one of the psalms that glow
with the rapture of battle and thrill with the triumph
of faith, followed by the loud “Amen” of the
troopers.
Then he fell into a profound sleep. When he
awoke the sunshine filled the valley, and Macpherson
was standing over him with a smile on his rugged
face.
“Is it time to march?” cried Gervase.
“It is time to be up and doing,” Macpherson
answered solemnly. “This day will try of what
stuff the Lord hath made your sinews and fashioned
your heart. Yonder is the enemy.”
Gervase leapt hastily from his resting-place. Already
the men were in their saddles and were examining
the priming of their carbines. Far down the valley
he could see a small body of horse, the sunshine
glancing on their swords and steel head-pieces,
.bn 022.png
.pn +1
and the dust rising thickly under the hoofs of the
chargers. A little in advance were riding two
officers, one of whom rode a grey horse and was
conspicuous by the scarlet cloak he wore over his
armour.
Gervase watched Macpherson with surprise and
admiration. The old soldier seemed like another
man under the inspiration of the coming struggle;
his eyes flashed, his chest heaved, and his deep
strong voice thrilled like a trumpet. Leaping like
a youth into his saddle and laying his hand lightly
for a moment on the restive charger´s neck, he
drew his sword from the scabbard. Then he placed
himself across the road in front of the troopers and
pointed with his sword to the enemy, who had
already quickened their pace and were advancing
at a sharp trot.
“Yon are Galmoy´s Horse, gentlemen. They are
nearly three to one, and I am told they can fight.
What say ye?”
Already the troopers had caught the joyous spirit
of their grim leader; his voice stirred them like a
trumpet. They had caught the contagion of his
hope, his faith, and his enthusiasm.
“We are doing God´s work, sir,” said Sergeant
Hackett soberly, as he gathered up his reins and
drew his hat tightly over his brow. “We will
follow you, Captain Macpherson, even to the mouth
of the pit. Not one of us will fail you.”
“Then we will show the butchers what we can
do. Remember, let ‘no quarter´ be our word
.bn 023.png
.pn +1
this day. Do not crowd together until we have
drawn their fire. Then give them a salvo steadily,
and like brave men and careful. Thereafter in God´s
name, let them feel the sword´s edge and the power
of the true religion.”
Macpherson had risen in his stirrups, his face
glowing with the joy of battle. Already the enemy
had shortened the distance between them, and a
few minutes more would bring them within pistol
shot. They could already hear the heavy trampling
of the horses as they came galloping up the hill, the
jingling of the bridles and the clank of the swords.
As the little troop swept up the hillside it made a
gallant show. Gervase felt his heart beat fast and
loud; his hand trembled with excitement on the
hilt of his sword, and his breath came quick. He
found himself longing with feverish impatience for
the word to charge, but Macpherson kept his men
well in hand, trying their temper, and watching
them narrowly like a wary soldier. Not a man
showed sign of fear or indecision.
“You are a young soldier, Mr. Orme,” said
Macpherson, with a joyous laugh, “and young soldiers
are ever rash and heedless. Let us give yon sons
of Belial time to think of what they do. You will
feel in good time the thirst to trample down and
slay, and the Devil driving you to rend and to
destroy. Wait till they come to where the road
widens into the marsh. Yon fellow rides like a
gallant gentleman--a Frenchman too, I think, and
knows his work. Ha! here they come. Now, my
.bn 024.png
.pn +1
children, follow me, and may God defend his cause
this day!”
Macpherson put spurs to his horse, and his troopers
followed in an orderly array at a hard gallop.
It was clear the enemy was uncertain as to their
intentions, for immediately Macpherson had put his
horse in motion, they drew up short and halted.
But still the little troop kept on steadily, riding
two abreast along the narrow road, and holding
their carbines in readiness to fire. The young officer
on the grey charger had thrown off his scarlet cloak,
and was giving directions to his men with the point
of his sword. Several of the troopers had dismounted
and lined the roadside where a fence of loose stones
presented a sort of low screen, or parapet.
And now barely a hundred yards divided the
combatants. Already a shot or two had been fired,
but as they came within range the dragoons, without
waiting for further orders, fired wildly. Gervase,
who rode in advance, turned to see if any of the
men behind him had been struck; not a man moved
in his saddle. Then Macpherson rose in his
stirrups and shouted in a voice of thunder----
“Now, my gallant fellows, fire! Aim at the
horses and let every shot tell.”
For an instant, as it seemed, the little troop
stood fast, and orderly as on parade, took aim and
fired. Several horses went down, and for a minute
all was confusion and disorder in the royal ranks.
That minute was the turning tide of battle. With
a wild shout and a deep oath, Macpherson waved
.bn 025.png
.pn +1
his sword above his head and gave the charge.
Instinctively Gervase drove his spurs into his horse´s
flanks, and grasped the hilt of his sword with a
tighter clutch. In another moment he was in the
middle of the red-coats and almost without knowing
how it was done, he saw his blade buried in the
body of the dragoon who had first encountered him.
As in a dream he saw the man catch convulsively
at the horse´s mane and fall in a heap to the ground.
Macpherson was at his side, hammering on sword
and head-piece. His voice could be heard above
the clank and clash of steel and the shouts of the
fighting men. “No quarter to the men of Belial.
Strike home for the true religion. God´s wounds!
you must have it.”
Two troopers had thrown themselves across his
path; one he had charged so violently that his horse
had stumbled and gone down, crushing his rider;
the other parried his and then turned to flee.
But his doom was on him. Down came the deadly
steel on the iron head-piece. Nothing could withstand
that blow, but the sword was shivered at the
hilt.
“The curse of Heaven light on the hand that
fashioned thee!” cried Macpherson, hurling the hilt
from him and drawing his pistol from the holster.
His men followed close upon his heels, hacking and
hewing with their heavy swords. No man failed in
his duty that day.
Gervase saw the young officer before him gallantly
striving to rally his men, and imploring them to
.bn 026.png
.pn +1
stand. Quick as thought their swords were crossed,
and Gervase saw his eyes light up with inexpressible
hate. “Ah! canaille,” he cried, “you will see at
least how a gentleman can fight.”
It was not a time for nice tricks of fence, and
Gervase saw in a moment that his opponent was
a more skilful swordsman than himself. He saw
the flash of his opponent´s blade and felt the warm
blood streaming down his face, but he did not give
him time to repeat the blow. Throwing himself
upon him he caught him round the neck, and together
they fell to the ground. It was indeed a miracle
how they escaped beneath the hoofs of the
trampling horses as they grappled with one another
in the dust. Then the tide of battle swept past
them, and they were left alone to fight it out. But
the delicate Frenchman was no match for the stout
young giant whose arms were as strong as an oak
sapling. Gervase placed his knee upon his breast,
and wrenched the sword from his hand.
“It is enough, Monsieur; I yield myself prisoner.”
Gervase leapt to his feet and reached out his
hand to assist his prisoner from the ground. But
the other refused the proffered courtesy, and when
he had risen, nonchalantly began to arrange his
disordered dress, and to brush the dust from his
clothes with an embroidered handkerchief. “Your
arms, monsieur, are very strong, but I do not
understand the fashion of your country. We do not
fight thus in France. It is my regret that you
.bn 027.png
.pn +1
should not see the end of this gallant affair.”
There was a covert sneer in the tone that there
was no mistaking.
“I have seen the beginning and the end, sir,”
Gervase said simply. “Your men do not seem to
relish the fare we have provided for them.”
“My men are not soldiers; they are
Let us dismiss them. May I inquire into whose
hands it has been my good fortune to fall?”
“My name, sir, is Gervase Orme, sometime
ensign in Mountjoy´s regiment, and now in arms
for the Protestant religion and the liberties of
the kingdom. I am very much at your service.”
“You are very good, but Victor de Laprade,
whom men call Vicomte of that name, seeks favour
from none. I think,” he continued, looking down
the road along which the pursuit had rolled, “we
are likely to be better acquainted.”
“It is not to be doubted, sir: the skirmish is
over and your men are wholly broken.”
“Nay, Luttrel was a brave man; I am sorry for
him, but the rest--let them go.”
The moment that the Vicomte de Laprade had
gone down in Gervase´s grasp, the dragoons had
broken and fled, followed hard by Macpherson and
his troop. The pursuers were in no mood to give
quarter that day. The atrocities of Galmoy some
time before had filled their hearts with a thirst for
vengeance; it was a sacred duty not to spare, but
to slay, and slay without remorse or pity. Far down
the road thundered the headlong flight, pursuers
.bn 028.png
.pn +1
and pursued mingled together. De Laprade had
seated himself on the fence by the roadside, and
watched without apparent interest the incidents of
the pursuit. It was impossible to tell from his face
what his real feelings might have been.
"C´est fini," he said lightly, as the troopers halted
and turned to retrace their footsteps to where the
conflict had commenced.
Macpherson came up, wiping the perspiration from
his brow.
“I saw you go down,” he said to Gervase, “and
feared it was all over with you. I should have
been sorry to my dying day, for you have shown
the right soldier spirit,--you have been touched?”
“A mere scratch, but we have gained a great
success.”
“A pretty affair. What popinjay have we
yonder?” and he pointed to De Laprade.
“One of King James´s new French gentlemen,”
said Gervase smiling, “who is the first captive of
my bow and spear.”
“One of the accursed race,” said Macpherson
grimly. “And the message hath come to me; ‘no
quarter,´ was our word this day. His blood be
upon his own head.” He drew his pistol from the
holster, and dismounted from his horse. Gervase
saw the deep gloom gather on his brow.
“What would you do?” Gervase cried, catching
his arm and placing himself between his Captain
and the Vicomte. “In God´s name, you do not
mean to say that you would slay him in cold blood?”
.bn 029.png
.pn +1
“In cold blood, no, but in righteous vengeance for
the evil that hath been wrought upon our people.
Do you forget Dixie and Charleton? I have taken
a vow before the Lord this day that not one of
them shall escape me. The blood of Abel is crying
from the ground, and shall I, the least of his servants,
suffer that cry to go unheard?”
“While I live you shall not injure one hair of
his head. The lessons that you have learned in the
school of Turenne we will not practise here. No
prisoner shall be slain in cold blood while Gervase
Orme can wield a sword to defend him.”
Macpherson turned away and replaced his pistol
in the holster without a word, and stooping down
began to examine the forelegs of his charger.
While this scene was being enacted on which his
life depended, the Vicomte continued sitting upon
the fence, flicking the dust from his riding boots
with his handkerchief and smiling an easy smile of
apparent indifference. He seemed to be the only one
who had no interest in the issue of the quarrel. Then
he rose, and going over to Gervase held out his hand.
“However you may yet decide this trivial affair,”
he said, “I thank you for your courtesy. I declined
to take your hand; I beg your pardon. You are a
brave man and a gentleman. But it is a matter of
regret that you should quarrel with your friend on
my poor account.”
“There is no quarrel, sir,” said Macpherson, who
had overheard his words, raising himself to his full
height, and looking steadily as he spoke. “This
.bn 030.png
.pn +1
young gentleman was right, and I was wrong.
He had given you quarter, which matter he may
yet live to repent, and you were under his protection
by the laws of war. I might have shot you
down in the melee but I left him to deal with you.
He hath seen good to spare your life, and in your
presence, sir, I now ask his pardon, which will not
be denied me.”
“I cannot pardon where there is no offence,
Captain Macpherson,” said Gervase. “It was my
good fortune to fight on the side that can afford
protection, and had it been otherwise I am certain
that M. de Laprade would have rendered me the
like service.”
The Vicomte bowing low, raised his hat with a
grand air. Then he said, addressing Macpherson,
“Monsieur le Capitaine appears to regret that he
did not shoot me. It is not yet too late to try his
skill. By the kindness of this gentleman I have
still my sword, and if you, sir, do not think it
beneath your dignity to try a pass with a poor
soldier and gentleman like myself, I shall be happy
to give you the opportunity you desire. Here is a
pretty piece of heath--how say you, sir?”
“I say that I fight only in the way of my duty,
but at another time when public necessity may
give way to private entertainment I shall have no
objection to oblige you either with sword or pistol,
on foot or horseback. No man that knows him
will say that Ninian Macpherson declined a duello
because he feared the thrust of a rapier or the shot
.bn 031.png
.pn +1
of a pistol. When our journey is ended and the
business now on hand completed----”
“Be assured I shall afford you what you are pleased
to call your entertainment. And now may I ask
whither you purpose to carry me?”
“We shall carry you, sir, as far as Enniskillen,
and, mayhap, if you so desire it back to Londonderry.”
“I have no desires; I have learnt the uses of
adversity.”
“Then you have learnt the last lesson a man can
learn,” answered Macpherson, abruptly turning on
his heel, and joining Hackett who was looking after
one of the men who had been wounded.
The skirmish had in every sense been a complete
success. Only one man had been slightly, and another
severely wounded, and these raw and undisciplined
yeomen had shown a wonderful steadiness and
gallantry. When the horses of the dragoons had
been collected, for Macpherson believed in gathering
the fruits of victory, they were ready to start on
the march.
“The prisoner is in your charge, Sergeant Hackett,”
he said. “Shoot him through the head if he tries to
run away.”
De Laprade shrugged his shoulders. “Bah!” he
said, “your Captain eats fire. Whither would he have
me run?”
“Not outside the reach of my carbine,” said
Hackett drily.
Gervase had fallen into the rear, where he was
.bn 032.png
.pn +1
presently joined by Macpherson, whose passion had
apparently died away, and left his face pale with
an almost ghastly pallor. They rode side by side,
neither speaking a word. Macpherson´s head was
bent on his breast, and Gervase could hear him
muttering to himself in a low tone, but he could not
catch the meaning of his words. He was evidently
struggling with some violent emotion. Then he
seemed to wake up from the profound reverie in
which he had been sunk, and laying his hand on
the arm of his companion, said in a low voice,
“Mr. Orme, thou art a well-conditioned and, I
think, a godly young man, and though it does not
beseem one of my gray hairs and length of years
to open his heart to one young and lacking in experience
as thou art, yet the spirit within me prompts
me to speak.”
Gervase was silent.
“There are times,” he continued, “when the Spirit
of the Lord is upon me. Then I can hear the strains
of a rich and heavenly minstrelsy, and my soul is
possessed with the joy of everlasting hope. Alas!
I do begin to fear it is but the snare of the fowler.
This day the evil one took possession of me. I
relapsed into the gall of bitterness and the bonds of
iniquity. I sware evil oaths; I rejoiced in the shedding
of blood, nor was it the cause of the Lord that
I followed this day, but the promptings of my own
carnal heart. Can the Lord of Righteousness and
the Prince of the powers of the air dwell in the
same breast?”
.bn 033.png
.pn +1
“I do not know how these things may be,” Gervase
answered, “but I know that you have done
your duty this day like a good and valiant soldier.
It may be that old habits are strong upon you, and
an old warhorse like yourself lifts his ears at the
sound of the charge.”
“The hearts of the elect are purified, and old habits
cannot draw the soul from God.”
He looked at Gervase with a look of profound
sadness in his eyes, and there was an undertone of
despair in his voice. It was impossible to doubt his
sincerity. Spiritual despair had seized upon him,
and his narrow creed had no word of consolation
to offer him in his hour of doubt. He had drawn
aside the veil that concealed the workings of his
heart.
“All the days of my youth were vanity,” he
continued; “I squandered my substance in riotous
living, and spent my strength in the lap of harlots.
Then the Lord found me in the wilderness, and for
ten years I have walked in the narrow way, till
now mine enemy has found me this day; nay, not
this day, but the hour I girt this sword on my
side. I am the same man that fought at St. Gothard,
and walked up the breach at Philisbourg.”
“And may I never fight by the side of a better
soldier,” cried Gervase with assumed gaiety. "The
Protestant cause could ill afford to lose an arm like
yours. But for you we had never charged
this day.
“Ah! it was a gallant onfall;” said the old soldier
.bn 034.png
.pn +1
meditatively, “I have seldom seen a brisker, but it
is vanity, vanity.” He sighed, and relapsed into
silence, nor did Gervase venture to address him again
till they rode into the village where they intended
to pass the night.
.bn 035.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER II. | OF THE ENTERTAINMENT THEY HAD AT THE INN.
.sp 2
At the door of the inn Hackett dismounted, and
unfastening the latch with some difficulty entered
the kitchen. A fire of peat was smouldering on
the hearth, and the remains of what was evidently a
hurried meal were scattered on the table. A number
of pike heads and scythe blades were piled in a
corner. There was no one in the room. He rapped
loudly with the hilt of his sword on the table and
presently a woman made her appearance from one
of the inner rooms. She seemed greatly alarmed
at the unexpected arrival of her guests, and as she
entered she cast a look of fear and expectancy
round the kitchen. Her eyes fell on the weapons
in the corner and she stopped short.
“We want food and lodgings for the night,” said
the sergeant, who had been examining one of the
pewter mugs carefully, “lodgings for the men and
horses. Bacon, I see, you have in plenty. Is there
hay in the stable?”
“Ay,” she answered nervously, “but my man is
from home and I cannot serve you.”
“Oh, for that we will just wait upon ourselves
.bn 036.png
.pn +1
and be beholden to ye all the same. Your man, I
doubt not, has taken to another trade, and belike it
were as well we did not fall across him. And for
what do ye keep these toys?” he asked, kicking the heap
of weapons with his jack boot. “These are not tools
an honest man would willingly handle, but we will
inquire further thereinto.”
So saying he went out to make his report to
Macpherson, who was awaiting his return with
undisguised impatience. “Things have an ill look,
sir,” he said, with a stiff salute, “and I doubt not
there is mischief brewing hereabouts; but there is a
can of ale for ourselves and fodder for the beasts.”
“We can go no further if we would,” said
Macpherson, “there is not another mile in the
horses. And,” he continued, glancing at the capability
of the house to withstand an attack, “we can
make good this place against a hundred. Let the
horses be looked to carefully. I myself will examine
the stable. Come, sweetheart, thou hast done a
good day´s work and hast well earned a night´s
repose.”
Gervase and the Vicomte entered the house
together. The woman had replenished the fire
and was busily engaged making her preparations
for the reception of her unwelcome guests. As De
Laprade came in she gave a start of surprise, but
the look of recognition, which for a moment lighted
up her face, immediately gave place to the dull,
stolid expression she had worn in her interview
with the sergeant. She continued her work apparently
.bn 037.png
.pn +1
unconscious of the presence of the two strangers.
The Vicomte threw his hat and sword on the table
and sat down on a stool close to the hearth.
“I am destined to see Madame again,” he said,
stretching out his hands towards the warmth of the
hearth, for the evening had grown chilly. “And
how is la belle Marie?”
As he spoke a tall girl of eighteen, barefooted
and bareheaded, entered the door, tall and straight
as a young poplar, lissom and graceful, with the
deep blue black eyes and low broad brow that one
meets again and again among the peasants of the
West country. Here is the pure Greek, instinct
with life, but touched with a certain grace of sad
and pensive beauty. She also started with surprise
when her eyes fell on the young Frenchman.
“I thought, mother,” she said hesitating--"I
thought--"
“Have done thinking and help me with the
supper,” her mother answered, with a glance of
warning. “The gentlemen have ridden far and
will stay the night.”
“Madame does not recognize her old friends, ma
belle,” said De Laprade lightly, “but you will not
be so cruel. When we parted this morning, I did
not dream that we should meet so soon, but it is
the fortune of war.”
“And the rest,” cried the girl eagerly, “are they
also--”
The woman looked up anxiously for a moment.
"Poof!--they are gone--ecrasés; they need no roof
.bn 038.png
.pn +1
over their heads to-night, nor a pretty maiden to
wait on them. They drank too deep last night to
have cool heads this morning, and now they will
never hear the reveille sound again. It is a great
pity, but the fortunes of war--"
“I don´t understand,” said the girl. “What has
become of them?”
“They are lying yonder by the roadside and will
waken never again.”
The woman threw up her hands with a loud cry
and fell on the floor.
“These barbarians have then some touch of
humanity,” said De Laprade softly, while Gervase
ran forward and raised her head upon his knee,
and the girl seized a water can which stood on the
table and bathed her cheeks and forehead. In a
few minutes the woman recovered consciousness
and looked round her wildly.
“It is not true,” she cried; “´tis a lie. My
beautiful boy that left me singing this morning with
the lovelight dancing in his eyes is not dead. The
sword was never sharpened that could slay him. I
care not for King James or King William and for--why
should they not leave me in peace? Tell me,
for the Holy Virgin´s sake, that it is not true.”
She rose and staggering forward threw herself at
De Laprade´s feet and caught him round the knees,
with streaming eyes and a look of wild entreaty in
her face.
He endeavoured ineffectually to disengage himself,
but she clung to him with desperate earnestness.
.bn 039.png
.pn +1
His look of placid indifference gave way to one of
profound pity. “It may be,” he said, gently endeavouring
to raise her to her feet, “it may be that
I was wrong and your son is not dead. I remember
me he was our guide and did not carry arms. He
may have escaped the fate that befell the others,
but one of these gentlemen will tell you.”
At this moment Macpherson, accompanied by the
sergeant, entered the house.
“What pother is this?” he said roughly. “If you
are unwilling to serve us we will even wait upon
ourselves. We do not make war on women, but
they must not hinder us.”
Gervase drew him aside by the sleeve, hastily
explaining how matters stood; but there was no
comfort or hope in his answer. He had not seen
the boy, but there might be good reason for that;
the woman should have kept the lad at home if
she was unwilling he should take his chance, and
no one could be blamed if he went down with the
rest. One more or less, what did it matter?
The girl stood listening to their brief conversation
with flashing eyes, and then took her mother by the
arm, and drawing her into the inner room closed
the door behind them.
Macpherson was in the enemy´s country and
accordingly made himself at home. Under his
direction a meal was soon prepared, and a cask of
home-brewed ale that had been discovered in a
recess, was rolled into the middle of the floor, and
the men helped themselves. They were too tired for
.bn 040.png
.pn +1
much speech and devoted themselves to their repast
in silence, addressing one another occasionally in
undertones, and making huge inroads on the rashers
and coarse bread that rapidly disappeared before
them. Macpherson sat moodily apart, eating and
drinking but sparingly--a marked contrast to De
Laprade who seemed to forget that he was a prisoner,
and laughed at his own conceits with light-hearted
gaiety. He had divested himself of his
peruke and riding boots, and stretched himself along
the rude settle that stood near the hearth. He
appeared to pay no attention to the stern leader
who scowled more and more deeply as the Vicomte´s
laugh grew louder, and the tone of his conversation
assumed a more unbecoming levity. Gervase
could not help feeling interested, for the type was
altogether new to him--there was a life and colour
about the stories to which he was a stranger; it
was a little bit of Versailles, brilliant and careless,
set down in the wilds of Fermanagh.
“Pardieu!” said the Vicomte, “it was play
that did it; there was nothing else left. My creditors
will miss me, I do not doubt, but they were troublesome
and I hate trouble; so I hastened to seek
glory--bah! it is a greater trouble than the other.
Where is the glory when your soldiers will not
fight, and your king is a poltroon? There is no
music like the rattle of the dicebox, when fortune,
the beautiful goddess, is smiling like a lover. Love
and play are the two things that make life worth
living.”
.bn 041.png
.pn +1
“Of love,” said Gervase, “I know nothing, but
for play--I leave that to the fool and the knave.
Nay, I mean not to say that men of honour have
not ere now given themselves up to its strange
fascination, but it was their weakness. For me, I like
rather to hear the yelp of the otter hounds when the
morning is young and the spring woods are full
of life and beauty, or the cry of the beagles when
the scent is lying strong. You have never seen
the brown trout in the freshet?”
“There were no fish in the ponds at Versailles,”
said the Vicomte drily, “but when a great lady
dropped her fan--”
Macpherson rose to his feet and drew out the
small leather-bound volume that Gervase had seen
him use before. “There has been enough of this
untimely jesting,” he said. “These are not manners
that suit our station or our work, and if you, sir,
care not to join in the devotions of Christian men,
I shall not compel you to remain, but you may
retire to your repose. But as for us, we will thank
God for His watchful care this day.”
“Your devotions, sir, will interest me beyond
measure.”
“Hackett, give me the light,” said Macpherson,
looking for a moment sternly at the speaker from
under his heavy eyebrows. The sergeant went to
the hearth and taking up a blazing piece of resinous
fir held it up to his leader, who opened the book
and began solemnly to read one of those Psalms
that breathe forth vengeance and savage triumph.
.bn 042.png
.pn +1
“Plead my cause, oh Lord, with them that strive
with me, fight against them that fight against me.
Take hold of shield and buckler and stand up for
my help.”
Then he closed the book and dropping on his
knees (an example which was followed by all the
company except the Vicomte, who was apparently
fast asleep) he prayed loudly and fervently. His
prayer was to some extent a repetition of the verses
he had been reading, clothed in more homely language.
He prayed that God would lead His people
forth in safety through the perils and dangers that
encompassed them; and that the wicked oppressor
might be taken in his own toils and destroyed utterly.
Then from the language of supplication he passed
to the enthusiasm of prophecy. The day was at
hand when a great deliverance would be wrought
for the people of God. The scarlet woman, sunken
in her adulteries and witchcraft, would pass into
the darkness of Tophet; they who lived by the
sword would perish by the sword, and the Protestant
cause would triumph over all its enemies. When
he had finished, and his loud Amen was repeated
by the kneeling men around him, he remained for
some time on his knees apparently engaged in
private prayer. Then he rose to his feet with the
prompt alacrity that distinguished him, and gave the
few necessary instructions for the night.
“We march at three,” he said abruptly. “Ralston
will do duty at the Bridge, and Given will take
the church at the upper end of the village. In
.bn 043.png
.pn +1
three hours they will be relieved. There must be
no sleeping on sentry duty, my lads,” he added,
with additional sternness in his tone, “for we do not
want our throats cut while we sleep. This is not
child´s play, and if you fail in aught be assured you
have a man to deal with who knows how to punish
laggards.”
With these words he left the room abruptly and
the men, with the exception of the two who had
been selected for duty, settled themselves on the
earthen floor of the kitchen to snatch a brief repose.
Gervase had secured for himself a small room at
the end of the house in which there was a rude
bed, and which he had proposed to share with the
Vicomte who, however, had declined his offer. The
door of the room, which was of oak, was secured
by a heavy bolt and this he fastened carefully behind
him when he entered the apartment. The moon
was shining bright and the sky was full of stars.
From the little window Gervase could see the church
tower standing square and black in the soft yellow
moon-light, and the little river winding down the
valley like a tangled silver thread. Placing his
sword within reach and his pistols under his pillow,
he threw himself on the pallet. But for some time
his mind was too busy with the events of the day
to allow him to settle himself to sleep. Half dreaming,
half awake, he saw again and again in its deadly
agony and unspeakable terror, the face of the man
whom he had run through in the skirmish. He
heard ringing in his ears the wild shouts of the
.bn 044.png
.pn +1
charging horsemen, and his sword was raised aloft
to strike, when his strength seemed suddenly to
become as the strength of a little child, and his
heart to die for fear within him. At length, worn
out with the labour of the day, he fell into a profound
and dreamless sleep.
It was long past midnight when he was awakened
by the sound of the crashing and splintering of wood,
the clash of weapons and the glare of blazing lights.
Leaping, dazed and bewildered, from his bed, he
caught up his sword, and placing his back against
the wall, prepared to sell his life as dearly as possible.
Already the stout oak panels had given way under the
heavy blows that were being dealt from the outside.
In another minute the door fell in with a crash, and
the room was filled with flashing lights and a crowd
of armed ruffians. At the sight of him standing
with his weapon drawn, his assailants halted for a
moment; then someone raised the cry: “Cut the throat
of the heretic,” and there was a simultaneous rush
upon him. They were so crowded together that they
could not effectually use their weapons, and to his own
surprise Gervase was able to keep them at bay.
When the first shock of surprise had passed,
and it passed almost immediately, he felt his eyes
clear and his nerves steady themselves into a cool
and deliberate resolve to die, if needs must, like a
valiant fighting man. He realized at a glance the
extreme desperateness of the situation, and his very
despair gave him courage. His grasp was firm and
strong on the hilt of his sword, and the pulses of
.bn 045.png
.pn +1
his blood began to beat steadily. In after days he
wondered that it should be so, and like a simple
and courageous gentleman, he set it down to no
heroism of his own, but to the inspiration and direction
of a higher Power. In a moment standing there he
knew what had happened. The sentinels had been
surprised at their post, the men below had been taken
unawares and overpowered without resistance, and
the hostelry was completely in the hands of the enemy.
For him there was no hope of escape, and he knew
he need expect no quarter. Leaping upon the bed,
he parried the blows that were dealt at him. Again
and again his assailants came surging up, and again
and again he cleared the deadly circle round him.
Already two or three bodies lay on the floor below
him: his sword streamed with blood from the point
to the hilt. For a moment there was a pause--his
courage and coolness had checked the first rush.
Then with a deep oath one of the fellows sprang
forward, and caught him round the knees with a
grasp that he could not disengage, and another
leaping on the bed beside him, sought to wrest the
weapon from his hand. He thought that the end
was come and that in another minute it would be
all over. But he felt his strength the strength of
ten. Dealing one of the fellows a tremendous blow
fair and straight in the face, he shortened his sword
and ran the other through the body; without a
sound the man rolled over and fell in a heap on the
floor. Again the circle cleared round him and he drew
a deep breath. Then there was a sound of rushing
.bn 046.png
.pn +1
water in his ears; the room swam round him; tottering
and falling he clung to the wall for support. Through
a blinding mist he saw, or dreamt he saw, the gleam
of uplifted weapons round him ready to strike, and
he wondered that they did not make an end of him;
then the tall figure of De Laprade with his rapier
drawn, striking up the weapons that were aimed at
him; surely, too, that was the voice of the gallant
Vicomte?--"What, cowards! would you slay the boy
now that he is down, when you could not face him with
his sword in his hand? Ah, sang de Dieu! you
shall not touch him. I command you; I, Victor
de Laprade. Mille de Diables! take up these carcases
and see if there is any life left in them. He is a
gallant gentleman, and you shall not injure a hair
of his head."
To the reeling brain of Gervase all was wild
tumult and disorder; the lights blazed round him;
the flash of gleaming steel and the shadow of dark
passionate faces came and went; the strident clamour
of angry voices sounded as from immeasurable
distances. And then his senses failed him and he
remembered no more.
When consciousness returned he was lying on
the bed with the Vicomte bending over him, while
a little dark man in a shabby cloak and wig very
much the worse for wear, was stanching the blood
that flowed from a wound in his shoulder. The
room had been cleared, but some fellows whose faces
showed that they had been robbed of their spoil,
were gathered round the door, and looked on with
.bn 047.png
.pn +1
countenances that betokened little goodwill toward
the wounded man. The little surgeon went on busily
with his work and when he had finished, rubbed
his hands with an air of satisfaction.
“A neat bit of work, Vicomte; as pretty a piece
of accidental skilfulness as ever I saw in my life.
The one hundred and twelfth part of an inch would
have relieved this tenement of clay of its immortal
soul, and being a heretic----” and he shook his head
vigorously. “However, ´tis but a trifle to one who
hath youth and vigour. This excessive bleeding will
relieve him of sundry humours and affections that
lurk in the veins of youth, and in a day or two
at the furthest his natural strength will assert itself.
He must avoid the use of intoxicating fluids. But
I´m thinking,” he added, with a twinkle in his eyes,
“there will be little for him after my lord and
myself.”
Gervase opened his eyes and attempted to rise,
but De Laprade, sitting beside him on the bed,
gently restrained him.
“Be not in too great haste, my friend,” he said.
“My Lord Galmoy will want to see you presently
and you will need all your strength for the interview.”
“A very deadly disease for which there is no
remedy known to the faculty,” added the surgeon;
“especially when he is in his cups.”
“Monsieur le Medicin,” continued De Laprade,
“tells me your wound is not serious, and if you
can listen I should like to give you a word of
.bn 048.png
.pn +1
advice, though little accustomed to give it.”
“I begin to feel better,” Gervase answered. “The
wound is a trifle painful and my head is somewhat
dull withal, but I have strength enough left to thank
you, Vicomte, for your help. I doubt not but for
your kindly assistance I had now been past this
gentleman´s skill.”
“I assure you, my friend, ´twas nothing. These
wolves have a taste for blood, but they like their
game better dead than alive and are easily shaken
off. But the wolf--I mean the gentleman--who will
presently be inquiring for you is altogether different.
Him you cannot so easily satisfy. I should advise
you, in all friendship, to answer his questions as
fully as becomes a man of honour, and not needlessly
to offend him. For myself, if I can be of assistance,
you may rely upon me.”
“I shall strive to do as you say. But for the
others--what became of Macpherson?”
A smile passed over the Vicomte´s face. “When
la belle Marie brought my Lord Galmoy to the
house, he made sure that all your party were within,
and made your men prisoners before they could
draw a sword or fire a shot. But your captain,
for what reason I know not, was passing the night
in the stable, and when he was discovered he was
already armed and putting the saddle on his great
horse. For a pious Christian who is given to long
prayers, he swears strangely. But he is a brave
man and can fight sans doute. It was beautiful to
see him swinging his long sword and swearing
.bn 049.png
.pn +1
great oaths that I did not wholly understand. They
went down before him like the corn, and the others
fled crying that it was the devil. For myself I
admire brave men and did not care to help the
cowards. I doubt not he and I will meet again;
and we shall finish our little quarrel and one of us
will return no more.”
“Then he made his escape--on foot or on horseback?”
“The great horse is still standing in the bastle
and your captain must walk far, Monsieur Orme,
before he is at home. But you cannot kill such
men; they do not easily die. If M. le Medicin
will pardon me, I might suggest that we can now
spare him, for I am assured that there are others
who need his services.”
“Faith,” said the surgeon, “you are speaking
the truth, Vicomte, for the mellow Falernian has
been going round, and I can hear the gentlemen
already in their cups. For you, sir, I hope to see
you in the morning--though,” he added, under his
breath, “as like as not with a cord round your neck
and your feet in the air.”
“And now, my friend,” said De Laprade, when
the doctor had left the room, “I doubt not you
have heard of what manner is my Lord Galmoy.
It is best to speak plainly. He can feel no pity
nor show mercy. He cares not for the laws of war.
Every prisoner is only an enemy. Should you answer
him boldly I think your death is certain; even I
who have some influence with him could not save you.”
.bn 050.png
.pn +1
“Have no fear for me,” said Gervase, rising to
his feet and feebly attempting to stand; “for I have
little fear for myself. Life is sweet and I do not
wish to die, but the dread of death will not make
me a coward. I shall die as I have humbly striven
to live--though,” he added, with a faint smile, “hanging
is hardly seemly for a gentleman. I knew poor
Charleton, and they say he met his death like a
man. I hope I may do the same when my time
comes.”
“These are but heroics,” said the Vicomte; “we
must not grumble at our cards but play the game,
and yours--Well, sir, what do you want?”
A sergeant of dragoons entered the room and
swaggered forward, “My Lord would see the prisoner,
and I was sent to fetch him.”
“Tell my Lord Galmoy he will be with him
in an instant, and that he is badly wounded. I
myself will attend him and you need not wait.”
"Now, my dear Orme," he continued, as the man
left the room with a doubtful nod, “take my arm
and rely on my services; I have not forgotten
yours. But act like a man of sense and forget
your sermons until you are among your friends.”
De Laprade gave him his arm, and Gervase
painfully descended the crooked staircase, his heart
beating loudly and his hand trembling from weakness
and exhaustion as he leaned on his companion.
.bn 051.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER III. | OF THE WAY MY LORD GALMOY SAT IN JUDGMENT.
.sp 2
The character of Lord Galmoy had recently gained
an unenviable notoriety by his barbarous murder of
Cornet Charleton and Captain Dixie at Fermoy, nor
were there wanting those who asserted there
were still darker stains on his character as a soldier.
Such a man, Gervase well knew, would not stretch
the laws of war in his favour, and it was more
than likely that this savage cavalry-leader would
not be disposed to treat him as a lawful enemy
taken in battle, but as a rebel and a spy. For
such there was a short shrift and a long rope.
When they entered the kitchen, the scene was
one of the liveliest disorder and confusion. The
room was filled with soldiers attired in every describable
costume, some smoking by the fire, some eating
and drinking, and all endeavouring to make themselves
heard in a perfect babel of tongues. Hats,
cloaks, and swords were piled upon the table, at
the furthest end of which was seated a small knot
of officers, among whom Gervase recognized the
little surgeon who had attended to his wound, now
busily engaged in discussing the contents of a pewter
.bn 052.png
.pn +1
measure. At the head of the table was an officer
of superior rank, and near him stood Hackett, with
his hands bound behind his back and a great gash
on his forehead. He had evidently been under examination,
and his replies had not been satisfactory to
the officer who was cross-examining him. At a
glance Gervase recognized Lord Galmoy. His wig
was pushed back, showing the closely-cropped black
hair that came low down on the forehead. His
eyes were bloodshot and his lips trembled with passion.
Yet the face was a handsome one, though
marked by the signs of excess and unbridled indulgence;
a face weak in its almost feminine regularity,
with delicately marked eyebrows, regular nose, and
rounded chin; his hands were small and white as
those of a woman.
As De Laprade made his way through the troopers
who turned to stare at his companion, Galmoy said
to the men who were in charge of Hackett, “Do
not remove him. I may have further questions to
put to him. And now for this young cock who crowed
loud enough to bring the barn down about our ears;
I think we shall soon cut his spurs. How say you,
Vicomte?”
“I am under obligations to the gentleman, my
Lord,” said De Laprade, “I trust your Lordship will
not deal too harshly with him.”
“Why, damme, we shall all be under obligations
presently, but we shall see. And now, sir, what is
your name?”
Gervase caught the eye of the Vicomte fixed on
.bn 053.png
.pn +1
him with a look of warning. “My name is Orme,”
he said, feeling weak and faint with the loss of
blood and the great heat of the atmosphere.
“And your rank?”
“A private gentleman, now serving with other
gentlemen of the North in defence of our liberties.”
“And, prithee, who gave the gentlemen of the
North commission to raise regiments or levy war
on His Majesty´s subjects? Do you know, sir, that
being found with arms in your hand without lawful
authority to carry them, ´tis my duty to string you
up as a warning to other malcontents. His Majesty
has shown too much long-suffering, and had he
been wise we had stamped out this cursed rebellion
in a month. There is one King in Ireland, and
with the help of God and His holy saints one King
there will be. You shall drink his health, and that,
damme, in a bumper.”
“That, with your Lordship´s pardon, I shall not
do,” said Gervase, disregarding De Laprade´s gesture
of warning. “I have taken the oath of allegiance
to William and Mary, and to do what your Lordship
asks would be an act either of disloyalty or hypocrisy.”
“We shall see,” Galmoy answered, with a smile
that was full of meaning. “Fill up a cup, Whitney,
for no one shall say that we did not give this
damned rebel a chance. And now, sir, whither and
on what errand were you away when we interrupted
your journey?”
“Our destination was Enniskillen, but for our
errand, from answering on that matter I pray your
.bn 054.png
.pn +1
Lordship to hold me excused. My knowledge of
our real purpose was but slight and would advantage
you little.”
“And do you refuse to answer a plain question,
sir?”
“I have given your Lordship my answer.”
Galmoy pushed his chair back from the table
and his face grew purple with passion. Then he
turned to the officers who were sitting round him,
bringing his hand heavily down on the table. “God´s
blood, gentlemen, what think you of that? I have
been blamed by those who should know better, for
the practice of a little just severity, and His Majesty
would pet and pamper these rebels and treat them
as faithful subjects who had been led astray. And
here you have the issue. Every peasant and scurvy
citizen struts about with armour on his back and a
weapon in his hand, as if by the grace of God he
had divine right to use the same. These are airs
that will find no countenance while I am master
of ceremonies.”
“This young gentleman should know better,” said
one of the officers with a sneer, “for if I mistake
not I have seen him before. Pray, sir, have we
not met in Dublin when you were of Mountjoy´s
regiment?”
“You can do what you please,” said Gervase,
forgetting the caution he had promised himself to
observe; “I am in your hands, but I will answer no
questions; and if it be your good pleasure to murder
me, on your heads is the infamy.”
.bn 055.png
.pn +1
“We will answer for ourselves whatever we do,”
Galmoy answered. “But remember, the toast is
waiting, and no man in my presence will refuse to
drink to the health of His Majesty.”
“I will not drink it, and no man living will
force me. I have already given you my reasons.”
“In good time,” said Galmoy, “we shall see.
How say you, Major? Do you recognize this stiff-necked
Whig as being lately in the service of His
Majesty?”
“On that head,” was the answer, “I have no
doubt. He was lodged at the Bunch of Grapes
hard by the Castle, and though we were not intimate,
I have seen him too frequently to be mistaken.”
“Then, by Heaven, the cup of his transgression
is full and the provost-marshal must see that he
drinks it. I will take the matter on my own shoulders
and answer for it to whomsoever may question
me. Look you, sergeant, take the prisoner without,
and see that he drinks that measure of wine. A
lighted match, if properly applied, will bring him
to reason. In the morning you will see that he is
shot before the door an hour before we march,
for I do not like these things arranged hurriedly.
For the other ´twere a pity he should not bear him
company. Let them both go together.”
Weakened as he was by the loss of blood, and
unstrung by the ordeal he had just passed through,
Gervase tottered and fell on the bench beside which
he had been standing. The room swam round him,
and though he strove against it he felt that his
.bn 056.png
.pn +1
senses were rapidly failing him. He would have
fallen upon the floor, but De Laprade springing forward
and placing his arm round him, supported
him on the seat.
Then the Vicomte turned to Galmoy. “I have
said nothing, my Lord, because I did not wish to
interfere, as I thought your Lordship would have
treated this gentleman as a fair prisoner of war.
It is now my duty to speak; I trust your Lordship
will hear me.”
Galmoy had now recovered his temper and
answered De Laprade with a show of courtesy.
“Certainly, my dear Vicomte, there is no one to
whom I listen with greater pleasure. But I trust you
will not ask me to alter this little arrangement.”
“You will pardon me; I have told you that I am
under an obligation to this gentleman, and but for
that obligation I should have been lying beside
Luttrel on the high-road. I always endeavour to
pay my debts of honour, and if need be I borrow
from my friends to discharge them.”
“Faith! my creditors will tell you that I find it
hard enough to discharge my own.”
“When the fight was over, the captain who has
escaped showed a great mind to pistol me, when
this Monsieur Orme, at great peril to his life, for I
apprehended a pretty quarrel, stepped between us
and compelled him to forbear. To him I owe my
life, and I should be wanting in gratitude if I failed
to avow the service he has done me.”
“There is not a traitor or a rebel in the country
.bn 057.png
.pn +1
who has not a loyal subject to plead for him. God´s
wounds! Viscount, you forget that he first attacked
you on the high road, and that he has worn the
uniform of His Majesty, whom Heaven preserve.”
“But, my Lord, I do not forget. These rebels
have not saved my life and I do not intercede for
them. I have lent my sword and service to the
King of England, but I do not forget that I am a
gentleman and a man of honour. In France we do
not put our prisoners to the torture, nor will I fight
in the company of those who do. Rather would I
break my sword across my knees and disown the
name I bear.”
“The Vicomte de Laprade is right, my Lord,”
said the officer who had recognized Gervase.
“Gratitude is a most estimable virtue, and exceedingly
rare. In return for his services perhaps your
Lordship will pretermit the young gentleman´s drinking
the health, and merely give him his dry quietus in
the morning.”
“With you, sir,” said De Laprade coldly, “I have
no dealings now nor at any future time. I ask you,
my Lord, for this gentleman´s life. ´Tis the only
return I am likely to receive, and indeed it is all
I ask.”
“I regret, my dear Vicomte, that I am unable to
do your will in this matter, but we must hold out
a warning to others. However, as Butler has suggested,
he need not dance to-night. Sergeant, you
need not apply the thumbscrew. And for you, sir,
you can make up your mind to set the example
.bn 058.png
.pn +1
you hinted at. As it is, you may thank Viscount de
Laprade that you have escaped a dram that was
like to prove bitter enough, but had I had my own
way, you should have had both the dram and the
halter for a renegade deserter.”
“Am I then, my Lord Galmoy, to understand
that you refuse to accede to my request? and that
the gentleman in whom your Lordship sees I am
so deeply interested must die in the morning?”
Galmoy nodded and motioned to the officer who
sat nearest him to pass the wine.
“I know not,” De Laprade continued, drawing
himself up haughtily, “whether it is because my
sword and friendship are of so little value and are
held in so slight esteem, that this simple favour is
denied me, or because in this country gentlemen are
deaf to the voice of expediency. But I know that
the brave Luttrel, and a braver man never drew a
sword, met his death because you, sir, have seen
good to bring in the executioner where the soldier
fails.”
“Bah! we will not quarrel, though I will not
answer for my temper should you provoke me
further. You do not understand these matters, but
for my part I hold it a safe rule to let every country
manage its own affairs according to its own customs.
Damme, man, this is not the court of Versailles,
but the country of Whiggery and pestilent
traitors, where every Jack-pudding is up in arms
against his king and master. In a few months
you will have learned not to be so whimsical.”
.bn 059.png
.pn +1
“I trust that I shall never learn to forget that I
am a gentleman.”
De Laprade´s manner was so pointed and his tone
so full of fine, studied disdain that Galmoy, who
could not fail to see that an insult was intended,
leapt to his feet and drew his sword. In an instant
his example was followed by the Vicomte. But
they were not permitted to fight out their quarrel,
for several gentlemen threw themselves between
them, and succeeded in disarming them both; not,
however, without difficulty in the case of Galmoy,
who seemed almost to have been deprived of his
reason in the excess of his passion. In vain they
endeavoured to assure him that no insult had been
intended, and that he had misinterpreted the Vicomte´s
words, while the Vicomte himself stood looking
on with a smile playing round his lips, cool and
unconcerned as was his wont.
In the midst of the confusion Gervase was removed
from the room into the open air. His guards permitted
him to sit down on the stone drinking-trough
outside the door, while one of them went to prepare
a place in which he might pass the night securely.
Bending down till his forehead touched his knees,
he endeavoured vainly to collect his thoughts and
to realize what had happened, for his mind was still
confused and weak. He knew that he was about
to die, but it seemed to him at that moment as if
it were another and not himself who had taken part
in the drama that had just concluded. For himself,
he was drifting blindly among shadows that grew
.bn 060.png
.pn +1
thicker and darker as he sought to dispel them.
The voices he had heard were still ringing in his
ears; the faces he had seen were still coming and
going. Then he heard the voice of Hackett and
looked up. The old sergeant was standing beside
him with his hands still bound behind his back, and
his grey hair hanging, matted and stained with blood,
about his face.
“Be of good cheer, Mr. Orme, it will soon be
over, sir,” he said, with homely dignity. “I am
proud to think that you bore yourself bravely, and
showed them that a gentleman and a Christian does
not fear death. I should have liked, if it had so
pleased the Almighty, to have died on the field of
battle, but since ´tis His will, then His will be done.
It is not for us to complain or dispute the great
decrees. I will see you in the morning, sir,” he
added, as his guards prepared to lead him away,
“and it may hap that we shall enter the Kingdom
together.”
Gervase was conducted to a low outhouse where
a quantity of fresh straw had been spread for him,
and one of the troopers, with rough goodnature,
threw a horse cloth over his shoulders, for the night
had grown chilly and he was shivering with cold.
Then they withdrew, locking the door behind them,
and left him to await the arrival of the provost-marshal
in the morning.
.bn 061.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IV. | OF HOW THE VICOMTE PAID HIS DEBT.
.sp 2
Orme lay for a considerable time in a dull stupor,
unable to collect his thoughts, but by degrees his
senses came back, and he awoke to the situation
in which he was placed. He believed that it was
idle to hope for mercy; he was in the hands of a
man who was not likely to trouble himself further
about his fate. He felt that he must die, and that
he must face death with what courage he could
command. He had never thought much about it
before, but now when he stood face to face with
death, it became so real and so terrible that for a
time he stood aghast at the contemplation. He
saw with awful vividness the preparations of the
morning, and he thought of the moment when his
soul and body would part company for ever. He
was young, and the great mysteries of life and
death had never troubled him. The path of his
duty had been simple and plain; to stand by the
truth, to show himself modest and pure and valorous
always, to betray no trust, and to worship God
according to the custom of his fathers--this was
his creed and his plan of life; according to this he
had sought to live and die. He had no desire for
.bn 062.png
.pn +1
the martyr´s death and the martyr´s crown; he loved
life and clung to it, and now all the more when
he was in danger of losing it. Men like Hackett
might find consolation and support in religion at a
time like this, but for himself it could not lift him
superior to the fear of suffering and the dread of
death. There was, however, some consolation in
the thought that he had striven honestly to do his
duty, and that he had not begged in any unmanly
way for life. Then his thoughts took another turn,
and his whole past life unrolled itself before him.
Incidents of his boyhood that he had long forgotten
came fresh into his mind. He saw the stream and
the stepping-stones where he had been used to
fish, and the patches of sunshine glinting on the
water through the willows; the old stone house and
its tall chimneys lifting themselves among the oaks
and firs; the dark wainscoted room where his
father had taught him from Tacitus and Cæsar;
and he longed with a great longing for life.
He raised himself from the straw and stretched
out his hands in the darkness. The walls of the
shieling in which he was confined were of wood,
and he did not doubt that had he not been disabled
he could have forced his way out. As it was
escape even yet might be possible. To feel again
the fresh wind blowing across the hillside and see
the clear light of the stars, and the dark green
fields stretching under them--the thought gave him
strength and courage. Feeling carefully along the
walls of the shed, and searching for a loose plank
.bn 063.png
.pn +1
he came to the door which opened from without. He
stood listening for the tread of the sentry´s feet, but
there was no sound audible but the beating of his
own heart that throbbed wildly with the hope of
escape. The door was not guarded. The planks
of which the door was made, were light and had
been roughly put together, but he found it impossible
to make any impression upon them, though he
strained and pulled till his wound broke out afresh.
In the darkness he searched for a weapon that
might assist him, but he could find nothing suited
to his purpose. Again he followed the walls of the
shed with his hands, searching carefully for a weak
place in the timbers, but again he was unsuccessful.
Then the great wave of hope subsided, and
he threw himself once more upon the straw to
compose his mind to meet with resignation the
fate that was before him. There seemed to be no
hope of escape left. By degrees he grew calm,
and from some odd corner in his brain there came
to his mind the lines--
.pm start_poem
“Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage.”
.pm end_poem
Again and again they repeated themselves until
they seemed almost to lose their meaning for him;
but the feeling remained with him, and by and by
he found himself looking forward to the morning
with resignation.
Suddenly in the unbroken quiet he heard the
.bn 064.png
.pn +1
sound of footsteps on the causeway without; then the
door of the shed was opened, someone entered,
and the flash of a lantern for a moment dazzled
his eyes. It was De Laprade, flushed with wine
and somewhat unsteady in his gait. Closing the
door behind him, he looked round and saw Gervase
lying in the corner.
“Eh, mon ami!” he said, laying down the lantern
and removing his cloak, “but you have had a bad
quarter of an hour. It was my fear that they
would hang you at once, for these gentlemen are
not nice in their manners nor long in their grace.
It would give me much delight to measure swords
with Galmoy, but the barbarian will not fight
save when he is drunk, and then I am generally
far from sober myself. These are not comfortable
quarters,” he added abruptly, looking round him
and shrugging his shoulders.
“They are good enough for a dying man who
has but a few hours to live,” said Gervase gravely.
“For that we shall see,” was the answer. “They
have succeeded, not without difficulty, in putting
my colonel to bed, and his condition is such that
he will be hard to awake. I, Victor de Laprade,
will now proceed to arrange matters for him. Are
you able to stand?”
Gervase caught a glimpse of his meaning and again
a wild hope arose in his heart. But reflecting for a
moment, he felt that he could not take advantage
of the gallant Frenchman´s generosity, and he shook
his head. “I cannot allow you,” he said, “to undergo
.bn 065.png
.pn +1
further risk for me; I cannot do it; already you
have far more than repaid any kindness I was able
to render you.”
“Have no fear for me; I am able to answer any
man who may dare to question me in what I do
or leave undone. You do not know me, Mr. Orme.
No man shall prevent my paying my debts of honour,
whether they be debts of friendship or enmity. And
shall I refuse to give him his life to whom I owe
my own, when I have merely to turn the key in the
door and say, ‘Friend, that is your road´? It is
impossible.”
“But you do not recollect----”
“I recollect perfectly. Let us not enter into heroics,
my friend, for this thing is simple and easy. Galmoy
shall not know that to me you owe your escape;
indeed it is probable that in the morning he will
have forgotten you altogether, and remember only
his headache. I have already provided you with a
horse; your captain´s great beast is the best in the
stable; and for a passport, this will have to serve
your turn, though it will be best that you should
avoid showing it too frequently. The name of De
Laprade will not carry you far in this barbarous
country. But, in faith, the signature might pass for
that of His Majesty King Louis himself, or for that
matter, of my Lord Galmoy. The handwriting is
hardly as sober as I could wish--indeed, it is
cursedly tipsy. When we next meet it may be at the
sword´s point, in which case it were well to forget
this interlude of Corydon and Strephon and try what
.bn 066.png
.pn +1
yesterday we failed to finish. I have a pretty thrust
in tierce that I should like to show you.”
“If we meet I hope it will never be as enemies,”
said Gervase with warmth, “for I can never forget
how much I owe you. I fear you undergo great
risk in thus serving me.”
“Find yourself safe on shipboard or within the
walls of Londonderry, and trouble not yourself about
any danger that I may run. I can protect my reputation
and my honour with my sword, and for this act if
need be I shall answer to the king himself, though
I fear he has not the nice sense of honour. I knew
him in Whitehall; he is no king, but a priest in the
purple, and a priest without piety. Your William is
cold, but he is the better man. There is but one
thing more. Should you again find your captain,
tell him that I have not forgotten his promise, and
that I look forward with eagerness to our next
interview. I have crossed swords with Lauzun and
Hamilton and will teach the clown to threaten a
gentleman. That is finished, and now to horse.”
Raising Gervase from the ground, he supported
him to the door, in the meantime wrapping his own
cloak about his shoulders and warning him that the
night air was bad for a green wound. Then he left
him for a minute and returned almost immediately
with Macpherson´s grey charger, already harnessed.
The windows of the tavern were still aglow with light,
and the sound of loud and uproarious laughter rang
on the quiet night as he helped Gervase into the
the saddle. There was little likelihood of pursuit, for
.bn 067.png
.pn +1
it was clear that no precautions had been taken to
guard the prisoners, and before Gervase was missed
he would have put many a good mile between himself
and his pursuers. The only fear was, that weak and
exhausted as he was, it would be impossible for him
to continue his journey for any length of time. Still,
there was the sense of the removal of a great dread,
and a feeling of joyous freedom that gave him new
heart and strength. He gathered up the reins in
his hands and at that moment the recollection of
Hackett flashed upon his mind.
“It was selfish and cowardly of me to have
forgotten,” he said. “Is it not also possible to save
the sergeant? I feel that I am deserting a comrade
and I should not like to leave him.”
“What can you do for him,” said De Laprade,
“but make one more for the hangman? Your remaining
will not save him; your going cannot harm him.
I cannot do more than I have done, but I tell you
to be of good courage regarding his safety, for I
give you my word of honour that I will do what
I can for the psalm-singing rogue. Be of good
cheer. And now you will find a pistol in your
holster which may be of some use. It may be we
shall meet again. Farewell!”
Gervase wrung De Laprade´s hand in silence and
giving his impatient horse the rein passed through
the yard, and found himself in the village street
which lay quiet and dark before him. The tower
of the church was darkly outlined against the starlit
sky, and from a distance the murmur of the little
.bn 068.png
.pn +1
stream stole with a hushed and solemn music through
the night. Nowhere was there sight or sound of
life; to the ear of the rider the hoofs of the horse
rang upon the road with startling distinctness, though
he walked him slowly past the sleeping houses.
Then he came to the bridge, and on the bridge the
the horse started suddenly and sniffed at something
lying at his feet. The night was dark with the
moon lifting faintly through a bank of cloud, but
Gervase saw on the road the body of a man lying
on his back with his arms outspread. He dismounted
with difficulty and stooping down, saw it was Ralston.
The body was already cold and the pulse had ceased
to beat. It was evident that he had been surprised
at his post, for his carbine lay undischarged at his
side, and the long sword he had carried lay under
him, unloosed from the scabbard. This was the
young fellow whose merry song had disturbed
Macpherson in the morning--his lips were silent
enough now. Gervase bent down and touched the
cold forehead. As yet he had not grown callous
to the sight of sudden death, and it was with a
lump in his throat and a mist before his eyes that
he again set out on his perilous journey.
The road, a mere cart-track, wound for several
miles up the hill, climbing for the most part through
a dense growth of stunted firs, but here and there
winding through the open bog and hardly to be
distinguished from it. But the great horse seemed
to have a natural instinct for the beaten track, and
put his generous shoulders bravely to it. So steady
.bn 069.png
.pn +1
he was and so footsure, that his rider let the reins
fall upon his neck and left him to choose his path
as he pleased. A small rain had begun to fall and
there was a sharpness in the wind blowing down
the mountain-gap. But Gervase heeded neither
the rain nor the wind. For a time the sense of
deliverance swallowed up every other thought, but
presently he began to consider what fate was in
store for him. It was hardly likely that he could
reach Londonderry in safety, for the enemy would
by that time no doubt have completely invested
the city; and there was only a remote chance of
his finding a ship in Lough Foyle, could he get
so far. He had now no doubt that the enemy held
possession of the roads; should he be fortunate
enough to meet with part of the regular force he
did not much doubt that as a prisoner he would
receive honourable terms, but should he meet with
a body of those marauders who hung on the skirts
of the regular army and whose main business was
robbery and murder, there was little hope of his
life. But, after all, was it not idle to hope to escape
at all? Wounded as he was he could not long continue
his journey but must inevitably sink from weakness
and exhaustion.
.il id=i070 fn=i_070.jpg w=60% ew=90% cw=120%
.ca “THE STRANGER CAUGHT HIS HORSE BY THE REIN”
The road began to descend once more into the
valley, and under the grey light of the early dawn
he could see the fields and hedgerows sloping down
to where the little river ran through clumps of hazel
and osier. As he drew towards the river the sound
of running water was pleasant to hear in the unbroken
.bn 070.png
.bn 071.png
.bn 072.png
.pn +1
silence--a sign of movement and life. After a
while the road grew narrow and ran through an arch
of tall poplars, through which he could see the dull
red light of the rising dawn at the further end.
On one side of the road was a sluggish pool of
water and on the other a high hedge of thorns.
He had ridden half way through this dark colonnade
when he saw the figure of a man standing in the
shadow, apparently awaiting his approach. He could
not see his face but he could see that he had a
weapon in his hand. He instinctively drew from
his holster the pistol with which De Laprade had
provided him, and was about to drive his spurs
into the charger´s flanks, when the stranger sprang
forward, caught his horse by the rein, and placed
the point of a sword at his throat. Gervase
presented his pistol at the head of his assailant and
fired point-blank, but the hammer snapped ineffectually
on the flint. Then he drave the spurs deep
into the horse´s sides, but he stopped short and
refused to move.
“This has come as an answer to prayer,” said a
deep voice. “Dismount, sir, and that speedily; I
have business to do that will not brook delay and
your necessity, however pressing, must yield to mine.”
In a moment Gervase recognized the full sonorous
voice as that of Macpherson. The horse, too, had
recognized his master, for he gave a joyous whinney.
“Use no force, Captain Macpherson,” said Gervase;
“right glad am I to see you, for I had begun
to fear that we should meet no more.”
.bn 073.png
.pn +1
“It is Mr. Orme,” said the old soldier, lowering
the point of his weapon and placing his hand on
the horse´s neck. “I knew not what withheld my
hand that I did not strike, but now I know. Little
did I think as I heard the sound of the horse´s
feet far down the road that I was listening to the
tramp of my brave Bayard, or that it was for you
that I held my sword and prepared to strike hard
and deep. It was God´s mercy that my pistol was
left behind or I should have brought you down
like a laverock on the wing. And how have the
others fared?”
Gervase told him briefly what had happened,
explaining how he owed his life to the kindness of
De Laprade, and how Hackett had been left behind,
with the prospect of a violent death before him.
Macpherson interrupted him with many interjaculations,
and when he had finished exclaimed
dejectedly:
“My fault, my fault! that comes of sending a
boy to do a man´s errand. The lad fell asleep and
the villains stole a march on us. There is no use
crying over milk that is spilt, but I would that I
had arranged it otherwise. And old Hackett--I
saw he was made of the right stuff; they may
break but they will not bend him. I will yet make
them pay for it. And now let us hold a council
of war, for in no case can we let the grass grow
under our feet.”
“I fear,” said Gervase, leaning forward on the
horse´s neck and feeling faint and ill, “that I am
.bn 074.png
.pn +1
not in a condition to travel with much expedition.
I have lost some blood though I do not think
the wound is serious.”
“Hell´s fury! man, why did you not tell me that
you had been touched? Here have we been talking
like a pair of garrulous gossips, while haply
in the meantime your wound needs that I should
look to it. A hospital hath been made ready to
our hand, and if needs be we can pass a day or
two here in safety, for I do not think the enemy
will trouble us. I had already made my bivouac,
when I heard Bayard on the road, and turned out
to see if I could not better my fortune.”
Taking the horse by the bridle he led him a
short distance down the road, and then turning
abruptly up a path to the right through a small
plantation of oaks and poplars, came upon an open
space, lately used as a farm-yard, before a low
thatched house built of stone and roughly plastered
over. The roof had been fired at one end, but the
oak rafters were still standing blackened and charred;
at the other, where the thatch had not ignited, the roof
was still intact. The door lay open, through which
shone the glow of a hospitable fire that burned in
the open hearth. Macpherson had fastened his
cloak against the open window to shut in the light
and prevent it being seen from the outside. The
greater portion of the simple furniture still stood
as the owner had left it--a high-backed oak chair
drawn up to the hearth, the rough earthenware
ranged upon a dresser against the wall, a bed,
.bn 075.png
.pn +1
known as a settle, in a corner, and a small table
roughly put together, under the window.
Macpherson helped his young friend off the horse
and gently supported him into the kitchen. “We
will look to your wound presently,” he said, “but
first it behoves us to set our guard and prepare
against the approach of the enemy. Howbeit they
will not trouble us here; we may lie perdu for a
week if needs must, though it were well we should
be astir as soon as you think you can travel.”
“A day´s rest will set me on my feet, I doubt
not,” said Gervase wearily, “but we cannot live
without food, though the bullet they have bestowed
on me has somewhat robbed me of an appetite.”
“Be not troubled on that score; I am too long
campaigning not to have an eye to the commissariat,
which matter is too often neglected by the great
masters of strategy; ´tis half the art of war. There
are several measures of meal in the chest yonder;
there are some lean fowl roosting in the byre, and
I heard the lowing of a cow in the little meadow
at the foot of the orchard, though I cannot understand
why her owner should have left her behind,
unless, as I take to have been the case, his flitting
was of the speediest. But why the rogues should
have overlooked spoil so much to their mind passes
my comprehension.”
“Perchance,” said Gervase, with a wan smile,
“´tis vox et praeterea nihil.”
“A vox that runs on four legs, and will
furnish us with some excellent beef when I have
.bn 076.png
.pn +1
passed my sword across the throat of the same.
I remember that such a beast furnished five of
us with excellent, if scanty, sustenance for a month,
until we fell out over the horns and hoofs, and two
of us were removed thereafter from all need of
earthly provender. But ´tis not likely that thou
and I will come to such a pass,” he added, holding
out his broad brown palm, while a gleam of kindly
humour lighted up his rugged face.
“I am but fit for the hospital, and am like to be
a heavy burden on your hands.”
“Tut, tut, man, never despair till the last shot
is fired, and the garrison has hauled down its ensign
in token of surrender. I had been a passable leech
had I not rather cared to break heads than to mend
them, whereby it seems to me the two trades are
but complements the one of the other. In a day
or two at the furthest you will be able to hold your
own with any cut-throat rascal who cries for James
Stuart. For that you may trust Ninian Macpherson.”
The old soldier had a good many sides to his
character; as yet Gervase had only seen the praying
and the fighting sides. He was now to see him as
a loyal comrade, ready to cheer him with words of
comfort; helpful as a brother, tender as a woman.
In half an hour he had looked to his wound, which
had opened afresh and bled considerably, had
prepared a meal, and had stretched a bed for him
along the hearth, which though rough and hard,
was very acceptable in his present condition. Then
Bayard was stabled at the further end of the building,
.bn 077.png
.pn +1
and the day had already risen broad and clear
with the singing of birds and the whisper of the
soft spring wind, as Macpherson wrapped himself
in his cloak and with his saddle under his head, gave
himself up to sleep.
.bn 078.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER V. | OF A MAN´S MEMORY.
.sp 2
For upwards of a week Gervase was too ill to
travel, though he rapidly recovered under the care
that Macpherson bestowed upon him. No woman
could have nursed him with more tenderness and
solicitude. Every want that he had was anticipated,
and during the tedium of the day the old soldier
beguiled the time with stories of the camp and
battle-field. He seemed to have no care or thought
for his own comfort but waited assiduously on his
wounded comrade with a simple kindness that
touched Gervase deeply. The darker side of his
character seemed to have disappeared completely;
even his devotions he conducted in private, and it was
only at Gervase´s request that he read from the little
volume that he carried about with him continually.
They were left undisturbed in the farm-house,
though they heard on two occasions the jingling of
bridles, the clank of weapons, and the tramp of
marching men upon the road, bound apparently
for Londonderry; and upon one occasion they were
upon the point of being discovered. Gervase was
alone in the house when he heard the sound of
voices without, and going to the window, he saw
.bn 079.png
.pn +1
half a dozen dragoons drawing water from the well
in the farm-yard. They evidently thought the house
deserted, for they bestowed no attention upon it.
At that moment Macpherson came swinging down
the lane in the rear of the house, and was about to
enter the yard when he caught sight of the steel
head-pieces, and stopped short. Having filled their
bottles, the fellows rejoined their comrades without
suspecting the discovery they were on the point of
making. Thereafter Macpherson was more careful,
going out only when the twilight came down, and
carefully avoiding the highway.
The chickens in the byre had gone the way of
all flesh, and the cow in the meadow had been
turned into wholesome beef, from which the old
soldier concocted many a savoury stew. He was
a rare hand at cooking, setting about the matter
with sober and becoming earnestness, and mightily
proud of his achievements therein. All the herbs
of the field lent themselves to his purpose; he had
studied their uses aforetime, and now he turned the
knowledge to account. He knew something, too,
of their medicinal qualities, and insisted with a
solemn persistence on Gervase swallowing many
nauseous draughts, which, indeed, the latter did rather
from a feeling of good comradeship than from any
liking for the dose. He greatly preferred the
stories of Macpherson´s earlier days when he carried
a halbert with Turenne, or one of the ballads--of
which he had quite a store--which he crooned in a
low tone with a solemn shaking of the head. They
.bn 080.png
.pn +1
were all of battles, sieges, and warlike fortunes, and
touched not at all upon the lighter passions. “Mary
Ambree” was a great favourite of his, and another
whose refrain ran thus:--
.pm start_poem
“Then be stout of heart when the field is set, and the smoke is hanging low,
And the pikeheads shine along the line to meet the advancing foe.”
.pm end_poem
But chiefly he preferred to sing from the psalms
in Francis Rous´s version, especially those which
speak of battle and vengeance, and the rugged
metre and halting lines lost their homeliness, and
were clothed with a fine vigour and glowed with
inspired fervour as he followed the measure with
the motion of his hand. So earnest he was, indeed,
and so direct, with a touch of childlike simplicity,
that Gervase was lost in continual wonder.
As a rule he was reticent regarding his past
life and spoke of it in only a general way. On
one occasion he had been more communicative.
Gervase had become perfectly convalescent and was
able to move about without being supported, the
fever having entirely disappeared, and his strength
having returned in some considerable degree. They
were sitting together discussing the various plans
by which they might reach Londonderry, and Macpherson´s
brows were drawn into a curious frown,
as always happened when he was engaged in deep
thought.
“Could we,” he said, “come haply on a garron,
the thing were as good as done; I doubt not we
.bn 081.png
.pn +1
shall find one to our hand as we proceed, and in
the meantime you will ride Bayard while I tramp
as best I can. I have done as much before, and
with a little strategy, which is just and necessary
we shall be able to satisfy all civil inquiries.”
“´Tis out of the question,” Gervase answered.
“Turn and turn will I take if you will; and it may
be that this passport of De Laprade´s will be of
some service after all, though I do not think the
rogues we may meet will care much for aught
but a strong arm and the sword´s point.”
“´Tis a curious document,” said Macpherson,
spreading it out before him and laying his open
palm upon it. “I am not a great scholar, but I
think no man could tell in what language it was
written, or what may be its purport. Even his name
has so fallen to vinous pieces that ´tis impossible
to pick up the fragments. But I think he hath a
good heart, a very good heart.”
“That I will answer for,” said Gervase, “and I
will answer for it also that you are rejoiced that
you did not harm him. I was not brought up to
understand his ways, but I know he is brave as a
lion and true as steel; and what a handsome fellow
he is!”
“Pooh! wax and paint. I have seen too many
pretty fellows to care for the tribe. But he is as
you say, I doubt not, though he be a Frenchman--for
which latter reason I do not love him.”
“Still, it is no reason why you should hate him.”
“I know not that; the narrow seas divide us for
.bn 082.png
.pn +1
some wise reason, and we speak with different
tongues for a purpose. I have lived too long with
Frenchmen not to love my own country best. God
forbid, however, that I should hate any, though it
is permitted to hate their works. He is, as you
say, a gallant fellow. I remember when I was of
an age with him, I thought as little of the end
whereunto all life tends, and wine and women were
the gods I worshipped. The devil is a liberal
paymaster but he pays in his own currency; I
have a bagful of his ducats.”
“Then you carry them easily,” said Gervase,
feeling that he was treading on tender ground.
“That do I not. Alas; memory will not die; we
cannot slay it even with prayer, though we may
fall back on that to help us to bear the pain. Why
I should talk thus to you I know not, but the
spirit prompts me, and ´tis ever safe to follow its
promptings. I shall open for you one of the pages
that I have striven to tear out of the book of my
life, and failing in that, to blot out with the tears
of penitence and contrition--haply in vain. ´Twas
in ´64, and the April of that year I was in the
service of the Elector of Brandenburg, and we were
quartered at Spandau. Our company was wicked
enough, but I think none could touch me in all manner
of iniquity. We drank deep, quarrelled and fought
at will, and rejoiced greatly in fearing not God nor
regarding man. I knew my work as a soldier, and
men said I had some skill in the art of war. Howbeit
I had got some preferment which I held lightly
.bn 083.png
.pn +1
enough, as I cared but little whom I served as long
as there was wine in the measure and women for
the asking. One man I was drawn toward in a
special manner, for we had both known better things
and had some sorrow together when our cups were
spilt, and the headache and heartache came in the
morning. Jack Killigrew (for he was an Englishman,
and well born, as I have since learnt) should have
been a parson, but the devil set him trailing a pike
and drinking deep as the rest of us. After a while
I noticed a change in his ways, which change I
could not well understand at first, but soon I discovered.
He drank no more, foreswore the dicebox,
would not beat up the town, and I shrewdly suspected
took to saying his prayers in secret. Then one
day he made his confession--I laughed loud enough
thereat--that he was in love with the daughter of
the Protestant parson outside the city gates. He
would not rest satisfied until I had gone thither
with him, and in an evil hour I consented. Beware,
boy, of women; avoid them like the pestilence, and
trust not the fairest. Delilah, Jezebel, and Herodias,
these are but samples of the smiling, treacherous,
beautiful devils that go up and down on the earth
to catch men´s souls in a silken snare. Annchen
was of the same order but carried her wickedness
more demurely. Poor Jack gave her all his heart, and
the little vixen was not content therewith, but needs
must have mine too. And mine she had, ay, and
my soul too--all, all.”
Macpherson rose and paced the kitchen with a
.bn 084.png
.pn +1
hasty stride, his long brown hands clasped before
him, and his leonine head thrown back. His eyes
were filled with the strange, wild light Gervase had
noticed once or twice before; his voice thrilled with
suppressed emotion.
“How she purred and ogled and slighted honest
Jack, to whom she had plighted her troth, and whom
she was to marry in a sennight! God help me! I was
wicked and mad; I forgot my friend and robbed him of
his mistress. Then the end came. Never, never shall
I forgot it. ´Twas a moonlight night in the pleasant
summer time; I was drunken with the passion of lust,
and Annchen and I had forgotten the hours as we
stood locked in each other´s arms, under the shadow
of the city´s walls. Suddenly a tall form came between
us, and a sword flashed out in the moonlight. I
knew it was Jack Killigrew, and knew that either
he or I must die for this deed. Our blades crossed,
and while Jezebel stood looking on, my friend and
I (and truer comrade had no man) sought each the
heart´s blood of the other. May God in His mercy
forgive me, for I shall never forgive myself. Oh!
we fought a bitter fight under the walls that June
night, and he died hard. For I killed him; yes, I
killed him. Do not start or turn away from me--his
sweetheart did not, Nay, when he was down
and his life blood was flowing from his breast, she
threw her arms about me, and told me that I was
a man, and she loved a man. You do not know
what it is when love turns to hate. I flung her from
me, cursing her, with anguish in my heart that I
.bn 085.png
.pn +1
had not words to speak of. I never saw her again,
but often I see the face of Jack Killigrew lying
there turned up to the moonlight and frowning as he
died. ´Twas the sin against the Holy Ghost, I sometimes
think. An ocean of tears will not wash out the
deed.”
“´Tis a sad story,” said Gervase, with emotion,
“and better left untold. But I think not that all
women are like Annchen, whom I cannot understand,
else were life hardly worth living, and death better
than life.”
“That it is--that it is. Life is a burden we must
bear as best we can--a heavy load for the back
of the strongest. You are young and cannot yet
understand the matter, but for me I would that my
salvation was assured, as sometimes I have hoped
it is, and that I were entering into my rest. But
youth cannot understand this, nor will I compel you
to listen to me.”
“Nay,” answered Gervase, “rather would I be by
your side fighting in the good cause, for Heaven
knows strong arms like yours are needed now,
if need ever was. I cannot foresee how it will
end.”
“Have no fear for the end; Londonderry may
fall, but Dutch William is stronger than a walled
city. I know the Stadtholder of old, and I tell you
behind that cold look and slow speech there is the
power of many regiments. I have seen his eyes in
the day of battle. He is one of a race that never
knows when it is beaten. I think that he will not
.bn 086.png
.pn +1
leave the men in Londonderry to die like so many
rats. But, believe me, they are the stuff whereof
fighting men are made, and will make a gallant
stand.”
“I would,” said Gervase, “we were among them
once more. By this time, I doubt not, if Colonel
Lundy be a true and loyal man, Roaring Meg
and her iron sisters have given joyful voice.”
“Bah! How goes your burghers ditty?”
.pm start_poem
“‘Scour me bright and keep me clean--
I´ll carry a ball to Calais green.´”
.pm end_poem
“Your colonel is no true man, but a hypocrite and
a coward, and I put no faith in the long guns, though
they have their uses, but in stout and loyal hearts
that will hold out in trial and privation. The Irish
do not understand the practice of artillery; they
may not batter down the walls or breach them,
while there are men there to say ‘stand back´; but
hunger and disease are enemies that few can fight
against: and hunger and disease Londonderry will
have to face. ´Tis here the Protestant faith must
make its last stand. Should the city fall before
relief may come, then the end is far off, and the
Stuart may yet wear the crown of his ancestors.
Relief ever comes slowly--how slowly, only that
man knows who, like myself, with wasted shanks
and shrunken jaws, has kept his place on the ramparts,
while women and children were dying indoors
by the score, and brave fellows were struck down
at his side by an enemy no man could see.”
.bn 087.png
.pn +1
“But William of Orange is a soldier, as you say,
and, being a soldier, will not leave the city to stand
alone. Besides, the Irish cannot fight a stubborn
fight.”
“There you are wrong utterly, and here I speak
of what I have seen and known. In the army of
Louis is many a gallant gentleman of Irish birth,
who has displayed a courage and devotion in a
foreign country that he might not show in his own.
These wild kernes want but the sergeant´s drill and
a cause to fight for to prove the stoutest soldiers
in Europe. But they care not for James Stuart,
and I think he has no general who can take their
measure. Rosen is a foreigner, and Hamilton a
man of few parts; while Sarsfield, of whom I have
heard much, lacks discretion and temperate wisdom,
else might he do greatly. ´Tis ever the general that
makes the soldier--that is the difference between a
rabble and a regiment. Tilly and Gustavus and
Turenne, all of whom fought great battles, first put
heart into their men, and then taught them to fight
as if fighting were the easiest trade in the
world.”
“But in Londonderry,” said Gervase, “we fight
for all that men hold dear--for liberty, religion,
wife, child, and even for life itself. If that does
not give men heart and inspire them with courage,
there is no general in the world can do it.”
“You are right, and therein I rest my confidence.
Religion is the best cordial in the world to tune
the coward´s heart. If all goes well, behind yon
.bn 088.png
.pn +1
poor walls I look to see as bold a stand as ever
was made in Christendom, even should England
leave us to tread our own path--which Heaven
forfend. But ´twere easy to succour the city. With
the Foyle running close by the city walls, men
and provisions were easily furnished. Heaven send
a man with a wise head on his shoulders, for Providence
never yet wrought through fools and cowards.
Howsoever, it is for us to do as best we may, and
I doubt not, my lad, you will do your part
bravely.”
“Mine is a small part and easily played,” Gervase
answered, “but how we are to get into the town,
I see not, even were we so far on our journey.”
“A way will be provided, I doubt not, with a
little strategy. For you, that fine cloak and hat,
even those riding boots, must be left behind, while
like the stage-player, you must enact the rapparee
and speak nought but the Irish speech, or what will
pass for such, till you are behind stone walls. For
myself, I think the story I shall tell and my knowledge
of the French tongue, will carry me through.
As David played the madman in the city of Achish,
and as the spies went into the walled city of Jericho
and abode in the house of the harlot Rahab, so shall
we do with the like success.”
“I hate all masquerading,” Gervase said, “and
had rather take my chance even as I am.”
“Ay, and find a pikehead between your ribs for
your scruples. We have Scripture precedent which
it is ever safe to follow. In this you shall not
.bn 089.png
.pn +1
thwart me. So to bed, for at cockcrow we must
start, first having commended our lives to Providence,
and put a new edge on this sword, whose late owner
was a careless fellow and knew not how to care
for a good blade.”
.bn 090.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VI. | OF HOW THE HEROINE COMES UPON THE STAGE.
.sp 2
It was an hour after dawn when they bade farewell
to the farm-house and set out upon their journey,
Gervase mounted upon Bayard, and Macpherson
trudging sturdily upon foot. The latter had made
his preparations for the journey with abundant care
and forethought. The night before he had baked
the little meal that remained, and cooked a portion
of the meat, of which there was still a considerable
quantity left, all of which he stored carefully in
the saddle-bags. He then turned his attention
to Gervase, and with very little trouble succeeded
in transforming him into a formidable-looking desperado,
whose attire owed nothing to the art of
the tailor, but hung together merely by fortuitous
circumstances. Macpherson had, with studied humour,
turned the embroidered coat inside out and rolled
it in the mud that lay round the well in the farmyard,
and then considerately removed one of the skirts
with the edge of his sword. His beaver was divested
of all form and shape; and a rope of straw rolled
round the jackboots, which Gervase had refused to
part with on any terms, completed his nondescript
costume. He was now a reasonable representative
.bn 091.png
.pn +1
of any of those lawless marauders who were swarming
upon the roads, or hanging upon the skirts of the
Irish army, in the expectation of plunder.
Macpherson had refused to make any change
in his own costume. His rôle was that of a French
soldier on his way to Londonderry--in such a
character De Laprade´s passport would lend verisimilitude
to his story, if there were any learned
enough to read it, about which he had his misgiving.
Gervase was to act apparently as his guide, and in
such character the old soldier did not doubt
but that with ordinary discretion, they might smuggle
themselves though the Irish lines if the investment
had been completed. If they failed, there was some
chance that the stab of a pike or the end of a rope would
put a stop to their further adventures in this world.
Notwithstanding, Gervase was in high spirits at
starting. He was now completely recovered from
his wound, and the eight days´ confinement had made
the anticipation of action and enterprise doubly
welcome. He revelled in the fresh spring wind
that blew softly across the bog and heathy mountain
side, and could with difficulty restrain his horse to
keep pace with Macpherson, who trudged at his
side with a long swinging stride.
The hedges were green with verdure, and the
sunshine touched with a warmer colour the bog
myrtle and flowering blackthorn in which the birds
were busy building. It was hard to realize that
dangers were spread round them on every side,
and that the entire country was up in arms
.bn 092.png
.pn +1
in a quarrel that could have no end, till one of
the combatants went down utterly. Even Macpherson,
whose feelings were not easily moved,
was affected by the brightness of the morning and
the beauty of the scene. His emotions took their
own method of expression. For a time he had been
entirely silent, or replied only in monosyllables, as
if engrossed in his own secret meditations, when
suddenly he began to sing in loud resonant tones:
.pm start_poem
“The Lord doth reign and clothed is He
With majesty most bright.”
.pm end_poem
When he had finished he threw up his beaver with
an air of jubilant exultation.
“There, young sir, is a song for you to sing when
you are merry; that eases the oppressed heart, and
runs along the nerves and sinews, strengthening
them to acts of endurance and valour. Were I a
maker of songs these were the verses I should
write--great words wherewith to hammer out a
weapon.”
“I cannot help thinking,” said Gervase, “of the
song poor Ralston was singing as we passed this
way, hardly a fortnight ago. We little thought then
that you and I should return alone.”
“They did their duty,” Macpherson answered,
“and died in doing it; brave men want no more.
I hope I shall not flinch when my time comes, as
come it will, and that shortly. I have gotten the
message and it doth not sadden me.”
Gervase looked at him inquiringly, but he offered
.bn 093.png
.pn +1
no explanation of his mysterious speech and again
relapsed into silence.
They continued their journey till noon, when they
halted to refresh themselves, Macpherson asserting
that if it were not for his great boots he would as
readily walk as ride.
On resuming their march Gervase insisted on
Macpherson taking his turn upon horseback, which
the latter did very unwillingly.
“One horse to two is out of all reason,” he said.
“You are yet too soft for this work and your wilfulness
will bring its own punishment.”
And Gervase found his words come true. Long
after his strength had exhausted itself, he found
himself toiling by Macpherson´s side, too proud to
own his weakness and determined to keep on till
he dropped from sheer fatigue. Macpherson watched
him for a while in silence, with the flicker of a grim
smile playing about his lips. Then he spoke;
“´Tis ever wise to confess your weakness in the
ear of a friend--keep your bold looks and your
wooden guns for the enemy. My dear lad, thou
art but pickling a rod for thine own whipping, and
that to serve no good or wise purpose. Thank
Heaven, I am stout of limb, and nought can tire
me; but for you, your bones are still soft, and I would
not have you again a burden on my hands. There
is no need for immediate haste, for we can accomplish
to-morrow all that we might do to-day. Then mount,
and let us proceed leisurely.”
That day they made good progress, and by nightfall
.bn 094.png
.pn +1
were a considerable distance on their journey. By
the next evening they hoped to reach the ford of
the Finn. But in the meantime it was necessary
to pass the night under the open sky, for the country
was completely deserted, and nowhere within sight
was there trace of a human dwelling-place--only
broad tracts of rough uncultivated land, and rolling
hills of wild heath and tangled wood. A few houses
they had passed, but the roofless walls afforded neither
shelter nor protection. Every dwelling had been
given up to fire and destruction, and the inmates
had fled elsewhere for refuge. A great curse seemed
to have fallen on the devoted land; all was silence
and desolation.
That night they passed under a thorn hedge,
which proved, as Gervase found, a cold and uncomfortable
lodging, and afforded little protection from
the night dews and the wind that blew across the
open with a shrewd and penetrating keenness. To
Macpherson it mattered not at all, for, rolled in his
cloak, he slept the sleep of the just, and did not
awake till the morning was some way up. But
Gervase could not sleep. Above his head the jewels
in the sword-belt of Orion flashed with a bright and
still a brighter lustre, and the wind seemed to call
with almost a human articulateness from the distant
hills. The lonely night with its mystery and silence,
was instinct with life. In such a presence his own
fate seemed to dwindle into infinitely little importance,
and all human endeavour appeared of no greater moment
than that of the ant or the mole in the ditch hard
.bn 095.png
.pn +1
by. Gervase was not given to talking sermons nor
to much introspection, but he felt these things in his
own way. He was glad when he saw the morning
coming up; and when he arose from his damp uncomfortable
couch, felt little inclination for a day´s hard
work. But when he had bathed his face and hands in
the neighbouring rivulet, and partaken of the breakfast
Macpherson insisted on their making before they
started, life assumed a somewhat brighter outlook,
and his flagging spirits revived a little.
Macpherson´s spirits were keen and high. The
prospect of danger ever acted upon him like wine,
and Gervase saw his eyes kindle, now and again, under
his rugged brows, with that sudden flashing light
he had seen in them before, in the time of peril.
He had loaded his pistol afresh and carefully looked
to its priming.
“We may fall in with the enemy now at any
moment,” he said, “and it behoves us to be ready
either for peace or war. Peace I should prefer, but
if, haply, the rogues number not more than half a
dozen, a skirmish were not out of place to afford
us a little amusement. A young soldier requires
practice, and cannot have his hand in too often.”
“Faith!” said Gervase laughing, “fighting would
seem to be meat and drink to you, but I have not
yet acquired such relish for the fare that I cannot
do without it. I fear you are like to prove a troublesome
companion for all your boasted diplomacy.”
“Tut, man, do not fear. We are not an army,
nor even a troop, and may not carry things as we
.bn 096.png
.pn +1
would. But a little fighting is a wonderful medicine,
and clears the humours better than any elixir. I
mean but that when we can we may as well be
honest, and keep our stratagems for such times as
we shall be hard pushed, and must employ them, will
we, nill we. D´ye see?”
“Oh! ´tis not easy to mistake your meaning. You
give it just emphasis with that long sword and pistol
handle. But I had rather you were less inclined to
violence; there were more chance of our reaching
Londonderry in safety.”
“All in good time, we shall see. By evening
we shall arrive at the ford, which we had better
cross in the dark. One pair of legs will then be
worth two pairs of hands, even with toys like these
in them;” and he touched the sword he carried
with a smile. Then after a pause he went on,
“Who knows what may have befallen since we left
the city last? There are brave hearts within the
walls, but there are traitors and cowards too; and
the latter have sometimes the best of it in this world.
Still, I think not, and will wager that the Protestant
cause goes bravely on. They are a stiff-necked race,
these men of Ulster; bend they cannot and break
they will not. I have watched them narrowly; if
they did break at Dromore it was because they
were fearful of the treachery of their friends, not of
the violence of their enemies. But I know not what
Colonel Lundy means--if he be not a traitor and a
knave at heart, I know not what he is.”
For the greater part of the day they continued
.bn 097.png
.pn +1
their journey without adventure. Several small
parties of the enemy they met with, but were
subjected to no very rigorous cross-examination.
Their replies proved perfectly satisfactory. The
story Macpherson told was eminently plausible, and
about Gervase they did not trouble themselves.
There were many French gentlemen in the Irish
army, and it was not a strange thing to find one
on his way to head-quarters accompanied by a
guide. One troop of dragoons had, indeed, stopped
them and put several questions to Gervase, but he
managed, with the voluble assistance of Macpherson,
to disarm their suspicions. Fortunately his questioners
spoke English only, and the fragments of the
Irish tongue that Gervase had acquired, stood him
in good stead.
It was now two hours to sundown, and they
anticipated that another hour´s travel would bring
them to the ford. They were toiling uphill, Gervase
a little in advance mounted upon Bayard, and
Macpherson stepping out sturdily in the rear. On
the top of the hill Gervase halted, reined the horse
back hastily within shelter of a clump of hazel,
and called out to Macpherson, who hurried up and
joined him where he stood. Together they looked
down the valley.
“What is the matter yonder?” Macpherson
asked, instinctively placing his hand on his pistol-butt.
“I know not,” said Gervase, “but I think it is
robbery and murder.”
.bn 098.png
.pn +1
“Then, my young friend,” said the other, laying
his hand on the horse´s bridle, “it is not our business,
and we have cares enough of our own without
taking on us the troubles of others. But how is
the day going?”
A quarter of a mile down the steep road lay a
post-chaise overturned: one of the horses lay dead
in the ditch, the other was flying with broken traces
over a neighbouring field. A man with his back
to the coach and a sword in his hand, was valiantly
striving to keep at bay half-a-dozen wild-looking
fellows armed with half-pikes. Two bodies lay at
his feet, another a little distance away, and outside
the ring of assailants that surrounded the solitary
swordsman, a young woman was kneeling in an
agony of distress over the prostrate body of a man.
The man with the sword fought with skill and
strength, but the odds were terribly against him.
In the end he must succumb.
“By the living God, it is a woman,” said Gervase,
grappling blindly and eagerly at the holster.
“Softly, what would you--what have we to do
with women?”
“Follow me, follow me, for God´s sake, as
speedily as you can,” Gervase cried, dashing his
unarmed heels into the horse´s flank, and giving him
free head.
Away went the brave steed thundering down the
steep road, as Gervase gave a great shout and
flourished the long pistol above his head. Macpherson
watched his breakneck career down the
.bn 099.png
.pn +1
hill for a few seconds, and then proceeded to
follow him with the best speed that he could
make.
“I would not lose the youth or my good horse
for all the women in Christendom. This is but
the beginning of trouble, and it begins with a woman.”
Hearing the shout, the swordsman had turned his
head for a moment, and at that instant one of his
assailants sprang within his guard, and plunged his
skene deep into his breast. With one last convulsive
effort the wounded man struck his opponent
fair in the face with the sword hilt, and they both
dropped on the road together. Seeing Gervase
approaching, the ruffians appeared to doubt whether
they should take to flight or await his attack, but
while they were making up their minds, Gervase
was on the top of them.
Reserving his fire until he was among them, he
discharged his pistol pointblank at the head of one
fellow with deadly effect, and riding down another,
wrenched the half-pike from his hand. Then they
were utterly panic-stricken and fled right and left,
leaving Gervase master of the situation.
Meanwhile the young lady had risen to her feet,
and was standing looking in wonder at her unexpected
deliverer, who had reined up his horse, and
was watching the as if in doubt whether
to follow them or to allow them to depart unpursued.
Then Gervase turned towards her and raising his
hat, was silent for a moment.
She was only a girl in years, but of a sweet and
.bn 100.png
.pn +1
stately figure and striking beauty. Her abundant
hair loosed from its confinement, streamed in disorder
over her shapely shoulders, and fell in thick folds
to her waist. Her lips were trembling and her
cheeks were blanched and colourless, but her great,
dark eyes looked with a steady and courageous
glance. There was no sign of fear in the sweet
face--only a high, resolute courage. Her scarf had
been torn from her shoulders, and showed too much
of her white and heaving bosom. Instinctively she
put up her hand to cover it.
“I fear,” said Gervase, hat in hand, “that I have
come too late to save this gallant fellow from these
wretched cowards. But I am glad that I was still
in time to render you some service. Haply,” he
continued, dismounting from his horse, “the wound
may not be fatal, and something may still be
done.”
The girl looked in great surprise at the strange
figure before her, and was evidently lost in wonder
at hearing her wild-looking and ragged champion
deliver himself in such excellent English, and with
such a well-bred air. To outward seeming he was
as much a cateran as any of the scoundrels he had
lately put to flight.
“I thank you, sir,” she said simply. “It may be
poor Martin is still living.”
She knelt down by the side of the fallen man
and raised his head upon her knees. But the skene,
driven with great force, had passed beneath the
breast-bone and had penetrated the heart--the man
.bn 101.png
.pn +1
was dead. A glance was sufficient to show that
life was extinct. She allowed the head to remain
resting upon her lap for some minutes, gazing at
the rugged face of the dead man in silence, and
then she looked up, her eyes filled with tears. “I
have known him all my life,” she said, “and never
was there a braver or a kinder heart. Years ago
he saved my father´s life, and now he has died to
save mine.”
Gervase had knelt down beside her, and had been
endeavouring to catch some feeble sign of movement
in the pulse. “Yes, he is dead,” he said,
“and we can do nothing for him, but it may be
the other needs our help.”
“My grandfather has not been injured,” she said.
“He swooned when they came round the coach, and
though they used him roughly, I do not think he
hath suffered from aught but fright. Still, he is an
old man and very frail, and it may be--”
But the old man had raised himself on his elbow,
and was looking round him with an expression of
bewilderment, as though not yet able to realize what
had happened. Then suddenly his eye fell upon
the chaise lying overturned, and with a nimbleness
that one could not have expected, he leapt to his
feet, and walked with rapid strides to the vehicle.
“Dorothy,” he shouted, “Dorothy, help me, girl!
The rogues have stolen my treasure. Good God!
I am a beggar--a beggar. Why the ---- did they not
take my life? The gold that I have watched growing
and growing, and the precious stones that I
.bn 102.png
.pn +1
would not have parted with for a kingdom! Oh God!
I am a beggar, and will die on the road-side
after all.”
The old man seemed entirely beside himself with
grief and rage, and began to pour forth such a
string of oaths, wild and incoherent, that Gervase
felt deeply for the girl who was in vain endeavouring
to calm him.
“I think, grandfather,” she said, “it is still
safe, but I had thought the matter was of little
worth--”
“Worth! Great Heaven! there were ten thousand
pounds--” here he stopped short and looked at
Gervase, whose appearance did not tend to reassure
him.
“I am an old man, sir,” he went on piteously,
“and I know not what I say. These are but wild
words of mine, and, I prithee, forget them. They
meant nothing--nothing, and I ask you to let them
pass. Would it trouble you too much to assist
my servant?--Where the devil is Martin, the rascal?”
“Your servant, sir, is dead,” said Gervase, losing
his temper somewhat, “and this young lady and
yourself are left alone, in great straits and peril.
Therefore I would ask you to dismiss all thoughts
of the trash from your mind, and let me know what
you purpose doing.”
But the old man had already clambered into the
coach, and in a few seconds reappeared with a
heavy, brass-bound box in his arms, which he
clutched with every expression of delight.
.bn 103.png
.pn +1
At this moment Macpherson, who seeing Gervase
completely victorious, had been strolling down the
hill in a leisurely fashion, had come up.
“What is this Punchinello?” he said roughly, but as
he saw the old man cower terrorstricken, he continued
in a more kindly tone, “Fear hath turned his
brain, and, haply, he takes me for one of those marauding
rascals, of whom, I doubt not, we have not yet
seen the last. And now, madam,” he said, turning to
the girl, “as you see, this gentleman and I are your
friends and are bound to serve you, though I tell
you plainly, I would it had fallen to other hands.
We were even trying to bring ourselves to some
place of safety, which is like to prove a matter
of some difficulty.”
“Then, sir,” and here the girl´s eyes flashed
proudly, “I pray you do not trouble yourself further,
or imperil your safety on our account. For the
gallant service this--this gentleman hath rendered
me and my grandfather, I give him our best thanks,
poor as they are, but we would not be a burden
to you, and therefore think not of us, but go your way.”
“My friend,” said Gervase, “speaks not as he
means, nor will I let him do discredit to his own
kind heart. The sword which this poor fellow drew
to defend you, will still be used for that end in my
hands, and if I cannot use it as well it will be the
power and not the will fails me.”
Macpherson turned away, muttering under his
breath, “Humph! the young fool is caught already.
I see that she hath him in the snare.”
.bn 104.png
.pn +1
“We were on the road to Londonderry, and
though my friend is somewhat rough and discourteous
withal, I doubt not he will do his best to help
you thither, if such be, as I imagine, your desire.”
“We were on the way to the city when we were
attacked as you saw. My grandfather, who is
Colonel Carew of Castleton, refused to believe that
there was any danger in remaining at home; but
last night, hearing that the enemy was burning and
plundering round us, he set off at midnight, and we
have been travelling ever since; and now I think
the terror has turned his brain, for I never saw him
thus before. What we shall do I know not, but if
we can trust you----”
“Appearances are against me, I admit,” said
Gervase, with a smile, and feeling, with perhaps
excusable vanity, that he would have preferred to
cut a gallanter figure. “Still, I hope that you will
believe me when I say that I am a gentleman, and
most desirous of serving you. I have carried the
colours in Mountjoy´s regiment and----”
“And I think that I can trust you,” she said,
holding out her hand, with a frank look in her eyes,
and a sweet, sad smile upon her lips.
“In your service wholly,” said Gervase, bending
low over her hand, which he pressed with unnecessary
fervour. “My friend is an old soldier who has
a grudge against your sex for some reason known
to himself, but I have cause to know that a more
loyal and faithful friend there never was. He will
scoff and rail, I doubt not, but believe me, he will
.bn 105.png
.pn +1
serve you with the last drop of blood in his heart.
He hath great experience in matters of danger, and
I doubt not some scheme may be devised whereby
we may convey you to Londonderry in safety.”
“I care not for myself,” she answered; “it is
for my grandfather that I fear. He seems to have
lost his reason.”
The old man had carried the box to a distance,
and had sat down before it, examining the contents
eagerly, and talking to himself in a loud excited
tone. From time to time he glanced round furtively
to see if he was observed, and then went on with
his examination. “Safe! safe!” he muttered. “That
was the Spaniard´s gold, and you wear bravely,
my beautiful doubloons. How you shine, my beauties,
and I thought you were gone for ever! It would
have broken my old heart--I could not have lived
without you. And my stones of price----What
want you, sir?” he said, closing the box, and turning
round savagely as Macpherson approached.
“I know not what devil´s trinkets you have
enclosed there,” said the soldier, “but I would have
you act like a reasonable man, and tell me what
you purpose doing. Yonder lady is young and
unprotected, and we would not willingly leave you,
but this is no time to give heed to such trash as
you have shut up there, when your life is in danger
every moment.”
“My life is here,” answered the old man, “and
I pray you, for God´s sake, leave me in peace. I
know you not.”
.bn 106.png
.pn +1
Macpherson turned on his heel and rejoined Gervase
and the girl. “His mind is gone utterly,” he
said, “and it is useless endeavouring to reason
with him. My young friend, madam, has, I doubt
not, told you how matters stand with us. If you
will, we shall endeavour to carry you with us, and
trust to the fortunes of war to bring you safely
through. Another hour should bring us to the ford.
I trust that you are able to ride, for the chaise is
rendered useless, and were it not, we have not
horses to draw it. In the meantime I had better
secure your nag.”
Macpherson went after the stray horse which was
now quietly grazing at some distance, and shortly
returned with it. “And now,” he said, “I regret
that we cannot give this brave fellow Christian
burial, but if you, madam, will look after your
grandfather, my young friend and I will even place
him where he may sleep his last sleep decently,
like a brave and honest man as I doubt not he was.”
The girl went over to the dead man, and kneeling
down kissed his forehead, and then rising without
a word, but with a great sob which she bravely
strove to repress, went over to her grandfather.
Macpherson and Gervase carried the body into the
field, and placing it in the ditch, cut a quantity
of bramble with which they reverently covered it.
“Sorry I am that we cannot dig a grave,” said
Macpherson, “but it may be that is a pagan thought.
He hath died like a man, and at the last day he
will rise, knowing that he fell in the path of duty.
.bn 107.png
.pn +1
What does it matter for this poor carcase what
becomes of it? ´Tis for the living, not for the
dead, that we should mourn. And now look you,
Gervase Orme, I love you like a son, and would
not willingly see you come to evil. Yonder damsel
is goodly to look upon and hath the tender ways
of a woman. I can see that you are already drawn
towards her, and are ready even now to let her
lead you as she will. Be warned by me, and shun
the snare while you are still heart-whole and your
wings are still unplucked. Nay, you are angry at
the wise counsel of a friend; I speak only for
your good, and will say no more. But I would
that we had not met them, and would yet--”
“Surely,” said Gervase, with warmth, “you
would not leave this defenceless girl and the feeble
old man, even if you might?”
“Nay, I said not that. In some sort they have
been committed to our care, but it means for both
of us, or I am much mistaken, either the length of
a rope or the inside of a prison. I am older than
you, my young friend, and think there is no woman
worth the sacrifice either of my life or of my liberty.
Now, go your way, and see her mounted upon
Bayard, while I look after the old man, for I will
have nothing to do with the wench. The rogues
you dispersed will be looking for us presently.
Before we meet them I should prefer being within
sight of the Royal troops.”
The old world laughs at Love, as laugh it may.
And yet from generation to generation unheeding
.bn 108.png
.pn +1
youth takes up the foolish old song, and dances to
the ancient measure with a light and joyful heart.
What though the roses wither and the garlands
fade? These are fresh, and the morning dew is on
them. What though the lips grow dumb, and the
sound of the flute and the song is hushed and stilled?
In the fresh and roseate morning as yet there are
no shadows and no regrets; the heart is full of hope
and joy. And so it has been since the lips of our
first parents met in newly-awakened bliss, in the
time when the world was young, and pain and
satiety were unknown to mortals.
As yet Gervase was not in love, but his heart
throbbed with an indefinable emotion as Dorothy
Carew rested her hand upon his shoulder, and placing
her dainty foot in his hand, sprang upon the great
military saddle and thanked him with a smile.
“This is a dear old horse,” she said, patting the
charger´s neck, and gathering up the reins in her
hand. “We begin early to trouble you, and shall
never be able to repay you and your friend.”
“It were repayment enough,” said Gervase, “to
find you safe within the walls of Londonderry, and
I am pleased to think that I have been able to serve
you a little.”
“That is the speech of a gentleman, after all,”
she said smiling. “I little thought you were a friend
as you came shouting down the road; indeed, you
would make a great hit at Drury Lane or Sadler´s
Wells; and what a figure you would cut at Saint
James´s!”
.bn 109.png
.pn +1
“I confess I do not make a very gallant show,”
said Gervase, “but these rags will serve their turn,
and help us both, I trust, to better fortune.”
The old man had been helped upon the second
horse, and, with his box placed before him, followed
them along the rough and broken road. He seemed
wholly oblivious to what was taking place, and so
long as his treasure was safe, seemed perfectly
content to act as he was bidden. Macpherson, with
his head bent, walked by the horse´s bridle and
listened with a frown upon his face to the conversation
of Gervase and the girl. He had cast no
glance in her direction, but after he had delivered
his mind to Gervase, had busied himself about the
old man with a rough kindliness.
“Thus we trudge on,” he said, as if talking to
himself, “as the world is doing everywhere. The
old fool, at the end of his journey, thinking only of
the pieces of gold for which he will have his throat
cut in all likelihood before sunset. Heaven and
Eternity are shut up in his box. The young fool,
thinking only of the brown eyes and tender speeches
of the wench, and willing to dare all things for her
foolish sake, while the wench herself, woman that
she is, baits her trap with honied words and draws
the manhood out of him with the glance of her
eye. And I--I must go where the Providence of
God directs my steps, though avarice and vanity
and the folly of youth be my companions and my
guide. ´Tis a strange world and full of shadows,
and these are of them.”
.bn 110.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VII. | OF THE RESCUE FROM GREAT PERIL.
.sp 2
Colonel Carew was the third in descent from
the original planter who by right of conquest and
the grace of James the First, had settled upon the
broad lands of Castleton, and having swept the
ancient possessors from the soil, had planted there
a hardy race of colonists, and built himself a great
house, half mansion, half fortress. The first Jasper
Carew had looked upon himself as the instrument
in the hands of Providence to civilize the land
and found a family. He had ruled with despotic
severity, and when he was laid in the family vault
in the new church that he had built, left a name of
undying hatred to the native Irish. The second
Jasper followed in the footsteps of his father; he
built and planted, and like a strong man armed,
ruled his own demesne and showed neither mercy
nor tolerance toward the ancient race. They were
a God-fearing stock and showed no compassion nor
kindly pity. Virtues they had, but only toward their
friends, and never forgot that they had won by the
sword´s right and must continue to hold by its power.
The present Colonel Carew had been wild in his
youth, and had left the home of his fathers in
.bn 111.png
.pn +1
disgrace. For a time he had entirely disappeared;
there were vague rumours that he had prospered in
the Virginias and had made a fortune there. However
that might be, he had returned home on the
death of his father, bringing with him an only son,
and lived a moody, retired life in the great house,
attended only by a servant who had shared his
adventures abroad. His son had early obtained a
commission, and served with distinction on the
Continent. He had married against the wish of his
father, a young lady of great beauty and slender
fortune, the daughter of a Huguenot refugee, and
when he fell at Senef some years afterwards,
left an orphan son and daughter to the care of his
father, who received the unwelcome legacy with
little outward show of favour or affection. Colonel
Carew had brought his grandson home, but permitted
the girl to remain under the care of her relatives
in London. Here Dorothy had remained until she
was sixteen, when the death of her aunt compelled
her to seek a home with her grandfather, who was
unable to make any other provision for her, however
anxiously he desired to do so. At Castleton, Dorothy
Carew had spent two years of her life--not very
happy or pleasant years, but her sweet and joyous
spirit had broken down in some slight degree the
barrier that her grandfather had raised between himself
and all the world.
He was growing old and frail, and his mind seemed
to have gone wholly back to the early years which
he had spent in wild adventure and lawless wanderings.
.bn 112.png
.pn +1
The care of his estate he had left to his
grandson, who paid little heed to the old man, but
went his way with the headstrong and reckless
selfishness that was the characteristic of his race.
The presence of his grand-daughter seemed to give
him pleasure, but companionship between them there
was none. He accepted her attentions, not, indeed,
with an ill grace, but without any apparent sign of
affection, though at times, as he sat watching her
moving about his room, her figure appeared to arouse
him from his fit of abstraction, and to awaken a
chord of memory that was not wholly painful.
So she passed these two years at Castleton--dull
enough for a girl of spirit and used to the
excitement and life of a great city; and when the
news of a great Catholic rising and massacre arrived,
it found her alone and unprotected, with a number
of panic-stricken domestics and a helpless old man
looking to her for assistance and advice. Her brother
had gone to Londonderry on business of his own,
and there was no one near her on whom she could rely.
The servants had remained at their posts for some time,
but as the excitement deepened, and the tenantry
fled to Enniskillen or to Londonderry for safety and
shelter, they refused to remain longer, and while
imploring her to join them in their flight, one morning
they departed in a body. She herself would
willingly have accompanied them, but her grandfather
refused to move. It was, he said, mere moonshine.
It was only when the Irish army had marched
northward, and there came the frequent and alarming
.bn 113.png
.pn +1
reports of robbery and murder, that he was seized
with an uncontrollable dread, and insisted on fleeing
to Londonderry forthwith. The girl had no one
to assist her in their hasty flight but a brave and
trusty servant who had served with her father abroad,
and who had been since taken into her grandfather´s
service. Together they had bundled the old man
into the coach, and leaving the great house to its
fate, had set out for the city of refuge. How they
fared on their way thither we have already seen.
Gervase walked by Bayard´s bridle, unmindful of
all weariness and regardless of all dangers, seeking,
after the manner of young men, to make the most
of the sweet society into which chance had so
strangely thrown him. He was indignant with himself
that he was ashamed of his rags, though by
way of making up for these, he began to talk
of his life in Dublin and the gay doings of the
capital.
At this Dorothy´s sense of humour was touched,
and much to his confusion she began to laugh aloud.
“Your talk in such a figure, of the Castle and of
Tyrconnell and of my Lady, is a most excellent
remedy for lowness of spirits. I cannot set matters
straight, and must become accustomed to your mode.
And yet I think I could have told that you were
a gentleman.”
“That is something,” said Gervase, a little mollified,
“and how?”
“Because,” she answered, with a naïve glance that
disarmed his resentment, “your present garments fit
.bn 114.png
.pn +1
you so ill. But I am very wrong to jest at such a
time, and your friend does not seem to admire
laughter. I think that I could have told anywhere
that he was a soldier. You could not mistake his
carriage.”
“A better soldier and a truer friend there never
was,” Gervase answered warmly; “and that you will
have cause to admit before your journey ends.”
“I think,” she said, “that you yourself fight not
so badly. Oh! why was I not a man that I might
strike for religion and liberty? it is a miserable thing
to be a woman in times like these.”
“I hope I am not a coward,” Gervase answered,
“but I have already seen enough of warfare to dislike
my trade, and would never fight if it were
possible to avoid it. But fight we must for our
rights and liberties and,” he added, after a pause, “in
defence of those we love.”
“And,” she said, smiling, “is it for these last that
you are fighting? But I have no right to ask you
that, though I have been told that men say love is
out of fashion. Indeed I think that it is no longer
in vogue.”
“I care not for fashion in these things, but I
have begun to think that there might be such loving
as would make life a royal thing to live. I mean
not love that asks to be loved in return, though I
should like that too, but a love that fills the heart
with great and splendid thoughts, and raises it above
contemptible and base designs; the love I mean is
wholly pure and unselfish and lifts the lover above
.bn 115.png
.pn +1
himself. I know not whether you know the lines of
that sonnet--”
“I think,” she said smiling, “we will change
the subject. It seems to me that you are far too
romantic to conduct a young and unprotected damsel
on a dangerous journey like this. Your grim Captain
Macpherson were a far fitter and more becoming
companion--he would not breathe out his
aspirations in rhyme, or relieve his love-laden soul
in a ballad. Heigho! I shall never understand
you men. But now tell me about your journey
from Londonderry, and how it came about that you
were wounded?”
And thereupon Gervase proceeded to relate the
story of his ride by night and the skirmish on the
road, passing lightly over such incidents as might
be unfitting for a woman´s ear to listen to.
But when he mentioned the name of De Laprade
she stopped him. “And you have met my cousin
Victor, for it can be no other? I had not heard that
he had come to Ireland.”
“I mean the Vicomte de Laprade. He is not
much older than myself, with a slight lisp, and very
fair for a Frenchman.”
“Yes, that is he. You do not know that he is
in some sort my cousin, my mother having been of
his family. He was in London when I was a girl
living with my aunt, and he would come to visit
us whenever he could tear himself away from the
cards and the festivities of Whitehall. Poor Victor!
he was a sad rake in those days, and I fear he
.bn 116.png
.pn +1
would never have come to Ireland had he not run
through his fortune.”
“He hinted, indeed, at something of that sort,”
said Gervase, “but he is a gallant fellow, and one
cannot but like him. He hath done a great deal
for me.”
“It would be strange should we meet here, yet
who can tell? For it is as likely we shall find
ourselves within the Irish camp as within the walls
of Londonderry. I wonder in what manner we should
be treated there?”
“Camps are ever lawless places,” Gervase answered,
“and offer little entertainment for a lady. I
trust that you will not be called upon to make the
trial. But Macpherson is calling upon us to stop;
we have already travelled too far in advance.”
The road now ran through a wooded and undulating
country, and they were coming close to the ford
by which they hoped to cross. At times they had
been able to catch a distant glimpse of the river
bright with the fading sunset, but so far as Gervase
was able to see, there was no sign of the enemy,
and he had begun to hope that they might pass
unmolested.
“It is time,” said Macpherson, as he came up, “that
we should determine on our plan of action, for we
can go no further. The ford yonder is guarded.
I caught the gleam of arms but a minute ago from
the top of the hill, and there is part of a troop of
horse in the little grove yonder to the right. I know
the sound too well to mistake it. If it be possible
.bn 117.png
.pn +1
to cross I shall soon know; though--and here I
speak, not with any selfish or dishonourable intention,
but as a man of honour and a soldier, it were, perhaps,
best that this lady and her grandfather should place
themselves of their free will in the hands of yonder
gentry, and trust to their humanity for generous
treatment. It is a perilous undertaking that we
have in hand, and bullets may presently be flying.
However, as Providence has in some measure placed
you under our care, should it be your good pleasure,
we will do as best we can.”
“My grandfather is an old and defenceless man,”
answered Dorothy, with spirit, “and as you have
seen, carries with him a great quantity of treasure,
which I would that I had never seen. What treatment,
think you, is he likely to receive at the hands
of those who live on the fruit of robbery and murder?”
“Miss Carew is right, Captain Macpherson,” said
Gervase, “and whatever your design may be, I
shall abide with her, and so far as my help goes,
shall see that she and her grandfather pass unscathed.”
“I well knew,” answered Macpherson bitterly,
“that you would do nothing less, though it may
come to pass that you will both suffer for it hereafter.
My design, as you phrase it, is even to go
gently forward, and see in what manner yon loons
have set their guard, and of what strength they
may be. In the meantime, I should advise that
you withdraw into that clump of oak trees where you
may safely await my coming, which will be within
the hour. I had looked for some sense from you,
.bn 118.png
.pn +1
Mr. Orme, but I find that you are no wiser than
the rest of them. ´Fore God we are all fools together.”
Before Gervase had time to reply he had disappeared
within the undergrowth that grew densely
by the roadside, and Gervase and the girl stood looking
at one another in silence; the same grave suspicion
had presented itself to both of them. “What
think you of your friend?” she said, with indignation.
“For a moment I hardly knew what to think,”
Gervase answered, “but my faith in him is not a
whit shaken. Believe me, we may trust him unreservedly,
and in good time he will prove that I am
right. He will do whatever a man may to bring
you safely through, and will risk life and limb to
serve you. And now let us follow his directions,
for if the ford be indeed guarded, ´tis a wonder that
we were not long since discovered.”
Taking Colonel Carew´s horse by the bridle, Gervase
led him into the oak wood followed by Dorothy.
Here there proved to be excellent shelter, for the
underwood had grown thick and high, and discovery
was impossible so long as the enemy kept to the
road, which it was likely they would do unless their
suspicions were aroused.
The old man was helped from his horse and
seated himself upon a fallen tree, with his precious
box clasped upon his knees, speaking no word, but
looking straight before him, with a fixed unmeaning
gaze. He appeared to be unconscious of what was
taking place round him, and insensible of the dangers
.bn 119.png
.pn +1
to which they were exposed. Dorothy knelt down
beside him and placed her hands on his. He was
muttering wild and incoherent words.
“Grandfather,” she said, “do you know me?”
He looked at her with a frown. “Ay, girl,
wherefore not?” he answered. "Talk no more, but
fill up my glass till the red wine runs over. There
is plenty where it came from--plenty, and gold
that is better than wine, girl; and bars of silver
and stones of price. We who sail under the Jolly
Roger cannot afford to be scrupulous. You are sly,
wench, damnably sly, but you will not overreach
me. Nay, you shall have a doubloon or two for
yourself and a bundle of silks from our next venture.
I am grown stiff with this long lying ashore,
and am well wearied for a breath of the Spanish
Main.
.pm start_poem
“‘For the guns are all ready and the decks are all clear
And the prize is awaiting the bold Buccaneer!´”
.pm end_poem
Dorothy rose and wrung her hands with a gesture
of despair. Gervase could see that the wild words
of the old man had touched her beyond description.
It was not so much that they showed his
mind had left him; they had revealed the terrible
secret of his early life--a secret that till now
she had never dreamed of. She had instinctively
guessed the truth, and it had covered her with
shame, as though the crime and the reproach were
her own. Gervase out of regard for her feelings
withdrew to a distance, and busied himself in getting
.bn 120.png
.pn +1
ready a supper, which matter, necessary as it
was, had quite escaped his thoughts. But Dorothy,
though he pressed her strongly, refused to partake
of it.
“I cannot taste of food,” she said, “and you know
the reason--you also have heard the dreadful words.
That accursed money comes--Oh! I might have
guessed it, but who would have thought?--and he
is so old and so frail and--and I think he is going
to die. Oh! it is very terrible. I was so proud
of my name, and the honour of my house, and
now----”
Gervase had no words with which to comfort her,
and so the three--the two men and the girl--sat
here in the thicket, speaking never a word. But for
the young man, he could not take his eyes off the
sweet, strong face that looked so lovely in its grief--the
lips that trembled, and the eyes that were dimmed
with unshed tears. Half an hour passed in silence;
only the far-off murmur of the river came faintly
through the twilight, and the whirr of a startled bird,
or the hasty scamper of a rabbit or a rat, broke
the stillness round them. As yet there was no
appearance of Macpherson. And then Gervase began
to wonder whether, after all, Dorothy might not have
been right in her hasty surmise, and whether he
might not have sought his own safety in flight, and
left them to their fate. But he instantly dismissed the
suggestion from his mind as ungenerous and unjust.
Then, at that moment, a shot rang out in the
evening air, and another, and another. The sound
.bn 121.png
.pn +1
came from the river, and as they stood and listened,
they could hear the jinging of bridles and the clank of
weapons, for the air was somewhat frosty and very
still. They had risen to their feet and stood
listening, only Gervase had drawn his sword, and
instinctively stepped nearer to where the girl was
standing. Soon they heard the sound of hasty footsteps
and the crashing of branches, as someone made
his way with impetuous haste through the underwood.
Then Macpherson appeared bareheaded, with a
smoking pistol in his hand.
“There is not a moment to lose,” he cried. “Into
the road and make what terms you can. They are
regular troops and may not use you ill, but escape
you cannot, and I may not tarry here. I have
done for one of them, and, I think, another will never
hear ‘boots and saddle´ sounded again. ´Tis your
only hope.”
“And what,” cried Gervase, “do you purpose
doing?”
“Saving my neck if it be possible. I cannot serve
you, but would only make your case the worse.
It goes against my heart to leave you, but for your
sake and my own I can do naught else. Stay,” he
continued, “there is one thing more. For that box
they would cut your throats, and they must not
find it with you. Madam, can you trust me? I am
rugged and I am rough, but I think I am honest.”
Dorothy looked at him fairly a moment and their
eyes met. “Yes,” she said, in a clear, strong voice,
“I can trust you wholly.”
.bn 122.png
.pn +1
“Then, sir,” he said, stepping forward to the old
man, “By your leave and license I must, for your
own good, relieve you of your toys.” With a quick
movement he took the box out of the hands of the
old man who stared at him with a bewildered gaze,
and then with a hurried farewell, he passed out of
sight. Colonel Carew uttered a loud, shrill scream
and fell forward on the grass. Dorothy ran forward
and tried to turn him over, but she had not strength
enough. Then Gervase knelt down to help her,
but when he saw the white, frowning face, one glance
was sufficient to show him how it was. The old
adventurer, with all his sins fresh in his memory and
his wicked life rekindled, as it were, out of the
ashes of the past, had gone to his account.
The dragoons, who had hastily mounted on discovering
Macpherson, and had been riding down the
road, reined in their horses, and dismounting, plunged
into the coppice. The old man´s sudden and startling
outcry had guided them to the fugitives´ place of
concealment. They set up a loud shout when they
were discovered, and one fellow was about to pistol
Gervase when another struck up his hand and restrained
him.
“Time enough for that. We´ll put a question or
two first,” said the sergeant who commanded the
party. “Tie his hands behind his back, and bring
him out into the road. The old man is dead as a
nail,” he continued, touching the lifeless body with
his foot, “and the wench is no doubt his daughter.
By my soul! she´s a beauty: now look you, the first
.bn 123.png
.pn +1
man-Jack of you who lays his finger on her, I´ll
blow his brains out, so help me God! and you
know I´m a man of my word. Don´t fear, madam;
they´re rough but kindly.”
As they led Gervase out into the road, one hope
was uppermost in his mind, and that was that they
might fall in with some officer of sufficient authority
to whose care he might confide Dorothy, and to
whose sense of honour he should not appeal in vain.
There were still many gallant gentlemen in the Irish
army in whose eyes a woman´s reputation would
be sacred.
The dragoons who guarded him followed the
sergeant out into the open, and they halted under
a great oak that threw its broad branches across
the road. Dorothy had implored them to bring her
grandfather´s body with them, and on their refusing
had seated herself beside it. But without using
any great violence, they had insisted on her following
the rest of the party. She had shed no tears,
but her face was very white, and her breath came
quickly in little, convulsive sobs. Gervase looked
at her for a moment, and then turned away his head.
“Now,” said the sergeant, “we´ll see what stuff
he´s made of. How say you, sir? On what side are
you? Are you for King James?”
“I am for law and order,” answered Gervase.
“This young lady and I were on a peaceful journey,
wishing ill and intending hurt to no one, and I know
not what right you have to hinder us.”
“That is no answer to my question, sir; but I´ll
.bn 124.png
.pn +1
answer for you--you´re a Whig and in arms against
the King, or would be. Where is your authority?
And now another question and I have done with
you: Where is the prickeared knave gone who
pistolled poor Cornet White and sent another of
ours to kingdom come? I´ll take my oath he was
of your party.”
“I saw no pistolling,” said Gervase; “is it
like in such force as you see us, we should fall
upon a troop of dragoons? Why, man, it was
because we were afraid to venture near you that
we hid ourselves in the tangle yonder.”
“This jesting will not answer, Master Whig. I´ll
give you one chance of saving your neck and only
one--what way went he?”
“Look you here, sergeant,” said Gervase, seeing
the desperate position in which he was placed, “I´m
a gentleman, and it would profit you little to shoot
or hang me. See this lady and myself safe through
to Londonderry, and you will have twenty golden
guineas for yourself and five for every man here
in your company. I cannot say you fairer, and if
not for my sake or the money´s, then for the sake
of this helpless lady.”
“This lady will be well cared for, never fear, and
for your guineas, I´m thinking by the time you got
to Londonderry, they would be own brothers to the
lads they are making in Dublin. Come, my man,
you´ll have sixty seconds to answer my question,
and then Hurrah for the kingdom of glory.” So
saying he took a piece of rope from the hands of
.bn 125.png
.pn +1
one of the men and began leisurely to measure it,
a foot at a time, looking up occasionally from the
operation to see how it affected the prisoner.
“My God! you would not hang me?”
“Ay, that I would, with a heart and a half and
high as Haman, if the rope were long enough.
The time is nearly up--How say you?”
“I say that I care not how you use me, if you
see the lady safe. Hang me if you will.”
“The time is up and you have not answered an
honest question. Now, lads, we´ll see if this heretic
rogue can do anything but prate. It seems to
me he looks a strolling player and may be one
for all I know.” So saying he deftly threw the
rope round the thick branch that grew over the
road, and placed his hand on the prisoner´s shoulder.
Up to this time Dorothy could not believe that he
meant to carry out his savage threat, but she saw
now that this was no mere jest but a matter of
life and death. The business was evidently to the
taste of the troopers, and two of them laid aside
their firelocks and placed their hands upon the rope.
Then she sprang forward and caught the sergeant
by the arm. “You do not mean what you say,”
she cried, “he has never wronged you, nor have I,
and had it not been for me and the dead old man
yonder, he had not been in your power now. For
my sake, for God´s sake, you will not injure him.”
The man seemed touched for a minute, so wild
was she, and so beautiful, in her despair, and then
he shook her off roughly. “Women have nothing
.bn 126.png
.pn +1
to do in these affairs. Two of you fellows take her
away, and leave us to finish this business in peace.
Now, make haste about the matter, and get this
damnable job out of hand. We must look after
the other fellow before night comes down.”
Dorothy turned white and faint, and seemed
like to have fallen on the road as Gervase held out
his hand to her and said, with a lump in his throat,
“Good-bye, Miss Carew, I regret quitting life
less than leaving you in this company, but my last
prayer on earth is for your safety. Could my life
have brought you help, I should have given it up
without regret.”
Then she broke down utterly, and they led her
away, with her face buried in her hands. Suddenly,
at that moment there was heard the sound of a
horse coming rapidly along the road, and the men
who were busied placing the noose round Gervase´s
neck, stopped short in their work. Dorothy heard
the sound also, and looked up. An officer, apparently
of distinguished rank, accompanied by a couple
of dragoons, was advancing at a rapid trot.
His military cloak, richly embroidered, was thrown
open, and showed a burnished cuirass underneath.
His broad-brimmed hat adorned with a single
white feather, nearly concealed his face. As he
approached, Dorothy struggled in the hands of the
man who held her and freeing herself, ran swiftly
down the road to meet him. As he came up he
reined in his black charger.
“Thank God!” she cried, “you have come in
.bn 127.png
.pn +1
time. You, at least, are a gentleman, and you will
save him.”
“I hope, madam, I am a gentleman,” he said,
with a high, courteous manner and in a voice that
was at once strong and musical. “I shall examine
into this matter, and if I can in duty and in honour
render you this service, you may rely upon me.”
Then hurriedly, and almost incoherently, she told
him her story, or as much as she thought necessary
for her purpose; and when she had finished he called
out to one of the mounted troopers to take his horse.
“Now, Miss Carew,” he said, dismounting, and
raising his hat with a stately courtesy, “having
heard your story, I am rejoiced that I have arrived
in time. These lambs of mine are hasty in their
work and, I fear, have not always warrant for what
they do. Believe me, I am sorry for your case and
will do what I can to aid you. And now let us
see how the gentleman has borne himself, who has
so fair an advocate to plead his cause.”
With these words, taking her hand he led her
up to the group which stood under the tree awaiting
his approach. Gervase had given himself up for
lost, and had commended his soul to his Maker, for
the rope had already been adjusted round his neck,
and willing hands were only waiting for the word
of command from the sergeant to turn him off.
But as the mounted officer rode up and the fellows
suspended their work, he felt instinctively that he
had been saved. The look of baffled hate on the
sergeant´s face showed that. The officer came up
.bn 128.png
.pn +1
leading Dorothy by the hand, and the dragoons
saluted him silently. He gave Gervase one quick
searching look, a look that flashed with keen intelligence
and seemed to take in every detail in
a moment, and then said sternly, “Unbind the prisoner,
and take down that rope.” He stood quietly,
speaking no word, but waited with his keen eyes
fixed on Gervase, until the dragoons had unbound
the prisoner´s hands and removed the hempen cord
from his neck. The work being completed, the men
fell back a few paces.
“Now, sirrah!” he said, turning to the sergeant,
“what does this mean? By whose orders or instructions
were you about to hang this gentleman? Is
it thus that you do your duty? While the fellow
who shot down your officer has been making his
escape, you have been preparing to murder an
unoffending traveller whom it was your duty to
protect. Had I been five minutes later, I do not
doubt that I should have strung you up beside him.
Good God! it is fellows like you who make me
blush for my countrymen. Now, look you, the man
who has made his escape must be brought in before
nightfall. Should you fail to capture him you will
see how I deal with men who forget that they are
soldiers and act like caterans.”
“This fellow, if it please your honour----” began
the sergeant.
“Silence, sirrah! Take your men and search the
wood. This man must not escape, and when you
return, report yourself to me at the house by the
.bn 129.png
.pn +1
ford. Take all the men with you; I shall return
alone. Stay, there is one thing more.” Here glancing
hastily at Dorothy, he walked a short distance
away, and in a low tone gave orders with regard
to the remains of Colonel Carew, which he directed
to be brought down to the post and await his
instructions there. The man saluted, and giving the
necessary orders with a sullen and crestfallen air,
left his superior standing alone with the prisoner.
“Give me no thanks, sir,” he said, interrupting
Gervase. “For I have only done for you what an
Irish gentleman is bound in honour to do. Our
men will do these lawless deeds, but with the
party to which you belong rests the blame, having
made them what they are. Till now they have
been slaves with all the vices of the slave; they
cannot learn the moderation and restraint of freemen
in a day. However,” he continued, with a smile
that lighted up his dark face, “this is no speech to
address to a man who has just escaped the gallows.
Miss Carew tells me you are now on your way to
Londonderry seeking refuge and safety there. I do
not propose to advise you, but within a fortnight
the city will be in our hands, and meanwhile must
undergo the dangers of a siege. We do not make
war on women, and Miss Carew may rely on me
to help her to a place of safety.”
“My friends are there,” said Dorothy; “I have
not elsewhere to go.”
“We have indeed proposed,” said Gervase, “to
take refuge in Londonderry, and since Miss Carew
.bn 130.png
.pn +1
has lost--is alone, I know not where else she can
betake herself. For myself I am indebted to you,
sir, for my life, and you may dispose of me as you
will; but for the lady, I would beg you to allow
her to pass safely through your lines and join her
friends in the city.”
“That might easily be done, but surely Dublin
were safer?”
“As I have said,” answered Dorothy, “my friends
are all in Londonderry, and I should prefer to share
their danger.”
“Well! we shall see how it may be, but in the
meantime, I shall ask you to share my hospitality,
such as it is, to-night, and to-morrow we will devise
some plan for your security. Miss Carew may
safely place herself in the hands of Patrick Sarsfield,”
and he raised his hat with the bel air that
sat so easily upon him.
Gervase looked with curiosity on the great Irish
leader, than whom no more notable figure and
chivalrous gentleman fought in the Irish ranks, and
lent lustre and honour to a somewhat tarnished
cause. He was little, indeed, above the middle
height, but his bold and gallant bearing gave him
the appearance of being of more than the ordinary
stature. His brow was frank and open, and his
eyes had the clear and resolute gaze of a man
accustomed to bold and perilous action--ardent, impetuous,
and courageous. His speech came rapidly, and
his utterance was of the clearest and most decisive.
Accustomed to camps he had yet the air of a well-bred
.bn 131.png
.pn +1
man of the world, and when he smiled his
face lost the fixed and somewhat melancholy air it
wore when in repose.
“And you are Colonel Sarsfield?” Dorothy inquired.
“Then we are friends, for you were the friend of
my aunt Lady Bellasis.”
“Truly she was my very good friend, and her son
Will--your cousin, I presume--was my dear crony
and companion-in-arms. We served together during
Monmouth´s campaign, and I might almost say that
he died in my arms at Taunton. You are then the
Dorothy of whom I heard him speak. I think his
death broke his mother´s heart. It is strange that
we should meet here, but life is made up of strange
things; we should wonder at nothing. Now, Mr.
Orme, I shall give the lady my arm, and we will
see whether even here in the desert they cannot
furnish us with a bottle of wine, that we may drink
to peace and a settlement of differences. Only I
should like to say this: I ask no questions, and
look upon you only as Miss Carew´s companion
and protector; I expect that you will close your
eyes to anything that you may see, and ever after
be silent on the matter.”
“I hope,” answered Gervase, “I know better
than to take advantage of your great kindness. I
shall observe your instructions to the letter.”
“´Tis very well. Come, Miss Carew,” Sarsfield
said, extending his hand, “this hath been a melancholy
journey for you, and henceforth I wish you
happier fortune. I have given orders regarding the
.bn 132.png
.pn +1
interment of your kinsman, and will spare you all
the pain I can.”
Dorothy thanked him with a look, and was silent.
Beside the river was a farm-house which was evidently
used as a military station, for before the door
a number of dragoons--perhaps a dozen--were
gathered in small groups, and several horses were
picketed in the enclosure which had formerly been
used as a garden.
As they entered the house they were saluted by
the strong odour of tobacco-smoke. A man was
engaged in cooking at the open hearth, and another
was seated on a chair hard by, watching the operation
as he smoked his pipe in silence, and beat a
tattoo with his heels upon the earthen floor. The
latter was a remarkable-looking man in every way.
He was dressed in a plain red coat, with a tangled
weather-beaten wig hanging down at full length.
He wore a faded beaver with a narrow brim, and
had a dirty yellow-coloured cravat tied carelessly
round his neck. His legs were very long, his face
was full of freckles, and his nose was tilted up in
what had been a good-humoured fashion but for
the heavy and forbidding expression of his mouth.
As they came in he did not rise but merely removed
his pipe from his lips.
“How now?” he asked.
“My special mission hath already borne fruit, Colonel
Luttrel,” said Sarsfield stiffly. “This lady is the
kinswoman of a late very dear friend of mine, and your
dragoons have used her with the scantest courtesy.”
.bn 133.png
.pn +1
“The young lady hath reason to be thankful ´tis
no worse, for they cannot stand the sight of a petticoat,
and they could not be expected to know of the
relationship. We´ll trust to the supper, which is
nearly ready, to cure her wounded feelings.”
“This lady is my friend, sir,” said Sarsfield, with
a frown.
“And Colonel Luttrel´s also, I hope,” said Dorothy,
with a sweeping curtesy, which made the soldier
open his eyes to their widest with wonder and admiration,
and drew a smile to Sarsfield´s lips. “I
think, sir, you speak very sensibly and am glad to
hear that supper is ready.”
The Colonel rose from his chair, laid down his pipe,
and held out his hand. “You are of the kind that
pleases me,” he said, “and I would, my dear, that
I was thirty years younger for your sake. Fine
airs never pleased me yet and, damme! you´re a
beauty.” Again Dorothy curtesied with becoming
gravity. “Now, sit you down,” he went on, “and
let me hear of what the Colonel yonder complains,
for he and I,” and here he lowered his voice, “strike
it off but ill. If any man of mine but dared to
lay his finger on you, I´ll give him a round dozen
for your sake.”
“I´m sure you are very generous,” Dorothy said,
demurely enough, and thereafter she and the old soldier
began to talk together with great ease and friendliness.
Presently he was laughing loudly at her
playful sallies, and before he was aware she drew
the heart out of him till he was completely her servant.
.bn 134.png
.pn +1
I have seen the lady´s portrait painted but a few
years after the events here narrated, and I say in
all soberness that I do not wonder at her power. Of
her mere beauty I can give no just description, but
to my mind her chief charm lay in her eyes, the
expression of which the painter--a Fleming, whose
name has escaped my memory--had caught with
marvellous fidelity. Full of pride and stateliness,
they were yet prone to light up with tenderness
and playful humour, to which her lips gave just
and fitting emphasis. Had I not already known
something of her life I should yet have willingly
taken her for a heroine. And yet the contemplation
of that sweet face saddened me beyond expression.
Hanging there among the portraits of forgotten
statesmen, and old-world soldiers who fought at
Ramillies and Oudenarde, the presentment of that
young and smiling face, so full of tender light and
gracious sweetness, looked out of the past with pathetic
warning that all things have the same fate and must
go the same inevitable way.
In this little comedy it must not be supposed she
was altogether acting a part, or that in anything
she said or did she was inspired by any other
feeling than friendliness, and it may be the frolicsome
humour, that was in her a characteristic trait. From
time to time she looked up archly at Colonel Sarsfield
who stood smiling by the window, and then resumed
her conversation with increased sprightliness.
“I never understand women, my dear,” Luttrel
said.
.bn 135.png
.pn +1
“And you never will, sir, for we do not understand
ourselves. I think you have never been married?”
“The Lord be praised for all His mercies, that
blessing is still a long way before me. I mean,
my dear young lady, no offence to you, but my
brother Phil married and saved the rest of the family.”
“With Colonel Luttrel´s permission we will draw
a veil over his family history.”
“´Tis mighty well,” said the other; “commissary-general
to a ragged army of fifteen, and his wife
still a rare recruiting sergeant.”
So saying he took his place stiffly behind his
chair, waiting till Dorothy was seated at the supper
table. “And I hope,” he growled, looking askance
at Gervase, “that this person is of fit condition to
sit at the table with people of quality.”
“Of that matter, sir,” said Sarsfield, “I am perhaps
the best judge. Mr. Orme, will you do me the
favour to take this chair beside me? I remember
when I was of your age I did not require much
invitation after a long day. You will tell Miss Carew
that soldiers´ fare is ever of the plainest. And as
far as prudence and honour will permit, I should
like to hear something of your journeying, which
seems to have been of the strangest, or so this fair
advocate would have me believe.”
Gervase long remembered this strange evening
spent in this curious company. He was wholly
unable to resist the fascination of the great soldier´s
manner, and long after that fiery soul had passed
away in the onset at Landen, would dwell upon his
.bn 136.png
.pn +1
memory with admiration and regret. He treated
Gervase with perfect friendliness, delicately avoiding
all matters that might cause offence. He related
many incident in his own career with perfect frankness
and vivacity, and spoke with great shrewdness and
insight of many famous men that he had met. Of
Marlborough, whom he had known in Monmouth´s
campaign, he spoke with great enthusiasm in his
character as a soldier, though he affected to despise
him as a man; and Gervase remembered the conversation
in after years, when the hero of Blenheim
returned amid the plaudits of the nation and
crowned with the laurels of victory.
Luttrel listened with a hard and solemn visage;
it was abundantly clear that he was determined that
he should not go to bed sober, and was already far
advanced in his cups before Dorothy left the table.
But he was entirely silent under Sarsfield´s eye,
and merely plied the bottle with great assiduity.
Presently Dorothy the room. Sarsfield standing
with his hands on the back of his chair, wished her
a stately “good-night.” When she had retired he
turned to Gervase.
“I shall not see you again this evening, Mr. Orme,”
he said, “and I have not asked you for your parole.
Nor is such my intention. On your word I know that
I could rely, but I know that I have better security
for your safe custody there,” and he pointed towards
Dorothy´s room. “Good-night, gentlemen, and I trust
that you will not quarrel,” with which words he went out.
Luttrel put his arms on the table and looked at
.bn 137.png
.pn +1
Gervase with a drunken sneer. “The Colonel thinks
that he is a mighty pretty fellow, and that no man
knows the points of a woman but himself. And
he flirts with the bottle like a quaker, which I have
never taken to be the first sign of manhood. Indeed,
you are a damnable drinker yourself. Come, sir,
fill up your glass cheerfully, or I shall be compelled
to think you have an objection to your company.”
“I have no fault to find with my entertainment,”
Gervase answered good humouredly, unwilling to
create any dissension, and making a show of replenishing
his glass.
“Why, there, that´s right! But I may tell you
frankly, Mr. What´s-your-name, that had this thing
been left to me, you should not now have been
sitting drinking of this excellent usquebaugh in the
company of your betters. I speak in the way of
friendship, for I ever like to be honest, and, mark
you, I mean no offence in the world, but if I had
my will, I should even string you up with a hempen
cravat round your neck to show you what I think
of your principles.”
“Meaning thereby that you would hang me?”
Gervase said with a smile.
“Ay, that I would, with the best intentions in the
world, but since I cannot carry out my purpose, I
will even drink with you or fight with you, as you
will.”
“I should stand no chance with you either way, I am
afraid; but I am very tired and with your permission”--and
here Gervase offered to rise.
.bn 138.png
.pn +1
The other clapped his hand upon his sword, and
rose to his feet with a drunken stagger. “Nay,
that you shall not. I am a hospitable man, and none
shall say that I did not give you an opportunity of
going to bed like a gentleman.”
Finding himself thus placed between two fires,
Gervase unwillingly resumed his seat, and watched
his truculent host growing more and more intoxicated,
while he entered into a rambling disquisition on his
own fortunes and the wrongs of his unhappy country.
He did not doubt but that the time of deliverance
had come. The Irish gentlemen were about to strike
a great blow for freedom and for James Stuart,
though they cared not a whit for the quarrel, but
he served their purpose as well as another. For
the pestilent heretics in Londonderry, they would
be taught a wholesome lesson: they would be made
a warning to all traitors. His father was a man in
Cromwell´s day. Then his talk grew more and more
incoherent, and finally, with his head fallen upon his
arms, and the contents of the overturned measure
streaming over the table, he fell fast asleep. Gervase
then rose and sought his own bed, glad that, after
all, the night had passed so amicably.
.bn 139.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VIII. | OF THE RETURN TO THE CITY.
.sp 2
Colonel Sarsfield more than fulfilled the promise
he had made. Seeing that Dorothy had set her
heart upon joining her friends in Londonderry, he
had accompanied her part of the way himself, and
had provided her with an escort for the remainder of
her journey. To Gervase he had shown unaffected
kindness. He had provided him with a horse and
apparel befitting his condition, and at parting had
wrung his hand with an appearance of great warmth
and friendship.
“It is right, perhaps,” he had said, “that we
should be on different sides of this quarrel, but we
can part with mutual good-will. I have but one
hope and one thought--to see my country once
more a nation, great and free. I would that all our
people were of one mind, and were striking together
for their fatherland. But it is still our curse to
be divided--torn and rent by civil feuds. But
believe me when I say that Patrick Sarsfield has
only one desire on earth, and that is that his country
should have her own laws and her own government,
and freedom for the meanest. I think I shall meet
my fate on the field of battle, but I hope not
.bn 140.png
.pn +1
before I have seen that splendid day. Think
well of us, Mr. Orme, and though you do your duty
on your own side, remember that there are among
us those whose cause is sacred in their eyes, and
whose country is dearer to them than their lifeblood.”
They never met again, but Gervase felt in after
days that there was one man in Ireland who might
have saved his cause, had he not been checked by
narrow prejudices and the bitter envy of those who
did not understand his proud and chivalrous nature.
At Limerick that fiery spirit blazed out for a while
in all its native strength, but his cause was already
doomed.
When Gervase had reached Londonderry in safety,
and had seen Dorothy placed under the protection
of her aunt, he returned to his old lodgings over
a linendraper´s shop in a small house near the
Bishop´s-gate.
In the meantime, memorable events had transpired
in his absence. The Irish army, breaking through
the defences of the Bann, had pressed on toward
Londonderry, and having crossed the Finn, had
closed upon the city. Colonel Lundy, whether through
vacillation and cowardice or from deliberate treachery,
had made no effort to oppose their approach, and
had done his best to secure the surrender of the city.
At the very moment when he was about to carry
out his designs, the citizens awakened to his
intentions, and took the authority into their own
hands. They seized the keys and took possession
of the walls; a new government was established in
.bn 141.png
.pn +1
the city; the garrison was divided into regiments,
and preparations were made to stand a long and
stubborn siege.
A great change had taken place in the city and
in the spirit of the citizens since Gervase had ridden
out of the gate, a fortnight before. The old look of
dejection and irresolution had disappeared; one of
unbounded enthusiasm and zeal had taken its place.
Every able-bodied man carried arms and bore himself
like a soldier. Swords clanked on the causeway;
rusty muskets had been furbished up, and gentlemen
and yeomen alike were filled with the same ardour,
and wore the same determined air. Every regiment
had its post. On the ramparts the guards were
posted at regular intervals; little knots of armed
and resolute men were gathered in the great square,
and companies were being drilled from morning
till night in the Bogside. A spirit of unyielding
loyalty filled the air. The paving stones had been
raised from the streets and were carried to the
walls; blinds had been erected to screen the men
on the ramparts. From the grey Cathedral tower
two guns looked down on the Waterside, and on
every bastion were others ready for use. At the
Market house also cannon were planted to sweep
the streets. At every gate there was a great gun.
The siege had indeed commenced. Yonder beyond
the Foyle lay Lord Lumley´s command, three thousand
strong, the white tents catching the last gleam of
the sunset as the evening mists crept up the river.
At Brookhall and Pennyburn Mill was a strong
.bn 142.png
.pn +1
force that shut off communication with Culmore.
Away towards St. Johnston´s and Carrigans was
the main army of the enemy under Eustace and
Ramsay. From the heights of Clooney one could
see at long intervals a swift leap of flame, and hear
the sullen roar of a great gun breaking on the
evening air. All thought of compromise or capitulation
was at an end; here the citizens must make
their last stand, and show the world how dearly
they held their faith and freedom.
At first sight resistance might have seemed a
midsummer folly.
On both sides of the river the high ground looked
down upon the city, and that within the range of
cannon. The streets clomb up the gradual slope
toward the square-towered Cathedral; the walls
were low and might be easily breached. Still, there
were seven thousand men of the imperial race
within those walls, and while one stone stood
upon another they had sworn to make good their
defence.
Gervase was up betimes on the morning following
his return. He had seen Colonel Murray the night
before at the guard house, whither that gallant soldier
had just returned after a hot encounter with
the enemy, and had heard from his lips an account
of their first skirmish that had taken place that very
day. Murray had promised him a vacant cornetcy
in his own regiment of horse, and the prospect of
plenty of service.
Gervase buckled on his sword after a hasty
.bn 143.png
.pn +1
breakfast, his mind full of the hope that a high-spirited
young-fellow naturally indulges in at such
a time. His imagination had been touched and his
heart had been stirred by the peril of the situation.
He had caught the joyous enthusiasm of the time,
and he whistled merrily a bar of Lillibullero as he
went down the crooked stair, and came into the
ill-lighted shop. The door was lying open, but the
shutters had not been taken down. Trade was not
of the briskest of late days, and the stock was
somewhat meagre. The varied assortment of wares--linens,
broadcloth, and laces--had nearly disappeared,
and the little linen-draper, Simon Sproule, was seated
with a rueful countenance at his desk, with his ledger
spread open before him. So intent was he on the open
page that he had not heard Gervase come clanking
down the stairs, and it was only when the latter
stepped forward and laid his hand on his shoulder,
that he raised his head with a startled look. Then
he jumped up and held out his hand.
“God bless my soul! I am glad to see you, Mr.
Orme; I had never thought to have laid my eyes
on you again. It was only on Thursday I was
telling Elizabeth--and she´ll bear me out in what
I say--that ´twas likely your dust was mingled
by this time with the clods of the valley, and we
were both grieved to have lost you.”
“I am sure I am much bound to both of you,”
Gervase answered, laughing, “but you can see
that I look little like a dying man yet; just as much
as you look like an honest tradesman.”
.bn 144.png
.pn +1
The little man surveyed himself ruefully, and with
such solemnity of visage that Gervase could not
suppress a smile of amusement. His coat of claret-coloured
cloth had given place to a buff jacket
which had already seen considerable service on a
man larger than himself, and he was encased to
the thighs in a pair of jack-boots that gave his
nether extremities a very striking appearance. On
a stool hard by was a steel head-piece of an
antiquated pattern, and leaning against the counter
was a musket, the lock of which he had apparently
recently been oiling. The bulging forehead with
its overhanging tuft of red hair, the nose that
providence had carefully tilted up, and the blue
eyes that always met you with a look of mild
wonder in them, harmonized but ill with his military
equipment. He shook his head sadly.
“These are but ill times that we have fallen upon.
´Tis very well, sir, for a young man like yourself
whose trade is fighting, to go swaggering up and
down with a long sword by your side and a murderous
weapon like that in your hand, but for a
married man like myself with eight children to his
own share, ´tis altogether another matter. But I´m
a loyal man and a good Protestant, and I´ll even
try to do my duty, hard as it seems, with the best
of you.”
“Why, Simon, three weeks ago you were the
boldest man in the city, and I remember you made
a great speech that was mightily applauded!”
“Ay, but the enemy had not crossed the Bann
.bn 145.png
.pn +1
then, and it is a different thing, let me tell
you, when the bullets begin to whistle about your
head. I was out yesterday, Mr. Orme, and do you
know”--here he looked round to see that there
was no one within hearing--"I discovered that I
was no better than a coward."
“But you stood your ground like a man?”
“Indeed I did no such thing. I dare not tell
Elizabeth, but no sooner did I see those devils of
Berwick come galloping up, than I even ran like a
coward for the walls, and never thought of my
duty till I was out of reach of their sword-blades.
It was too late to turn back then, had I been so
minded. God hath made us all after our own
fashion, and he never made me for a soldier.”
“All young soldiers feel like that in their first
battle,” said Gervase, with the air of a veteran. “A
fortnight hence you will be as bold as a lion. Mistress
Sproule will see that you do not flinch, for I think
she could carry arms herself.”
“You know my wife, Mr. Orme,” said the little
man sadly, “and that is one of my main troubles,
for I dare not tell her what I have told you. She
must needs know the whole story when I came
back last night, and my invention would not serve
me better than my yard stick yonder. Do you
think, sir, that there will be a great deal of work
of the same kind?”
“In faith, Simon, I can give you but little comfort,”
said Gervase, half in amusement, half pitying his
evident distress; “these are troublous times we are
.bn 146.png
.pn +1
living in, and hard knocks are in fashion. You must
even pluck up courage and show a stout heart in
that buff coat of yours. You´ll come to like the
smell of powder by and by, and instead of running
you´ll go out to meet them as blithely as the
boldest.”
“What I have said I have spoken in confidence,
Mr. Orme, and should you have speech with my
wife on the matter, I know you will say a word in
my favour. But I wish with all my heart we could
see the end of our troubles. My trade is even
ruined, and there is a list of debts for you that will
never return me the value of a penny. Colonel
Lundy himself owes me eight pounds sterling, which
I do not think he will ever return to discharge.”
“Indeed I do not think he will, and if that were
all he owed us the city would be well quit of him.
Are you on duty to-day, Simon?”
“I must turn out at twelve o´clock on the Church
bastion,” he answered gravely, “and I know not
what devil´s work I may have to do before the day
is over. But I will take what you have said to
heart, sir, and hope for the time when I´ll have a
taste for
“I´ll be there to see,” said Gervase, smiling, “and
should it give you courage, I´ll even blow your brains
out should you try to run
As Gervase passed up Bishop´s-gate street, he
could not help laughing aloud at the look of consternation
depicted on the face of his little landlord,
who had been among the loudest and most eloquent
.bn 147.png
.pn +1
advocates of resistance while the enemy were at a
distance.
The morning was bright and clear, with a warm
breath of spring in the air that blew across the
river. The streets were alive with men hurrying
hither and thither; men who carried every imaginable
description of musket and side-arms, and wore
the most diverse kinds of defensive armour, but
men who looked as if they had a work to do and
meant to do it. Four companies of Parker´s regiment
of foot he met on their way to the Bogside, and
he was struck by their soldierly bearing and the
precision and regularity of their march. From the
Royal Bastion a great gun was firing slowly, in
reply to the cannon of the enemy that spoke iron-lipped
from Strong´s orchard on the other side of
the river. But what struck him chiefly was that
there were neither women nor children abroad; the
city looked like a great barrack-yard under arms.
In the Diamond, before the guard-house, he met
Colonel Murray in company with Captain Ashe,
and Walker, the newly-made governor. Gervase
knew the fighting parson of Donaghmore at a glance.
The tall, burly figure and frank face full of boldness
and resolution spoke of action rather than of study,
and the sword that he carried at his side was little
in keeping with his clerical calling. As Gervase came
up he was engaged in an animated conversation,
emphasizing his points with copious gestures and
disregarding all interruptions.
“This is the young gentleman of whose adventures
.bn 148.png
.pn +1
I have been telling you but now, Governor
Walker,” said Murray, placing his hand on his
arm as Gervase doffed his beaver.
“I am pleased to meet with you, sir,” said Walker
with a fine, pleasant smile. “I learn that your
mission miscarried, as I doubt not it was intended
it should by those who sent you, and that you alone
of your party have returned in safety. We have
now, I trust, cleared out the nest of traitors, and
brave men can fight without fearing the treachery
of their friends. You were of Mountjoy´s regiment,
I think?”
Gervase bowed in acquiescence.
“Then, sir, you must show that your Colonel was
the only traitor in the regiment, and I do not doubt
you will. Our men are eager, but they want discipline.
I am no soldier myself, but I have set
myself to learn, and we want you gentlemen of the
sword to teach us. You were not here for the fight
of yesterday?”
“I had not the good fortune.”
“´Tis ever ill fortune, sir, to be in a fight, but being
there, ´tis well to strike hard and stand to it. You
would then have seen what it is our soldiers lack.
Their zeal outran their discretion.”
“And some of them outran the enemy,” added
Murray, with a shrug of his shoulders, “but I have
no doubt Mr. Orme will do his duty. Have you yet
heard anything of Captain Macpherson?”
“Not a word. I fear he has fallen into the hands
of the enemy or we should have seen him ere now.
.bn 149.png
.pn +1
He is not a man to let the grass grow under his
feet.”
“We can ill spare him now, for a stouter soldier
I never met, and one with knowledge gathered on
half the battle-fields of Europe.”
“Was his heart in the cause?--that is the main
thing.”
“You would not ask the question if you knew
the man; Cromwell won Naseby with his fellows.”
“H´m!” Walker said, turning away. “Captain Ashe,
will you walk as far with me as the Town House?
Good-morning, sir.”
Murray stood for a moment looking after the tall
retreating figure of the old parson, and then turned
to Gervase with a smile. “That smacks too much
of dissent for the Governor´s nose, Mr. Orme. There´s
a great heart in yon cassock but half of him is only
a parson, after all. He would have us drilled from
the pulpit steps, and no man may march but to the
tune of the prayer-book. A very good tune too,
but every man can´t step to the time. But I wonder
how it has gone with your old captain--I wouldn´t
lose Macpherson for a regiment.”
“I spent a fortnight in his company,” said Gervase,
“and none can know his worth better than I do.”
“He will need to make haste if he is alive. In
a week not a mouse could creep into the city. Even
now, you can see how the enemy´s lines are drawn
round us, and I can hardly hope he will get through.
And they will draw them closer yet, for they will
have to starve us out; storm us they cannot. Pray
.bn 150.png
.pn +1
God, they do not sleep in England. Now, Mr. Orme,
your commission has been made out, as I promised, and
I would have you carry a message to Colonel Crofton
at Windmill Hill. We have much work to do to-day.”
Gervase found his first day of garrison life full
of interest and excitement. Apparently satisfied
with the sharp skirmish of yesterday, the enemy had
not attempted any further offensive operations, but
lay sullenly in their quarters, or employed themselves
in exercising their levies. Occasionally indeed, a
great gun sent its iron missive into the city, but
the artillery practice was very imperfect, and as yet
did little injury.
At Windmill Hill Gervase found four companies
under arms in the trenches, but the enemy never
came within musket-range, and to Gervase it seemed
that the royal army had very little advantage in
discipline and order over the silent and determined
men who sat in the trenches round him. Ill-armed
and ill-clad, the royal troops were wanting in the
fine spirit that inspired the defenders of the city. In
his own mind Gervase came to the conclusion that
whatever might be the issue the struggle would be
a long and bitter one.
It was nearly six o´clock when he returned home.
Mistress Sproule was standing in the doorway, like
a colossal statue of domestic virtue, with two of her
eight children clutching at her gown. That something
had disturbed her equanimity was evident, for her
lips refused to relax in their severity, as Gervase
came up with his customary salutation.
.bn 151.png
.pn +1
“´Tis a pity you had not come an hour ago, Mr.
Orme; your supper is gone, and your friend is hardly
satisfied. One would think he had not broken bread
for a week.”
“I had bidden no one to supper,” Gervase answered
in surprise.
“Then he hath bidden himself and overlooked your
invitation. Had Simon been at home, I should have
known more about him, but he stopped me short
and told me to mind my own business. He hath
very ill manners, and says that no man should reason
with a woman.”
In a moment Gervase surmised that Macpherson
had returned. Leaving the exasperated matron at
the door in her growing indignation, he rushed up
the staircase, and burst into the room. Macpherson
was still seated at the table, the empty dishes ranged
before him. His long jaws were leaner than ever,
and his clothes were torn and covered with dirt. His
head was bound up with a handkerchief which was
deeply stained with blood.
He rose up, holding out both his hands. “I met
with a stout resistance, but nevertheless I have taken
possession and wasted your commissariat,” he said,
with a smile on his brown face. “You have a stout
guard below stairs, but an old soldier does not fear
the rattle of an empty musket.”
“You are a thousand times welcome,” Gervase
said, pushing him back into his seat, “and all the
more as you seem to have fared but ill. We
thought you had fallen into the enemy´s hands.”
.bn 152.png
.pn +1
“I have been fighting with the wild beasts at
Ephesus these two days past, and since we parted
I have not tasted food till now. Have you brought
the lady safely back?”
“Ay, safe and
“I´m glad of that, I´m glad of that. The thought
of her hath weighed on my mind like lead. I
could not but think she fancied I was playing the
poltroon, and deserting my company when it came
to the push of sword. But I could see no other
way to help you after I shot yon swaggering ruffian
through the head, and that in lawful self-defence.
They were a score too many to deal with openly.
Right glad am I you brought her through.”
“Having looked through a hempen collar by the
way,” said Gervase. “Let me tell you, Captain
Macpherson, it needs cool courage to look the
hangman in the face.”
“And the rogues would have hanged you? I
had not thought of that. But in truth I did not
think of you at all. ´Twas the brave wench that I
feared for; she that stood up before me in the
oak wood, and with the look in her eyes that I never
saw in a woman before--told me she trusted me.
´Twas like the handshake of a comrade before the
battle. She hath a fearless spirit, and a heavy
burden, I doubt not, with the doited old man on
her hands, and I know not what trouble besides.”
“That burden has been taken away,” Gervase
said soberly, “We buried him the next morning,
hard by where you left him.”
.bn 153.png
.pn +1
“You do not mean they murdered him?”
“No, not that; the loss of the treasure broke his
heart, and hardly had you left him when he was
dead.”
Macpherson rose to his feet, his two hands resting
on the back of his chair, and a look on his face
as of one stricken by a great fear.
“You are jesting with me.”
“In truth, it is no matter for jest. Hardly had
you gone than he gave a great cry and fell dead.
The loss of what he loved better than life was
more than he could bear, and he never moved
again after he fell. Then the troopers came up, and
had it not been that a gallant gentleman proved my
friend, I should not have been here to tell you the
tale.”
“I knew there was a curse on it,” said Macpherson.
“A curse on it in his hands, and a curse on
it in mine. A day and a night I carried it with
me and all the while I felt like one pursued by a
legion of spirits clamouring for a man´s soul. I
could not rest; I could not sleep; and I felt that in
the end it must drive me mad. As I lay through
the night in the bramble by the river-side, as God
is my witness, I could see through the lid the glint
of the gold and the shimmer of the precious stones,
and I, who never feared before, quaked like a schoolboy
at the birch rod. I prayed for light, but I could
find no comfort. Then I rose up with my load, for
the girl had placed her trust in me, and come what
might I was minded that she should find me faithful.
.bn 154.png
.pn +1
A while after, I had some fighting to do which raised
my spirits a little and let out some unwholesome
blood. But I have come in empty-handed after all,
and have but a pitiful story to tell for one who
boasted so bravely of his skill and discretion.”
“And the treasure?”
“´Tis safely buried, I trust, where I left it. You
see, it happened in this wise: As ill luck would have
it I came on a sergeant and two of his company,
of Gormanstown´s regiment, I think, rifling a poor
fellow who had but lately fallen, and catching sight
of me through a tangle of briars that I had hoped
would screen me, they called on me to stand. I
could not do otherwise, for my load would not let
me run. That was how I came by my knock--a
shrewd one too; but for them, they will never answer
to their names again till the muster roll is called at
the Judgment. I must have lost my senses for a
while, for when I came to reason there were we
four lying stretched upon the road, but myself on
the top with that devil´s box at my feet. With my
load under my arm I set off again, but what with
the loss of blood, and the enemy gathered round me
so closely that I could not see my way through,
I even crept into the shelter of a hedge and began
to consider what I should do. Then it came into
my mind that it were best buried out of sight for
the present, and I even dug a hole for it where
I sat with my sword blade; and marking the spot
with what care I might--indeed, I have the record
here--I went on blithely, with a great weight off my
.bn 155.png
.pn +1
mind. That is the complete history of the venture,
and I would that it had a different end.”
“It was better fortune after all than I had hoped
for; but how came you to get in?”
“Oh! that was no great matter. Putting on a
bold face, as though no man had a right to question
me, I even saluted all that I met, inquiring what
way lay Butler´s command, as one having urgent
business there. It passed very well till a meddlesome
captain of horse must needs take me under
his protection, and know more of my business than
I had a mind he should. I lied boldly and vehemently,
which is a matter permissible by the laws of
war, and having brought me hard by our lines at
the Windmill, I even knocked him down with my
fist, and ran for it as fast as my legs would carry
me. They might have brought me down with
their muskets had they taken time to aim, but
though I heard the bullets singing about my ears,
never a one touched me, and here I am in no very
ill condition, after eating your supper and thanking
Heaven for a merciful deliverance. And now let
me hear how things fell out with you.”
Gervase told his story with little circumlocution,
but dwelling, unconsciously, more than seemed
necessary in a plain statement of facts, on the courage
and devotion of Dorothy Carew, a thing which
brought a twinkle into Macpherson´s eyes and a
grave smile to his lips. Indeed, from the beginning
to the end the adventure was hers, and the young
soldier was only the companion who had shared
.bn 156.png
.pn +1
her fortune in a humble way. He told how she
had won the heart of Sarsfield; how she had broken
down the boorish ill-will of Luttrel; and how she
had carried herself throughout with a patience and
fortitude that a man might envy; and all the while
Macpherson watched him under his half-closed
eyelids with the same grave smile upon his face.
It was evident he was no less interested in the
speaker than in the narrative, and when it was done
he rose up and placed his hand on Gervase´s
shoulder, and bade him forget that he had spoken
a word in her disparagement. “God hath made
few women like her, my lad,” he went on, “and
had I met such another in my youth, I might not
now have been the homeless vagrant that I am.
Loyal she is and true, if the face and the eye have
any meaning, and her voice hath a tender ring in
it that might well touch a man´s heart, even if he
be an old fool like myself--which indeed I think I
am growing. I have come to think of you, Gervase
Orme, as a son, I who never had wife or child of
my own, and I think here is a woman who might
make your life happier than mine has ever been.”
“Your conversion is of the suddenest,” Gervase
said smiling, but the praise of Dorothy brought a
warm flush of pleasure to his cheek. His love was
a thing so new and so incomprehensible to himself
that he preferred to dwell upon it in secret; and
besides, he felt that she was so lifted above him
that he dared not trust himself to speak of her. It
did not come to him with surprise that Macpherson,
.bn 157.png
.pn +1
whose cynicism he regarded as a matter of course,
should have been captivated by her grace and spirit.
It was the most natural thing in the world. But
when he came to think of himself as her lover, the
thought of his own unworthiness grew so great that
it seemed to raise a barrier between them that it
was a vain presumption to attempt to surmount.
So he passed lightly over Macpherson´s suggestion,
and assured him that he had not forgotten the
warning that he had given him before the journey
began. Then, with some solicitude, he insisted on
his having his wound looked to, and making use
of his own wardrobe as far as it would supply his
wants.
The old soldier in his careless camaraderie, was
at no time loath either to lend or to borrow, and
after his wound (which, he said, proved the thickness
of his skull) had been dressed, arrayed himself in
a clean shirt and stockings, and then lighted a pipe
of fragrant Virginia, to which he had been for some
time a stranger.
Gervase in the meantime had with some difficulty
prevailed on Mistress Sproule to furnish him with a
second supper, and as she placed it on the table
she cast a look of indignation on the unconscious
Macpherson. She watched him with lowering
brows, blowing a cloud of smoke in his placid
contentment; then her pent-up feelings broke out.
“Marry,” she said, “there are some folk who care
not what trouble they make in the world. To break
into your house, and eat up your meat without even
.bn 158.png
.pn +1
a ‘by your leave´, may be manners in some parts,
but here we call it by a harder name.”
“In some parts where I have been,” said Macpherson
grimly; “they have a bridle for the mouth
of the shrew, and lead her down to the Market-place,
where she stands for a warning to her neighbours.
Your husband would be a happier man did the custom
hold here.”
Long accustomed to an easy conquest in the
domestic battle-field, she was staggered for a moment
at this bold attack, but when her surprise was over, the
storm broke out with renewed violence, and while
Macpherson placed his fingers in his ears, Gervase
intervened as a peacemaker with little success. It
was only when her passion had completely exhausted
itself, that she flung out of the room with a tragic
stride.
“The tow´s in the fire,” said Macpherson. “Man,
that´s a terrible woman. Have you often to meet
a charge like that?”
Gervase laughed good-humouredly at Macpherson´s
serious countenance. “We have none of us the
courage to cross her. Poor Simon fears her more
than he fears the bullets of the enemy, and I think
I am somewhat in terror of her myself. But she
hath her virtues, and I will not hear her wronged.”
“I will avoid her for the future like the pestilence.
Now finish your supper, or so much as I have left
you. I would have you accompany me to Miss
Carew, and I think you will be willing enough, for
I must give her an account of my stewardship before
.bn 159.png
.pn +1
I sleep, through how I shall bring myself to tell
her what I have done after all my boasting, I do
not know. When one has a man to deal with, he
can take him by the hand or by the throat, but one
cannot use plain speech with a woman.”
.bn 160.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IX. | OF HOW CAPTAIN MACPHERSON FULFILLED HIS TRUST.
.sp 2
Lady Hester Rawdon´s house stood not far from
the Cathedral, something larger and uglier than its
neighbours, with a stone staircase running along
the outside, and the lower windows heavily grated
with iron bars. Gervase and his companion were
shown into a long, low-ceiled room on the ground
floor, wainscoted in black oak and looking out on
a small garden.
In a corner of the room stood a harpsichord; a
piece of fine embroidery lay on the table. On a
chair by the window lay an open book with the
pages turned downwards. Some spring flowers in a
vase gave out a perfume which, somehow, Gervase
came to associate with Dorothy, and brought her
vividly before him.
Presently she came in herself, clad in a simple
black gown without any touch of colour. To Gervase
she gave her hand without a word, but with
a quiet smile of welcome on her lips, and then she
turned to Macpherson, who stood drawn up to his full
height, with his hat under his left arm and his hand
resting on his sword hilt. “I am very glad to see
.bn 161.png
.pn +1
you,” she said. “We talked much of you, Mr. Orme
and myself, and I never doubted that we should
meet again. But,” and she looked at him with
inquiring sympathy, “you have been wounded?”
“A mere scratch,” he answered hastily. “And
before I go further, you will let a rough old soldier
say a word, Miss Carew?--though he cannot speak
fairly, and in set terms such as please a woman.
When we first met I spoke harshly and in anger,
for which speech I am sorry now. In my rough
journeys I have had knocks that somewhat hardened
me, but I ask your pardon if I have in anywise
offended you. I can do no more.”
“I would not have you speak of that,” she answered;
“I only remember your service.”
“The which I did not render you.” Then he went
on in evident perturbation: “You see before you one
who played the coward and betrayed the trust he
compelled you to place in his hands. Had I to go
through with it again, it may be I should have done
otherwise, but I acted for the best and followed
the light I had. I know you will listen to me
patiently.”
“Surely I will listen to you, but I am certain you
have broken no trust of mine.”
Gervase retired to the window, while Macpherson
went through his narrative without interruption and
with an air of self-deprecation that he seldom showed.
When he had done, he drew a piece of parchment
from his breast and laid it on the table. On one
side was written the message that Colonel Lundy
.bn 162.png
.pn +1
had commissioned him to deliver at Enniskillen, on
the other a number of lines and points were traced
apparently in red ink.
“Now,” he said, “that is the whole story, and
here is the plan on which is marked, with what
skill I could command, the bearings by which the
spot may be found. I could indeed walk blindfold
thither, but I shall not be here when the time comes.
Perhaps Mr. Orme will follow me as I point out
to you the meaning of this scratch.”
Gervase came up to the table, and Dorothy and
he together looked down on the red lines on which
the old soldier had placed his forefinger. Then she
looked up hastily: “With what have you done
this?” she cried.
“Even with the first ink that came to my hand;
´tis none the less plain for that. Now,” he continued,
“here is the way from the city, and here are the
cross-roads which you cannot miss. Fifty paces
further from that point bring you to a sycamore.
Ten steps due west is the hedge, traced thus. And
there at the foot of the wild apple-tree you will
find the hole I digged. ´Tis covered with a flat
stone and concealed by bracken, but by those who
know the sign cannot be missed.”
“And I hope,” said Dorothy calmly, looking up
in Macpherson´s face, “that it will never be found.
Let it lie buried there for ever. Never let me look
on it again. I would give the world that I had never
seen it.”
Macpherson looked at her in wonder.
.bn 163.png
.pn +1
“You do not understand me I know, but Mr.
Orme does, and I know my secret is safe with him.
Truly,” she added bitterly, and with a certain wildness,
“your chart was well written with blood.”
“´Twas the best I could do: I am sorry that it does
not please you.”
“You mistake Miss Carew´s meaning,” said Gervase.
“She finds no fault with what you have
done, and I think you have acted discreetly. But
others are concerned in this, and she must not act
without consideration.”
“However I may act,” said Dorothy, “you will
promise to say nothing of this till you have my
permission; neither to my aunt nor to my brother.
They must know nothing of it now. And, Mr. Orme,
I know the favour that I ask is great, but I cannot
bear the sight of this now; will you keep it till I
ask it from you?”
Gervase consented with some misgiving, but had
she ordered him at that moment to go in search of
the treasure single handed, ´tis likely that he would
have done her bidding cheerfully, and gone without
a word.
Having no clue to Dorothy´s meaning, Macpherson
looked upon it as a piece of the whimsical extravagance
one always found in a woman, and was
content that he had delivered his message, however
abruptly, and rid himself of his responsibility. For
himself, he had no desire to meddle with family
secrets, and a young fellow like Gervase Orme was a
far fitter companion to share the confidence of a
.bn 164.png
.pn +1
girl, than a rugged and plain-spoken soldier like
himself. It might be there was more than her
grandfather´s death in the matter, but whatever it
was, he would avoid other people´s business for the
future, and keep the beaten road, where he saw plain
ground for his feet.
“Of my own motion,” he said, “I will not speak
of this thing, and though ´tis a pity to have the
bonny stones and brave pieces lying in a ditch side,
I would not for their worth have carried them a day
longer. I even felt like Judas with the forty pieces--the
price of the blood, hanging about his neck.”
Dorothy shuddered, and hid her face in her hands.
“All is done now,” said Gervase, seeing her distress,
“and words will not mend it. Captain Macpherson
and myself must even make for the walls presently,
where he will find work in plenty to his taste.
The guns have been speaking loudly for an hour.”
“Nay,” said Dorothy rising, “you will not go
till you have seen my aunt; she hath been most
anxious to thank you for the service you did me.
She is seldom able to see strangers, but she is
something better to-day, and bade me call her before
you left.”
Macpherson demurred stoutly and insisted on
making his immediate departure, for he felt by no
means at home as it was, and foresaw with a feeling
akin to dismay, an interchange of meaningless
civilities with a silly old woman of rank. But
Dorothy would take no refusal; Lady Hester would
not forgive her if she permitted them to leave without
.bn 165.png
.pn +1
seeing her, and she was gone before Macpherson
had finished his protest.
“This is what comes of dealing with a woman,
Gervase, my son,” he said, in a mournful tone,
apparently still meditating retreat. “I had rather
face a clump of pikes than come under the artillery
of a woman´s tattle. One is bound up hand and
foot, and feels his manhood oozing out through the
pores of his skin, while he beats his brains for a
civil speech and looks in vain for a way of escape.
They can talk of nothing I have knowledge of, and
I am too old for quips and gallant speeches. But
she is a brave lass, and I think I wronged her, so
that I must suffer for it now with patience. But
for this Lady Hester, a rough old war-horse like
myself hath other business in the world than to
stand like a page in a lady´s chamber and hearken
to her gossip. For young fellows like yourself it
may answer, but were I out of this----”
His resolution, whatever it may have been, remained
unspoken, for at this moment Lady Hester Rawdon
came in, leaning on her nephew´s arm--a frail old
lady much broken with illness, who received Gervase
with a show of homely kindness, and strongly
expressed her sense of the good-will he had shown
toward her niece. Motioning to him to sit down
beside her on the couch, she drew from him the
story of his recent adventure, and Gervase seeing
the interest and pleasure she took in the narrative,
entered at some length into the particulars of his
journey. Regarding the Vicomte de Laprade she
.bn 166.png
.pn +1
made many inquiries--the Vicomte´s mother being
her half sister--and regretted the unhappy state of
the country that prevented her seeing a lad she was
very fond of in his youth. No doubt he was a
Catholic, which was to be deplored, but religion
should not weaken the ties of kinship. He was of
the same age with her nephew Jasper, and a fine
lad when she saw him last. That was at Meudon,
a great many years ago. There were many changes
since then, and she supposed that she would not
know him now. These were dreadful times and
roaring of the guns frightened her beyond
measure, but there would soon be peace.
So the poor lady rambled on. All the while her
nephew stood near without taking any part in the
conversation. He was considerably older than
Dorothy and very like her in appearance, but without
the expression and vivacity which was the great
charm of his sister. Gervase thought there was a
look of unfriendliness in his eyes, and resented with
some inward heat, the supercilious air with which
he treated him. Macpherson had stood for some
time preserving an awkward silence, until Dorothy
withdrew him to the window, and by slow degrees
broke down his silence, till he suddenly found
himself talking with great ease and friendliness.
It was many years since he had looked so nearly
in the face of youth and beauty and listened to the
tones of a girlish voice, and who can tell what
secret springs of memory had suddenly been
unlocked? Certain it is that when Gervase and he
.bn 167.png
.pn +1
made their way to the walls half an hour afterwards,
there was an undertone in his voice and a softened look
in his eyes that Orme had never heard or seen before.
“There are hard times,” he said, “before yon
sweet lass, harder than she dreams of, but you and
I must help to make them easier if we can. That
rambling old woman and that gay spark of a
brother will be a poor help to her in the day of
her trial. I like not yon lad; his eyes shift too
much, and they are ever counting the buttons on
your coat while you are trying to find what is the
thought in his mind. I´m thinking he would be
glad to be out of this, could he carry the old
woman´s fortune with him. But the lass herself
hath a great heart, and if God sees good will make
a fit mother to a noble race of bairns.”
But Gervase paid very little attention to his
speech. The presence of Dorothy and the look she
had given him at parting, so rapid but at the same
time so complete in perfect confidence, had filled him
with happiness, and given him food for contemplation.
The old stories that he had read of wandering knights
and heroic paladins had come to be fulfilled for him;
he had found a cause in which to use his sword, and a
lady who was worthy of his devotion; and so a golden
vista of great deeds opened out before him, and he
saw glory and love at the end of it. We will not
quarrel with the young fellow´s idle fancies, but leave
him with the girl´s last words----"You have proved
yourself my friend," keeping him awake that night
and mingling with the substance of his dreams.
.bn 168.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER X. | OF THE STAND IN THE TRENCHES.
.sp 2
“What is the hour?”
“Somewhat after three. The bell in the Cathedral
struck the hour as we left the gate. ´Tis very dark.”
"And colder than frost. The wind blows from
the river like a stepmother´s breath, and dries the very
marrow in your bones. On my word, Orme, I
thought the relief would never come. Here have
I been since the last night, getting what warmth I
could from the shelter of the rampart, and keeping
these fellows from sleeping on guard, while my own
eyes rebelled against this sentry duty and closed in
spite of me. I´m sleepy, and hungry, and tired, and
am going to take a lesson in swearing from wicked
Will Talbot:
.pm start_poem
“Oh, roll me down the brae and walk me up the hill,
And all the while you carry me, I´m only standing still.”
.pm end_poem
“´Tis well to have a merry heart, Jack.”
“And, prithee, why should I not be merry if I
choose? Who could be sad with six hours of guard
in the twenty-four; a measurable quantity of meat
and French butter, with a qualified modicum of very
thin beer, and a chance of getting knocked on the
.bn 169.png
.pn +1
head every hour in the day. Is not that enough
for one man, my dear Ajax, or will nothing satisfy
you? Here we have been for a fortnight at this
work, and only twice have we measured swords
with the red-coated ruffians yonder, who prefer to
bowl us over with their long guns and bury us in
the mortar yonder. This soldiering is but dull work.”
“We are like to find it brisk enough if all that
I hear is true. There is talk in the camp yonder
of a general onset on our position here at the
Windmill, and when I left, Baker was sending a
reinforcement to strengthen the guard. Have you
heard aught in front?”
“Not a mouse stirring. Did I think it true, I
should even snatch what sleep I could in the earthworks
here, and be ready to stand by you when the
knocks were going. But following the voice of
wisdom for once, I´ll even go home to bed and leave
you to enjoy that frosty wind by yourself. Should
the attack come you´ll find me among the first.”
Giving a brief word of command to his company,
the young fellow went away whistling, and left
Gervase Orme to his solitary meditations as he paced
up and down the rampart, peering out into the darkness,
and devoutly longing for the first streak of
sunrise. Windmill Hill was a post of great importance
and in some measure the key of the position.
The highest point of the river to the south of the
city, it entirely commanded the town; and only a
fortnight before the enemy had made a bold effort
to drive in the guard, and entrench themselves upon
.bn 170.png
.pn +1
it. In this they had failed after a stubborn resistance,
and since then the position had been strengthened
by throwing up a rampart that ran across the summit
of the hill almost to the river. The guards had been
greatly strengthened, for the recollection of the
first attack had taught the garrison a salutary lesson
which they could not afford to throw away. It had
become a thing of vital importance that the hill
should not fall into the hands of the enemy, and
from some source--it was scarcely known what--they
had learned that the Irish intended to attack
the position in force, and make a bold push once
for all, to secure it.
Six weeks of hardship had had their effect on Gervase
Orme. He had grown accustomed to danger, and
had come to look upon death as an event that
happened every day, and might be his own lot tomorrow.
It had come to seem natural now that
he should waken up in the morning to find his
sword at his pillow, and listen all day to the thunder
of the guns in the batteries on Creggan and the
Waterside. Successful resistance had awakened in him
as in others, an intense enthusiasm he was far from
feeling the first day he had stood on the walls and
watched the white tents stretching out on every
side. At that time resistance had seemed almost hopeless;
it was their duty to fight for a cause they
looked on as sacred; but now they had measured
their strength with the foe, and they had proved
the valour of the fighting-men who manned the
walls and lined the ramparts, and if relief came
.bn 171.png
.pn +1
while there was a barrel of meal in the magazine
they would make good their defence.
It was a fine thing to see the alacrity and courage
with which the rough yeomen and citizens went into the
fight, and the spirit with which they handled their
muskets. Grumble at times they would, for horse
flesh is but poor meat to the Anglo-Saxon mind;
and French butter (only a cheerful pseudonym
for tallow) and meal were somewhat apt to turn
upon the stomach of a morning. But even the
grumblers did their duty, and the cordial of religion
was dealt out in plentiful doses in the Cathedral
twice a day. It was a sight to see Walker, his
duty as a stout Colonel of foot being laid aside
for the nonce, mounting the pulpit with his martial
air, and drilling his flock in the duty of resistance.
When the sermon was over, and they came crowding
through the door--men, women, and children--there
was a look in their eyes and a catching of their
breath, that spoke volumes for the powers of the
homely orator and the earnestness of his appeal.
There was indeed nothing wanting to inflame their
zeal and strengthen their pride. The Celt was in
their eyes an inferior and a servile race, and his
religion the superstition of the scarlet woman. On
them hung the fate of the kingdom, and if Londonderry
fell, Enniskillen must also surrender, and Ireland
would go with James from the Cove of Cork to
Bloody Foreland. Their brethren in England--so
they said--would not let them die of want; William
of Nassau was a soldier trained in arms who knew
.bn 172.png
.pn +1
the importance of the place they held, and he was
not one to let the grass grow under his feet. Any
morning they might rise to see a friendly fleet in
the river; and they fought on from day to day with
the roofs crashing over their heads, and the first
pinch of want warning them of what might be in store.
We left Gervase Orme pacing the ramparts with
his heavy cloak gathered closely round him, looking
anxiously towards the enemy´s lines. There was not a
sound to be heard; only a light glanced here and there
for a moment and then vanished into the darkness.
The men lay in the trenches, screening themselves
from the sharp wind, for though it was now early in
June the nights were cold. It was weary work,
this waiting for the morning, for a light that would
never break, and an attack that would never come.
Then Gervase seated himself on an empty cask,
with his face toward the bitter east wind, and fell
to thinking of Dorothy Carew. It was a habit
that had grown on him of late, for it was wonderful
how it shortened the hours, and relieved the
tedium of his guard. He had seen her frequently
during the last six weeks, and though no word of
love had ever been spoken between them, he
had striven to show her that he looked on her as
something more than a friend, and he thought that,
though with maidenly reserve, she returned his
affection. He was seldom able to see her alone,
for Lady Hester was always anxious to see the
young soldier fresh from duty with his news of
how the siege was going; and though Gervase often
.bn 173.png
.pn +1
longed for a tender tête-à-tête he seldom managed
to secure it. How he had come to evoke the ill-will
of Jasper Carew he did not know, but the latter
took little pains to conceal his enmity and on
more than one occasion, only the presence of his
sister prevented Gervase from coming to an open
breach with him. He took no part in the defence,
and openly laughed at his sister´s zeal. And yet
Gervase knew that he was no coward, for he had
come through several affairs of honour, and pinked
his man very creditably. But however much Gervase
might have desired his friendship, he saw no
other way to peace than to avoid him so far as he
could, and his gibes pass unnoticed when they
met. He could see that Dorothy was anxious to
atone for her brother´s coldness, and that was in
itself compensation enough. And as Gervase sat
on his cask, and drew his cloak closer about him,
he saw again the tender smile in her eyes and felt
the pressure of her hand. What mattered this
dreary guard and the long watching and the hardship
of his life, if she loved him?
So wrapped up was he in his meditations that
the sky was all flecked with gray and barred with
red, and the morning wind was blowing round him,
before he awakened from his dream. The men of
his company were walking in twos and threes below
him, or were still lying crouched under the shelter of
the ramparts. He himself was numb and stiff with
cold, and as he rose to stretch his limbs his eye caught
sight of the grey tents in the valley below him.
.bn 174.png
.pn +1
The clear note of a solitary bugle was sounding
fitfully. The camp was already astir, and away to
the left several companies of horse were moving
rapidly toward the strand. In a moment his dreams
were dissipated and he was keenly on the alert.
It seemed to him that a great body of men were
being massed in the hollow. Already, as it grew
clearer, he could see them gathering round the
standards, and the grey glint of steel came fitfully
through the morning mists. There was not a
moment to lose, for he did not doubt that the attack
was about to be made in force, and if they were
to hold their ground, it would need every available
fighting man the garrison could send out to defend
the whole line of the rampart. He could not be
mistaken; the attack they had been looking for so
long, was about to come at last.
Leaping hastily into the trench, he collected the
men of his command. He spoke to them briefly
and to the point. “Now,” he said, throwing off
his cloak and drawing his sword, “Sinclair, you
will make for the City with what haste you can.
Tell Baker we must stand a general attack, and
that the horse are gone toward the river. I think
the grenadiers are upon the left moving toward the
bog. You, Bowden, will pass the alarm along the
line, and I myself will even go forward to reconnoitre,
and see more clearly what their meaning is.
Now, my lads, see that your priming is fresh, for
we must stand to it this day like men.”
The note of alarm spread rapidly down the
.bn 175.png
.pn +1
ramparts, and wherever the little companies were
gathered the excitement grew deep and strong, and
preparations were made for the coming struggle.
There was now no longer any reason to doubt that the
enemy were preparing to make a general advance.
In the grey dawn they could see dark masses in
motion to the right and to the left, and hear the
drums beating their lively call, and the note of the
bugle ringing out clear and loud.
Dropping from the rampart Gervase crept down
the hillside, taking advantage of the straggling line
of defence that ran zig-zag down the hill in the
direction of the enemy. As he drew nearer and bent
his ear to the ground, he could hear the measured
tread of marching feet and the ring of iron hoofs.
The dawn had come up with a leap; the light was
now broad and clear, and lying screened by the
shelter of the fence, he could see the different
regiments rapidly taking up their position with as
much order as the irregularities of the ground would
permit. What their strength was he could not
rightly estimate, but the regiment before him was
Butler´s foot, and on the left were Nugent´s grenadiers.
He could hear the hoarse word of command
shouted down the ranks and the rattle of the firelocks
as the men shouldered their guns. Already they
were in motion. There was not a moment to be
lost if the rampart was to be kept that day. With
the speed of a deer he made his way back to the
lines, calling out as he came up, and took the deep
trench at a bound.
.bn 176.png
.pn +1
“They are coming,” he said, clambering up the
breastwork; “they are coming, and will be up in a
quarter of an hour. We must give them a warm
welcome here. Bring out the powder, and remember
to fire low; we are not shooting snipe to-day, and
must not waste a shot.”
He looked anxiously toward the city for the
support that had been promised, for he knew the
little body of men who surrounded him could not
stand for a moment against the force in front of
them. But the city was all astir. The Cathedral
bell was pealing out its warning summons, and
already a stream of men was pouring from the
Bishop´s-gate without order or formation. And they
were not a moment too soon, for the enemy came
pouring up the hillside, a dark, crimson wave that
seemed to undulate, swaying with a slow uncertain
motion, as it advanced.
The men stood within the shelter of the ramparts
clutching their muskets and watching far below them
the enemy advancing slowly to the assault.
“I´m thinking I could put a brace of slugs into
yon young cockerel with the feathers in his bonnet,”
said a tall, raw-boned man of Down, glancing along
the barrel of the fowling piece he carried, and turning
to Gervase with an inquiring look. “It were a
pity not to let them have a foretaste of what they´ll
get by and by.”
“You must not draw a trigger till they are close
up; then you may bring him down if you will.
God be praised! here come the reinforcements. I´m
.bn 177.png
.pn +1
glad to see you, Colonel Baker, with all my heart.
They would scarce have waited for you had you
tarried.”
“Tis very well done, Mr. Orme. You deserve
no small praise for your watchfulness. This had
been a serious business had they caught us napping,
but there is not a man in the camp yonder who is
worth a pinch of powder, and they come on like
so many drunken drabs. Now we will show the
rogues what they may expect when they call on
honest men at home.”
Rapidly and with a joyful alacrity he drew up
the men into three ranks, rank behind rank, and
bade them look carefully to the loading of their
pieces, and not to waste their shot. Then he directed
the first rank that they should wait till the enemy
came within forty paces of the rampart, and when
he gave the word they should fire their volley
steadily and all together; that having fired the
second rank should take their place, and that they
in turn should give way to the third. The simple
measure was easily understood, and the men smiled
in silence as they handled their muskets and waited
for the word.
“The women are coming to see how you have
done, my sons,” Baker said, “but I think you will
not want their help to-day. Yonder fellows are
but three to one; you could spare them greater
odds than that and beat them still. I would wager
a golden guinea never a man of them will touch
the rampart.”
.bn 178.png
.pn +1
The enemy had advanced to within a hundred
yards of the ramparts and then halted to complete
their formation, which had been broken by the
straggling fences of which we have already spoken.
The silence behind the earthworks had been so
complete that they looked for an easy victory over
the guards on duty there. It was now broad day,
and the defenders could see all along the line their
enemies hastening to the attack. With a loud cheer
the latter advanced at the double, and were close
upon the ramparts when they were met by a sudden
spurt of fire that ran simultaneously along the line,
and by a shower of bullets that brought them to
a stand. But the check was only momentary.
Believing that they had now to deal with empty
barrels, they sprang forward with redoubled ardour,
and were within a few paces of that fatal rampart
when a second time the leaden hail smote them
with withering effect. They halted in confusion
and fired wildly into the smoke-covered curtain.
Above the clamour and din rang out the voice of
Baker--
“Steadily, my children, they are nearly satisfied.
Advance! Fire!”
And the men of Londonderry with sublime faith
in their captain and with the steadiness of men on
the parade ground, took their place and gave
another volley. Then the foe broke up into confusion
and lost all semblance of formation. Many of them
threw away their muskets and made what speed
they could for the rear; while others encouraged
.bn 179.png
.pn +1
by the shouts of their officers and still full of fight,
made for the ramparts, and leaping into the trench
climbed up the curtain with muskets clubbed. But
they had little chance of success. All along the
line they were met by an enemy flushed with the
first success and having the advantage of a superior
position. In some places, indeed, they succeeded in
topping the line, and a hand to hand fight took
place, but they could not keep their hold on the
ground they had won. They were driven back
into the trench with their assailants on the top of
them. But for the most part the garrison stood
stoutly by the ramparts, meeting their enemy with
the muzzles of their guns and a steady fire.
Then Baker turned to Gervase with his face all
aglow. “Should you live a thousand years you
will never see a prettier fight than that. ´Tis over
now, for we have taken the heart out of them and
they will not form again. I pray God we have
done as well elsewhere, but I fear the horse have
pressed us harder by the Waterside. You must
not tarry here. Away thither like the wind, and
tell Gladstanes that I can spare him a half dozen
companies if he need their help.”
However reluctant to leave till he had seen the
end, Gervase obeyed and made what haste he could
down the line of the ramparts towards the strand.
All along the earthworks the men were standing
steadily to their guns, but down by the river the
fight was going hard.
Two hundred horse, gentlemen, for the most
.bn 180.png
.pn +1
part, of high spirit and rank, had taken a solemn
oath, as the chroniclers say, to top the line or perish
in the attempt. Gervase came up as they were about
to make the charge and delivered his message to the
stout soldier who commanded there. “Not another
man do I want,” was the answer; “we have enough
for glory. Now, my lads, here they come, and let
them have it!”
Carrying faggots before them with which to fill
up the trench, the horse came on at a gallop, the
steel swords and scarlet coats making a gallant
show. Dashing up within thirty yards of the ramparts,
they suddenly wheeled to the right, and made
for the open space between the rampart and the
river, intending to take the enemy on the flank.
As they came on they were met by a storm of
bullets that seemed without effect, for barely a
man went down. Then Gervase heard a familiar
voice call out--the deep trumpet tone of Macpherson:
“They carry armour under their gay
clothes. Aim at the horses and we´ll take the riders
afterwards.”
But the order had come too late. Already they
had passed the line of defence and gained the open
ground within. Hastily clambering out of the trench,
the defenders rushed to meet them with pikes and
muskets, in a compact and stubborn body.
Gervase was looking about him for some more
serviceable weapon than the small sword he carried,
when he saw Simon Sproule making prodigious
efforts to lift himself out of the trench under the
.bn 181.png
.pn +1
weight of his heavy firelock. The face of the little
linen-draper was ghastly pale, the perspiration was
running in streams down his face, and his eyes were
like those of a startled hare. Reaching him his
hand, Gervase helped him to his feet.
“Now,” he said, “steady yourself and play the
man. If you attempt to flee, which I verily think
you do, I´ll even run you through the body, and
tell your wife why I did it.”
“Never fear for me, Mr. Orme; I´ll stand by you
like a man; but this is a fearful trade for a citizen.
D--do you think they´ll run?”
“We´ll do our best to make them,” answered
Gervase, picking up a pike; “follow me, and do
the best you can.”
“Never fear for me.”
The horsemen came on gallantly, but could make
no impression on the iron wall that met them at
every point. The horses went down in dozens, but
the riders leaping to their feet still strove to make
good the vow they had taken, and fought with a
stubborn spirit. On every side they were surrounded
by that cruel wall of pikes and scythes, and a
spirit as stubborn as their own. Then they were
broken up into little knots, and it became a hand
to hand fight in which the advantage was altogether
on the side of the garrison.
Gervase had lost sight of Simon Sproule in the
melée, and, indeed, had altogether ceased to think
of him, having business enough of his own to
attend to at present. As yet the fortune of the fight
.bn 182.png
.pn +1
hung in the balance. Back to back, and shoulder
to shoulder, stood the men of the garrison, handling
their muskets and pikes with the steadiness and
precision of veterans. Never since the siege began
and the first shot had been fired, had there been a
fight like this. It was dry work and warm work,
and Gervase felt his throat baked like a kiln. He
heard some of the men crying round him for water
and saw them go staggering, faint and exhausted,
to the rear. And though Gervase did not see it
there was help for them there. The women of the
city, who had been watching with anxious hearts
from the walls, could bear the suspense no longer,
and regardless of the bullets and cannon shot from
across the river, had come down to their aid with
food and drink. It was even said, and the chroniclers
record it with a touch of pride, that they took
their share in the conflict, and fought with stones
with as bold a heart as the stoutest among the
men. Certain it is that they put new life into the
weary fellows who were tired of hacking at the
steel breastplates and head-pieces, and who for the
most part had not tasted food since the evening
before. It seemed to Gervase that the slaughter of
horses and brave men would never cease. No
sooner was one down than another had taken his
place, hewing for his life at those pikes that would
not bear back an inch.
“Stand close and strike home,” a voice would
cry, and a little knot of horsemen went rolling to
the ground. There was now no hope of escape for
.bn 183.png
.pn +1
them. A dense phalanx of pikemen and musketeers
had drawn between them and the entrance to the
lines. Back to back each man fought only for his
life. No quarter was given or asked, but each
man went down where he stood.
For nearly two hours by the sun the battle had
been raging, and the end was now at hand. Gervase
had been carried in the melée down toward
the river, and was making his way back toward the
ramparts among the slaughtered horses and dead
and wounded men, when he saw half a dozen pikemen
surrounding a dismounted horseman, who was making
gallant play with his sword. Anxious to save
his life Gervase was about to interfere, when he
heard the sound of his voice raised in disdain of his
assailants; “Five to one! ventre de Dieu, I care not
for you all. A gentleman of France has never
learned to yield.”
It was the voice of his friend De Laprade. Gervase
was just in time; another minute and he
would have been too late. Pushing his way into
their midst, he warded off a blow that was aimed
at the Vicomte, and loudly commanded his assailants
to forbear. Covered as he was with blood
and grime, De Laprade did not at first recognize
him, but still stood on the defensive.
“This gentleman is my friend,” cried Gervase,
placing himself before him and guarding him with
the pike he still carried. “I will not have him
touched.”
Then as the men fell back willingly enough, the
.bn 184.png
.pn +1
Vicomte recognized his deliverer, and flinging away
his sword, held out his hand. “There is no need
for this now,” he said, “and I could not surrender
it even to you. This is the second time, Mr. Orme,
I have to thank you for my life. I grow weary
of your kindness.”
“I am very troublesome without doubt,” Gervase
answered with a smile. “I hope you have not
been touched.”
“Not the prick of a pin point, but these men of
yours fight like devils and against all the rules
of war.”
“They are learning their trade,” Gervase answered,
“and you cannot expect beginners to be perfect
But they have made a complete rout of your horse,
and left but few of them to carry back the story
to the camp. They have got Butler yonder, and
are carrying him to the town.”
“Whither, I suppose, I must bear him company?
I am weary of the camp and would prefer to visit
your city for a change. You do not eat your
prisoners?”
“It has not come to that yet, but I think it may.
Now, Vicomte, if I can do aught to lighten your
captivity be assured I will do my best to that end.
But in the meantime, I must send you in with the
guard as my work is not yet finished.”
“Put yourself to no inconvenience for me,” said
the Vicomte cheerfully, “I am quite content.”
Placing De Laprade in custody of the guard
which had already secured the other prisoners, and
.bn 185.png
.pn +1
telling them that he was under obligations to the
gentleman, whom, he hoped, they would treat with
consideration, Gervase went to assist in looking
after the wounded.
Only three or four of the horsemen had succeeded
in cutting their way back to the camp, and it was
a matter of congratulation that so complete a victory
had been won with so little loss. A great victory, won
in the open field against the very flower of the
enemy´s cavalry and with no great superiority of
numbers, was a thing of which they might be fairly
proud. The women were looking after those who
had fallen, many of whom had crawled back to the
trench and were waiting there to be carried to the
city. A crowd of soldiers were gathered round
their colonel, who was reading them a striking
homily on the lessons of the day.
Gervase did what he could for the brave fellows
who were lying round him, and was about to
make his way back to the city, when he came upon
Mistress Sproule looking the picture of despair.
“Oh! Mr. Orme, for the love of God, have you
seen Simon anywhere? I´m told he was here among
you in the very front of the fighting, but I cannot
find him yonder, and I cannot find him here.”
Then Gervase remembered having helped the
little citizen out of the trench, and though he did
not think there was much of his being
very forward in the melée, he was concerned to hear
that he had not made his appearance to receive his
wife´s congratulations on their successful stand, as
.bn 186.png
.pn +1
he probably would have done had he been in the
land of the living.
“I saw him,” he answered, “when we were going
into the fight, but I have not seen him since. Never
fear for Simon; you will find him safe and sound,
I have no doubt. He will have gone back to the
city.”
“That he hath not--he´s killed, I tell you. Had
he been alive he would have been yonder where
the Colonel is preaching his sermon. He was ever
fond of preaching.”
Gervase was heartily sorry to think the little man
should have been knocked on the head, and did all
he could to comfort his inconsolable spouse. “Come
with me,” he said, “and I´ll show you where I left
him. We´ll make inquiries by the way, and you´ll
find him, I warrant, safe and sound, as I say.”
But no one had seen Simon either in the fight
or afterwards, nor could anyone tell what had become
of him, though he was well known for a courageous
and eloquent little man, ever forward with bold
counsels. Then they came to the trench where
Gervase had lifted him up with his musket on his
shoulder, and as they stood there looking up and
down, Gervase caught sight of a figure lying half
hidden under the shelter of the rampart. Leaping
into the trench he ran down and bent over the
prostrate body. The face was lying buried in the
arms, and the feet were drawn up almost to the
chin. Beside him lay his musket. There was no
doubt of his identity; it was Simon Sproule. Gervase
.bn 187.png
.pn +1
was almost afraid to touch him; then he bent down
and turned him slightly over.
The little man raised his face with the fearful
look in his eyes that Gervase had seen before.
“Don´t hurt me,” he cried, “I surrender peacefully.
Why, God bless me! Mr. Orme, is it you? Is
it all over, sir? and have we held our own? It
hath been a dreadful day. I do not think I shall
ever walk again.”
“Your wife is here to look for you, Simon,”
Gervase said, with a gravity he found it hard to
maintain; “she will look after your wound; where
is it?”
“Oh! it is even all over--from the crown of the
head to the sole of the foot. This hath been a
terrible time for me. Thank God! Elizabeth, you
have come to see the last of me.”
Raising himself upon his elbow, he looked at his
wife with so forlorn and piteous an expression that
Gervase imagined for a moment that he was wronging
him by his suspicions, and that the little man
had in reality been wounded. It never for a moment
occurred to the mind of his wife that he had crept
under the parapet to be out of the way of evil, and
it was with grief and consternation that she began
to investigate his injuries. With the aid of Gervase
he was lifted out of the trench, and though no
wound could be found on his person that would
account for his condition, his wife continued to ply
him with questions which he as resolutely refused
to answer.
.bn 188.png
.pn +1
“I think,” he said, after a while, “I shall try to
stand. I thought my back was broken, but the
feeling hath come back into my extremities, and I
may yet recover the use of my faculties. Thank
God for our merciful deliverance!”
“Had you been killed, Simon,” said his wife, “I
should have grieved sorely, but it would have been
my consolation that you fell in the way of your
duty.”
“Truly that is the case,” her husband answered
in the same tone, “but I have, I hope and trust
been mercifully spared to you and the children. I
think, though, I have got this day what will shorten
my arm for the future. I even fear I have seen
my last fight.”
“I am thinking,” said his wife, whose strong
common sense was gradually overcoming her alarm,
“that you are more frightened than hurt. I would
just like to know how it came that we found you
in the trench with never a scratch on your body?”
“And you´ll know that,” said Simon, plucking
up heart and sending his imagination on an airy
flight, a course his mind would seldom take.
“You will remember, Mr. Orme, how you and I
were even plunged in the thick of it, with those
swearing devils swinging their long swords and
cracking their pistols about our ears. I saw you
borne forward and like to come to evil, but I could
not help you, strive as I might. I had work enough
of my own to save my head, and I and some
others--who they were I know not--were borne
.bn 189.png
.pn +1
back here. We made a stout defence, but I was
struck or pushed from behind and only remember
falling back heels over head into the trench thinking
I should never see wife or children again. And now,
God be thanked! we have gained a great victory,
and that let none gainsay.”
“The day is hardly over,” said Gervase, who
could not restrain his amusement; “they are still
pushing us hard in the ramparts down by the
Bogside, and I heard a whisper that our men had
been driven in there. If you feel able we might
go thither and see if we cannot strike a brave
blow together.”
“The Lord forbid--I mean--that is--I have had
my share of this day´s fight, and so look you, Mr.
Orme, I say with all courage, I think I´ll even turn
my steps homeward, if my wife will lend me her
arm, and will not keep you waiting here. You
are young and lusty, and hot blood must have hot
blood.”
Mistress Sproule who was herself so courageous,
that she was unable to suspect cowardice in others,
still imagined that Simon had sustained some
internal injury, and with great tenderness and
solicitude took him under her arm and led him to
the city.
This was a memorable day in the annals of the
siege. The men of the garrison had fought with
heroic courage, and only in the intrenchment by the
Bog had there for a moment been any doubt as
to the result. There, indeed, the defenders had
.bn 190.png
.pn +1
been taken by surprise, and the grenadiers had
gained possession of the trenches, but only to hold
them for an hour. That night the bell in the
Cathedral rang out a joyous peal, and hearts that
were beginning to despond took fresh courage.
Starvation and disease were now the only enemies
they feared, but as they gathered on the walls that
night and shook one another by the hand in joyful
congratulation, they were unable to foresee the horror
and despair that lay before them and the suffering
they had yet to undergo.
Gervase had supped early and was about to retire
to bed, when, with a humble knock, Simon Sproule
opened the door and came into the room. “Elizabeth
thinks I am safe in bed,” he said apologetically,
“but I could not go to sleep till I had seen
you. I would not ask you to strain your conscience,
but I will take it as a favour if you will
tell her that I have done my best, which is but the
plain and simple truth.”
“But how can I do that, ”
“With a full heart, sir. I did my best though
I´m free to admit, it was far from well. I can
march with the bravest and carry my musket like
a man, but when the bullets begin to fly, and I
catch sight of those murdering sword-blades, the
Lord knows my knees are loosened under me and
my heart dies in my breast. And all the while I
would, if I might, be up and playing the hero, but I
cannot. ´Tis a fearful position for an honest man
to be placed in; my wife who is as bold as a lion
.bn 191.png
.pn +1
itself thinks there is not a braver man in the city,
and the neighbours that I have lived among all my
life, cry out ‘There goes the gallant Sproule,´
and all the while I´m but a pitiful coward. I
declare to God this life will kill me, Mr. Orme,
and I want your aid and counsel----”
“Make a clean breast of the matter, Simon, and
tell them how you feel.”
“No, that I cannot do now. I have boasted like
the Philistine and talked loudly like a man of war
and how can I, who am an elder in my church and an
honest burgher that may sometime be an alderman,
confess that I am but a liar and a braggart. I could
never hold up my head again among my neighbours;
and for my wife--no, Mr. Orme, I cannot
do it.”
“Then I am afraid I cannot help you. You know”,
and Gervase smiled significantly, “you have been
wounded, and such wounds are ever long in healing.”
“A month?” Simon asked doubtfully.
“I trust to heaven less than that, but even a
month if need be.”
“You have struck the mark for me and saved
my credit,” cried Simon joyfully. “Twill be hard
work but there is no help for it. And you will lend
me your countenance as far as your conscience will
let you?”
“Nay,” said Gervase, “I cannot be a partner in
your fraud, but no man will know from me that
you are not as stout as Murray himself, and that
you have not got a wound as deep as the well of
.bn 192.png
.pn +1
St. Colomb. I can go no further than that. Now,
Simon, away to bed, for Mistress Sproule must not
find the wounded knight keeping his vigil here.”
“Remember, Mr. Orme, I rely on your discretion,”
cried Simon, halting for a moment at the door; “and
I think with your help I shall be able to save my
reputation.”
.bn 193.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XI. | OF A SERIOUS COMMUNICATION.
.sp 2
The prisoners who had been taken by the garrison
had been for the most part confined in Newgate,
but several gentlemen of rank had been permitted
on giving their parole to dwell at large with private
persons in the city.
Among the latter was the Vicomte de Laprade.
No sooner had Lady Hester Rawdon learned that
her nephew was a prisoner than she insisted on his
being brought to her house, and De Laprade willingly
exchanged the confinement of his prison for
the society of his cousin and the comparative freedom
of her house. With his ready power to adapt himself
to his circumstances he was soon at home, and
his gay songs and cheerful wit enlivened for a time
the gloom that was gradually settling down on the
household in common with the rest of the city. But
even the lively humour of the Vicomte was unable
to withstand the horror and distress that surrounded
them on every side and deepened day by day. The
pressure of famine, as silent as it was terrible, began
to make itself sorely felt. Pestilence that had been
lurking in the byways of the city, spread on every
side, and all through the month of June the shells
.bn 194.png
.pn +1
were crashing through the roofs and ploughing up
the streets. The hope of relief that had burned
steadily for a while was now growing fainter and
fainter. Early in June three ships had come up the
river as far as Culmore, but finding the fort in possession
of the enemy, had not attempted to dispute
the passage. And again, a little later, the garrison
had seen from the Cathedral tower the friendly fleet
far down the Lough, and had watched them with
anxious hearts, till they saw them riding of Three
Trees in the western glow of that summer evening.
In the morning the sails were gone, and now the
enemy had thrown a boom across the river which
shut out the passage to the sea. But still the men
of the garrison stood by the walls and manned the
great guns and handled their muskets with a cheerful
courage. There were traitors, no doubt, who
deserted to the enemy, and traitors who murmured
and plotted secretly; but for the most part the citizens
stood loyally by their leaders.
Gervase Orme had suffered with the rest. He had
seen poor Simon Sproule bury two of his children,
and all the humour out of it, had listened to the
heart-broken little man declare that God had visited
him for his cowardice. The wasted faces and hollow
cheeks that he met began to haunt his dreams; it became
his only relief to lose himself in action and forget
the horrors he had seen. His visits to the Rawdon
household lightened the gloom a little. Dorothy bore
her troubles with a quiet strength that put his manhood
to shame, and alone in the household declared that
.bn 195.png
.pn +1
the garrison should keep their guard while one stone
stood upon another. Since De Laprade´s coming,
Gervase´s visits had not been so frequent, for it was
now impossible for him to find Dorothy alone during
the day. The light badinage of the Vicomte jarred
on his nerves, and it might be without knowing it
he had become jealous of his presence. For the
Vicomte´s admiration of the girl was open and declared
and though he treated her with a quiet deference,
it was plain he would willingly have surrendered
his cousinship for a closer relation still. Dorothy
appeared unconscious of his advances and turned
away his flattery with a quiet smile.
Gervase had not called for several days, and had
not seen any member of the household during that
time. He was surprised to receive a note in Dorothy´s
hand, asking him to call upon her during the evening,
if his duties permitted him. It was the first
letter he had ever received from her, and though
he could not surmise its cause, his heart beat somewhat
faster in his breast, as he pressed it to his
lips in the quiet of his room. Yes, it was Dorothy´s
hand, like herself, very strong and free, yet
full of grace; and the “Yours in confidence,
Dorothy Carew,” sent him forthwith into a
pleasant reverie full of tender hopes.
All day he went about his work with a light and
heart, with the precious missive out of
which he had read so much carefully buttoned up
in his breast, and did his duty none the worse for
thinking of the girl who wrote it. When he called
.bn 196.png
.pn +1
he was shown into the room by Jasper´s servant
Swartz, and Dorothy was waiting to receive him.
“I hope, Miss Carew,” said Gervase, “there is
nothing wrong--that Lady Hester is not worse?”
“My aunt is very well,” Dorothy answered,
“but a little nervous and excited. This is a trying
time for her, but she bears up wonderfully. I
did not think she could have endured so much with
so great patience.”
“And the Vicomte?”
“Nay, he is well. My brother has lately kept
much to his own room, and Victor has grown tired
of our society and joins him often there. How they
spend their hours I hardly know, but I think they
both are fond of play, and give themselves to
cards. Your hours are spent otherwise, Mr.
Orme.”
“Yes,” Gervase answered, “but you see I am a
soldier and have my work to look to.”
“And why should all men not be soldiers?” said
the girl excitedly. “If a woman might carry arms--but
this is wild talk, and you know I do not mean
it. What news is there to-day?”
“Nothing of much importance: the enemy have
hardly fired a shot, but I hear there is talk of an
expedition to-night, I know not whither. As for
the ships, they have not been seen since Thursday,
but the wind is from the north and they may be
here to-morrow.”
“If Colonel Kirke should be another traitor?”
Dorothy said; “one hardly knows whom to trust.”
.bn 197.png
.pn +1
“I hope,” Gervase answered, “you will never find
me false.”
“I do not think I shall, and that is why I sent for
you . Will you come with me into the garden,
for we may be interrupted here.”
Gervase followed her out through the open window
and down the path, wondering what confidence
she was about to impose in him that required to be
so carefully guarded. They came to a little, open
space of smooth lawn where she stopped short and
looked round her cautiously.
“I have thought much of this,” she said, “and I
know no one but yourself to whom I can look for
advice. I thought, indeed, of Captain Macpherson,
but I did not know how he might act, and was
afraid to trust him. What I am going to say I
speak to yourself alone, and must be whispered to
no other till you have my permission. Will you
promise that?”
Gervase consented, hardly knowing what he
promised, but seeing only the look of entreaty in
her eyes.
“No matter what you feel to be your duty?”
“If it does not touch my honour nor the safety
of the city.”
“Then I cannot tell you, for I do not know.
Surely,” she went on pleadingly, “you can trust
me, Gervase Orme? I stand alone and have none
to counsel me, and--and I thought you were my
friend. Surely you can trust me?”
“Every drop of blood in my veins is at your
.bn 198.png
.bn 199.png
.bn 200.png
.pn +1
service, and though it may be weak and wrong and
we may both regret it, I promise.”
.il id=i198 fn=i_198.jpg w=60% ew=90% cw=120%
.ca “SHE STOPPED SHORT AND LOOKED ROUND HER CAUTIOUSLY”
She smiled a little sadly, and said with a touch
of her old humour, “I had rather you had not
promised, but you cannot go back on your word
now. Do you think,” she said, putting her hand
to her breast and looking round her, “do you think
there are traitors in the city?”
“Indeed I think there are,” Gervase answered,
“but we watch them narrowly and they do little
harm. They would stir up rebellion if they might,
but the Town-Major keeps them well in hand.”
“But I mean more than that. Do you think there
are any in the city who hold communication with
the enemy?”
“It may be there are, but I hardly see how they
could carry out their treachery. The walls are
strictly guarded, and the men on the outposts are
faithful and true; it were a bold thing to attempt it.”
“Then tell me what you think of this.”
Putting her hand into her bosom, she drew out a
small scroll of paper and placed it in his hands.
Gervase looked at her in amazement.
“Read it, and tell me what you think of it.”
Gervase took the paper, and his astonishment
deepened as he read:
.ti 4
“June 9. Pass the bearer through the lines.
He is doing faithful service. Given under our
hand. Hamilton.
“Miss Carew, where did you get this? If the
man who held this paper be in the city, he is a
.bn 201.png
.pn +1
traitor and a spy, and we should not lose a moment
in discovering his villainy.”
“I knew you would use words like these. But
there is something more. Three days ago, Mr.
Orme, I found this paper on the staircase. Now
you know my secret and why I sent for you.”
“Perhaps the Vicomte----” Gervase began.
“Nay, nay, you see the date, and my cousin
Victor is still a man of honour. He has given his
parole, nor would he break it for the world. It
almost breaks my heart to say it, but I feel that
this is my brother; I saw him searching for it where
I found it, and he would have questioned me about
it had he dared. And now I know why he left
his room at night and seldom returned before the
morning. What is to be done?”
Gervase knit his brow and stood thinking. If
Dorothy was right, her brother was a traitor and in
the habit of supplying the enemy with information.
It was clearly his duty to report the matter to the
authorities. But on the other hand he had given his
word, however rashly and inconsiderately, from which
he could not withdraw, and stood pledged to silence.
He could not use the woman he loved as a witness
against her brother and destroy him by her hands;
he shrank in pain at the thought of such a course.
Had it not been for the mysterious midnight rambles,
the passport might perhaps have been explained.
Hamilton had been in the habit of giving passes to
persons in the city who had interest at head-quarters,
but this was of another sort. If Jasper
.bn 202.png
.pn +1
Carew was the bearer, and that seemed evident, then
he must be a traitor in active communication with
the enemy.
“It is hard,” Gervase said, “to know what to do,
but I think you may let me deal with this. There
is no need at present that any other person should
know what has come to your knowledge, but meanwhile
keep the paper safely, and tell me if your
brother leaves the house at night. I will try to
save him in his own despite, and for your sake and
his own, because he is your brother, will watch him
closely. Remember that you only suspect his guilt,
and it may be you judge him wrongly,”
“This is more than suspicion,” said Dorothy holding
up the passport. “Shall I tell him I have
found it?”
“There is no need for that; we cannot undo what
has been done, but we can prevent him doing harm
in the future. Do not let this grieve or distress
you. Your brother sees things in a different light
from you and me, and while circumstances have
kept him here, his heart is still with the enemy. He
makes no secret of it.”
But he could not drive Dorothy from the simple
fact. “But to play the spy! To steal out by night,
and to lie hidden through the day while brave men
were fighting, and a great cause is being lost or
won! He is no brother of mine. Say no more or
I shall think----”
“Only this, Miss Carew, that as long as I live I
shall not forget the confidence you have placed in
.bn 203.png
.pn +1
me, and I shall do what I can to show that I am
not wholly unworthy of it. This is no time or place
to say more than that. If it were in my power to
save you any pain----”
“I am sure,” she said frankly, “you would do
me a service; I know you are my friend.”
As he took her hand and led her into the house,
she turned to him and said, “You must not ask too
great a price for all you have done for me when
I come to pay you the debt I owe you.”
“One word will repay it all,” Gervase answered,
about to forget the moderation he had promised
himself to observe, when she suddenly withdrew
her hand and entered the room before him. There
was a certain restraint in her manner now that was
foreign to her native frankness, and she kept Gervase
strictly to his budget of news, and prevented
him from again entering on any personal topic.
Presently they heard De Laprade´s voice in the
hall, and he came in followed by Jasper Carew.
“Ah! ma belle cousin, we tire of one another and
come to you to bring us peace. M. Orme, you do
not often come to visit--what do you call it, my
cousin?--valour in tribulation.”
“Vice in bonds,” growled Jasper, looking moodily
at his sister.
“The Vicomte thinks his visit is growing tedious,
Mr. Orme,” said Dorothy, “and would be back
among his friends. He has now exhausted all the
gaieties of Londonderry.”
“If every prison had so fair a jailor,” answered
.bn 204.png
.pn +1
the Vicomte, “I should prefer captivity to freedom,
but my jailor prefers to leave me to the society of
her kinsman, whose virtues are exalted and whose
graces are--what you see.”
Jasper turned his back and walked over to the
window where he stood beating with his fingers
upon the panes. In a few minutes Orme walked
over and joined him.
“There is a matter, Mr. Carew,” he said in a
low tone, “on which I would speak with you in
private.”
Carew lifted his eyes furtively, and looked at him
with a questioning air. He was about to speak
but hesitated as if in doubt, and then motioning to
Gervase to precede him, followed him into the garden.
“Now, sir,” he said, turning round, “what is
the matter of mystery that cannot be spoken before
my sister and kinsman? I think you take too
much upon you.”
“I shall pass by your discourtesy, for I have
come to you in all kindness, as one anxious for
your welfare. What I wished to say to you is this,
and I will put it briefly. The night airs are dangerous
to the health, Mr. Carew, and should be
avoided for the future.”
Carew turned pale for a moment, but the moody
composure that was natural to him remained. Gervase
could see from his eyes that he would have
been dangerous had there been a fitting opportunity,
but the window was open near them, and De
Laprade was watching them where they stood.
.bn 205.png
.pn +1
“I do not apprehend your meaning, sir; or is
this a further instance of your damned impertinence?”
“I have no wish to be offensive, but I will put
the matter in another form, and if you fail to take
my meaning, you must yourself take the consequences.
It has been said,” Gervase went on calmly, “that
there are certain persons in the city, even gentlemen
of rank, who are in correspondence with the
enemy. Rumour is ever full of exaggeration, but
the name of one at least is known,” here he paused,
“and others may be suspected. Perhaps you had
not heard of this. But remember, sir, we will not
quarrel, for I make no charge against you. And
again I tell you that they who are not on duty
should not walk of nights.”
“We cannot quarrel here, or by heaven! I
would even kill you where you stand.”
“Neither here nor elsewhere,” Gervase answered
imperturbably. “I have given you a friend´s advice,
with all a friend´s sincerity, and wish you well.
Your prudence will direct you in your future
conduct.”
Gervase left him as he was about to speak and
re-entered the house, where he shortly after took
his leave and returned to his duty at the outposts.
.bn 206.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XII. | OF A WARM MORNING´S WORK.
.sp 2
The next morning Gervase was lying longer abed
than usual, having had a double share of duty the
night before, when he was awakened by the sound
of Mistress Sproule´s voice raised high in expostulation
and anger. Of late she had lost much of her
alacrity and it was only on great occasions and
against those to whom her antipathy was strong,
that the old fighting spirit manifested itself.
“The poor lad shall not be awakened, I tell you.
He does the work of three, and you can see that
he is even wearing himself to death, if you can see
anything. When he first came to live in my house
he had a cheek like a rose, and now he goes about
like an old man as crossgrained as yourself. This
blessed morning he will have his rest, if Elizabeth
Sproule can keep you out.”
Then Gervase heard the low tones of a man´s
voice endeavouring to reason with her. But the
honest woman was not to be driven from her position.
“Not for all the colonels or governors who ever
wore sword or sash. He has neither wife nor
mother to look after his welfare, and though he is
a gentleman I love him nearly like one of my own.
.bn 207.png
.pn +1
For a week you have kept the poor lad marching
and watching, and you are one of the worst of
them, Captain Macpherson.”
Gervase smiled where he lay, for he dearly loved
a battle royal between the two, in which the victory
usually lay with the weaker. Macpherson had
gone grimly to the attack, but he had ended by
falling nearly as much under her power as her husband
himself.
“You are very right, Mistress Sproule,” Gervase
heard the voice of the old soldier say, “and though
it is an urgent matter, he will have half an hour
more. You are right to be careful for him, and I
like you none the worse for your watchfulness. It
may be you will let me sit down within till he
wakens?”
“That I will not. And you may even go whither
you came from and tell them that.”
But Gervase, who had been greatly amused at his
friend´s conciliatory tone, thought it time to interfere,
and called out that he was awake and would see him.
“You see how well I am guarded,” he said, as
Macpherson came into the room, “and I think you
did not dispute the passage very warmly. The
enemy was too sharp for you.”
“I have been learning my own weakness,” answered
Macpherson, sitting down on the bed. “Now,
my dear lad, how is the world going with you?
I would that I did not see those deep lines on your
young face, and the youth dragged out of you
before your manhood has well begun. Did I not
.bn 208.png
.pn +1
tell you what it was to stand behind stone walls, and
hope against hope for the relief that would never
come, and see the tender women and children stricken
down without help or pity?”
“Nay, Macpherson, you are ill or you would not
talk thus.”
“Indeed, I think I am, and I am growing old
and childish. But I have been mad or worse for
a week. With the deep water to the quays, and
the good ships yonder with brave hearts on board
of them, to think of what might be done and is
not! ´Twas all very well,” he went on bitterly,
“for Kirke, the lying rogue, to dragoon the poor
ploughmen who stood gallantly by Monmouth, but
´tis hard to think that for want of a little courage
we should die here like dogs. Better throw open
the gates and let them murder us where we stand,
than fight for those who will not help us.”
“This is but wild talk,” said Gervase.
“Truly, I know that, and I would be apt to shoot
another through the head did he prate as I have
done, but twelve hours´ want of food and rest have
somewhat weakened me.”
Gervase sprang from his bed, and hastily dressing
himself set out his scanty breakfast, for meat and
meal had become precious, and he could not afford
to waste them. “There is enough for both of us,” he
said, “and there is still tobacco for your pipe. The
guns are going merrily yonder, and we´ll set ourselves
to work as merrily here. We march to the tune
of ‘No Surrender.´”
.bn 209.png
.pn +1
Macpherson smiled at the young man´s simulated
gaiety, and set himself down beside him to their
frugal meal. When he had finished, he lighted his
pipe and took a more hopeful tone. “I have not
yet told you,” he said, “why I came here this
morning, but the day is young and we have two
good hours before us yet. We had a brave night
of it.”
“A raid on the fish-house?” Gervase inquired.
“I heard an expedition was forward, but I did not
know that you were out. Have you succeeded?”
“In truth,” Macpherson answered, “we came off
better than I hoped. But the fish had never been
caught that we hoped to catch, and we shot our
nets in vain. Having given up hope of Kirke and
his ships, the Fourteen thought we might open up
communication with Enniskillen, and Walker found
a lad who thought he knew the way, and had the
heart to make the journey. So having first set the
story going that we purposed making a push for
the fish-house, we waited until dark, and then pushed
off up the river with the purpose of landing the lad
outside the enemy´s lines. So there we were in the
dark, Murray and myself and some fifteen others
of the die-hard sort, holding by the gunwhale, and
listening to the Irish mounting their guard and
singing their idle songs. It passed very well till
we got as far as Evan´s Wood, and then by ill luck
the moon must come out and ruin us wholly. They
caught sight of us there in the boat pulling hard
in mid-stream, and then a great gun sent the shot
.bn 210.png
.pn +1
driving past our ears like ducks in winter. They
kept up the fire from the shore, but the night was,
as you know, dark and stormy, and the moon that
had given us so ill a start, went down behind the
clouds again. I was strong for turning back, for I
saw the lad had lost his spirit, but they must needs
hold on as far as Dunnalong, and so we got so far
and proposed to land our messenger. But we might
as well have been abed, for the great gun had taken
away his appetite for the venture, and he would not
set a foot on shore. There was nothing for it but
to go back the way we came, and put the best
face we could on our bootless errand. So we came
pulling down stream, never knowing the minute
when a round shot would send us to the bottom,
when we saw two boats making for us in the gray
of the dawn that was now something too clear for
safety. They were our old friends the dragoons,
and soon the bullets began to fly, and we returned
their fire with so much fervour that they kept their
distance, like the careful lads they are. Then says
Murray, who likes nothing better than a melée, ‘Lay
us alongside the rascals, and we´ll treat them to a
morning dram;´ and though they would have sheered
off when they saw us resolute to close, we even ran
up under their stern, and had clambered on board
in a twinkling. We made short work of them and
threw them overboard with a will. Some of them
went to the bottom, and some of them got ashore,
but for their boat we brought it with us, and it is
even now lying by the quay.”
.bn 211.png
.pn +1
“And what became of the other?”
“Oh! they did not like our entertainment and
begged to be excused; so they stole off and left
us with our prize.”
“It is good news,” said Gervase; “the best we
have had for many a day. I would have ventured
something to have been of your company.”
“I thought of you, my lad, as we clambered
over the gunwhale and gave them the ends of our
muskets. But there is still fun in the fair, and I
have come for you this morning to join in it. With
the boats we purpose paying them a visit yonder
by the orchard, and drawing the teeth of the great
guns that have been barking somewhat vehemently
of late. Baker himself hath asked for you, which
is to your credit in a garrison where brave men are
not few. I think myself, you have come to handle
your sword in a pretty fashion.”
“There is no lack of opportunity to learn,” said
Gervase laughing, “but you must not spoil me with
praise before I have deserved it.”
The old soldier looked at him with a friendly
glance, as he bent down to examine the lock of
his pistol. Most men were drawn towards Gervase
Orme. His frankness, his courage, and his ready
sympathy had no touch of affectation, while his
handsome face and stalwart presence had made him
many friends; but Macpherson, who had been on
terms of intimacy with few for years, had come to
look upon him as a father looks on a son. Gervase
had found his way to a heart that had long been
.bn 212.png
.pn +1
closed to human sympathy, and without knowing it,
had brought light to a mind warped and darkened
by a narrow and visionary creed. It was not that
Macpherson´s character had undergone a change,
but during the fortnight he had spent in the farmhouse,
a part of his nature had awakened to life which
he had been sedulously trying to stifle, and which
he had not been able to reconcile with the hard and
narrow creed he had adopted.
“Lay down your weapon,” he said, as Gervase
with some eagerness was making his preparations
to set out, “lay down your weapon, and listen to
me. We have a good hour still; a man should
never hurry to put his head in danger. Have you
made it up yet with the sweet lass--you know
whom I mean.”
“I saw Miss Carew last night,” said Gervase
with some confusion.
“Tut, man, you will not put me off the scent
like a young puppy that hath not yet found its
nose. She is a wench in ten thousand--the good
woman of the preacher, and was made to nurse
a brave man´s bairns. You must not let your gay
spark of a Frenchman cut out the prize before your
eyes, as he means to do, if I have an eye to read
his purpose. You know not how to woo, my lad.
Women are not to be taken like a town, with the
slow approach of parallels and trenches; they ever
love to be carried with a rush. The bold wooer is
twice a man. You must go blithely about it and
tell her what you mean.”
.bn 213.png
.pn +1
“It is true that I love Miss Carew,” said Gervase,
“but this is no time to make love, and I will
not distress her with any importunity of mine.”
“Listen to the lad!” cried Macpherson, with a
gesture of impatience; “importunity of his, quoth
he! Our troubles will not last for ever, and a woman
will not find her trouble the harder to bear
because a brave man tells her he would have her
to be his wife.”
“You do not know Dorothy Carew,” said Gervase
good-humouredly. “I think she would not
love a man the better for thinking of himself when
other work is to be done.”
“Being a woman, I think she would love him
none the worse; but you are an obstinate lad and
will take your own course. Her brother favours
you but little, and the Frenchman is not much burdened
with tender scruples. You will see what you
will see. But I have spoken my word of warning,
and will start when you please.”
Gervase could see that Macpherson was dissatisfied,
but he thought it useless to prolong the argument
and prepared to accompany his friend.
The boats were lying at the quay, and the adventurers
were already embarking when Macpherson
and Gervase arrived. The expedition was full of
danger. Every man who took part in it knew that
he was taking his life in his hand; but there was
glory to be gained, for the eyes of the whole city
were upon them. On the other side of the river,
encircled by its green hedge, lay the orchard with
.bn 214.png
.pn +1
its battery of guns that seldom were silent for a
day together. Only one company lay in the farmhouse
hard by to protect the gunners, and it was
hoped that by a bold and rapid push, the garrison
might cross the river and spike the guns before a
stronger force had time to interfere. But they must
first face the fire of the guns, and having landed,
must take their chance of finding the enemy prepared
to give them a warm reception.
It was a fine thing to see the gay courage with
which the men of the garrison took their seats, and
examined the priming of their muskets. It seemed,
from their bearing, rather a work of pleasure than
one of life and death they were engaged upon.
Gervase took his seat in the stern of the smaller
and lighter boat--the only one the garrison possessed
before they took their prize that morning.
Colonel Murray, who had inspired the venture, sat
in the stern sheets, holding the tiller in his hand.
A saturnine man, with the reserve and silent energy
of his race, his face was lighted with the glow of
excitement, and his voice was loud and deep, as he
bade them push off into the stream.
“Now, my lads,” he said, “this is a race for
glory--we must be first across, and first we shall
be. Keep low in the boat, and do not fire a single
shot till we meet them on the bank; then we shall
treat them to a taste of our cold steel.”
The boat swung out into the stream, and the
rowers bent to their work with a will. The other
boat was heavier, and soon they had out-distanced
.bn 215.png
.pn +1
it considerably. Murray had been watching the
gunners in the orchard, who had already wakened
up to the fact that they were threatened with an
attack.
“What do you make of that, Orme? your eyes
are younger than mine, but if I do not mistake
they are about to carry off the guns.”
“You are right,” said Gervase. “One they have
already carried past the farmhouse, and are preparing
to do the same with the other. And the
foot are coming down in force to their support.”
“Let them come. We are still in time, and will
not turn for twenty regiments. Now, my sons,
bend to it with a will.”
Already they were met with a dropping musket
fire which sent the bullets singing about their ears
and splashed up the water round them, but they
held on stoutly and redoubled their efforts. The
enemy had been taken by surprise. They had
not dreamt that so small a force, in the light
of open day, would have ventured to make so
hazardous an attempt. But they were now undeceived,
and made their preparations to receive their
visitors. They were dragging off the guns to a
place of safety, and three companies of foot were
lining the hedge that ran parallel with the bank.
Then the bow of the boat grated on the beach, and
the men of the garrison leaped into the water, holding
their muskets above their heads.
Without waiting for their comrades who were
straining every nerve to come up to their support,
.bn 216.png
.pn +1
they clambered up the bank, and rushed at the
hedge where the red-coats showed through the
green foliage. As they came up they fired a volley,
and clubbing their muskets, came crashing through
the thorns with the spirit of men who would not
be denied. The fight was short but stubborn.
Foot by foot the defenders of the hedge were driven
back, and then as the men of the second boat came
up, they broke and fled. The guns were now being
hurried down the road, and every moment the
chance of overtaking them grew less. The delay
caused by that bold stand was fatal. But still the
assailants kept pressing on, hoping that they would
be in time to reach the guns before they were intercepted.
As they came up the gunners abandoned the
pieces, but it was too late now to wait to spike
them. Already a strong force was drawing between
them and the boats, and it was with a bitter sense
of failure that they turned their faces towards the
river, and prepared to cut their way back again.
The odds were four to one against them. It seemed
as if they had been caught in a trap of their own
making. From every clump of bushes flashed the
blaze of the muskets, and here one and there
another went down in his tracks.
“This will not do,” rang out the voice of their
leader. “We must try them hand to hand. After
me, my lads!” Leaping the orchard fence they
met the enemy hand to hand, but still pushing
forward to where the boats were lying in the river.
.bn 217.png
.pn +1
The trees that grew closer here and were covered
with their summer foliage, protected them from the
fire of the foot who lay on the other side. Then
Gervase saw Macpherson in front of him stumble
and fall, and he feared it was all over with the
brave old soldier. But he was on his feet before
Gervase could reach him.
“Don´t tarry for me,” he said, as Gervase seeing
him stagger forward, took him by the arm. “Make
what haste you can and do not mind for me.
This trifle will not stop me.”
“We´ll find our way together then. Hold on a
little longer and we´ll reach the boats in spite of
them. Ah! that is bravely done.”
From tree to tree and from hedge to hedge the men
of the garrison cut their way, presenting a front, that
though ragged and broken, sent the enemy to right
and left. Then they reached the open space by
the river, and restraining the impulse that would
have driven them to rush to the boats, fell back
slowly and steadily. The wounded whom they
carried with them were first helped on board, and
then they rapidly embarked; the last man to leave
the bank being Murray, who with his sword held
in his teeth pushed off the boat into the deep water.
How they lived through the storm of bullets that
were rained upon them Gervase hardly knew, but
barely a man was touched, and they sent back a
ringing cheer of defiance as they passed rapidly
beyond reach of the muskets.
It was a glorious, if fruitless and foolhardy
.bn 218.png
.pn +1
deed--one which only brave men would have
undertaken in a spirit of despair, but one that they
might look back on in after years with pride for
the glory of it. The deed was done in sight of
all the city. Their friends had watched the charge
from the walls, and seen the stubborn fight for
safety, and now they poured out to meet them as
they came through Ship Quay Gate, and welcomed
them back as if they had come in triumph. From
want of the sacred poet their names have grown
dim through the gathered years, but they did not
fight for renown--only simple men who sought to
do their homely duty.
Macpherson´s wound had proved a trifling one
after all, and with the help of Gervase he was able
to make his way home on foot. A spent bullet
had struck him on the knee, and the wound though
painful, was not likely to incapacitate him for service.
He thought, on the whole, they had had a
pleasant morning´s work, and declared that with
such stirring entertainment he would need but half
his rations.
.bn 219.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIII. | OF A STRATAGEM OF WAR.
.sp 2
Day by day the time crept on toward the end of
June, and brought no change to the garrison.
There were fewer mouths, it is true, to feed now,
for disease and battle had laid them under heavy
contribution, but the store of provisions was rapidly
becoming exhausted. A fortnight more, so they
believed and said, would bring them face to face
with actual starvation, and the city must fall from
want of men to line the walls and man the guns.
For surrender they would not. “First the prisoners
and then each other,” was their grim jest that had
an edge of earnest with it. No man now dared to
whisper the prudence of surrender, for the spirit of
resistance, which had been strong before, now
burned with a wild and splendid flame as they felt
the end was coming. The enthusiasm of the Ulster
man does not find its outlet in boisterous speech--as
his excitement increases his silence deepens, and
he is, unlike his Celtic countryman, ever readier with
his hand than with his tongue. And now, though
hope was growing fainter as the days dragged on,
their pride--the stern pride of religion and of race--inspired
them with an obstinacy that had something
.bn 220.png
.pn +1
sublime in it. Yet all the while the ships lay in
the Lough and made no effort to come to their
relief. Day by day they signalled in vain from the
Cathedral tower and the great guns rang out, but
Kirke would make no move. So close was the
investment now, every loophole guarded with the
extremest vigilance, that communication was impossible.
One brave man had indeed made his way
from the fleet to the city after passing through
perils innumerable; but though he made the attempt,
he found himself unable to return. Another messenger
had bravely volunteered to carry out their
message of despair, but he never reached the ships.
A day or two after, the enemy erected a gallows
on the bastion across the river, and there in the
sight of the city the gallant fellow met his fate.
Dorothy Carew never looked back on this time
without a shudder. She suffered more than many,
for to the hardships she endured she added a private
and peculiar sorrow of her own. The first she bore
cheerfully and uncomplainingly, but her brother´s
secret, so base and so contemptible, oppressed her
with a terrible feeling of shame and distress. After
her first outburst of confidence to Gervase Orme,
which she sometimes half regretted, she watched
her brother jealously, and lay night after night listening
for his footsteps.
But whether the warning he had received had
taught him caution, or whether he had fulfilled his
mission, his midnight excursions were now abandoned
and he kept closely to the house. Still, to her keen
.bn 221.png
.pn +1
and high sense of honour it was intolerable that her
brother--the head of the house--should be a traitor
whose guilt might be discovered at any time, and
among so many brave men should act the coward
and the spy. Had he gone over boldly to the
enemy and thrown in his lot with them, she could
have loved him. But now her love had been crushed
out of her heart, and only comtempt and shame
were left. Physical suffering seemed a light thing
in comparison, and she envied the women who sent
their husbands out to fight, and prayed for their
safety when they were absent. But still she bore
up with uncomplaining fortitude, and no one guessed
the secret grief that was preying on her mind.
Lady Hester, who had suffered agonies of fear
while the bombs were raining on the city, she had
encouraged with a simulated cheerfulness, and ordered
her little household as she might have done in times
of peace. The pinch of famine had hardly affected
them yet--that was to come--but even that she
looked forward to without any fear for herself.
But besides all this, she had another source of
future trouble in her cousin. She could not long
remain blind to the fact that his admiration for her
was undisguised, and that beneath his cynical and
flippant manner there had grown up a regard that
was more than cousinly. It is true that he did not
annoy her with his attentions, for Jasper and himself
spent much of their time together. But he had
shown clearly on more than one occasion that
he was only waiting for a fitting opportunity to
.bn 222.png
.pn +1
declare himself her lover. That opportunity she
was anxious should not present itself. It was not,
she reasoned with herself, that she loved another
better, but she did not love De Laprade, and she
did not wish to wound him. She did not wholly
understand him, and could not tell whether he was
ever in earnest or felt sincerely about anything.
Then she thought of Gervase Orme, with his frank
laughter and quiet speech, who treated her with
a distant reverence and that was all. It was a
pleasant thing to have him as a friend, full of quiet
strength and honest as the day. But these were
no times to think of such things, and so she put away
the thought and went about her simple duties, hoping
that Gervase would call to see her soon.
That evening she was seated by the open window,
for the day had been close and sultry and the night
was warm, a volume of Quarles´ Emblems spread
open on her knees. Her brother and the Vicomte
had been closeted together during the day, and
Lady Hester, fatigued and desponding, had retired for
the night. She was very busy with her own thoughts,
and had not heard De Laprade enter the room. He
came softly up and took a chair beside her.
“Of what is my cousin Dorothy so full of thought?”
he said.
She looked up with a blush, for just at that
moment she was wondering what a certain fair-haired,
long-limbed young giant was doing in the
outposts or elsewhere, and the voice recalled her to
herself with a feeling of self-reproach.
.bn 223.png
.pn +1
“I am afraid,” she answered, “my thoughts would
have little interest for you. A woman´s head is ever
full of idle thoughts.”
“Not the wise head of my cousin; it is only the
men of her family who give themselves to folly.”
“The Vicomte de Laprade for example?”
“Truly he is a chief offender, but he is growing
wise and sober and hardly knows himself. He has
not smiled for a week, and thinks he never will
be able to smile again. Even his cousin Jasper has
ceased to amuse him.”
“You are greatly to be pitied,” she said with a
smile. “But it is not duller than you would have
found Vincennes. There too you would have grown
wiser.”
“Nay, I think not. A long time ago--it seems
like years, I grow so old--I was for six months a
prisoner in the Bastille, and when His Majesty
relented and I returned to court I was no wiser
than before. My folly only took another turn. But
then I had not found a friend to warn, nor a
counsellor like my fair cousin to teach me better
things.”
“I dare say you deserved your punishment. Now
tell me something of your offence.”
“Indeed, I hardly know myself, but I think it was--yes,
I think it was a lady. By accident I trod on
her train in a minuet and she refused to accept my
apology. I could only smile and do penance for my
clumsiness, for one may not lightly offend a great
lady like Madame de----”
.bn 224.png
.pn +1
“Madame de----?”
“I have forgotten her name, but it does not
matter now. She has forgotten Victor de Laprade,
as he has forgotten her.”
“I do not believe that, my cousin Victor.”
“That I have forgotten the circumstances? Ah,
well! it is possible that I might recall them to
memory, but I would, rather let them die, as I
would all that belongs to the past. If my cousin
Dorothy would but give me leave I would
begin a new life to-day with new thoughts, new
feelings, and a new heart. She smiles, and thinks it
is not possible that I, who have wasted my youth,
should try to save my manhood.”
“Indeed you have my leave, but your reformation
is too sudden, and you know you are not
serious.”
“I have been serious all my life; my cousin does
not know her kinsman. Because I followed the
fashion of my time, and fought and drank and played,
wasting my youth like many another reckless fellow,
therefore I was merry and had no thought or care.
Because I am a gentleman, and not a solemn citizen
who looks with a grim frown on all the devil´s
works, therefore my heart knows no sadness. It is
thus the world has judged me, and so it may. But
it is because I am sad and weary that I would
have my cousin judge me differently.”
For the first time since Dorothy had known him,
he had lost his light and cynical manner and spoke
with simple earnestness. He had made no display
.bn 225.png
.pn +1
of emotion, but though he was calm and self-restrained,
it was yet evident he spoke with abundant feeling.
If he was not sincere, his humility and contrition
were well assumed.
“I have been looking all my life,” he went on,
looking at her steadily as she kept her eyes bent
on the book that still lay open on her knees; “I
have been seeking all my life for a quiet heart--I,
the libertine, the gambler who have squandered my
patrimony and wasted my heritage. It was not to
be found where I sought it, and my search was in
vain. But now I know the secret that I was too
blind to see before. Do you know, my cousin,
what it is? Nay, you will not rise, for you must
hear me out. It is love--the love a man may feel
for what is purer and better than himself, the love
that fills him with fresh hopes and new desires, the
love that raises him to the pure heights of her he
worships.”
Then he suddenly stopped. Hardly knowing what
answer to make, Dorothy rose from her seat and
the Vicomte stooped down to pick up the book that
had fallen to the floor. He said gravely as he reached
it to her, “That is all my secret, my cousin, and
does not sound so terrible when all is said. I trust
you will remember it, for some day I may tell you
how I came to make the great discovery.”
“Lady Hester would have made a better confidante
or, perhaps, my brother Jasper. And that
reminds me, Victor,” she continued, with a too evident
anxiety to change the subject of this conversation,
.bn 226.png
.pn +1
“I have often longed to ask what Jasper and
yourself find to talk about during the long hours
you spend together in his chamber.”
“Jasper is learning a very useful lesson,” answered
De Laprade resuming his old manner, “which I
teach him out of my experience. But now his
education is nearly finished and we shall see whether
he will profit by it.”
“I suppose like all who learn their lesson in that
school,” said Dorothy soberly enough, “he will
pay for it?”
De Laprade looked at her gravely, and then took
her hand in both of his. “It would be an idle
affectation in me to pretend that I am ignorant of
your meaning, but I think you are wronging me
with an unjust thought. I am a gambler, it is true,
and love the music of the dice, but your brother,
heedless as he is, will not suffer at my hands.
Were he not my kinsman who has given me shelter,
he is the brother of Dorothy Carew.”
“I know you will forgive me,” said Dorothy contritely.
“But if I know Jasper he will look to you
for payment of your losses. And he is rich while
you----”
“Am standing in my kingdom,” laughed De
Laprade. “Do not trouble your mind about our
play--´tis all for love.”
.tb
While this conversation had been going on, a
little knot of officers were gathered on the bastion
near Butcher´s Gate. Hard by was Alexander Poke,
.bn 227.png
.pn +1
the gunner, loading a great gun carefully with Gervase
Orme seated near watching the operation. The
siege had already placed its mark on all of them:
the daily horrors were not passing over them without
leaving their traces. Anxious and depressed in mind
and wasted in body, they were like men who had
passed through a long vigil without hope. Their
clothes hung loosely about them and were torn and
frayed; and it was clear they had long since ceased
to regard appearances and only looked to what
was serviceable. They moved slowly and without
enthusiasm, but on the faces of all of them was to
be read the same hard and stubborn look, as of men
who knowing the worst were determined to endure
to the end. A month ago they might have listened
to liberal terms of compromise; now they were determined
there should be no surrender while a man
remained alive.
Walker, with his snow-white head and stately
presence, bore up under his anxiety with a higher
spirit than many of the younger men, and as he
stood in the centre of the little group, appeared to
have suffered less than any other among them.
“I know not, gentlemen,” he had been saying,
“what this missive means with which this barbarous
soldier has favoured us, but this I know,
that they cannot frighten us with a cartel of paper
when they have failed to do so with their guns.
For the threat of putting us to the sword and refusing
quarter even to the women, that they may do
when they have it in their power, but for the
.bn 228.png
.pn +1
other--I think ´tis mere bravado spun out of the
Frenchman´s brain. What say you, Colonel Mitchelburn?”
“I have served with De Rosen,” said Mitchelburn,
“and know that he hath the heart to do this and
more, and while it seems to us an act too base and
cowardly for words, for him ´tis but an ordinary
stratagem of war. To drive a few hundred wretched
women and children under the walls to starve there,
will not trouble the man who has seen the sack of
fifty cities. But there are gallant gentlemen yonder,
men of spirit and honour, who will never suffer
this savage Russian to carry out his threat.”
“I know not that--I know not that. They will
believe we cannot help but take them in, and how
in Heaven´s name, can we do otherwise? We cannot
stand here and see them starved before our eyes.
It is not well to meet sorrow half way but at most
there is not more than a fortnight´s food in the
magazine and then”----
“No, Colonel Walker, though it break our hearts
to see it, there is nothing must drive us from our
purpose, and though my wife and children stood
yonder they should not enter by my will.”
“Then let us pray God that He may harden our
hearts, a prayer I never hoped to pray. But I take
this letter, such as it is, for an omen of good.
They are growing weary of the stand we make and
fearful that relief is coming, though whence we
cannot tell, and so would hurry us by threats. Is
Kirke about to make a push at last, think you?”
.bn 229.png
.pn +1
“When they have strung the bully up to the
yard-arm and put a stout heart in his place, we
may look to see the vessels at the quay, but not
till then. And if we had another month´s supplies
I do not think we should need their help, for they
have their own troubles in the camp yonder, and
have lost nearly as many men as we. The prisoners
say the sickness is increasing.”
“And the supplies are failing fast.”
“Nay, they say more than that. One fellow
declared roundly that there are still traitors among
us who supply the enemy with information. I saw
him myself and questioned him roundly, but he did
not know the names or kept the secret to himself.”
“The traitors, if there are such, can harm us
little now unless they are strong enough to hold
the gates and drive us from the walls, and that
could hardly be without its coming to our knowledge.
You may have a quiet mind on that head;
treachery has done its worst, and we have all our
foes in front now. And now I think we may
quietly disperse, for De Rosen has not kept his
promise, or more humane counsels have turned him
from his purpose. Had he meant to fulfil his
threat, we had seen his victims under the walls
before this.”
.tb
Half an hour afterwards the alarm bell rang out
calling the citizens to their posts, and word went
round that the enemy was about to make an attack
.bn 230.png
.pn +1
in full force. In the grey evening they could
see them from the walls advancing over the hill
opposite Butcher´s Gate, and coming down steadily
towards the lines. The citizens hurrying from their
houses, came thronging to the walls, buckling on
their weapons as they came. And the great gun
was turned upon the force that came steadily down
the hill in silence. Once the great gun flashed
and only once, for as they came nearer the men
upon the walls listened and held their breath, and
then set up a great cry. The army that came
down the hill came without purpose of offence; not
the regiments of Slane or Gormanstown, but a
crowd of tender women and fearful children and
old men whose day of labour and strife was over.
On they came with the sound of weeping and of
sorrow, that to hear once was to hear for ever, for
the memory of it would never pass away.
The savage marshal had fulfilled his promise.
Torn from their homes and hurried to the front
with expectation of a sudden and violent death, they
had been collected in a body and driven to the
walls. Pregnant women and women carrying their
babies in their arms; old men who could hardly totter
forward; the weak, the infirm, all who had not the
power to escape; were gathered together for his purpose,
and driven forward without remorse. And there
in sight of their friends, of sons and brothers, of fathers
and lovers, they stood between the famine-stricken
city on the one side and on the other an enemy
who showed no pity.
.bn 231.png
.pn +1
The first impulse of the garrison, an impulse
that could hardly be restrained, was to throw open
the gates and bring them within the shelter of the
walls. But an instant´s consideration checked their
generous instincts. It was to this end that they
were collected here; and once admitted, they might
as well throw open the gates and throw down their
arms. There was no food for so many mouths--nay,
there was no food for themselves.
No greater trial, no trial half so great, had overtaken
them since the siege began, or brought them
so much suffering. They were not given to emotion,
but there was not a dry eye among them on the
walls that night, as they hardened their hearts and
swore a deep oath of vengeance.
Then Walker and others went out to have speech
with the wretched crowd of outcasts, and in a little
while after came back, filled with admiration and
wonder. Far from desiring shelter with their friends,
they refused to enter the city, and were content to
die where they stood rather than that the safety
of the city should be put in peril. So they made
their way toward the lines by the Windmill Hill,
and spent the night huddled together under the
open sky, while the enemy looked on in wonder,
and their friends turned away, as if the sight was
more than they could bear.
But a gallows was hastily erected on the Double
Bastion in full sight of the camp, and it was resolved
to hang all the prisoners if De Rosen persisted in
his savage purpose. Hitherto they had been treated
.bn 232.png
.pn +1
with consideration, but now those who were at large
were collected and placed in Newgate, and Gervase
Orme who was answerable for the safe custody of
De Laprade, went late in the evening, with a sorrowful
heart, to carry his friend thither.
.bn 233.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIV. | OF A GAME OF CHANCE.
.sp 2
Jasper Carew appeared but seldom in public,
and then with a moody brow and a preoccupied
air. For the most part he kept to his own chamber,
attended only by Swartz, who was as silent
and reserved as his master. In the daily incidents
of the siege he appeared to take no interest whatever,
seeming regardless of his own safety and wholly
careless of the safety of his friends. He seldom
saw his sister, and then only in the most casual
way. It was in vain that she endeavoured to break
through the icy barrier that had grown up between
them. He repelled her efforts and frequently left
her in tears. It is true he had seldom troubled
himself with any display of affection, but latterly
his entire character seemed to have undergone a
change. Between himself and De Laprade a close
intimacy had sprung up. They were closeted together
for hours, and it not unfrequently happened that
their evening sitting was prolonged far into the
morning following.
Sitting in her lonely room when the household
had retired for the night, Dorothy would hear the
gay laugh of the Vicomte breaking at times on
.bn 234.png
.pn +1
the quiet of the house, the rattling of the dice box,
and the muttered oaths of her brother as fortune
went against him. To her high spirit the shame of
it was intolerable; she did not dare to speak and
she could not be silent. With De Laprade she
knew that she had much influence, but she had now
reasons of her own for declining to make him her
confidant--with her brother she was long since aware
that entreaties would prove unavailing. But the fact
could not be denied. A fatal passion for play had
seized upon his heart; it had completely absorbed
and overmastered him; he was entirely its slave.
Night after night and day after day, the two--De
Laprade and himself--were closeted together,
and the cloud upon her brother´s brow grew blacker
and his speech harsher and more abrupt. In De
Laprade there had been no change perceptible.
He carried himself with an easy insouciance and
treated her with tender deference.
.tb
On the day in which De Rosen had executed
his barbarous threat they had spent many hours
together in the little chamber in the basement. The
roar of the cannon that had been sounding all day,
the marching of men, and the tumult of the crowded
street, had been hushed to a still and almost unnatural
quiet. Swartz had carried away the remains
of the supper that had been served to them here,
and had lighted the candles in the tall silver candlesticks
that stood upon the table. They had both
already drunk more than enough, but this was perceptibly
.bn 235.png
.pn +1
the case with Jasper. His face was flushed,
his eyes were bloodshot, and his hands shook upon
the dice-box: he had loosened his lace cravat from
his throat and it lay on the floor beside him. He
frowned heavily and flung down the dice-box with
an oath.
“Seven´s the main,” said the Vicomte, gaily
rattling the box. “We who woo fortune should
court her lovingly. Ah, grace de Dieu! I told
you so!”
Carew pushing back his chair and walking to
the window, threw it wide open. The cool air
blowing freshly through the lattice, caused the
candles to flicker where they stood. The night was
cold and the sky was full of stars. All the while
the Vicomte sat watching him with a faint smile
on his face and balancing the dice in his hand.
The other after a moment turned round and looked
at him. His face was now deadly pale. Neither
spoke a word. Only the distant challenging of
the sentinels broke the silence of the chamber.
The Vicomte pushed back his chair and gently
snuffed the candles. His face displayed no emotion.
Then after a while he said, “That completes the
play. Your revenge has been a costly one, my
friend.”
“My revenge has been a costly one,” answered
Carew; “there remains but one thing more.”
“And that?”
“To send my life after my houses and lands.
There is nothing more left.”
.bn 236.png
.pn +1
“Bah! you are but a fool; I have gone the same
way myself. With a light heart I have lost more
in a night than would buy your barren acres three
times over. I, who was already a pauper, have
staked my mistress, my buckles, my rings, nay, my
very peruke itself and lost them too. And I did
not complain. I had my sword and my honour,
and could wait on fortune with a cheerful mind. I
laughed at misfortune.”
“Oh! ´tis very well for you to talk thus,” cried
Carew moodily, “with the first estate in the country in
your pocket--a rare exchange for your castles in Spain.”
“Monsieur Carew will remember that I did not
press him to play. He who tempts the fortunes
of the hazard should learn to bear his loss with
equanimity. One should bear misfortune like a
gentleman.”
“I will have no sermons, my lord; ´tis enough
that you should have stripped me of every rood of
my land and every doit that I could raise, without
presuming to lecture me on deportment. I would
have you know that I will follow my own manner.
I find no fault with you--´tis my own accursed
folly that has made my heirship of the briefest, and
left me a beggar before I had entered on my
inheritance.”
“Play is an admirable moralist,” said De Laprade,
altering the position of the candlesticks, "and
preaches excellent homilies. You have had three
weeks in the society of the coyest mistress in the
world, and now you grudge the tavern charges.
.bn 237.png
.pn +1
.pm start_poem
‘Je crois Jeanneton,
Aussi douce que belle;
Je crois Jeanneton
Plus douce qu‘un--mouton.´"
.pm end_poem
“You are mocking me, my lord.”
“In good faith I do not think I am. Sit down,
Carew, and let us look the matter in the face as
sensible men should. I have no wish to put your
money in my pocket or act the country squire on
your beggarly paternal fields, but my ears are for
ever itching for the pleasant rattle of the dice-board,
and I thirst for the sight of a royal hand at
cards. Fortune, which hath hitherto treated me so
scurvily, hath taken a turn at last, and I am richer
by some thousands than when I landed in your
island with nothing in the world but a sword and
two portmanteaux. For that, I am wholly indifferent,
and will stake my new possessions as readily as I
threw away my old. I am sorry for you, but I do
not think you would take back what you have lost
as a gift, even if I offered it now.”
“Would I not?” said Carew, with a hoarse laugh,
throwing up his hand.
“I do not think you would,” answered the
Vicomte gravely, but with a certain elevation of
his eyebrows. “Your sense of honour would
forbid. But there is a matter for which I have
some concern--how will this affect your sister?”
“Leave my sister out of the question. I am her
protector and allow no man to question me on
that head.”
.bn 238.png
.pn +1
The two looked at one another steadily--the one
frowning, the other coldly impassive, but there was
that look in De Laprade´s eyes that made Carew
shift his gaze. To carry off his confusion, he poured
himself out a full glass and drank it at a breath.
“There need be no secrets between us, my good
cousin. I have never doubted that you have already
staked your sister´s fortune and that it has gone
after the rest into my pocket. I have known even
honourable men tempted to do such things, but for
my own part, I do not care to lend myself to aid
them. The question still remains--how does this
affect your sister?”
“In the name of God, do you purpose driving
me mad?” cried Carew, flinging his empty glass into
the fireplace, and leaping to his feet in the access
of ungoverned passion. “You have stripped me bare
as a bone and brought me to shame and dishonour;
now you sit laughing at your handiwork.”
“Your own, sir,” said the Vicomte sternly. “These
heroics will not serve their purpose; the question
still remains unanswered. I would not willingly take
on my shoulders any portion of your disgrace, though
indeed I think you would not be loath to let
me bear it all. In fine, what do you purpose
doing?”
“Oh! you are a rare moralist.”
“There is not a better in the world. From the
pulpit of my own transgressions I shall read you
an excellent sermon. But, again, this is not to the
purpose. I would have you know, my excellent
.bn 239.png
.pn +1
cousin, I love your sister and would willingly make
her my wife.”
“Before that I will see you----”
“You may spare yourself the trouble. Were the
lady willing, I think not that I should ask your favour.
But she is not willing. I fear she loves a better man
who deserves her better--for which I do not find
fault with her taste.”
“You appear to have studied my family affairs
to some purpose, sir.”
“Mr. Orme is a better man than I, nor would I
willingly do him an injury,” continued De Laprade
softly, “but all things are fair in love, and I think
I must ask your help.”
“What hath Mr. Orme to do with the matter?
You put more, sir, on me than I can bear, and by
heaven, I will put up with your gibes no longer.
I am not a schoolboy to be lectured by a bully.”
“I have told you that we will not quarrel. I ask
not your friendship but your help, and it may be
also much to your own advantage. Therefore listen
to me with all the patience you can command. I
am mad enough to love Miss Carew--I, the prodigal,
the spendthrift, whose career was run before
I was a man, but so it is! She is much under your
influence--the wise and prudent elder brother. Lend
me your assistance, not to coerce her affections or
thwart her will, for by heaven, I would not wrong her
tender heart! but to bring her with all kindness to
think favourably of her poor kinsman, and in the end
it may be to return his passion. Hear me to the
.bn 240.png
.pn +1
conclusion. I would not buy your help--you would
not sell your aid. We both love the rattle of the
dice-box. On the one side I place my gains, the
rich lands, the fair demesnes, the ancestral house,
the broad pieces--and on the other you will stake
your persuasive speeches and fraternal affection.
Let chance decide the fate: I would not do dishonour
to your sister even by a thought. I do not think
the stakes unequal; why should you?”
Carew stared at the speaker, unable to gather
his meaning, and said never a word.
“Why, my friend, there is your chance of redemption,”
said the Vicomte, taking up the box and
rattling it gaily, “three is the number of the Graces;
three throws for fortune and love; three throws for
honour, riches, and reputation. Ah! there is a royal
stake, and heaven send me favour.”
“This is but a piece of midsummer fooling; you
do not mean this?”
“Truly I am in a sad and serious vein. Your
barren acres grow heavy on my back and I would
be rid of them.”
“Then have with you,” cried the other eagerly.
But hardly had he spoken than the sound of
footsteps was heard on the stone passage, and an
importunate knocking upon the door. Carew rose
to his feet, pushing back his chair with an oath.
The Vicomte did not stir.
“It is best to see your impatient visitor,” he said.
“Do not hurry fortune.”
Carew went to the door and threw it open.
.bn 241.png
.pn +1
“Well, sir, what is your errand at this unseasonable
hour?” he said, peering out into the darkness which
screened the intruder.
“My errand is with Vicomte de Laprade,” said
a voice, “and is of the most urgent. I must see
him immediately.”
“Ah! that is the true Israelite, Mr. Orme,” said the
Vicomte, in his usual nonchalant tone, without turning
in his chair. “You are arrived most opportunely.
This is the Temple of Fortune and here are her
worshippers.”
“This is no time for jesting, my lord,” said Gervase,
gravely. “I have come to carry you to the guardhouse,
where I can promise you no favourable
reception. Our hearts have been sadly stirred;
your life even is in danger.”
“So much the more reason that we should decide
this matter now. Look you, Mr. Orme, my friend
and I have a difference, the nature of which I cannot
now make clear to you, though it may also concern
you nearly, and we have agreed to leave it to the
arbitrament of chance. A few minutes more or
less will not imperil the safety of the city. Pray
be seated, and see how fortune deals her favours.”
“Oh! this is past a jest,” cried Gervase, “I tell
you, my lord, you are in deadly peril.”
“And I tell you, sir, this is a matter of more
importance. Nay, my good friend”--and here he
held out his hand, “my mind is set on this, and I
pray you to indulge me.”
Though his eyes and lips laughed, there was a
.bn 242.png
.pn +1
serious undertone in his voice, and after hesitating
for a moment, Gervase finally said, “Ten
minutes you may have, my lord, but with your
pardon, I shall wait without. My mind is full of
care and my heart is heavy as a stone. I can take
no part in this. I have seen this day that which
I shall not forget did I live a thousand years.
Good night, Mr. Carew. My lord, you will not
keep me waiting.”
His steps rang along the stone pavement; then
there was the sound of an opening door and the
whispering of voices in the basement hall.
“‘Jacob was a plain man and dwelt in tents,´”
murmured De Laprade. “Come, Carew, we who
tempt the fickle goddess must not sleep. Jacob
yonder would filch my birthright, and I will not
lose the lovely Rachel.”
Carew, who had been as one bewildered and
suddenly awakened out of a dream with the terror
of it still upon him, drew a chair to the table and
caught up the dice-box with a trembling hand. As
his fingers closed upon the box, his face grew
deadly pale; his heart stood still in his breast in an
overmastering agony of fear and hope and hate.
To him this meant everything in the world. The
man opposite to him had stripped him naked--the
man whose smile stabbed him like a knife, and whom
he hated with a bitterness of hatred that he had no
language to measure. Should he retrieve his fortune,
and on how little that depended, not all
the powers on earth would again tempt him to such
.bn 243.png
.pn +1
unspeakable folly. A mere gull who had flung
away his inheritance before he had possessed it!
The happy chance of redemption had come to him
unexpectedly. What had moved De Laprade
make this strange and curious proposal, he did not
stop to ask, he did not care to know. It was
enough for him that it had been made. He knew
that he could exert no influence on his sister´s mind;
that his intercession would rather injure than advance
the cause he advocated. That was the Vicomte´s
business. He was a gambler and accustomed to take
the chances, and it was he who had proposed the
stakes. He passed his hand across his eyes to
clear away the mists; the room seemed full of
moving haze through which the candles burned
with a feeble and uncertain light. He drew a deep
breath.
The first throw Carew won; the second fell to
the Vicomte. Then there happened a curious thing--when
Carew was about to throw for the third time,
the Vicomte stooped down to lift his handkerchief
from the floor where it had fallen a moment before.
While he did this somewhat clumsily for one in
general so dexterous, the dice rattled on the table.
Making a slight motion with his fingers Carew,
hardly pausing, cried “Sixes.”
The Vicomte slowly raised his head. “Your play
improves, sir,” he said drily; “that was a lucky
throw. Come, sir, you are not yet out of the
wood, and perhaps I shall yet see you through.”
Then he threw himself. “By all the saints, the
.bn 244.png
.pn +1
Venus! This grows interesting. We must have
one more cast for fortune.”
“The devil´s in them,” cries Carew, his eyes
fairly aglow and his lips twitching like one in
a fit.
This time the Vicomte won. “I knew how it
would be,” he said, with an air of pensive sadness;
“I have no luck, I can do no more.”
Carew laughed loudly, almost as if this last stroke
had touched his brain. “Luck, what more would
you have? Here have I been sitting for three
weeks while you plucked me like a hen feather by
feather, with a smile on your face, and I know
not what devil´s craft in your fingers.”
“These are foolish words, sir, for which I will
not ask you to account. To talk of craft comes
but ill from one who himself----” Here he stopped
and looked at Carew steadily. “God knows I am
but a pitiful fellow myself, and yet I would I had
never seen your face.”
The words were spoken slowly, with an emphasis
that carried home their hidden meaning; they struck
home like a knife. Then without warning Carew
reached suddenly across the table, and struck the
Vicomte a blow with his closed hand fairly on
the lips.
“You are a liar and a cheat,” he said, “and I
will kill you like a dog.”
For a moment or more the Vicomte did not stir;
apparently he was afraid to trust himself to speak;
only with his handkerchief, which he all the time
.bn 245.png
.pn +1
carried in his hand, he wiped the thin trickle of
blood from his lips. Then he rose to his feet and
going over to the door, turned the key in the lock.
Thereafter he whipped out his sword and advanced
into the middle of the room. There was a high
colour in his cheeks and his eyes shone with a fine
glow in them. Otherwise his manner was perfectly
calm, and his voice came slowly and with distinct
utterance. “Mr. Carew,” he said, “no man living
will dare to do what you have done to-night and
live to tell it. I would have borne with much
for your sister´s sake; here not even she can save
you. And yet it is almost a dishonour to cross
swords with you and treat you as a gentleman--you,
whom I have myself seen to cheat and cozen
like a common tavern-brawler. And you have
dared to use these opprobrious words to me--to me
who did my best to return your losses without
offending your nice sense of honour. Now, sir,
draw your sword and say your prayers, for I think
you are going to die.”
Carew was not wanting in physical courage, nor
backward at any time in a quarrel. But at this
moment it was his own vehement and overmastering
desire--a desire too deep for any mere speech--to
find an outlet for his passion of hate and shame
in a struggle with the man who held his fortune and
good name in his hand. To hold him at his mercy
was at this time his dearest wish on earth. He drew
his sword, and taking his ground lowered the point
sullenly as the Vicomte saluted with his weapon.
.bn 246.png
.pn +1
Then their blades were crossed. The light was
faint and low, for the candles had nearly burnt
themselves out, and as the spacious chamber rang
with the clash of the sword blades, the deep shadows
came and went with a grotesque and everchanging
motion. Carew had the advantage in the length of
reach and once he touched his opponent in the arm,
but after a few passes he saw he had met his
superior, and a feeling of great dread overtook him.
How he hated the man with the cold, impassive
face and disdainful smile! But for that bit of
glittering steel that guarded him like a wall, how
gladly he would have taken him by the throat and
glutted himself with vengeance. And he saw that
the Vicomte played with him as if unwilling to
strike him down too soon, and that, too, added to
his passion of fury and hate.
The Vicomte still stood on the defensive and
parried his thrusts with the greatest ease in the
world. Again and again he tried to enter upon
his guard, but always with the same result. Then
there came a violent knocking upon the door and
the sound of voices raised in alarm and expostulation.
“We must end this,” cries the Vicomte deliberately
parrying a thrust in tierce, and almost at the
same time Carew passaged rapidly, and catching the
Vicomte´s sword in his left hand, buried his own
sword to the hilt in the Vicomte. The stricken
man swung round, threw up his hands, and fell in
a heap to the floor without uttering a sound.
.bn 247.png
.pn +1
Gervase had left the room with contempt and
indignation strongly present in his mind. It had
seemed incredible to him that men should become
absorbed in these trifles, surrounded by the horrors
that he daily witnessed, and lose themselves wholly
in this degrading passion. No doubt it was none
of his business--so he told himself--but his sense
of fitness revolted at it. He had reached the outer
door and his hand was on the lock to open it,
when he heard a door open on the staircase above,
and a voice calling in low tones, “Is that Mr.
Orme?”
“It is I, Miss Carew,” Gervase answered, feeling
that the hope of this rencontre was the real
reason why he had left the Vicomte to decide his
matter of importance by himself.
Dorothy came down the stairs holding a taper in
her hand--Gervase could see the traces of tears
on her cheeks, and he was greatly struck by the
change that the last week had made in her looks.
Not that her beauty was in any way dimmed or
diminished, but sorrow and care had set their seal
upon it.
“Swartz has told me the news,” she said, “and
the horror of it gives me no rest. Will they not
bring them into the City?”
“God knows it is what we all desire,” Gervase
answered, “but it is not possible. To bring them
in would mean that we have fought and you have
suffered for nothing; it would but make their fate
ours. Londonderry must not fall.”
.bn 248.png
.pn +1
He continued in a sad constrained tone, “I think I
shall never forget till I die what I have seen today.
There are children there, and babies at the
breast, and tender women, and, Miss Carew, we
must let them die. We dare not take them in. There
is hardly food for a fortnight longer and then----”
“Then,” said Dorothy, “we can die. I almost
think I shall be glad to die.”
“Nay,” said Gervase taking her hand, “if all
were as brave and strong as you are! Macpherson
says that yours is the boldest heart in the city.”
“He does not know me,” Dorothy answered,
withdrawing her hand with a faint gleam of her
old humour kindling in her eyes; “he does not
understand women. I am a poor coward. But
why should I talk of myself? Will nothing be
attempted to save the poor wretches who are now
below the walls?”
“Ay,” said Gervase pausing, “it is proposed to
make use of the prisoners we have taken, and,
indeed, that is the reason I am here to-night. The
Vicomte must quit your house and take up his
abode in the guard-house, but I trust not for long.”
“They will not injure him?”
“I hope not, and I do not think you need fear
for him. My lord Netterville hath writ to De Rosen,
who is surely a devil, to tell him how it stands
with himself and the other prisoners, and I do not
doubt his letter will move him more than the voice
of humanity, assisted as it is by the gallows we
have now erected.”
.bn 249.png
.pn +1
“There is nothing but horror on horror,” said
Dorothy. “It is just, but it is hard to bear. And
I think I could bear it all but for the great trouble
I told you of--but why should I thrust my own
private griefs on a stranger?”
“Nay, no stranger; your troubles are all mine.
You know that I love you better than my life.”
A moment before he would not have ventured
to make this speech, but something in her voice had
for the first time awakened a wild hope in his
breast. She looked at him with a frank and honest
look. “Yes,” she answered, “I think you love me
better than I deserve, but this is no time to talk
or think of such things.”
“But, Dorothy--”
“Nay, I will not have a word. Listen! Oh
God! what is that? They have quarrelled, and that
is the sound of swords.”
The clash of steel could be heard plainly, and
the sound of feet moving rapidly.
“Remain where you are,” said Gervase, hastening
down the passage; “I shall prevent this.”
Dorothy stood at the foot of the passage, her
hands held tightly against her breast; the taper had
fallen to the floor, and she was in darkness. Then
she heard the voice of Gervase at the door.
“Out of my way or I will run you through; I
must enter.”
“By your leave you shall not. My master must
fight this out; I´ve taught him to fence, and I´ll see
that he gets fair play.”
.bn 250.png
.pn +1
It was the voice of Swartz. Gervase had found
the man at the door listening to the sound of the
strife within.
“Out of my way,” said Gervase, losing his temper.
“Damn you! I tell you I shall not stir. The
Frenchman hath robbed my master and he´ll pay
dearly for it to-night. No man in Londonderry will
pass the door till he hath settled with that
thief.”
Gervase was in no humour for temporizing at
this moment. He caught the old servant by the
throat and with a quick movement hurled him to
the other side of the passage. Then placing his
shoulder against the door and exerting all his
strength, the strong framework fell in with a crash.
The room was in complete darkness and he stood
to listen. There was not a sound. Then Dorothy
came down the passage with a light.
“You must not come any further, Miss Carew,”
said Gervase, advancing to meet her, with a white
face. “I am sure something has happened.” He
took the light from her and entered the room,
Swartz who had picked himself up muttering a
malediction, following close on his heels. Lying in
the middle of the room in a dark pool of blood
was De Laprade, while Jasper Carew stood over
the body, with the point of his rapier on the ground
and his hands resting on the handle.
“I killed him in fair fight,” he said as Gervase
came into the room, and running over, knelt down
by the fallen man. Gervase opened the Vicomte´s
.bn 251.png
.pn +1
coat and placed his hand on his heart; it was still
beating feebly.
“He is not dead yet. For God´s sake run for
the surgeon; he may yet be saved,” he cried, turning
to Swartz who stood behind him.
“I´ll not stir a step to save his life,” the old man
answered doggedly.
“Do as you are bidden, sir,” said Jasper, without
moving, “and make what haste you can.” Then
he went over and sat down by the table, looking on
coldly as the man went out and Gervase tried to
stop the bleeding with his handkerchief. Dorothy
had crept into the room, pale and frightened, and
knelt down beside Gervase.
“Is he dead?” she said with a gasp.
“No, he still lives. I can hear his heart beating.”
“I would give my own life a hundred times over
to save his. He must not die; I say, he must
not die.”
“It is as God wills,” answered Gervase gravely.
“I think he is coming round.”
The Vicomte opened his eyes and smiled a faint
smile of recognition as his eyes fell on Dorothy;
she lifted his hand and pressed it within her own;
then she shuddered at the touch--it was clammy
with blood. No one spoke or stirred--only the
feeble tide of life appeared to be slowly returning.
The minutes seemed to drag themselves into hours
while they waited for the coming of the surgeon.
Dorothy had placed her hand under De Laprade´s
head, and anxiously watched the deathlike pallor
.bn 252.png
.pn +1
disappearing from his cheeks. Her heart leapt
joyfully as she saw him attempting to speak.
“´Twas a fair fight but--but,” and he spoke as
if communing with himself, “he should not have
caught my sword.”
Gervase looked suddenly up at Carew where he
sat by the table looking on sullenly, and he was
filled with horror at the awful likeness that he bore
to the old man, his grandfather, whose frowning
face he had seen in its death agony. It was the
same face, the same dark passionate look, transformed
from age to youth. He had never noticed
the likeness before and he wondered at it now.
Jasper rose and coming over looked down at the
Vicomte with a look of bitter hate. “The man is
a liar,” he said; “a liar while he lived and a liar
now that he is dying, for I hope that I have killed
him. I fought him fairly, and I should have stabbed
him where he sat. I shall answer the world for
what I have done.”
He turned on his heel and left the room, as
Swartz and the surgeon entered it. The latter, a
tall, gaunt Scotchman with an exasperating precision
and judicial slowness of manner, began to examine
his patient carefully; it seemed as if he never would
have done. Then he turned to Gervase and spoke
almost for the first time since he had entered
the room.
“Wherefore did you drive the puir laddie sae
hard? would have done. You young callants
have no sense.”
.bn 253.png
.pn +1
“Will he die?” said Gervase eagerly.
“How can I tell you that? I´m no´ a prophet,
but I´m thinking his vitals have not been touched.
These small swords make clean work; they´re no´
effectual like the pike or the broad sword--and he
was a likely lad. I think we may even bring him
round yet, but he must not be stirred. Have ye not
unco´ guid sport outside that ye must begin to throttle
ither within?”
“God knows that is true, but you do not understand.”
“Nae doubt, nae doubt,” answered the other
drily, “but I understand the lad has gotten a whinger
through his body, and that is a fact anybody can
understand. Howsoever the care of the body is my
concern, and my two hands are full enough. I´m tell´t
you´re mighty quick with your weapon, Mr. Orme.”
“This is none of my work,” said Gervase. “I
would have given my right hand to prevent it.”
The surgeon looked doubtfully at Swartz who
stood near with his hands behind his back. “Why!
that body there--but it is none of my business.
We´ll even make him comfortable now and we can
talk more about it in the morn, for I´m thinking
they must hear of this work outside. This bonny
lassie will be my care next,” he continued, turning
to Dorothy. “This is no place for you, my dear,”
he said, laying his large hand with a rough sympathy
on her shoulder.
“Indeed I could rest nowhere else in the world.
Do you think he will live?”
.bn 254.png
.pn +1
“I´m sure he´ll no´ die if your sweet heart will
save him. He´s a gay, likely lad and he´ll give a
deal of trouble in the world yet before he leaves
it, if he keeps clear of small swords in the future.”
“Thank God for that!” cried Dorothy, bursting
into tears for the first time.
Saunderson looked at her with a grim smile on
his homely features.
“Women sometimes thank God for unco´ little.
But he´ll do for the now, and I´ll be back in an
hour. Come, Mr. Orme, you´ll see me to the door,
for I have some directions to give you and my time
is precious.”
Gervase went out with him to the door and they
stood on the great stone steps together. Then the
surgeon laid his two broad hands on Gervase´s
shoulders and looked at him steadily. “Look ye
here,” he said, “I learnt the practice of medicine in
the University of Glasgow, but there´s ane thing
I learnt since. I´m no sure I´ve got to the bottom
of this devildum, but I´m sure o´ this, that if yon
chiel dies, the lassie will even break her bonnie
heart and the same small sword will have killed
them both. Swartz says the deed was yours, but
he´s a fause loon to look at, and I ken now it´s a
lee. I ken you love her too well--I´ve learnt that
too--to do her scaith, and I leave him in your hands
till the morning. When a woman´s in love she´s
no´ to be trusted. I´ll send you a draught and ye´ll
see to it that he gets it.”
He left Gervase hardly understanding the speech
.bn 255.png
.pn +1
he had heard. Then its full meaning dawned on
him. Till now it had not occurred to him that
Dorothy had cared for De Laprade, but the mere
suggestion awoke a thousand trivial recollections
that lent colour to the thought. He had believed
that her great distress was only due to the fact that
her guest and kinsman had fallen by her brother´s
hand. But if it was otherwise--if she loved De
Laprade and looked on himself only as a friend--it
took the strength out of his heart to think of it.
This great passion, the first that he had known, had
transformed his life and inspired him in the midst
of all the dangers and privations he was passing
through. And now it seemed to him that his hopes
had fallen like a house of cards. He was a fool to
think that she should care for him--and yet who
could tell? So with hope that was not altogether
dead, and doubt, and a touch of jealousy, as has been
since love came first into the world, he went back
to help his stricken rival.
.bn 256.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XV. | OF HOW THE VICOMTE WAS BROUGHT BACK TO LIFE.
.sp 2
For several days De Laprade hovered between
life and death, apparently conscious and that was
all. Dorothy hardly left his bedside night or day,
attending upon him with sedulous care and devotion.
Seeing that she was about to give way under the
strain, Saunderson took affairs into his own hands
and forbade her the room altogether. While she
had been in the sick chamber De Laprade had used
to follow her with his eyes--eyes in which there
was little sign of intelligence--but now that she
came no more, he sank into a deep and deathlike
lethargy from which he seldom awakened. Whether
for Dorothy´s sake or from the nature of the case,
Saunderson gave up much of his time to the wounded
Viscount, and invariably reported his patient´s progress
to the anxious girl who was awaiting his
departure from the sick chamber. So far from
adopting the physician´s usual diplomacy, he had
endeavoured to keep up her spirits from the beginning,
assuring her that with skill and care, ill as he
seemed, he would yet dance at her wedding.
“You will see,” he had said, with rough kindliness
“there are twa bodies tha´ll no die lichtly--he that´s
.bn 257.png
.pn +1
gain to be married and he that´s gain to be hangit;
and when this braw callant hath had both prospects
before him he´ll no leave us this gait. He should
have been a corp three days syne by every rule of
the faculty, but yon bit thing never touched his
vitals after all. You´ll no greet your bonnie een
out, Miss Carew, but just tak your rest and leave
him to Providence and me.”
For Saunderson had come to the conclusion that
the Vicomte was Dorothy´s lover, and that in some
way or other, that was the cause of the quarrel in
which he had been wounded. He had at first believed
that Gervase had been the assailant, but Dorothy
had undeceived him on that head; but on the other
she had remained entirely silent and made no effort
to remove his misunderstanding. She had, however,
seen, or thought she had seen, through the friendly
deception of the surgeon, and when she had been
closed out of the sick room she had believed the
end was approaching. She had not understood,
though she had guessed, the nature of the tragedy
that had been enacted between her brother and her
cousin; and though she was not aware of all the
circumstances she had come to think she owed the
Vicomte a great debt. She had remembered every
word of their brief conversation an hour or two
before the brawl, and knowing his high sense of
honour, she had laid the blame entirely on her
brother. All that was passing without seemed like
a dream now--only the death chamber was real
to her and this tragedy with its deep and indelible
.bn 258.png
.pn +1
stain of guilt. She had felt that she was grieved
for the wretches who had been driven to starve
under the walls, and she felt rejoiced when she heard
that De Rosen had relented, but she felt also that
she had not realized the news. It seemed wholly
remote. This domestic tragedy, so near and so
terrible, entirely filled her mind with its abiding
horror. She felt there was no sacrifice she would
not willingly make to avert this calamity, and each
day she waited with a suspense that was intolerable
for the coming of the surgeon from the sick room.
Even Jasper´s treachery had passed into the background
in the presence of this new and more
appalling crime. Gervase Orme had called every
day but she had refused to see him, for though she
yearned for sympathy in her distress her pride compelled
her to nurse her sorrow in secret. Jasper
came and went with perfect sang froid; he seemed
to be the only person in the household to whom
the wounded man´s condition was a matter of
indifference.
So the days went past and there seemed to be
little or no change in the Vicomte´s condition.
But at length he recovered perfect consciousness
and asked eagerly for Dorothy. It was indeed his
first question after he recovered speech. Saunderson
was in the room and seated by his patient´s
side feeling his thin and languid pulse, when De
Laprade suddenly looked at him with an eager
and questioning gaze. The change was so sudden
that the surgeon was startled. “I saw Dorothy--Miss
.bn 259.png
.pn +1
Carew--but now,” said the Vicomte. “Where
is she?”
“She´ll no be long, my friend; just keep yourself
cool and ye´ll see her the now. That´s a good
laddie.”
“I have little time to spare and I must see her
before I die.”
“Ye´ll no die this time. Ye´ll scratch grey
hairs yet, if ye keep yersel´ blate and dinna fash
without reason.”
“You´re a good fellow,” said De Laprade, with
a faint smile on his thin, wasted face, “I think I
have seen you here in the room with me for months,
but I will not trouble you much longer. Now
bring Miss Carew here and complete your kindness.”
“Ye must not excite yoursel´ in that fashion.
Ye have been ower long in coming round, and we
maun keep ye here when we hae you. Now drink
this like a good laddie, and I’ll even fetch her
”
He poured out a draught and held it to the
Vicomte´s lips, who drank it obediently. Saunderson
believed that the crisis had come and though
he hoped that he was wrong for Dorothy´s sake,
had come to the conclusion that this was the last
feeble flicker of consciousness in his patient before
the end. As he left the room De Laprade followed
him with the same eager gaze. He found Dorothy
in the corridor and told her what had happened.
“And now,” he said, “ye´ll just keep him quiet
.bn 260.png
.pn +1
and humour him like a baby. Let him gang his
ain gait and say ‘Ay´ to all his clavers. I´d rather
you were elsewhere, but he´ll no bide till he has
seen you.”
It was with a heavy heart that Dorothy entered
the sick room. There was something in the surgeon´s
manner that told her she must hope no longer; and
as she saw De Laprade lying with the deathlike
pallor on his wasted face and the eager famished
look in his dark eyes she thought that he was
dying. She went over noiselessly to the bed and
sat down beside him, laying her hand on the coverlet.
Neither of them spoke, and it was with an heroic
effort that she restrained her tears. Then De
Laprade took her hand in his and a look of contentment
lighted up his dark face. She wondered
to herself at the change that had taken place in
so short a time. There was something almost boyish
in the face that was turned toward her.
“I am starting on a long journey, my cousin,”
he said, “and I would see you before I go. You
will not think unkindly of me when----”
She could make no answer but only bent over
his hand to hide the tears that were welling to her
eyes, though she strove to repress them.
“This is a fit end for me,” he went on, “but,
believe me, I tried to keep my promise toward
your brother; he did not understand and----”
“You must say no more,” said Dorothy; “I
never doubted of your faith and honour. You will
yet live to know that I trust you.”
.bn 261.png
.pn +1
“Too late, too late!” he said, sorrowfully.
“Why should I live? I have had my chance and
wasted it. In all the world there is no one who will
regret me but yourself, and you will forget me when--it
is but right you should. Victor De Laprade--a
stranger--that is all, and I deserve no better.”
“I will never forget you,” she said, touched
beyond expression by the pathos of his speech;
“you must not think such thoughts; you will yet
live to smile at them.”
“Why should I live for whom there is no room
and no need? I have wasted my life. As I lay
here I have lived it all again, and seen its folly.
You have helped me to see what I never saw
before, and I could not go before I told you.
Nay, it is best for me to die. It is not hard to
say farewell with your hand in mine. I had hoped
some day to tell you what I am going to speak,
some day when I had shown myself not altogether
unworthy, but I cannot wait for that now, and must
say it here if it is ever to be spoken.”
She knew what he was about to say; full of pity
she did not withdraw her hand, but continued to
hold his in her own. At that moment she almost
felt she loved the man who looked at her with
such fervent longing in his eyes.
“I have come to love you, my cousin, with such
love as I never felt or dreamed of before--a love
that makes me ashamed of my life, and desire to
forget the past and all its follies. That love has
taken the terror away from death. I do not think
.bn 262.png
.pn +1
I should have made you happy. I had too much
to forget. And you know you did not love me,
Dorothy; as indeed why should you.”
“Indeed, I think I do,” she answered honestly,
and lifted his hand to her lips with the tears in her
eyes. “Oh! Victor, do not wrong yourself in
speaking thus.”
“I am but a poor fellow, Dorothy,” he said
slowly, “but if this is true I would not change my
place with His Christian Majesty. In happier times
you will remember me as one who loved you, and
died content because he loved you.”
“You will not die, but live to let me help you
to forget the past. There is no sacrifice I would
not make to bring you happiness.”
“I would not let you sacrifice your life for me,
my cousin.”
“Nay, I did not mean that. I am but a weak and
thoughtless girl and cannot say all that I would, but I
love no other, and--and I think I love you dearly.”
She could not have imagined before she came
into the room that she would have spoken these
words, but the pitiable sight of this wrecked and
wasted life filled her with a great flood of compassion,
and she spoke almost without thinking of
the meaning of her words. Then she bent over
and pressed her lips to his forehead. His pallid
cheeks flushed a little; the act was so spontaneous
and so foreign to her manner, that it carried to his
heart the happiness of hope and love. For a time
he did not speak.
.bn 263.png
.pn +1
“I do not know,” he said, “whether this is a
part of my dream; it seems too much to believe
that this great happiness should have come to me
at the end; but I shall believe it true, and carry
your love with me whither I am going. It will
be a light to the way. The good Saunderson would
not let me die when I desired, and you make it
hard to go. You see I thought you loved----”
She interrupted him hastily, “I have not thought
of love till now. My foolish Victor, you must
drive these idle fancies from your head; if I do not
love you, I love no one.”
"If this were not the shadow of a dream, the
happiness is too great!
.pm start_poem
"‘Amis, le temps nous presse;
Menageons les moments que le transport nous laisse!´
.pm end_poem
“Kiss me again, my sweet Dorothy, for the
darkness is coming.”
She thought that all was over and the end was
come. He lay pale and exhausted, with his hand
in hers and his breathing so low and faint that
she could not catch the sound of it. There was
the shadow of a smile on the open lips; a smile
of contentment like that a child smiles while dreaming.
She was afraid to move or withdraw her
hand, and when Saunderson came into the room
she made a gesture of warning.
He came over quietly beside her. “I think,” he
said, “ye have given him a more efficacious remedy
than any in the pharmacop[oe]ia. He is sleeping
.bn 264.png
.pn +1
finely, puir laddie! Ye may leave him now and
ye´ll see a change for the better when ye come
again. I kenned ye would either kill or cure him,
though I thocht ye would do him little harm if ye
could help it.”
“He is not dying?”
“Indeed, that he is not, but just making up his
mind to live bravely. I would like to bottle up
your specific and carry it about in a phial; it´s
what I have been wanting this many a day.”
However it came about the surgeon´s prediction
was verified, and a sudden change for the better
took place in the Vicomte´s condition that evening;
he had fallen into a refreshing slumber which
lasted for some hours; and when he awakened, the
fever had entirely disappeared, leaving him very
weak indeed but on the high road toward convalescence.
With the considerateness that was always
natural to him, he had refused to allow Dorothy to
remain in his room, and had asked to see Jasper,
with whom he was anxious to make his peace.
What passed between them no one ever knew, for
De Laprade was silent on the subject, but Carew
was heard whistling gaily as he returned to his
own room.
Dorothy was for a long time unable to realize
the events of the day. It filled her with happiness
to think that De Laprade was likely to recover,
and that the shadow of crime was to be removed;
but when she began to think of the new relation
that was springing up between herself and her
.bn 265.png
.pn +1
cousin, an indefinable and restless feeling took
possession of her. She knew that she had been
carried away by pity and regret to speak without
examining her own heart;--she had desired to bring
a momentary happiness to the forlorn and wasted
life that she thought was passing away before her,
and she had spoken with deep feeling and entire
sincerity. But when she came to think over it now
that the danger had passed away and her mind had
grown calm and reasonable, she felt that she had
spoken rashly and without due premeditation. She
feared that she had mistaken compassion for love.
But if she did not love him now with a strong and
devoted affection, it might grow and all might yet
be well. She could not now tell him that she only
pitied him. Then her thoughts went further afield,
and with a start she wakened up wondering what
Gervase Orme would say when he heard that she
had plighted her troth to his friend. The idea
filled her with pain; she shrank from it with a
feeling akin to dismay. While Orme was nothing
more to her than a friend, her thoughts had involuntarily
dwelt much on him, and she had come to
look to his strong and silent nature for help and
consolation, sure of perfect sympathy and understanding.
She knew, though she now strove to
forget it, that he loved her. Had she been free to
choose her own way, and had duty so plain and so
self-evident not lain in her path--but no, she did
not love him and must not allow her mind to dwell
on these idle imaginings. There was only one
.bn 266.png
.bn 267.png
.bn 268.png
.pn +1
thing for her to do,--to be true to the words
she had spoken and bring her wayward heart
to respond to the promise she had made. There
was no one to whom she could go for advice or
help; she must rely upon herself alone, and happen
what might, there was at least one Carew who
would be found faithful to her word and jealous of
her honour. The sin and wrongdoing of her house
might be visited upon her, but she would bear it
cheerfully.
.il id=i266 fn=i_266.jpg w=60% ew=90% cw=120%
.ca “JASPER BUCKLING HIS SWORD ABOUT HIM”
She had visited Lady Hester at midnight and
was about to retire to her own room, when she
heard her brother´s door open and someone passing
down the corridor. Without waiting to think,
she came down the stairs hurriedly, and found Jasper
in the hall with his cloak and hat on, buckling his
sword about him. He was evidently very angry
at seeing her.
“These are no hours for a woman,” he said; “you
should have been abed hours ago.”
“They are not hours for some men either,” she
said, looking at him earnestly. She knew from the
look that he cast on her that he was certain she
had learnt his guilty secret. She did not flinch
but stood up before him, with a firm and steadfast
look. He drew on his gloves slowly without raising
his eyes to meet hers. Though there was
neither sympathy nor love between them, and though
she had striven devotedly to win his confidence
without success, she longed to save him from this
dishonour, and to hold him back from ruin, for that
.bn 269.png
.pn +1
ruin and dishonour were impending she did not
doubt.
“These are not hours for some men either. For
your own sake and for mine, you must not leave
the house to-night.”
“And pray, madam, why not? It is not enough
that I should be mewed up in this damned town
with a couple of women and a mad Frenchman
for my companions, but that I must have my actions
spied upon and my coming and going brought in
question. I have borne with you in patience, my
good sister, but I will not let you spy upon me
longer. There must be an end on´t.”
“You can speak no words that will make me
fear you,” she said quietly. “I would have been
your loyal and loving sister, but you know what I
know, and if I can prevent it you shall not play
the traitor longer. It is true that I have watched
you, watched you day and night; and was there not
need? Shall it be said that a Carew, for I know
not what base reward, sold his honour and flung
away his good name? Can Hamilton or Tyrconnell
or James himself save you from this disgrace?”
“These are mad words,” he said doggedly; “I
know not what you mean.”
“I am only a woman with a woman´s weakness,
and I cannot turn you from your purpose. But
before I had carried such a paper as I have seen
you carry, I would have died a thousand times.
Jasper,” she continued pleadingly, laying her hand
on his arm, “It is not yet too late.”
.bn 270.png
.pn +1
“I was right after all, and it was you who set
yon slow-witted coxcomb to lecture me with his
mysterious threats. Now listen to me, Miss Carew;
you have shown a more than sisterly interest in
my affairs; and you may as well know it all. I
have followed my own course, and laid my plans
that I will suffer no woman to wreck with her
whims and fancies. These beggarly citizens and
these foolish country gentlemen are nothing to me.
I stand by my lawful king, and on that side is my
service and my interest, I have taken no great
pains to conceal my thoughts, and perhaps to-morrow----”
here he checked himself.
“Then go over to your friends.”
“It does not suit my purpose. Now I will give
you a word of advice before I go. Make no more
confidences for the future--they are dangerous for
those who speak and for those who listen to them,
and I will not have my acts questioned by you
or others. For the paper you speak of, you may
keep it now and it may prove useful hereafter, but
for your friend I shall call him to a reckoning if
I live. I think that hereafter you will keep my
secret more closely, for it does not redound to the
credit of the family that you should take the world
into your confidence.”
He opened the door and stood looking at her
threateningly; then he went out, drawing it noiselessly
after him.
Though he had borne himself with a high hand,
she could see that he had felt her words keenly,
.bn 271.png
.pn +1
and that he was already fearful for his own safety.
What course she should take she did not know,
for she shrank from making his treachery public
and from bringing punishment by any act of her
own on the offender. It was clear that no entreaty
nor expostulation of hers would have any weight
with him; she knew his headlong and obstinate
nature too well to hope that it might.
She remained standing for a long time lost in
thought, and then she crept to her own room, wondering
whether, after all, Gervase Orme might not
keep his word. They had not renewed their conversation
since the day that she had placed the
pass in his hands, but she felt certain that he had
not relaxed in his vigilance. And then it struck
her suddenly that by this act she might have imperilled
his safety, for her brother had already threatened
him, and she knew that in this, at least, he would
keep his word, if he had the power or the opportunity
to injure him. She regretted now that she had not
taken the initiative earlier herself, but on this she
was determined, that she and her brother should
not remain under the same roof, even if she was
compelled publicly to denounce his crime. But she
was saved the pain, for she never saw her brother
again.
.bn 272.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVI. | OF A DEED OF TREACHERY.
.sp 2
Gervase had not forgotten the promise he had
made to Dorothy, but in the intervals of his duty
had watched the house narrowly, and so far as he
was able to discover, Jasper had not attempted to
repeat his visits to the enemy. He had begun to
think that his thinly-veiled threat had had a salutary
effect, and that Jasper knowing himself to have
been discovered, would not again rashly put his
safety in peril. The task was not one for which
he had any great relish, but he had determined,
however irksome and unpleasant it might prove,
that he would save Dorothy from a public exposure
and from the pain that such exposure must
necessarily inflict upon her. Had it not been
for her he would have taken a summary method
with the traitor, but his long vigils were rendered
light by the thought that they were undertaken for
her sake. While he stood in the dark street in
the shadow of the opposite doorway, his heart was
stirred when he caught sight of her crossing the
window of her chamber, and so long as her light
burned there he felt that he was not altogether
alone. For matter-of-fact as he was, his love
.bn 273.png
.pn +1
had waked whatever of the pathetic and the heroic
there was in his nature; and he felt that this
service was a link that bound them more closely
together. Macpherson who knew something of his
solitary watching, had laughed in his own fashion,
and told him that no woman could be won in such
a fashion, for while one was sitting sad outside
another was fiddling in the chamber. But Gervase
had kept his post, though nothing came of it and
though he had not spoken to Dorothy for days.
To-night he had been ordered with his company
to the lines. The enemy who had been waiting in
sullen patience for the famine-stricken garrison to
surrender, had made some show of movement, and
it was believed they meditated another night attack.
The guards had therefore been doubled, and precautions
were taken to prevent a surprise. Gervase
went the more willingly since he believed his services
in the city were no longer needed, as a fortnight
had elapsed and Jasper had made no sign of renewing
his intrigue; and it was a relief once more to find
an outlet for his feelings in vigorous action. He
felt that he had lost his youth and that he was
growing old in witnessing the sights he saw every
day--the gaunt hollow-eyed wretches who came
tottering from their ruined houses in search of food;
the men stricken down with hunger where they
stood on duty at the walls; women who had lost
their children; children motherless and fatherless,
and left without a protector; the want, the sorrow,
and the death that increased every day. If they
.bn 274.png
.pn +1
might but have fought out the fight upon the open
field, and in one brave struggle have decided their
fate, how willingly he would have taken his part!
But half the fighting men had fallen since they
closed the gates, and of the other half many of them
could hardly shoulder their muskets and drag themselves
to the walls.
It was a relief to pass out of the gates, and the
sight and sound of so much misery, into the quiet
night with the cool air blowing about him and the
new moon lifting itself slowly through the summer
haze. In the distance he could see the gleam of
the watch-fires of the enemy, but there was a great
and unbroken silence round them, as the company
made its way along the path that had been beaten
into white dust with frequent marching. Macpherson
was in command of the outpost that night, and
Gervase found him seated by himself in the bastion
on the carriage of a gun that had been brought
up from the city. He was quietly communing with
himself while he drew consolation from his favourite
pipe. Of late days the old soldier had been foremost
in attack and counsel. Hard work and scanty
fare had had no effect upon him, but his spirits
seemed to have risen the higher as their privations
and hardships increased. In all expeditions of danger
he was among the foremost to volunteer, and on
more than one occasion his coolness and resource
had been of immense service to the besieged.
Walker´s antipathy he had long since overcome,
for though they had serious differences on points
.bn 275.png
.pn +1
of doctrine, they had each come to recognize the
excellent qualities of the other.
When Gervase had completed the arrangement
of his company, he joined the old soldier in the
bastion. He made the usual inquiries as to the
movement in front, but Macpherson, apparently in
a fit of abstraction, had answered his questions in
monosyllables. There was in the face of the latter
the hardness and solemnity that Gervase had seen
early in their acquaintance, but which had disappeared
of recent days. Then he rose up and laid
his hand on the young fellow´s shoulder.
“Let us walk down the rampart,” he said, as if
awaking from his reverie, “my legs have grown
stiff, and there is something that I would say to you.
Our lads are veterans in the service now and
stand up unwinking without the need of a ramrod.”
With his hand resting on Gervase´s shoulder,
they walked along the trench down the hill. There
was no need for speech between them now, for
Gervase had come to understand his friend´s varying
moods, and had long since ceased to resent the fits
of silence into which the other was accustomed to
fall. “Here is another day gone,” he said, “and
no move from the Tangier Butcher. Whether he come
by Inch or by the river, he will come too late, if
he come at all. I have been thinking that I might
hurry him.”
"You are not serious?
“Faith! the man who drops into the river, and
floats himself clear of the lines yonder till he reaches
.bn 276.png
.pn +1
the ships by the good guidance of God, would
need to have a serious mind. I have been thinking
it all over, as I sat there to-night, and of the poor
souls in their tribulation yonder. If I was a year
or two younger I would try it blithely, and I think
Kirke would listen to his old comrade. There were
certain passages between us once--however, as I
say, this might be done by one who took his life
in his hand, and I think I am the man. Do you
believe in omens, lad?”
“I know not.” Gervase answered; “I think they
are but an idle superstition.”
“Then you may laugh at me if you will, but as
surely as my name is Ninian I have been called
this night to that work, and perhaps to more also.”
“I had thought,” said Gervase, “you had forgot
these idle dreams and warnings.”
“Though I am a man of prayer,” he went on,
disregarding the interruption, “I am not gifted with
the vision, but twice before I have heard the same
voice, and twice my life was put in grievous jeopardy.
When I heard it before, it spoke as if in anger,
but to-night it was sweet and soft like his voice
that was my friend. You see I was sitting there
on the bastion figuring out how I might reach the
ships, and reproaching myself for my backwardness
in desiring to make the venture, when I heard a
voice as if a great way off coming from up the
river yonder. I listened attentively but there was
a deep silence, and I began to think that it
was a mere trick of fancy. Then it came again,
.bn 277.png
.pn +1
sounding nearer, till I heard the words of his
voice.”
“Whose voice?” said Gervase, wonderingly.
Macpherson turned towards him with a white
face. “The voice of my old friend--him that I
told you of. But, thank God, I know his spirit is
at peace with mine, and I can die content. I could
see him before me with my mortal eyes, as I heard
that familiar voice that has not sounded in mine
ears for twenty years. He has called me and I
am going yonder.”
There was no trace of excitement in his manner
or in his speech, but he spoke with the calm deliberateness
of a man who has fully made up his mind
and cannot be shaken in his opinion. Gervase knew
that it was useless to attempt to reason with him;
and indeed, if the truth must be told, he himself
was not a little impressed by the tale he had heard.
The supernatural played a large part in the lives
of the people among whom he lived, and it was
not curious that his own mind should have been
touched by the prevailing spirit. But to Macpherson
it was a fact that required no explanation and hardly
seemed to call for wonder.
“And were you not afraid to hear that disembodied
voice?” Gervase asked, “if it be that it was not
more than your fancy?”
“Wherefore should I be afraid? was it not the
voice of my friend who spoke to me no longer in
anger? I know that my sin is forgiven. Some
day, my lad,” he continued, with the kindly and
.bn 278.png
.pn +1
almost caressing tone he had adopted towards Gervase,
“some day you will understand what I mean,
but not yet. Now forget what I have spoken and
help me with your young and nimble wits.”
“It is madness for you to dream of it,” Gervase
answered. “No man could reach the ships by the
water alone, and to land would be certain death.”
“When we were campaigning on the Danube I
swam further than that and was none the worse
for it, while the Janissaries were potting at us from
their flat-bottomed boat a good part of the way.
But this is an old story now.”
“Ay! and you were a young man then. If any
should undertake this task, why should not I? I
am sick and weary to death of what I have seen
yonder, and I had rather die once and for all than
die by inches. Were there but a chance----”
“My lad, you must not think of it. You are
young and there is still need for you in the world.
The bonnie wench yonder could ill spare you; but
there´ll be none, but mayhap yourself, to wait for
the home-coming of Ninian Macpherson; and the
folk yonder are worth venturing a man´s life for.
I have been through many a siege, but I think
since the beginning of time there hath been none
like this.”
“Truly there is a fat Cathedral yard,” said
Gervase bitterly, “and God knows when it will end.
There are two more of Simon´s sturdy lads dead
yesterday, and I hardly think the little girl I told you
of will hold out till the morning.”
.bn 279.png
.pn +1
“Poor soul, poor soul!” he continued, “and to
think that it should all be happening under that--” and
he lifted up his hand. The night was clear and
cloudless. The river lay before them reflecting
the starlight in its calm unbroken waters, and the
moon lifted its slender crescent through a mellow
haze. They were about to retrace their steps along
the lines when Macpherson, whose sight was marvellously
keen, caught sight of a figure moving
rapidly under the shelter of a sunken fence. He
had seen it for a moment as it showed clear against
the river, as it made its way swiftly in the shadow.
He caught Gervase by the arm, pulling him under
cover of the embankment.
“There is foul play here,” he whispered. “Yon
binkie travels too fast to have an honest errand.
He will come this way, if he intend, as I verily
think he does, to pass through to the camp yonder.”
The man made his way toward them rapidly,
without stopping for a moment. It was clear that
he intended to pass the angle were they stood, and
they would not have to stir to intercept him as he
passed.
“There may be need of this,” said Macpherson,
drawing his sword, “but I think not; the traitor
is nearly always a coward.”
They could now hear the man breathing hard
as he ran; he was preparing to leap into the
trench, when Macpherson presented himself before
him, with his drawn sword in his hand.
“Stand, and give me the word.”
.bn 280.png
.pn +1
The man stopped short as if astonished at the
unexpected rencontre, and then thrust his hand into
his breast. But Macpherson divined his purpose.
“If you move that hand I will run you through
the body,” and he held the point of the sword
perilously near the man´s throat.
Gervase had not moved forward but was still
standing in the shadow. Something warned him
that the traitor whom he had been watching so
long had made his attempt to-night, and was
discovered at last.
“Now, sir, what is your errand here to-night? if
you do not answer me I shall call the guard.”
“You need not call the guard, Captain Macpherson.
I am here on no sinister business, but have
come to seek for Mr. Gervase Orme, who, I am
told, is in the lines to-night.”
He lifted off his hat and stood bareheaded in the
midnight. As he listened, Gervase knew that it
was a lie, but did not move from his place of
concealment.
“Good God,” cried Macpherson, “´tis the brave
wench´s brother. I´m thinking, Mr. Carew, it was
a strange way you took to find the gentleman you
speak of. It looked like as if you thought to find
him yonder.”
“I am not familiar with your outworks, sir,”
answered Jasper, who had recovered his composure,
and spoke with studied coolness, “and I thought you
had another line of defence along the hill.”
“There is no accounting for a man´s thoughts,”
.bn 281.png
.pn +1
said Macpherson, “but the message must have
been urgent that needed so much haste. In the
future I would advise you to move more circumspectly
when musket balls are plenty. Now, perhaps,
as the gentleman is my friend, you will even
give me your news and I will contrive that it
reaches him.”
“It can be delivered to none but himself. If
you will tell me where I may find him, I have no
doubt I can make my way thither myself.”
“I have no doubt you could, but you see I cannot
let you out of my sight. We must even see
the gentleman together.”
“You do not mean that you doubt my word?”
“Your word, sir, cannot interfere with my plain
duty. I am one of those who strive to give no
tongue to their loose thoughts. I would think well
of you for your sister´s sake; and I think we will
hear, after all, what Mr. Orme has to say about
the matter.”
“I have no doubt,” said Carew, changing his
ground as he saw that Macpherson was inflexible,
“that I have acted heedlessly in venturing hither,
and it may be best for me to return to the city.
If you should consider it well, I am ready to give
any explanation that may be necessary in the morning.”
Macpherson smiled grimly. “I have no doubt
you would, but it is a pity that you should have
come so far without fulfilling your errand; and I
think Mr. Orme hath been waiting with some
.bn 282.png
.pn +1
impatience to hear what you have to say to him.”
Gervase stepped quickly forward.
“You can go no further with this deception, Mr.
Carew,” he said, “I gave you a friendly warning
before which you have not followed, and you must
suffer the consequences.”
Carew stepped back with a look of hate on his face.
“The curse of heaven light on you for an intermeddling
rogue!” he cried. “Do what you will, I care not.”
“You knew,” Gervase continued, “that I had learned
your secret, and I think though I may be deceived,
you knew how I had learned it. I was anxious to
spare you the humiliation of making a confession
of your treachery, and for the sake of others would
have averted the punishment. But you have not
taken my counsel to heart, and for myself I bitterly
regret it.”
“I want neither your counsel nor your regret.
Tell me what you mean to do and let us have an
end of it. I cannot see why I should not leave the
city if I would.”
Macpherson had listened to this brief conversation
in surprise. He had not imagined that Gervase had
had any suspicion of Jasper´s treachery, and for
a moment it pained him to think that he had withheld
his confidence. Then he said in a low tone,
“Does his sister know of this?”
“There is no need for concealment,” Gervase
answered; “it was from her that I first learned it,
and I have been watching for a fortnight that this
did not happen. It will break her heart.”
.bn 283.png
.pn +1
“That need not be: we will even take the law
into our own hands, come of it what will. Now,
sir,” he said, turning round towards Jasper, “there
is no need for further deception, for it cannot profit
you a whit. I never doubted that you were a
traitor from the moment that I caught sight of you
by the dyke yonder. You know what is the punishment
of a traitor? Hanging is not a very fit end for
any man, and hanged you will be if we carry you back
to the city. I cannot tell what is your intent in stooping
to this dishonour, but I think in letting you pass
I can do but little harm. They know how it stands
with us, and you can bring them but little fresh
news. Did I think of you alone, as God is my
witness, I should string you up with my own hand
without compunction, but for the sake of them that
loved you, unworthy as you are, the way is open
for you. You may go. You may tell them from
Ninian Macpherson that never a man of them will
put his foot inside the walls, and you have seen the
last of the city yourself.”
For a moment Jasper could not realize the good
news, and appeared overcome by surprise. “I may
be able to return your favour some day, sir,” he
said, “however poor a figure I may cut now.”
“I would take no favour from your hands,” answered
Macpherson; “now go before my mind changes,
for I doubt whether I do right in letting you pass
thus easily.”
Without a word Carew crossed the trench and
clambered up the rampart. On the top he turned
.bn 284.png
.pn +1
short, “I have to thank you for your kindness,” he
said, “and for the courteous speech you have made.
You, sir, as I have said I will do my best to
repay, but for you, Mr. Orme, you may take my
favour now.”
Quick as thought Gervase saw the barrel of a pistol
flashing in the moonlight, presented straight at his
breast. Macpherson saw it too, and sprang forward
as if to leap the trench, when there came a blinding
flash and a loud cry as Macpherson fell forward on
his face.
Gervase followed his impulse, which was to secure
the miscreant who had done this base and cowardly
act, but when he had reached the summit of the
rampart, he was rapidly disappearing in the darkness
and it was impossible to overtake him. So with a
bitter feeling in his heart and something that sounded
like an imprecation on his lips, he turned back to
his wounded friend.
The sound of the shot had attracted the attention
of the men nearest to them in the trenches; they
came hurrying up believing that the attack had
begun, but when they saw Macpherson lying on the
ground and Gervase kneeling by his side, their
alarm was changed to suspicion and surprise. There
was an unbroken silence in front under the quiet
summer sky; not a blade of grass was stirring on
the hillside. It was clear to them that this blow
had not come from the enemy, and full of surprise
and wonder, they watched Gervase as he bent over the
fallen man and opened his vest to find the wound.
.bn 285.png
.pn +1
Macpherson was still conscious; the blood that
was pouring from a wound in his breast had dyed
his shirt deep red, and they noticed that he had
not let go his hold upon the hilt of his sword. But
there was that look in his face that every man in
that company had seen too frequently for months
to mistake--that look in the presence of which
there is no hope, and which speaks inevitably of a
speedy dissolution. It was clear to them all that
the last sands of his life had nearly run out.
A sergeant of his regiment running up the lines
had brought down a blazing brand of fir, by the
light of which Gervase stanched the flowing blood
as well as he was able. He felt his hand shaking
as he bound up the wound, nor could he trust
himself to make any answer to the eager questions
that were poured upon him. It required no skill
to tell that the wound was mortal; it was only a
question of hours, perhaps of minutes; and the
thought that pressed most strongly upon him was
that it was to save his life that Macpherson had
lost his own. Rugged and staunch and true, a
loyal friend, a valiant soldier, he had hardly recognized
his worth or the affection he had begun to
bear toward him, until the time had come for them
to part.
From the moment that he fell Macpherson had
not spoken; he lay motionless with his face turned
up and the light of the blazing torch falling on it.
Only once he pressed the hand of Gervase with
a gentle pressure; that was all the sign he gave of
.bn 286.png
.pn +1
consciousness. A surgeon had been sent for but
there seemed to be no probability of his arriving
in time, and they hastily began to construct a hurdle
on which to carry the old soldier home. Though
he had been quick to punish any breach of discipline,
he had always been forward with his praise,
and they had long since learnt that he would not
ask them to go where he was not ready to lead
them. They had come to impose implicit confidence
in his wisdom and courage, while they had seen in
a thousand instances that a warm and kindly heart
lay under his rugged manner and surly speech.
They had been wont to say that Roaring Meg and
the old Captain were children of the same mother;
but there was many a moist eye in the trenches
that night when they learned that the old fire-eater
had come to his end.
While they were getting ready the hurdle on
which to carry him to the city, Gervase had not
moved but still knelt holding his head on his knees.
The blow was so sudden and so unexpected that
he had not had time to realize it. Notwithstanding
the evidence of his senses, he could not believe that
he was in the presence of death. He did not once
think of his own miraculous escape nor of how this
might affect the woman he loved, but stunned and
bewildered, he endeavoured to make clear to his
own mind that his friend was dying.
Macpherson´s lips moved and Gervase bent down
to catch the words, but for a time they were broken
and inaudible. Then with an effort he lifted his
.bn 287.png
.pn +1
hand and motioned to the men who were gathered
round, to withdraw. He had still much difficulty in
speaking but Gervase was able to catch the meaning
of his words now.
“I´m going home, lad,” he said, “going home.
I was called, and--and--you will promise me.”
Gervase did not speak but only pressed his
hand.
“She must never know who has done this--never
till the Judgment. She is proud, and it would
break her heart. Only you and I--we know, and
we will keep the secret. You will promise; you
are a good lad, and my old heart was turned
toward you.”
Gervase was not ashamed of the tears that streamed
down his face. He brushed them away with the
back of his hand, and tried to speak as well as his
feelings would permit him.
“I am glad you promised. Don´t grieve for me;
it was better that I should go than you. The
campaign is over and I am going home.”
They placed him on the stretcher and carried
him back to the city.
Already as they passed through Bishops-Gate, the
crimson light of the dawn had filled the sky, and
the stars had failed, and the shadows had passed
away in the rosy glow of the pleasant summer
morning.
As the bearers of the hurdle halted with their
burden on the stone steps of the house in which
Macpherson lodged, he called out to them to stop.
.bn 288.png
.pn +1
“Let me look at it once more before I go. I´ll
never see it again.”
And so they stood there in silence fronting the
sunrise; he raised his head for a minute and then
motioned to them to carry him in. They laid him
in his own bed, and left Gervase and the surgeon to
examine his wound.
But it was evident that nothing could be done
for him. He was already past all mortal aid, and
as he suffered from no pain they had only to wait
for the end that would not be long in coming.
“He´ll no´ need my aid, Mr. Orme,” said Saunderson,
“for there´s none of us could bring him
round. ´Tis a pity there´s no woman body to close
his eyes; but I´m told he was a fine soldier, and
I´ll look in and see the last of him mysel´.”
“No one shall touch him but myself,” said Gervase,
“I shall never have such a friend again, and
God knows there is none will miss him as I will.”
Gervase had never been in the room before, and
as he sat down by the bed he looked round him
with a saddened interest. On the table lay the
leather-bound volume he remembered so well.
Above the bed hung a broad sword with its hilt
of silver richly chased, and he could see from
where he sat, that there was a legend upon the
blade. A pair of spurs, a silver-mounted pistol, and
a long pipe of foreign make, lay on the mantelshelf.
A couple of high-backed chairs, a few simple
cooking utensils in the hearth, and an oak press,
the doors of which lay open, were all the furniture
.bn 289.png
.pn +1
in the room. It looked bare and comfortless, and
it seemed to add to the pathos of the tragedy that
a man with so much that was gallant and loveable,
should die friendless and unregretted in a room like
this.
Gervase had found a little wine in a bottle and
with this he moistened Macpherson´s lips from time
to time. He lay motionless all day with his eyes
half closed, but toward evening he seemed to Gervase
to grow delirious, and began to talk in a
rambling way, with a thick and broken utterance.
His mind was busy with his old campaigning days,
and his speech was full of foreign cities, and of
battles and sieges and ambuscades, and of women he
had loved in his wild free life. There was no
coherence in the matter; only a meaningless confusion
of unfamiliar names. Only once before had
he raised the curtain that hung over his past life,
but he had made no secret of the fact that his
youth had been a riotous one and full of wayward
passion; and he had seemed to have broken with it
utterly. But now it had all come back again, and
his mind was full of the tavern brawl and the low
intrigue and the horrors of sack and siege. It was
strange to hear the old man with the white head
and haggard face that had grown so old looking
in a day, babbling of the fierce delights of his
youth as if he were living among them again.
Gervase would willingly have closed his ears but he
was in a manner fascinated by it.
“A thousand devils, here they come. Lord, what
.bn 290.png
.pn +1
a change! They ride as if Hell were loose after
them. The pike men will never stand. Close down
your ranks. There they go, rolling one after
another. Pooh! a mere scratch. I´ll pour out my
own wine and drink it too; a woman´s lips are
sweeter after a draught like that. Open the windows;
we want air--air and a song. Jack will----”
Then he gave a loud cry and started up as if in
pain. “Oh, God! I have killed him--wipe it off,
that is his blood upon my sword--wipe it off, I
tell you. You see how his eyes will not shut; they stare
at me as if he were still alive. You she-devil, I will
kill you as I killed him. I cannot draw this blade
from the scabbard. Listen, and I will tell you why:
his blood hath glued it fast, and I can never draw
it again--never. Pooh! you are a fool.”
So he rambled on, while Gervase sat compelled
to listen and put together the history of that stirring
and eventful life. Then the paroxysm died away,
and exhausted with his passion he lay quiet, only
his lips moving and his spare brown hands catching
at the coverlet. Once or twice Gervase thought he
heard his own name, but it might have been mere
fancy, for it was now impossible to catch the words
his lips tried to frame.
According to his promise, Saunderson had looked
in during the course of the evening, but as he said,
rather to cheer the watcher than in the hope
of assisting the patient. He had been amazed at
the great hold he had upon life, for no ordinary
man could have survived such a wound for an
.bn 291.png
.pn +1
hour. be away before the morn,” he said;
“you can see how he´s trying to loose himsel´.
Man, ´tis a strange thing this dying, and we a´ take
our ain gait about it. Some die hard like the auld
man there, and some slip off easily, but licht or
hard ´tis a´ ane. I´ve seen a guid few lately. I´m
afeard ye can´t sit here this nicht, and I´ll look up
some stout body to tak´ your place.”
But Gervase would not hear of it. He had
determined to see the last of his friend and was
determined to spend the night at his bedside. He
had seated himself in the chair by the window, and
had taken up the little book which bore the owner´s
name on the title page and the words “Utrecht,
1664,” and was worn and marked by repeated
using. He read on till the sunset had died away
and it became too dark to see the page. Then he
closed the book and went downstairs in search of a
light.
When he came back with the lighted candle in
his hand, Macpherson was sitting up in the bed,
with his eyes staring wide open and his hands
stretched out. The wound had burst out afresh and
the blood had stained the white counterpane.
“Listen, Gervase,” he said, “listen, my son!
Do you hear how he is calling me? I would know
the sound of his voice among ten thousand--the
sound of his voice that I loved. I would have
waited for you, but I knew him first and loved him
first, and I cannot tarry. Jack, dear Jack, good
comrade, I am coming. Oh! the marvellous light--”
.bn 292.png
.pn +1
He struggled as if to leave the bed and Gervase
was running forward to restrain him, when he fell
back on the pillow, with his eyes and mouth wide
open. At a glance Gervase saw that it was all
over; his faithful friend was dead, and there was
no need for watching now. As he stood for a long
time looking at him, the hard and rugged face
seemed to soften into a smile, and the lines that
were cut deep in the forehead and the cheeks had
disappeared, and he lay like one asleep. The fight
was indeed over, and the reveille would awaken
him from his rest no more.
.tb
They buried him the next day in the Cathedral
yard, four men of his own regiment carrying the
body on the stretcher on which they had brought
him home. As Gervase saw him laid in the shallow
grave, he felt that he had lost the best friend and
the truest comrade he was ever likely to find. And
there the ashes of the old soldier still lie mingled
with those of many another who fell in the same
quarrel and found a resting-place there from all
their labours. In after days Gervase erected a tablet
to his memory, with nothing more than the name
and the date upon it and these words: “He laid
down his life for his friend.”
.bn 293.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVII. | OF A GREAT ADVENTURE.
.sp 2
Macpherson died toward the end of the second
week in July, when the city had already begun to
suffer the dire extremities of famine. The provisions
in the magazines were almost exhausted; the meal
and the tallow were doled out with a sparing hand.
Already the citizens had begun to live upon food
that at other times they would have turned from
in disgust and loathing. Horse-flesh was almost
becoming a luxury, dogs, rats, and cats were greedily
devoured, and even of these the supply was beginning
to fail. Putrid fevers had broken out which
carried off multitudes; loathsome diseases of the
skin grew common, and even the strongest began
to find it hard to draw themselves to the walls or
to help in repelling the frequent attacks on the
outposts. Added to this, there was hardly a whole
roof in the city, for during two months the iron
hail had been continually pouring upon them. Many
of them felt indeed that death would be a welcome
relief, and they envied those who were already
laid in the churchyard. But still they held out
grimly, and with faces blackened with hunger,
declared that they were ready to die rather than
.bn 294.png
.pn +1
surrender. The spirit that may still be found here
and there in the Imperial Province burned with an
unabated flame--a pride which two centuries has
not been able to remove, and strong almost to
fanaticism. Yet it was not to be wondered at that
discontent and suspicion should grow and spread.
Some few proved insubordinate, others deserted
to the enemy, but for the most part they stood
loyally by their leaders.
Hamilton who was now in command of the royal
troops, believing that the time had come when his
overtures would be listened to, had sent a message
containing liberal terms, but after some fruitless
negotiations, they refused his offer and determined
to hold out. A messenger had been able to find
his way from the ships with a letter which had
revived their hopes a little, but they had lost all
faith in Kirke, and looked only with stubborn despair
to the time when they could defend themselves
no longer.
After the death of Macpherson, Gervase had
gone about his duty as before, but he had greatly
missed the wise and faithful counsellor whose
friendly comfort had helped him to bear his trials.
The blow that he had sustained had been very
great, and he had felt unwilling to face Dorothy
Carew while the wound was still fresh. He had
determined to observe the old soldier´s dying
injunction that she should not know by whose hand
he had fallen; and he himself would have desired
even if the command had not been laid upon him
.bn 295.png
.pn +1
that she should remain in ignorance of it. He
knew that she had already suffered much, and he
was desirous of sparing her further pain. Jasper
had not appeared again in the city nor was it likely
that he would, so that it could serve no purpose
of any sort to denounce him as the murderer.
When he had summoned up courage and met Dorothy
for the first time since Macpherson´s death, she had
displayed much emotion, but it had not occurred to
her that she was connected in any way with the
old soldier´s end. She had told Gervase that her
brother had disappeared, and that she had no doubt
he had gone over to the enemy, but the subject
was one on which she seemed naturally unwilling to
dwell much, and he on his part did not press it.
It struck him, however, as singular that she did not
mention De Laprade; and it was only in answer to
his inquiry that she told him that he was making
rapid progress towards recovery. She herself was
looking very ill and wretched--so ill that Gervase
was alarmed at her appearance, and her eyes were
red as if she had been weeping recently.
“I thought I was strong and able to bear anything,”
she said, “but my heart is breaking. Is there no
hope for us anywhere?”
“There is always hope----”
“I see that you can give me no comfort. My
aunt is dying slowly, and she bears it very patiently.
In a day or two there will be no more food and
then----”
“And then there will be plenty if God helps us,
.bn 296.png
.pn +1
Miss Carew,” Gervase went on. “You have not
despaired till now. You have shown us an example
in patient courage we might all have profited by,
and you must not let your heart fail you now.
You may tell Lady Hester she will not have long
to wait. In three days the ships will be at the
quays and all will be well.”
“I think you have always told me the truth,” she
said; “but how is this to happen?”
“When we meet again I shall tell you that and
more; you must not ask me now, but I believe I
speak sincerely and with truth.”
“I have always trusted you.”
“And always may; there is nothing I would not
try to do for your sake. But I am growing a
boaster, and I have done nothing and perhaps can
do nothing. Only do not let your heart fail. When
we meet again I trust the joybells will be ringing,
and there will be bonfires on the ramparts; if
not----”
“It is too good news. We have waited so long
but it seems as far away as ever.”
“I think it is coming now. Miss Carew, if we
should never meet again, I want you to remember
that I thought of you till the last, and that all I did
was done--nay I should not say that. I feel that
we shall meet again.”
She looked at him with a look of awakened fear.
“You are not going into any great peril?”
“We live among them, one and all of us.”
“But you----”
.bn 297.png
.pn +1
“Would only carry your thoughts with me--Dorothy,
my best beloved,” he cried, taking her hand
in his, “before I go I want you to say you love
me as I love you.”
She drew her hand away quickly.
“I cannot I cannot. I will tell you why hereafter.
My God! I love you.”
He caught her in his arms and kissed her again
and again unresistingly. Then she tore herself from
his embrace, and with a stifled cry rushed from the
room. But he went away happy, with her last words
ringing in his ears, and feeling himself ready to do
the work he was about to undertake. For while
he was talking to Dorothy he had hastily formed
a resolution that was lying dormant in his mind
for days. In his last conversation with Macpherson,
the old soldier had declared his intention of reaching
the ships, and Gervase had been dwelling on the
project for the last ten days. He knew the task
was full of deadly peril--it had already been twice
attempted without success, and it seemed so hopeless
that he had shrunk from undertaking it. But the
sight of Dorothy´s thin and wasted face had removed
all his doubts, and he had determined to make one
last effort to induce Kirke to undertake the relief.
He himself believed that the undertaking was not
nearly so formidable as it seemed, and if once a
move was made he did not doubt that the boom
would prove no very serious barrier. But the great
problem was to reach the ships which were lying
far down the river. On both sides of the bank the
.bn 298.png
.pn +1
enemy were watching with a vigilance which it
seemed impossible to escape. Even if he succeeded
in eluding them, he could hardly hope to swim the
long six miles in the condition he was in, and to
land was almost certain death. But he made up his
mind to make the attempt and to trust to the chapter
of accidents to carry him safely through.
.tb
As he went to look for Walker from whom he
desired to obtain his credentials, he felt strong
enough for anything. Had not he heard from the
sweetest lips in the world the sweetest words he
had ever heard spoken. Had he not everything to
move him to the attempt? If he lived he would
show her that he was not unworthy of her love,
for this deed was one that all men would not
attempt, and few could carry safely through. There
was glory in it and renown, though it was neither
glory nor renown that he sought.
When he had told the old colonel of his intentions,
the latter at first tried to dissuade him. He
was only flinging his life away, he said, for nothing.
Others had tried and failed; he could not
hope to succeed. Even if he succeeded in reaching
the ships, which he could not do, he could tell
them nothing that they did not know there. Kirke
was a coward or a traitor, and they could not hope
for help from him. He could send them letters
that meant nothing, but that was all. But Gervase
was not to be dissuaded by any argument. He had
set his heart upon making the attempt, and his
.bn 299.png
.pn +1
resolution was so evident that at length Walker
unwillingly consented, and with a homely piety
commended him to the protection of Providence
that, however it might frown, had not forsaken
them.
“We will say nothing of this to any,” he had
said, “but will keep the matter closely to ourselves,
for the folk yonder have long ears and can hear
our whispers here. Some time before midnight we
will even go down to the Waterside together, and
as you are a brave man and a courageous, there is
one old man who will pray for your safe keeping
and deliverance. I shall have the epistle writ out,
and I pray God Kirke may be the first to
read it.”
Gervase´s preparations for his adventure were
easily made. He had left a letter in which he
had made a disposal of his effects, in case anything
happened to him, and had written another
which was addressed to Dorothy Carew. The only
weapon he had provided himself with was a small
hunting knife that had belonged to Macpherson,
which he hoped he would not require to use but
which might prove useful in an emergency. There
had been some rain during the day, and the night
promised to be dark and cloudy. So long as there
was no moonlight there was a possibility of his
making the attempt with a reasonable chance of
success, but should the moon show herself he could
hardly hope to remain undiscovered.
The time hung heavily on his hands while he waited
.bn 300.png
.pn +1
for the hour when he was to meet Walker, and then he
found himself trembling with feverish impatience.
Walker, however, insisted on his taking supper
before he left, and it was weeks since Gervase had
seen so plentiful a meal spread before him. The
old colonel watched him with a serious admiration
as he made huge inroads on the food, and when
Gervase had finished, he went to a cupboard and
produced a flask.
“You have had the last of the meat,” he said,
taking the cork out of the bottle, “and now you
are going to have the last of the drink. There
are two glasses left, and you shall have both of
them. Whenever we meet again, if Heaven pleases,
we will crack a bottle together. I love a brave
lad, and if age had not taken the oil out of my
joints, I should have liked nothing better than to
bear you company. Now drink that off for it will
keep you warm in the water.”
Going down Ship Quay Street together, they
passed through the gate and came out upon the
quay. The night was very dark and a slight drizzling
rain had begun to fall. On both sides of the
river they could see many lights, some moving,
some stationary, and could hear the sound of voices
calling and answering from the other bank. But
the river was flowing darkly at their feet, and a
night better suited for his purpose Gervase could
hardly have found. When he had divested himself
of his boots coat and vest, he stuck the short knife
in his belt, and fastened round his waist with a strip
.bn 301.png
.pn +1
of canvas the piece of bladder in which the letter
from Walker was rolled.
“God bless you, my lad, and send you safe back
to us. I feel even like the patriarch when he
would have offered up his son, but here too, it
is my trust the Lord will not require a life.”
“I feel that I shall come back, colonel,” said
Gervase; “never fear for me. Have the bonfires ready
to give us a welcome.”
The old man in the excess of his emotion, took
him in his arms and kissed him on the forehead,
and then Gervase wringing his hand, dropped noiselessly
into the water and struck out into the stream.
He knew that it was necessary for him to husband
his strength for it would all be needed; so after he
found himself well in the middle of the river, he
began to swim slowly, and to let the current carry
him down. If the night should continue dark it
would be impossible that he could be discovered
from the land; he himself could only dimly make
out the banks, and trusted to the lights to help him
to direct his course. But the rain had ceased and
he feared that the clouds were beginning to break;
in the moonlight they could hardly fail to see him.
Still, every yard he made was a yard nearer
safety, and to some extent lessened the chances of
discovery, for the further he descended the stream,
the more lax in all likelihood would their vigilance
become.
As he swam on steadily with a slow strong
stroke, his thoughts were busy with many things.
.bn 302.png
.pn +1
He thought of Dorothy, who loved him and would
repay him for his labour; of Macpherson, whose
brave spirit was perhaps keeping him company on
this perilous venture; and pardonably enough, of
the honour he would gain for this deed. It never
occurred to him that having reached the ships there
would be any difficulty about the relief of the city.
When once his story had been told, they must up
with their anchors, if there was any manhood among
them, and try the mettle of their guns. He imagined
to himself with what joy Dorothy would welcome
him back when he came among the first with the
good news.
So he swam on for half an hour carried slowly
down by the current, and then for the first time he
began to feel that he had overestimated his strength,
and that his extremities were growing numb and
cold. He had long since passed the lights of Pennyburn;
he must now be coming close to the boom
where would be his first great danger, for the lights
yonder on either side of the river must be the lights
of the forts that guarded the barrier. The water
seemed somehow to have grown colder and less
buoyant, and worst of all, the moon was beginning
to show through the masses of broken cloud. Three
months ago he would have found little difficulty in
swimming twice the distance, but now he dragged
himself with difficulty through the water, and his
shoulders were growing stiff and painful. What if
he failed to reach the fleet after all! His mind was
filled with despair at the thought, and he pulled
.bn 303.png
.pn +1
himself together with an effort and swam on with
an obstinate determination to keep himself afloat.
With the wind blowing freshly, the waves came
leaping past him with an icy shiver that seemed to
take away his strength.
But there was gradually forcing itself upon his
mind the conviction that, after all, he must land and
make his way upon foot till he came opposite to
where the ships were riding at anchor. It would
be better to make for the shore at once while three
hours of darkness still remained, for when the light
came it would be impossible to travel. While he
was making up his mind as to where it would be
safest for him to land, the moon came out suddenly
with a startling brilliance, lighting up the river and
the banks on either side. He could now see Charles
Fort distinctly, and he fancied that he could discern
lying across the river the dark fabric of the boom,
with the water leaping into white waves against it.
It was out of the question to attempt to cross the
barrier now; even where he was swimming his
position was perilous in the extreme.
Then he saw, near the shore, a small hooker
lying at anchor, and almost without knowing why
he struck out towards it. There was little or no
likelihood of there being anyone on board and if,
as seemed to be the case, he should have to lie
concealed the whole of the day, he might find some
food on board the little craft. He swam cautiously
round her, but he could hear no sound; then catching
hold of the cable, he lifted himself up by the bowsprit
.bn 304.png
.pn +1
and found himself on board. She was decked
forward, and though he did not know for what
purpose she was used, there was a large gun covered
with a piece of canvas lying amidships. But though
there was no one on board, a small lamp suspended
from a beam was burning dimly in the forecastle.
He felt that it would not be wise to tarry long, so
diving hastily down the companion, he began to
investigate the contents of the lockers. In one he
found several louis which he left undisturbed, but in
another to his joy he discovered some oat-cakes
and a quantity of rum in a case bottle. The latter
was particularly welcome, and after a dram he felt
that he had got a new lease of strength and
vigour.
The circulation was beginning to return to his
hands and feet. He sat down on the edge of a
bunk and chafed his limbs till the cramp that he
had begun to experience, was entirely gone. He
was beginning to think that it was time to take
his departure, when he heard the sound of oars
creaking in their rowlocks and voices almost
alongside. Hastily extinguishing the light he drew
out the knife with which he was armed, and creeping
out of the forecastle dropped cautiously down
close to the great gun, where he concealed himself
under the canvas. Then as the bow of a boat
grated against the side of the hooker, he could see
from where he lay a man and a lad clambering on
board, the latter with the painter in his hand.
“Make fast,” said the former, “and come and help
.bn 305.png
.pn +1
me to get the mainsail up. They´ll be aboard in
an hour.”
The man made his way into the forecastle growling
and swearing at the lamp having gone out,
while the boy clambered over the boom and made
fast the painter to a ring in the stern-sheets.
Gervase had hoped that the boy might have
followed the man into the forecastle, and that he
himself might then have dropped overboard unperceived.
But in this he was disappointed, for the
boy instead of going below began to unloose the
earing by which the mainsail was fastened, whistling
as he did so with a clear shrill note that Gervase
remembered for years afterwards.
Presently the man came up from below swearing
at the boy for the noise he was making, and
began to take in a fathom or two of the cable by
which the craft was moored. There seemed to
Gervase no chance of escaping unperceived, and a
better opportunity than this might not present itself.
So while the man knelt with his back turned towards
him, and the boy was fumbling with the halyards
in the darkness, he rose from his place of concealment
and leaped upon the bulwark.
The lad hearing the noise turned round with a
look of terror on his face. “Holy Mother of God!”
he cried, “it´s a spirit;” and as the man turned
round where he was kneeling at the cat-heads, he
seemed for a moment to share his belief and
participate in his alarm.
As Gervase dropped noiselessly into the water
.bn 306.png
.pn +1
they were both too bewildered to raise any alarm,
and the river bed was already under his feet before
he heard their outcry. Then they called out loudly
to someone on the shore. Wading through the
water toward the land, Gervase noticed for the
first time a low fort built of sods and rough timber
close to the bank. At the hubbub that was raised
by the crew of the hooker, the door was opened
and a man came down towards the water´s edge
in the uniform of a French sergeant.
Seeing Gervase come upon the bank and mistaking
him for one of the crew he called out, “Que le
diable faites-vous ce bruit, coquin?” But as he
came down and saw the young fellow closer,
clad only in his shirt and breeches, he immediately
divined what was wrong and came running down
the bank. Gervase waited till he came close up;
then, and it was an old trick he had learned years
before, he put out his foot and struck him a
tremendous blow with his left hand. The man
went headlong into the water, and without waiting
to see what became of him, Gervase ran at full
speed along the bank, and never halted to take
breath till he found himself in the shelter of the
wood, that at that time grew thick along the bank.
He knew that in a short time the pursuit would
be hot after him and that there was not a moment
to be lost. But to hasten was another matter; his
feet were torn and bleeding, and so painful that
he could hardly put them to the ground. While
he sat down to rest his head swam like one in a
.bn 307.png
.pn +1
vertigo. But if he was to carry out his mission
he could not rest now. He tore off a piece of
his shirt which he wrapped tightly round his
wounded feet, and set off again. The only way in
which he could make certain that he was travelling
in the right direction was by keeping close to the
river, which he caught sight of from time to time
through the trees. But his motion was necessarily
slow; it was terrible work picking his way over
the fallen branches and rough stones that jarred
his nerves whenever he set his feet upon them.
But the fate of the city was on his shoulders and
the hope of the woman he loved.
It seems strange to me, the writer, and may
seem strange to you who read, but the last words
of his sweetheart restored his drooping heart and
renewed his failing strength whenever he thought
of them through this adventurous journey.
The night was nearly over and the dawn was
coming up, when he still found himself in the wood,
dragging one foot slowly after another. How far
he had gone he could not tell, but he knew that
he must have travelled several miles, and could not
be far from his destination. He feared to leave the
shelter of the wood, but he knew that he could not
spend the day here, for he was already becoming
weary and was consumed by a raging thirst. After
a while the wood broke and there was a stretch
of fields before him, with farther on some growing
timber and a ruined building.
But with awakened hope he could now see the
.bn 308.png
.pn +1
ships where they rode at anchor some two miles
away. While it was yet a grey light he determined
to take advantage of it, and gladly left the
tangle of the wood for the soft, green turf that gave
him some relief in walking. Then he came to a
running water where he quenched his thirst and
bathed his wounds. Following the course of the
stream would bring him to the beach where there
was standing a house, probably a fisherman´s cottage,
surrounded by a fence and a few fruit trees growing
about it. It was yet probably too early for the
inmates to be astir, and the hope dawned upon him
that he might perhaps be able to find a boat upon
the beach, for he knew that any thought of swimming
was now out of the question. There was a
further advantage in following the little stream, for the
briars grew thick along its course and would afford
him shelter, while the country was open beyond.
He did not hesitate, but set off with as much speed
as he could make. His destination was now in
sight and his chance of escape had considerably
increased. If he had only another half hour of twilight,
he thought; but this was not to be, for it was
rapidly growing lighter, and as he came down to
the cottage it was already broad day.
He had just gained the fence that surrounded
the cottage, when looking back he saw a body of
dragoons beating the edge of the wood that he
had left half an hour before. They had not caught
sight of him for their attention was fixed on the
fern and briars that skirted the wood, but he had
.bn 309.png
.pn +1
not a moment to lose. He could not retrace his
steps and so gain the friendly shelter of the little
stream, nor could he now make for the beach as
had been at first his intention. But crushing his
way through the thorn hedge, he came into a little
garden. The door of the house was lying open, and
he saw what he had not noticed before, that the
inmates must be already astir, for a thick smoke was
rising into the morning air. He knew that his
pursuers could not fail to find him in the garden,
and he determined to take his chance, and to trust
to the humanity of the people in the cottage to
conceal him. This resolution he had taken not
without some hope of finding friends, for there was
a homeliness and air of comfort in the place that
seemed to him little in keeping with the character
of the Celt.
When he entered the door he found himself in
a spacious kitchen. A woman was standing on the
hearth cooking some fish that gave forth an appetizing
smell. As she heard him coming in she dropped
the frying pan, and running over to the corner of
the dresser, seized an old musket that was lying
against it.
“For God´s sake, hear me,” cried Gervase; “do
not shoot.”
“What do you want?” she said, still holding the
weapon ready for use and looking at him with a
doubtful air. Her speech at once assured him that
he had found a friend.
“I have come from the city,” he said; “I have
.bn 310.png
.pn +1
been travelling all night and am trying for the ships.
The dragoons are after me now, and if you do
not help me, I will be taken.”
She dropped the musket, and running over took
hold of him by both hands. “My poor lad, my poor
lad,” she cried, “you are but a woeful sight. If
they haven´t seen you coming in I think I can
save you. My good man lay a day in the loft
and they couldn´t find him, though they searched
high up and low down. He´s in the city like yourself
and now--but I would like to ask you a question
or two. Where are they now?”
“Close by the edge of the wood and I think
they are coming down this way.”
“Then my questions will keep. You´ll step softly
after me, for the young folk are still asleep upstairs,
and it would never do they should see you now.
I was before Derry myself,” she continued, as she
led the way up the ladder to the loft above the
kitchen, “but they are well-mannered enough and
don´t trouble me now.”
In the loft above were two beds, in one of which
three flaxen-headed boys were lying sound asleep,
and as Gervase followed her the woman gave a
warning gesture, and stopped for a moment to
look at them. Then with Gervase´s assistance she
noiselessly pulled away the other bed, and disclosed
a recess in the wall which was wide enough to
admit him. “Get in there,” she said, “and I´ll
call you when they are gone. If they haven´t seen
you they´ll never think of looking there; if they
.bn 311.png
.pn +1
have, God help me and the children--but I´ll do
more than that for the good cause.”
When she had left him and had gone down the
ladder after replacing the bed, Gervase began to
regret that he had imperilled the safety of the
kindly soul who had shown anxiety to assist
him. But it was not his own safety that was at
stake; it was that of the city and the lives of the
citizens.
He lay listening for the sound of his pursuers,
but the moments seemed to lengthen into hours
and still they did not make their appearance. Meanwhile
the good woman downstairs had gone on
cooking the breakfast for herself and the children,
and had set out the rough earthenware on the
table by the window. When she saw the dragoons
coming across the fields straight toward the house,
she walked to the threshold and met them with an
unconcerned smile on her face. “You are early
astir this morning,” she said. “Is there to be more
trouble in these parts? I´m thinking, Captain Lambert,
I´ve seen you before.”
“Troth, that is very possible,” was the answer,
“and I don´t think you have seen the last of me
either. Now, look here, I want you to tell me the
truth, a thing most women find hard enough to do,
but the truth I must have or I´ll know the reason,
why. Have you seen anybody afoot this morning?”
She looked at him with an air of well-assumed
astonishment.--"Why, ´tis barely five, and the
children, bless their hearts, are still abed. My good
.bn 312.png
.pn +1
man, you know, is away yonder, and the neighbours
don´t trouble me now."
“Come, my lads, we must search the house.
We´ll get nothing out of her, she´s as close as
perdition.”
“If you´ll tell me what you want,” she said, “I
would try and answer you. The boys are sleeping
upstairs and there is nobody below but myself.”
“A fellow from the city has come this way, and
I´ll take my oath he´s here or hereabouts.”
“God help him then, for I think he´ll get little
further.”
“That´s as may be, but we´ll see if he´s here at
any rate. Now, my men, don´t leave a mousehole
that you don´t go to the bottom of. I´ve a shrewd
suspicion that he´s not far off.”
They searched the garden and lower part of the
house without success, and then ascended the ladder
into the loft. The boys were asleep when they
came up, but the noise awakened them, and frightened
at the red coats of whom they stood in deadly
terror, they set up a great crying which highly
amused the soldiers. It may also have somewhat
diverted their attention, for they failed to find the
hiding-place in which Gervase lay concealed. Returning
downstairs they reported that it was impossible
that the prisoner could have concealed himself
above, at which the good woman who was entertaining
the captain, expressed her unbounded surprise.
“I thought,” she said, “you would have brought
.bn 313.png
.pn +1
him down with you. I´m sure my man would be
glad to hear there was somebody in his wife´s
bedroom. But you have strange notions, you soldiers,
and I´m sorry, Captain, I can´t ask you to
stay and share the breakfast with me.”
The dragoon laughed good-humouredly and flung
a couple of coins on the table. “We´re not so
black as we´re painted,” he said, “and there´s for
your trouble; but had we found him it would have
been another story. Now, my men, to the rightabout
and let us make up the stream the way we
came. He hasn´t left the wood yet.”
When they had quitted the house, the woman
took her pail and followed them as far as the well,
watching them till they had reached the wood and
disappeared among the trees. Then she released
Gervase from his hiding-place and he was now in no
enviable condition either of mind or of body. He
was so weak that he found it difficult to make his
way down the ladder into the kitchen, and he could
scarcely set his feet to the ground. The woman
looked at him with a face on which compassion was
plainly written; then she went over to a press and
took out a coat that belonged to her husband,
a coarse shirt, and a pair of worsted stockings.
“Now,” she said, “just step behind there, and make
yourself cosy in these. If Sandy Graham was at
home he would make you welcome to the best he
has. Then you´ll come and sit down and tell me
about my good man and the city, and how they
fare there while I make ready something to eat,
.bn 314.png
.pn +1
for God knows you look as if you needed it.”
Gervase gladly did as he was directed, and when
he was dressed, as gladly fell to upon the fresh fish
and coarse bread which seemed to him the sweetest
meat he had ever partaken of in his life.
While he went on with his breakfast he answered
the numerous inquiries as well as he was able,
while the boys, who were now stirring, gathered
round in admiration of the young giant for whom
their father´s ample coat was far too scanty. “I´m
sorry you don´t know Sandy,” she said; “it would
have been some comfort to know that you had seen
him. I knew it was ill with you in the city, but
I never thought it was as bad as that. They´ll be
thinking of ye now with an anxious heart.”
“They know nothing about me,” Gervase said;
“only Colonel Walker and myself are in the secret.
If I fail----”
“Tut, man, ye´ll not fail now. I think,” she
went on, looking at him admiringly, “ye could find
a way in anything. You just take a rest on the
bed upstairs, and I´ll watch that you´re not disturbed.
They´re not bad bodies, the redcoats, and
they haven´t troubled me much since I came back from
Londonderry. In the evening I´ll see you farther.”
“If I only could find a boat,” Gervase said: “I
could never reach the fleet by swimming now.”
“I´ve been thinking of that,” she answered;
“there´s a bit of a coble lying in the cove, but the
oars are gone and it must be leaky as a sieve, for
it had been lying there all the summer.”
.bn 315.png
.pn +1
Gervase caught the idea eagerly. “Anything
that will keep me afloat; I care not what it is.
Mistress Graham, we´ll save the city between us.”
“There ye go,” she said, with a smile of gratified
vanity. “Ye could never make the two miles in
yon crazy tub, but I´ll see through the day if I
can´t turn my hand to caulking her myself. I´ve
seen it done and I think I can try it, but what you´ll
do for oars I know not. However, the tide will
help you and you´ll manage somehow, never fear.
It will be a great day when ye meet Sandy in the
Diamond, and tell him I helped you through.”
Throughout the day Gervase remained undisturbed
in the cottage. A patrol had been stationed a little
distance further along the shore, but they had not
again visited the house. Two or three times he
heard their shouts as they passed at a distance.
Mistress Graham had kept her promise, and as
well as she was able, had patched up the little boat,
which she dragged into the water and left floating
in the cove. By using one of the planks which
had been left in the little craft as a paddle, she
hoped that he would be able to make his way to
the ships. All was now ready for his journey, and
it only wanted the help of the darkness to allow
him to set out.
.tb
It was a bright moonlight night when they went
down to the beach together. There was not an air
to ruffle the surface of the water, and they could
see very plainly a couple of miles away the riding
.bn 316.png
.pn +1
lights of the ships at anchor. The patrol that had
been in the vicinity of the cottage during the day
had apparently been withdrawn, for they had not been
in sight since sundown. Gervase found the coble
more than half full of water, which took him some
time to bale out, and when he was ready to start
he wrung the hand of the kind-hearted woman
warmly. “I have no time to spare,” he said.
“God reward you for all your kindness! You had
better go back to the house now, for if I should
be discovered it would only bring you into trouble.
I hope we´ll meet under better fortune. Farewell.”
He pushed off, and sitting down amid ships began
to make his way slowly from the shore. The
woman returned to the door of the cottage, where
she stood watching till the black speck was swallowed
up in the darkness.
.bn 317.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVIII. | OF HOW GERVASE REACHED THE SHIPS.
.sp 2
The coble was a poor sea boat and very heavy
for its size. The piece of timber that Gervase used
was a wretched substitute for an oar, and while the
tide carried him rapidly down he could see that he
made little progress towards the ships. If he should
drift past them it was impossible that he could
ever make his way against the current, and he must
be carried out to sea. Fortunately the night was
clear, and the wind blew in fitful airs, coming from
the shore. Notwithstanding his utmost exertion the
boat hardly seemed to move, and when he looked
round it was already two hundred yards from the
shore. He knew that he was still far from being
safe from pursuit. He could still easily be seen
from the shore in the broad moonlight, and once
observed his pursuers would have no difficulty in
finding a boat in which they might easily overtake
him. He put his heart into every stroke, till the
perspiration began to run from his brows and his
arms ached till he could almost have cried out for
the pain. But he was making his way, however
slowly; he could now see the vessels and the yards
with the sails flapping idly against the masts. Over
.bn 318.png
.pn +1
the water came the sound of a bell, perhaps calling
up the watch, and for the first time he realized how
near he was to safety. But the boat seemed to
him to go more slowly, and to have grown more
difficult to move. Then he looked down and saw
that the water was almost up to the thwarts. There
was nothing for it but to abandon the paddle and
bale out the water, which proved a long and laborious
task. When he had accomplished little more
than half the work, he saw that a little more delay
would bring him opposite to the ships and still far
from being within hail. Again he seized his paddle
and strained every nerve to make up the way he
had lost. His mind was almost distraught with
fear; he worked like one possessed; nearer indeed,
he came, but Oh! how slowly. The boat would
not move in this sea of lead; his muscles were
beginning to refuse to act, and to his eyes the sea
had grown red, like a sea of blood. His last hope
was dying in his heart. To be so near the end of
his journey, to have passed through such perils, and
to have failed after all--the thought was maddening.
Still he would not give way, and he knitted his
brows and set his teeth hard. Then as he bent
forward the paddle slipped from his hand, and went
floating away astern. With a despairing cry, weakened
as he was, he fell down in the bottom of the boat,
and covered his face with his hands. It was all
over; he was beaten at last, and had failed as the
others had failed before him. For a minute or two
he lay overcome by his despair; the sense of hopeless
.bn 319.png
.pn +1
failure swallowed up every other feeling. The
thought of present danger did not present itself to
his mind; he had seen too many brave men meet
their death in these latter days not willingly to
adventure his own life lightly. His head reeled, his
mouth was parched, and his eyes throbbed with an
intolerable pain. Then almost without knowing
what he did, he rose to his feet and tried to call
out. At first he could not articulate the words, but
his voice died away in a feeble murmur. How
near he seemed! the spars stood out plainly against
the sky, and the lights were burning clear and bright.
He thought once he could hear the sound of the mariners
calling as they lay out on the spars of the
brig that was riding nearest to him.
Again he called out--"Ship Ahoy!" and this
time his voice came strong and full, but though
he stood and listened there was no response to
his shout. A third time he called out, and then
to his inexpressible delight he heard a hoarse voice
coming over the water, “Ahoy! what boat is that?”
Rising once more to his feet he called through
his hands, “Help! Help!” and sank exhausted
in the bottom of the boat, incapable of making any
further effort. He waited anxiously but there came
no further response, and the little boat went drifting
down with the tide. He began to fear that they
had not heard his second call. Then--hours after
it seemed--he heard the measured sweep of oars
and the sound of voices coming nearer. But for
his life he could not raise himself above the gunwhale;
.bn 320.png
.pn +1
his strength had left him, and he was as feeble as a
child.
But they had caught sight of the little craft where
it tossed about in the space of moonlit water, and
in a minute or two the ship´s boat was alongside.
Gervase was trying without success to answer the
questions the mate of the brig was putting to him.
Divining at a glance his condition they lifted him
into the boat, and one of the seamen with kindly
pity threw his rough jacket over him as they rowed
to the brig. He lay in the bottom of the boat
utterly helpless and unable to move; but his heart
was full of inexpressible emotion, for he had accomplished
his work and saved the city.
He remembered rowing round the brig and seeing
the words “Phoenix of Coleraine” painted in large
white letters on the stern, but he fainted away as
they lifted him over the side of the boat, and
knew nothing more till he found himself lying in
the round-house of the brig.
“What piece of goods have ye got there,
McKeller?” the master said, standing by the shrouds,
and looking over the bulwark as they lifted Gervase
aboard.
“As fine a lad as ever I saw in my life, but thin
as a whipping-post--a messenger I think, from
Londonderry. Gently, my lads, easy with his head.
Six feet two of manhood, and I guess a rare good
one with his whinger if he had his senses about
him.”
They carried him to the round-house, and laying
.bn 321.png
.pn +1
him on the floor, poured a dram of aqua-vitæ down
his throat, but for a long time he showed no sign
of life. Then they noticed the letter where it was
secured.
“You were right, McKeller,” said the master,
as he handed the case bottle to the mate, “the
youngster comes from Londonderry, and he brings
the message with him. Mayhap ´twill stir up the
Colonel at last, and I trust it will, for the sake of
Tom Robinson and my sister Marjorie. My God!
what that young fellow must have come through;
and a gentleman too, as I judge by the gewgaws
on his finger.”
“Ay,” answered the mate drily, “and you have
given him a pint of pure spirits by way of welcome.
You´ll hardly hear about Tom Robinson for a while
after that.”
“Never fear; these long-legged fellows stand a
lot of moistening. I wouldn´t for half my share in
the good ship Phoenix have missed hearing the lad´s
hail this night; he never would have lived through
a night in the boat--but he´s beginning to come
round.”
Gervase showed signs of returning consciousness.
His first action was to feel for the precious letter,
and then he opened his eyes and looked round him
with a gaze of vacant inquiry. “Where am I?”
he said.
“Why, just aboard the brig Phoenix, Andrew
Douglas, Master, hailing from Coleraine, and bound
with the help of God, for the port of Londonderry;
.bn 322.png
.pn +1
and among your friends if you are what I take you
to be. Now don´t trouble your head but just take
a drop more of this.” The kindly shipmaster put
the bottle to his lips and insisted on his drinking.
“Ye´ll kill him,” said the mate; “ye think that
everybody has the same stomach for strong waters
as yourself. It´s food he wants, I´ll warrant, not
drink.”
“And food he´ll have,” cried the master excitedly,
“when I´ve brought back the colour to his cheeks,
and he´ll be on his legs in a twinkling. Here, Jack,
you skulking rogue, set out the best there is on
board, and make us a bowl of punch, for by ----,
I´ll drink the health of the bravest fellow I´ve clapt
eyes on for a twelvemonth.”
“You would drink with less provocation than
that,” said the mate, lifting Gervase to his feet and
helping him to a seat. “Now ye can tell us the
news from Londonderry, lad, if it´s true ye come
from there.”
“I came thence to-day--yesterday,” said Gervase.
“They can hold out no longer. Where is Colonel
Kirke? I must see him immediately.”
The master looked at his mate with a broad grin
on his face. “Faith ye´ll not see the Colonel to-night,
nor early in the morning either. If he´s not
abed by this time and as drunk as a lord, he´s on
the fair way to it, and swearing like a dragoon with
a broken head. He´s a terrible man in his cups,
is Kirke, and they keep it up rarely on board the
Swallow. I love the clink of a glass
.bn 323.png
.pn +1
myself, but--hoot! there´s no use talking. If you´re
able, spin us your yarn while they´re getting you
something warm, for you must want a heap of
filling out to look like the man you were.”
Gervase told his story shortly as well as he was
able, interrupted repeatedly by exclamations of wonder
and horror by the captain and the mate, and
when he had finished they sat staring at him open-mouthed.
“That is the tale as briefly as I can tell it,” said
Gervase, “and you will not wonder that I would
put the letter in Kirke´s hands with all the haste
I can. Next Wednesday there will not be a scrap
of food in the city, and if you wait till then you
may lift your anchors and go back to where you
came from. For God´s sake, tell me what you are
waiting for?”
“Till Kirke has emptied his puncheons,” said
the mate bitterly.
“Not a soul on board the fleet thought it was
going so hard with you, but you had better see
Leake, who is a plain-spoken man with some authority.
I hear he is all for making up the river, and
your story will help him to move the scarlet-coated
butcher who is but half-hearted in the business.”
“Colonel Kirke I must see first,” said Gervase;
“my message is to him, and when he reads Walker´s
letter he can hesitate no longer. All that is wanted
is the wind and the tide. There need be no fear
of the guns, for in Londonderry we have learned
what they can do.”
.bn 324.png
.pn +1
The skipper had said nothing, but sat leaning his
head on his horny hand. Then he seemed to awaken
from his fit of abstraction. “And poor Tom is gone,
you tell me? He was a younger man than myself
by half a score of years, and as likely a fellow as ever
lived when I danced at his wedding nine years
syne. A putrid fever, you say. Odds, I would
like you could have told me how it is with Marjorie
and the young ones.”
“He chanced to be of my regiment,” said Gervase,
“and that is how I came to know his end. But
many a brave fellow has fallen into his last sleep
yonder, and all for want of a little manhood
here.”
“For God´s sake tell me no more of your story,”
said the master, “but even fall to on the boiled
beef, and don´t spare the liquor. For myself, please
Heaven, I´ll drink the taste of your yarn out of
my mouth, though belike it will take a hogshead
at the least to do it.”
The master was as good as his word; while
Gervase and the mate sat down at the lower end
of the table, he produced a great bottle from a
locker, and poured out a large measure of spirit,
which he drank at a draught without any dilution
of water. He filled the glass a second time and
drank it without a word. It was clear that he was
determined to drown his grief, and as Gervase
glanced at him from time to time in amazement, he
went on steadily until the bottle was nearly empty.
The mate said nothing, only shaking his head as though
.bn 325.png
.pn +1
the sight was not a novel one and remonstrance
was out of the question. “He´ll maunder a bit
by-and-by,” he said in an undertone, “and then
he´ll turn in; ´tis the way of him--he´s a good
Christian and a rare seaman, but liquorish. We´ve
all our faults and he was born with a thirst. Surely
ye haven´t finished? why, man, I thought ye were
starved yonder, and ye haven´t done more than
nibble at the good meat!”
“Try the punch,” said the master, by this time
some way in his cups, with his face shining like a
furnace; “try the grog, and never mind McKeller;
I have to do his drinking and my own as well,
and ´tis devilish hard work, let me tell you. No
man can say that Andrew Douglas ever shirked
his duty.”
“When it came in the shape of rum puncheons,”
said the mate. “Now ye´ll just turn in, and I´ll
see that the young gentleman is made comfortable.”
The master was induced to retire with a good
deal of difficulty, while Gervase and the mate sat
down to a long talk together, as the result of which
Gervase came to the conclusion that all his difficulties
were not yet over. Then he turned in and forgot
all his troubles in a sound and refreshing sleep.
.bn 326.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIX. | OF A STORMY INTERVIEW.
.sp 2
Gervase slept soundly that night on board the
Phoenix, and in the morning the mate insisted on
his making use of his shore-going suit, into which
Gervase was able to get with some difficulty.
When he came on deck the day was bright and
cloudless, with a warm sweet air blowing from the
north-west and the sea hardly broken by a ripple.
The ships lay at anchor near them; the Dartmouth
with her rows of guns showing through the open
ports; beyond lay the Swallow and a little further
away the Mountjoy, both of which vessels Gervase
had seen before.
But his first glance was toward the city lying
far up the river, and he was filled with joy when
he caught sight of the crimson flag still flying from
the Cathedral Tower.
The master was early astir and met Gervase on
the deck, with his red face freshly shaven and clad
in his best suit which had been brought out for
the occasion. He was very contrite over his last
night´s potations, and made many polite inquiries
as to how his guest had passed the night. The
anxiety of Gervase to be put on board the Swallow
.bn 327.png
.pn +1
to deliver his message to Kirke, was so great that
he could hardly restrain his impatience during the
breakfast to which the master and himself sat down
together. But they had assured him that the Colonel
had not slept off the fumes of his last night´s
excesses, and that of all men he was the least
approachable in the morning. It was necessary to
find Kirke in good humour; so Gervase stifled his
impatience, though his feelings were so strong and
so bitter that he doubted whether a less fitting
messenger than himself could have been found for
his errand.
“Ye´ll just tell him your plain story like a plain
man,” said the mate, “and leave the rest in the
hands of the Almighty. I know ye´ll find it hard
to shorten sail, but ´tis the only way ye´ll make the
port after all.”
“I don´t understand the matter at all,” Gervase
answered. “Here am I with a message to yon
sluggard that should make his ears tingle for the
duty he has neglected and the days he has wasted
in useless waiting. One would think ´twas a favour
I was begging at his hands. When His Majesty
hears----”
“Tut, man, His Majesty--God bless him! will
never come to know the rights of it. Just put
your pride in your pocket and take as a favour--when
ye get it--what should come to you by right.
I don´t see myself that the thing is as easy as ye
make it. A ship´s timbers are dainty enough, and
yon boom´s an ugly sort of thing; not to speak of
.bn 328.png
.pn +1
the cannon in the forts and the channel--that´s
ticklish at the best of times.”
“When a kingdom´s at stake, one might run a
little danger without being foolhardy.”
“I´m not saying that he mightn´t and I would
willingly try it myself if I had the chance, but you
must make allowances. I hear they had a parson
aboard there the other day who gave them some
plain speech and got a flea in his ear for his pains.
Fair and softly will carry for many a mile. I´ll
go with you myself and maybe put in a good word
if I can. The boats are ready and we´ll be alongside
in a twinkling.”
.tb
As they rowed towards the Swallow, which
carried Kirke´s flag, Gervase´s mind was full of the
way in which he should deliver his message, while
Douglas sat beside him pouring his homely counsel
into his ear. It was evident that the latter stood
in no little dread of the commander who had won
for himself an unenviable notoriety for cruelty and
severity, and was clearly doubtful of the reception
that awaited an envoy who knew so little regarding
the character of the man with whom he had to
deal. But Gervase had determined that if all else
failed he would speak out his mind without any
fear of the consequences. He had not undertaken
this perilous journey and faced so many dangers to
shrink from plain speech if that would serve his
purpose.
The master of the Phoenix on the news being
.bn 329.png
.pn +1
brought that Kirke would receive them immediately
in the gunroom, was like to have turned tail
incontinently and left Gervase to face the redoubtable
soldier alone. “The boatswain yonder is an
old crony of mine,” he said, “and we don´t often
have a chance of a quiet word. I wish you all
luck, but I think I´ll step forward and have a bit
of speech while you do your errand.”
“By your leave, but the General must see you
both, Master Douglas,” said the man who had
brought the message; “if you don´t come now I´ll
have to fetch you by the ears by-and-by. He hath
ten thousand blue devils tearing his liver this
morning, so that we cannot bind or hold him. But
you have seen the General after a wet night with
a head wind in the morning.”
“I was a fool to come aboard,” Douglas muttered.
“Speak to him fair and soft, Mr. Orme,” he continued,
taking Gervase by the arm, “if ye would have the
tyke listen to ye, but for God´s sake don´t cross
him.”
“I´ll tell him a plain story that wants no gloss,”
Gervase answered. “You need not be afraid that
I shall speak outside my commission. Now, sir,
I am at your service.”
“He´ll get a flea in his ear,” muttered Douglas,
letting go his arm, and dropping behind. “Send
me well out of this.”
When they entered the gunroom, Gervase saw
a small knot of officers seated at breakfast, which
was nearly over. At the head of the table was the
.bn 330.png
.pn +1
man he had come so far to seek and who carried
the destiny of the city in his hands. His dark brow
was blotched and seamed by excesses, his eyes
were prominent and bloodshot, and his jaws, heavy
and coarse, gave to his face an expression of ferocity
and obstinacy. He lay back lazily in his chair, his
throat divested of his cravat, and his richly-laced
waistcoat unbuttoned and thrown open. For a time
he did not seem to notice the new-comers, but continued
his conversation in a languid way with the
gentleman who sat on his left hand. Gervase who
had come into the centre of the room, stood silent
for a minute or two, waiting for some sign of
recognition, but Kirke, studiously ignoring his presence,
never once looked up. Then Gervase stung
into action by what seemed merely studied insult,
quietly came forward and laid Walker´s letter on
the table.
“I was charged, sir, to deliver this into your
hand without fail at the earliest moment. It brooks
of no delay.”
“And who the devil are you, sir?”
“A humble gentleman who with some peril to
himself has succeeded in escaping from the city
and finding his way thither. But the letter I carry
will tell its own tale.”
“They might have chosen a messenger with
better manners,” said Kirke, taking up the missive,
“but these citizens know no better.”
“These citizens, sir, have set you a lesson which
you have not been fain to follow,” cried Gervase,
.bn 331.png
.pn +1
disregarding all the hints he had received and giving
vent to the indignation that had become ungovernable.
“For nine weeks they have served His Majesty
as king was never served before; spent themselves
in his service; seen their wives and children dying
before them; and now they want to know what
you have done and what you purpose doing?”
For a moment or two the general, who was not
accustomed to such speech in the mouth of a rough
seaman, as Gervase seemed, sat astonished and
aghast. Then he leapt to his feet and pushed over
the chair he had been sitting on. “God´s wounds!
I´ll teach you to use such words to me if there´s
a yard-arm on the ship. Who are you that dares
to question me in my own vessel. You hear him,
gentlemen, you hear him, by ----”
“They have heard us both, sir, and I wish His
Majesty could have heard us also,” cried Gervase,
who saw that there was only one way to deal
with the hectoring bully of whom most men stood
in awe. “They have heard us and they may judge
between us. I hold the King´s commission like
yourself, and can answer for my conduct in any
fitting time or place. But this matter is of more
importance than your dignity or mine. The salvation
of some thousand lives depends upon it, and the
last hold of His Majesty upon Ulster and Ireland.
Colonel Walker hath bidden me place this letter
in your hands without delay. I have only done
my duty, and am no whit afraid of you or of any
other man living.”
.bn 332.png
.pn +1
Gervase had spoken quietly and with a fine glow
on his cheeks. The gentlemen at the table who
had preserved an expectant silence, looked at one
another with a chuckle of amusement as Kirke
broke the envelope without a word. In the reading
he glanced once or twice at Gervase, and when he
had finished he threw the paper with an oath across
the table. “Read that, Leake,” he said. “This
parson in the buff coat thinks that round shot can
be cooked like peas, and that a ship´s sides are
harder than stone walls. To hear him one would
think that we had no more than an hour´s sail to
find ourselves at the quay, with meat and mutton
to fill these yokels´ bellies.”
The gentleman to whom he had thrown the letter,
a bluff, red-faced sailor, with a frank brave look
that met you honestly, read the letter in silence,
and then spread it open before him. “You had
better hear what the young gentleman has to say.
Colonel Walker seems to trust him implicitly, and
I should like to hear how he came from the city.
´Twas a bold feat and deserves a better reception
than you have given him.”
“My reception hath not closed yet,” said Kirke
savagely. “But I am ready to hear what he hath
to say, and if I find him tripping, fore God----”
“I have faced death too often during these three
weeks,” said Gervase gravely, “to fear the threats
of any man, and I will speak what is on my mind
boldly----”
“And briefly, for I am not a patient man.”
.bn 333.png
.pn +1
“We in the city trusting to the expectation of speedy
succour from England, have made our defence as I
think defence was never made before. We have lost
seven thousand men; those who remain are but
living skeletons, stricken with sore diseases. We
are distraught with our afflictions, and almost fear
rather to live than to die. We can do no more.
On Wednesday morning there will not be a pound
of meat in the magazines, and the last stronghold
of faith and freedom in Ireland will have fallen.
And this is what they say yonder and--and what
I say here. In the Lough are ships and men and
food and guns, and a water-way to the city walls.
A little courage, a bold push, and the boom that
you seem to fear would snap like a thread. And
they know not how to use their guns. We who
have listened to their music for months have ceased
to fear them.”
“And the boom,” cried Leake; “how know you
that?”
“This I know, that there never was wood yet
that could resist the edge of an axe if there were
strong arms to will it. You have long boats and
men courageous enough to try it. With your leave
I´ll show them how it can be done myself.”
“By Heaven, the lad is right If we were once
past Culmore----”
“There is no great danger there,” said Gervase,
feeling that he had met a spirit as bold and resolute
as his own, “their balls fly as innocent as wild
duck. Let the frigate hold by the fort, so that
.bn 334.png
.pn +1
under her shelter the smaller vessels may pass
unscathed.”
“We want none of your lessons,” cried Kirke;
“you have listened to sermons so long that you
have caught the trick of preaching yourself.”
“My sermon is not yet finished, General Kirke,”
continued Gervase, disregarding the hint the friendly
sailor gave him, and determined to unburden his
mind once and for all. “You have lain here and
done nothing for us. The king, I am told, hath
sent you an urgent message that the relief should
be undertaken without delay. To-day you may
carry out his commands; to-morrow you may return
to England and tell him your cowardice hath lost
him a kingdom. The lives of the starving souls
yonder will be on your head. These are bitter
words, but I speak them out of a full heart, and
if you will not listen to me now, His Majesty will
hear me presently, for as God is my witness, I will
carry my story to the foot of the throne.”
“You will carry it into the Lough with a shot at
your feet,” cried Kirke, purple with passion.
“You dare do nothing of the sort, sir, here in
the sight of these gentlemen and in the full sight
of the people of England, who will soon know the
whole matter. I am the ambassador of the governor
who holds the city for His Majesty, and it is by his
authority that I speak the words that I have used.
I am a gentleman like yourself holding His Majesty´s
commission, and owing you neither respect nor
authority.”
.bn 335.png
.pn +1
Kirke leaped to his feet, his face swollen red,
and his eyes blazing with a fierce passion that over-mastered
his speech. He caught up the scabbard
of the sword that lay beside him and attempted to
draw the blade. Then Leake, who was sitting near
Gervase, caught the outspoken envoy by the shoulders,
and while Kirke still stood swearing incoherently,
hurried him out of the gun-room. When they
reached the deck he clapped him on the back with
his broad palm, and cried with enthusiasm, “I like
your spirit, my lad; that was the way to stand by
your guns and rake him fore and aft. But it was
ticklish work, let me tell you, to tackle him that
way. He has got the wolf´s tusk in his mouth (he
learnt that in Tangier) and likes to see a pair of
heels dancing in the air. But you´ve done the
trick, I think, this time, and the old Dartmouth
will have a chance of trying her ribs against the
iron yonder. Now, clear your mind a bit and just
tell me your story like a sensible lad, for you´ve
got some common sense, and let me see if I can´t
make some use of your knowledge after all.”
“I´ve been a weak fool,” said Gervase, “to forget
myself when so much depended on my discretion.
I´ve ruined the best cause in the world.”
“You have done nothing of the sort, sir, if I can
lay a ship´s head by the compass. You have
carried your point and the burghers yonder will
hear the roaring of our guns before the day is out.
The general hath been told what we dared not tell
him in plain speech that there is no mistaking.
.bn 336.png
.pn +1
Now let me know how matters are in the city, and
what men and guns they have in the fort yonder
at Culmore.”
Then Gervase told his whole story soberly and
plainly, without colour or exaggeration, but with
such truth and effect that his hearer was so lost in
admiration that he never interrupted him till he had
drawn his tale to a close. Then he swore many
oaths, but swearing with such honest and kindly
feeling that Gervase forgave him, that such brave
fellows were worth putting their lives in peril for,
even if it did not profit His Majesty a farthing.
And then he questioned Gervase searchingly, his
eye scanning him narrowly all the time, about the
forts between the city and the castle of Culmore,
and where the cannon were posted and what was
the weight of the guns. “Now,” he said, in conclusion,
“get you back with Andrew Douglas, who
is an honest man and a good mariner, and you´ll see
what you will see. If there should be a little more
wind and more northing in it, I´ll stake my reputation
we´ll try of what strength yon timbers are, and you
and I will get our share of the glory! Glory, lad!
That stirs the blood. That thought about the long
boats was a shrewd one, and I have an idea of my own
about the way to draw their teeth at Culmore.”
Douglas was waiting for Gervase in the boat of
the Phoenix, and welcomed him with a grim smile
as he took his place beside him. He said nothing,
but motioned to the two sailors to push off and row
to the brig. When they got out of earshot, he
.bn 337.png
.pn +1
burst into a hoarse cackle of laughter that grated
unpleasantly on Gervase´s overstrung nerves.
“I wouldn´t have missed it,” he cried, clapping
his brown hands on his knees, “for a puncheon of
rum. Man, ye gave it to him finely, and ye talked
like a book straight up and down. A good
wholesail breeze all the way and lying your course
as straight as an arrow. It did my heart good to
hear you. And he couldn´t get in a word--never
a word, but stared at you out of his red bulging
eyes, and choked about the jaws like a turkey cock
strangling in a passion. You´re a well plucked one
and no mistake. I had thought to see you, as he
said, at the end of the yard-arm.”
“Yon swaggering bully is an arrant coward,”
said Gervase, “and I wonder how he came to be
chosen for a work like this. For all his bluster
I saw that he was quailing, and I was determined
that he should hear the truth for once in his life.”
“He didn´t hear a third of it, but I´m thinking
he heard as much as was good for him. Will they
move, think ye?”
“Leake says----”
“He´s a man at any rate; I´d like to know what
he says.”
“That we´ll see what we´ll see. He thinks my
speech hath done little harm, but I know not whether
it hath done any good. God grant that it hath.”
“Amen and Amen to that. Now let us go
aboard, and let us see whether your adventure has
taken away your appetite.”
.bn 338.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XX. | OF HOW THE GREAT DELIVERANCE WAS WROUGHT.
.sp 2
On their regaining the deck of the Phoenix McKeller
manifested great anxiety to hear the result of the
interview, and the master had a greatly interested
audience as he proceeded to describe the scene
with many embellishments and quaint touches of
his own. What seemed to have struck him most
was Kirke´s helpless rage, and the speechless anger
he exhibited at the attack upon his courage and
capacity.
Gervase lay against the bulwarks listening without
a word; his eyes were fixed on the square tower
of the Cathedral rising through the pall of smoke
that overhung the city. In thought he saw the
haggard gunners on the war-torn battlements, and
the sorrowing crowd pouring out from the morning
service. His mind was filled with the horror and
misery of it, and his heart was bitter within him. He
suddenly started and cleared his eyes as if he could
not trust his sight; then he looked again. “Merciful
God!” he cried, “the flag is down.”
The little knot of men round him turned to look
too, and they saw with sinking hearts that the flag,
the garrison´s token of defiance, was no longer
.bn 339.png
.pn +1
waving on the Cathedral tower. A great silence
fell upon them all--a silence in which one heard
the lapping of the water about the bows and the
distant scream of the sea-birds, startling and shrill.
“God´s curse light on all traitors and cowards!”
cried McKeller.
Then they saw two jets of fire spurt forth from
the tower, and a little later the sullen roar of the
ordnance, and the hope came into their hearts that
it was only in sign of their dire extremity that the
garrison had hauled down the flag. And they
waited and watched, and again they heard the
thunder of the cannon pealing from the tower. Then
above the crown of smoke they saw the crimson
flag run up the staff, and they knew the city was still
inviolate. An involuntary cheer broke from the
crew of the Phoenix, which was taken up by the
other vessels, and a minute or two afterwards the
Swallow fired a salvo in response.
“They have awakened up at last,” cried the
master. “Now we´ll even go below and try the
boiled beef, and mayhap a runnel of grog.”
“Not a drop of grog,” cried McKeller, “but what
boiled beef you like. The wind is freshening from
the north, and the Lord may want sober men for
this day´s work.”
The captain was not destined to join in their midday
meal; hardly had they sat down and hardly had
McKeller, who generally acted as chaplain by reason
of his superior gravity, finished the long grace by
which the meal was introduced, than a messenger
.bn 340.png
.pn +1
came from Kirke, that Douglas was to hasten with
all expedition on board the Swallow.
“The more haste the less speed,” cried the Captain,
to whom the summons was by no means a welcome
one, and who had no taste for a further interview
with Kirke. “I´ll have to answer for your speech,
Mr. Orme, I´m thinking. I wish McKeller there
was in my shoes.”
“You were still good to McKeller,” laughed the
mate, “but this time you´ll have to do your own
business.”
“I hope,” said Gervase, “that this time it means
business and not more speech. And I think it does.
Bring us the news, Master Douglas, that you are
to lift your anchor, and I´ll not forget you as long
as I live.”
“Please Heaven, you may look for your night-cap
in Derry to-night.”
“With a sound head to put it in.”
“The boat is waiting, and so is the General,” added
the mate.
The captain hurried out of the round-house, and
Gervase and the mate sat down to finish their midday
meal with but little appetite for their repast. The
conversation between them flagged, and then the
mate went out and presently returned with his
prayer-book under his arm, from which he began to
read in a low monotonous tone, following the words,
like a backward schoolboy, with his forefinger. He
never looked up but sat with his rough unkempt
head bent over the book.
.bn 341.png
.pn +1
Half an hour passed in this way, when they
heard the sound of the boat alongside and the
Captain´s voice shouting to get the mainsail set.
Presently he burst into the cabin, his face all
glowing with excitement and his small blue eyes
dancing in his head. He ran forward and caught
Gervase in both his arms, “It´s come at last, dear
lad, ´tis come at last. Your speech hath done it,
and we´ll moor by the quay to-night with the blessing
of God. This is no time for books, McKeller,
no time for books. The Lord be praised! We´re
up the river in an hour. Browning and myself and
the old Dartmouth, with Leake to give us the lead.”
Gervase and McKeller were on their feet shaking
one another by the hand. They could hardly believe
the good news. Then, overcome by his feelings so
long pent up, Gervase burst into tears and sobbed
aloud. The captain stood aghast, but the mate
laid his hand on the young fellow´s shoulder and
said with rugged kindliness: “I like you all the
better for your tears, Mr. Orme; you have shown
that you can do a man´s work, with a man´s heart
under your jacket; ´twill do you good,--rain on the
parched grass, as the book has it. Now, you old
sea dog, what are you staring at? Go on with
your story and let us know what we have to do.”
“I´ll clap you in irons for a rank mutineer,”
laughed the captain. “Lord love you, when I got
aboard Kirke was like a lamb; not a damn in him,
but all ‘By your leave´ and ‘At your pleasure´. The
council of officers had resolved to attack the passage
.bn 342.png
.pn +1
that afternoon, the wind and the tide being favourable,
and the messenger, that being you, Mr. Orme,
having brought news that rendered their instant
moving imperative, and more stuff of that kind. I
could have laughed in his face, but for the cruel
white and red in his eye. I don´t like a man to have
too much white in his eye.”
“Go on with your story.”
The Dartmouth goes first, and draws the fire at
Culmore; we go on with what speed we can till we
get to the barrier. That must give way by hook
or crook, and then up the river. A good day´s work,
I´m thinking, but the little Phoenix will do her share
if Andrew Douglas be alive to see it."
“With the help of God we´ll all see it,” cried
the mate. “This will be a great day for all of us.”
“Serve out a measure of rum to every man-jack
on board, and get under way with all the haste ye
can. In a quarter of an hour ye´ll see the little
Phoenix slipping through the water like a seagull.
Come, Mr. Orme, and lend a hand with the weapons.
I take it you are well used to them.”
Gervase followed the captain on deck where the
men were busy with the halliards, and all was lively
confusion and disorder. The seamen were already
swarming on the yards of the Dartmouth, and the
long boat of the Swallow was in the water, with the
carpenters hammering upon the rough barricado
with which they were protecting her sides. The
wind which from the morning had been blowing in
quiet airs from the north-west, had gone round to
.bn 343.png
.pn +1
the north and had freshened somewhat. In the
summer sky there was hardly a cloud; the waves leapt
and flashed in the sunshine, and the vessels were
beginning to plunge at their cables in the livelier sea.
By the time that Gervase had finished his scrutiny
of the cutlasses and muskets, and had seen to the
loading of the three guns that the Phoenix carried,
McKeller and the men had the vessel under sail.
Then the windlass was manned, and it was only
when the anchor had been lifted, and the little
vessel was slipping through the water that Gervase
felt their work was really begun and his task was
about to be completed. The captain himself had
taken the tiller, standing square and firm, with his
coat thrown aside, and the sleeves of his shirt
rolled up and showing his brown, muscular arms.
“There goes the Dartmouth,” he cried to Gervase,
who was standing near him, “well done, and seamanly.
And the Mountjoy--she has the lead of
us, being weightier and more strongly timbered. I
don´t grudge it to Browning; he´s a good fellow
and a gallant seaman. We´ve sailed together ere
now. And the old Jerusalem--she´ll come up when
the eggs are boiled. We´ll have to knock once or
twice before they let us in.”
The Dartmouth led the way with her ports open
and the iron muzzles of her guns all agrin, the
white sails on her lofty spars swelling out under
the freshening wind. She did not wait for her
consorts, but held her way steadily toward the
river´s mouth where the castle of Culmore guarded
.bn 344.png
.pn +1
the entrance. The Mountjoy outsailed the Phoenix
much to the chagrin of Douglas, and three cables´
lengths already divided them. The men leaned
over the bulwarks watching the fort where they
could see the soldiers hastening to the guns, and
could hear the drums beating the alarm. As yet
the Dartmouth was not within range of the cannon,
but already a round shot or two had come skipping
along the water and had fallen short. As they drew
toward the river´s mouth the breeze had grown
lighter, and Gervase feared that the afternoon would
set in a stagnant calm. But they had the tide with
them, and the wind blew fairly up the river.
“There´s the music now,” cried Douglas, as the guns of
the fort flashed along the ramparts; “there´s a hole in
the royal yonder, but ´twill take more than that to
turn old Leake. Will he never let them hear him?”
The Dartmouth was already within range, but
she held on her way gallantly, never answering the
fire that was poured upon her. Again and again the
guns of the fort flashed out, and the frigate´s canvas
was torn by the shot, but her spars remained untouched.
Still Leake held on steadily, his guns still
silent and his men sheltering themselves as best
they could behind the bulwarks. Only when he
came within close range so that every shot might
tell, his guns spoke for the first time. Again and
again the living sheet of flame leapt from the open
ports, and the great shot went crashing into the
fort. As the fire of the enemy slackened perceptibly
the seamen set up a great was
.bn 345.png
.pn +1
caught up by the men of the Mountjoy that had
now come nearly alongside and was holding its way
up the river. Lying abreast of the fort and within
musket shot the crew of the frigate plied the fort
with cannon and with small arms, while the Mountjoy,
followed by the Phoenix, came drifting slowly up
channel past the castle and safely out of range of
its guns. Then the Dartmouth, her work being
done, was moored in the bend of the river above
Culmore, while the merchant ships went slowly up
the narrow and winding channel, and the men in
the Swallow´s long boat kept them company and
bent to their oars with a will. The great guns in
the earthen forts along the river gave them welcome
as they came, and the musket balls went singing
by their ears.
It was a sight to see Douglas at the tiller, with
a broad smile on his face and the dancing light of
battle in his eyes. Once or twice he laughed aloud
as some of the smaller spars came tumbling to the
deck. And now in the pauses of the great guns
and above the rattle of the muskets, they could
hear in the summer air the shouts of the citizens
from the walls--shouts of triumph and delight. On
that scene the chroniclers have dwelt with some
pride and much pathos. Every man who could
drag himself to the wall was gathered there that
summer day. Gaunt and hollow-eyed; so hunger-stricken
that they could scarcely stand, wasted by
fever and by wounds, they took up the joyous shout
of triumph. Stout soldiers gave way to tears upon
.bn 346.png
.pn +1
the necks of their comrades. Their anguish and
despair were swallowed up in the hope of present
deliverance. Here and there little groups were
kneeling as in prayer for the safety of those who
were bringing them succour, and never was prayer
more earnest offered to the God of battles.
Meanwhile the Mountjoy and the Phoenix were
coming close upon the boom, and the forts on
either side were plying them with shot. Douglas
never moved. One of the seamen was struck down
beside him, but he never turned his head. The
wind was coming in little airs, but the tide was
running hard. Gervase saw the Mountjoy through
the smoke, a cable´s length ahead, suddenly strike
upon the wooden barrier that lay across the river.
Then the gallant little vessel swung round and
grounded in the narrow channel. A great cheer
went up from the banks, while they saw the redcoats
hastening to their boats to board the stranded
ship. “Now, McKeller, see what you can do
with the long gun,” cried Douglas, as the mate
with Gervase´s assistance brought the cannonade to
bear on the mass of men who were moving to
the bank. But the master of the Mountjoy was a
stout seaman and knew his work. Quickly his
guns were brought to the landward side, and at the
discharge the little vessel slipped into the channel
again, and went floating toward the boom with the
running tide. Meanwhile the Swallow´s long boat
under the boatswain´s mate had been laid alongside the
barrier, and the bluejackets were plying it with cutlasses
.bn 347.png
.pn +1
and hatchets. Every man did his best that
hour, and as the Mountjoy struck the boom a second
time, the great barrier cracked and broke and went
swinging up the river.
McKeller leapt upon the bulwarks regardless of
the risk he ran, and waved his hat with fine enthusiasm:
“God save Their Majesties,” he cried, “and
down with Popery.”
Every man on board knew that the work was
done and the city was saved. But the wind had
fallen with the afternoon and it was a dead calm.
Only with the tide the vessels came slowly up the
river; then the long boats of the Swallow took them
in tow, and with the setting sun the vessels came
drifting into Ross´s bay. It was ten o´clock at night
when the Phoenix, Andrew Douglas, Master (and
a proud man was he!), came to its moorings at the
little quay close by Ship Quay Gate.
.tb
No man has such gift of speech as to describe
the scene when the master stepped ashore and
raised his hat in presence of the thronging crowd.
Men and women went frantic in their joy. Falling
upon each other´s necks and wringing one another
by the hand, they forgot that stern reserve that
marks their race and people. Bonfires were lighted
upon the ramparts, and the bells rang out a joyous
peal, and all the while the unlading of the ship
went on, till all men were satisfied, and the terror
of the morning seemed like a dream that had
passed away.
.bn 348.png
.pn +1
Gervase left the Phoenix unnoticed in the tumult,
and made his way through the deserted streets to
his old lodging. The door was lying open, but
the house was deserted. Simon and all his family
were in all likelihood among the crowd at the quay.
Then he lighted his lamp and sat down to enjoy
his golden dreams alone. His heart was filled with
the thought of what he had done and of the reward
he hoped to win.
He would call upon Dorothy in the morning--Dorothy,
whose sweet face had kept him company
through his perils, and the thought of whom had
moved him in his dangers. She had told him that
she loved him.
The darkness was gone and they had come into
the sweet sunshine at last. And so he dreamed his
dreams till Mistress Sproule returned laden with
her spoils, and gave him a joyous welcome as to
one who had come back from death.
.bn 349.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXI. | OF HOW THE VICOMTE MADE HIS GREAT RENUNCIATION.
.sp 2
On the following morning Gervase was up betimes.
It seemed to him that a new world had opened
out before him with boundless possibilities of joy
and hope. For weeks he had been dragging himself
about like one bent under the infirmities of age;
to-day the blood of youth ran quick in his veins.
With a pride that was pardonable, he felt that
he had done his task manfully and performed his
share in a work as memorable as any in his
time. He had won honour for himself, and he had
found the one woman who realized his boyhood´s
ideal. She was waiting for him now--waiting with
that glad and joyous look in her steadfast eyes
that had thrilled him at times when his grief had
weighed upon him. She must know that the work
he had undertaken was done for her sake, and that
he would be with her presently to claim his
reward.
.tb
Simon Sproule came to see him when he was
seated at breakfast, a good deal shrunk and wasted,
but bearing himself with his brave and confident
.bn 350.png
.pn +1
air for all the troubles he had passed through. The
young soldier was one of the linendraper´s heroes,
and Simon had come this morning to offer abundant
incense at the altar of his worship.
“We are both proud of you, Mr. Orme, Elizabeth
and myself. I heard the whole story from
Andrew Douglas last night, and it was done like
an ancient Roman, sir, but in no foreign or pagan
spirit. It was a great feat and should be remembered
for many a day.”
“It will be forgotten in good time,” said Gervase
cheerfully, “and was no very wonderful business
after all. But I am glad for your sake the
fighting is over, for yours and your wife´s and----”
“Do not mention them. Oh! I cannot bear it, sir.
There were eight of them when you came back
with the old captain, eight white-haired youngsters
that gathered about the table and made music for
me--and now there are but four of them. It was
the judgment of God for their father´s cowardice.”
“I think you did your best, Simon,” Gervase
said gently.
“I did all that I could, and that was nothing;
but it was the pretending that was my sin. I,
who was made for nothing but to measure lace and
lawns, should not have given myself over as a man
of war, and boasted of deeds that I knew that I
could not perform. It has broken their mother´s
heart, and I think it has broken mine. I cannot
think they are gone; indeed I cannot. Why, I
stood listening to their footsteps on the stairs even
.bn 351.png
.pn +1
as I came into your room, and I heard them calling
‘Daddy,´ every one of them. But ´tis a sin to
mourn.”
“Nay, nay, man, weep to your heart´s content,
and tell them I said a man´s tears are as manly
as his courage. We must all face it some day.”
“I cannot help it,” said Simon, drying his eyes,
“but you do not know what it is for a father to
part with the red-cheeked boys he loved: we have
come through a great tribulation.”
“Thank God there is an end of it now. In a
day or two there will not be an Irish Regiment
north of the Boyne, and I hope we´ll get back to
the works of peace again. I myself will turn husbandman
and beat my sword into a pruning hook.”
“And marry the sweet lass by the Bishop´s-Gate,
and nurse your brave boys on your knee. You
see we have had eyes, Mr. Orme.”
“I do not know how that may be, but----”
“And,” Simon went on, “if you will do me
the honour to let me furnish you with the wedding
coat, I´ll warrant it of the finest--a free gift at
my hands, for all your kindness to me and the
boys.”
“We must first find the lady,” laughed Gervase.
“I think she is already found, and I know she
is very sweet to look at.”
In the forenoon Gervase found himself in the
wainscoted parlour that was for ever associated in
his mind with Dorothy Carew. He had dressed
himself with some care, and looked a handsome
.bn 352.png
.pn +1
fellow as he stood by the window looking out on
the grass plot that he remembered so well. It
seemed to him years since he had stood there; a
whole life was crowded between that time and this--a
life in which he had seen many strange sights
and come through some memorable fortunes.
Dorothy, he did not doubt, was still the same, but
Macpherson, so rugged and so kindly, was gone,
and the tragedy of his death came vividly before
him as he stood in the room where he had first
met the man by whose hands he had fallen. He
was determined that Dorothy should never know
the secret which could only bring her grief; this
was the one secret in which she should not share.
It was hardly likely that Jasper Carew would ever
cross his path again--if he did it would then be
time enough to think in what manner he should
deal with him. In the meantime here was Arcady
with the pipe and the lute, with the springtime
crowned with the sweetest love, and care and sorrow
laid aside for a season. His heart seemed to
rise into his throat and a mist to cloud his eyes, as
he heard a light footstep behind him. The gallant
speeches that he had been rehearsing vanished from
his memory, and he stood with his mind all blank
as Dorothy came softly into the room, with her hand
extended, and her eyes cast down. Her manner
was awkward and constrained, though he did not
notice it. He would have held her hand in his but
she withdrew it gently and seated herself by the
window.
.bn 353.png
.pn +1
“Dorothy, Miss Carew,” he began, with an overmastering
desire to take her in his arms, “my
words have come true, the words I spoke that last
afternoon when----”
“Yes,” she said, “I remember.”
“I said when we next met the joybells would
be ringing. Listen, you can hear them now; the
old time is all gone.”
“Yes, it is all gone--and--and, Mr. Orme, I
cannot say all that is in my heart. The city is
ringing with your great exploit, but I knew it all.
All the night I watched you as you floated down
the dark tide. Oh! it was a gallant deed; no man
ever did a braver. You did not tell me what was
in your mind, but I felt and knew it. I knew you
would not fail.”
“I want no other reward but to hear you say
that. But you must not praise me overmuch, for I
have done nothing but my plain and simple duty.
When I look back on it, it has seemed an easy
thing to do. There was no risk like what I ran
with Sarsfield´s troopers, when you--nay, I had not
thought to have awakened that memory.”
“I have not forgotten that either,” she said, “I
was a girl then, but I am a woman, and I think a
very old woman, now,” she added with a sad
smile. “I owe you a great deal since we first met.
I shall never be able to repay you, but when we
part, and perhaps I shall not see you again, I
shall remember your kindness as long as I live.”
“We have not parted yet,” said Gervase, trying
.bn 354.png
.pn +1
to take her hand. “Dorothy, I have come here to
speak what I have not dared to say before. Nay,
nay, you must listen to me, for all our life depends
on it. From the first moment that we met, I have
had one thought, one hope. I have watched you
in silence, for it was not a time to talk of love.
Every day on duty, every night on guard, you
have been with me consoling and sustaining me.
I have no words to tell you all that I would tell
you. I have reproached myself for my selfishness.
While others were overcome with their misery, I
went about with a light and joyous heart; it was
enough for me to be near you, to feel your
presence, to serve you with my life. Dorothy, I
love you.”
“Oh! I cannot hear you,” she cried, rising to her
feet and hiding her face in her hands; “it is wrong
for me to listen to you.”
“Nay, nay, my best beloved, you shall listen to
me,” he went on, with all a lover´s gentle but
fierce insistence. “You have spoken words that
you cannot recall. All the night in the river and
in the woods they rang like music in my ears, and
kept my heart from failing in me. I knew you
loved me.”
“I will not hear you,” she cried; “they were weak
words and wicked. I had no right to speak them.”
“But they were true,” he said, with no clue to
her meaning, “and I will hold you to your words.
I dare not let you go; there is nothing stands
between us and nothing will.”
.bn 355.png
.pn +1
“Everything stands between us.” Then with a
great effort she calmed herself and went on gently,
“My words were wrung from me, I should not
have spoken them, but I stand by them--they were
the truth. I do love you. Nay, you must hear me
out; you must not come nearer, now nor ever again.
When they were spoken I had no right to speak
them; I was the betrothed wife of Victor De
Laprade.”
He stared at her incredulously.
“I was alone; there was no one to whom I could
go for advice. I was only a girl; I did not know
my own heart. Then the Vicomte de Laprade was
struck down unfairly by my brother to whom he
had given back his fortune and--and I thought he
was going to die. What reparation I could make,
it was my duty and my will to make. I had not
thought of love--or you. Oh! why did you speak
to me?”
“Nay, but, Dorothy, this means the sacrifice of
your life. De Laprade is generous. He will not
ask----”
She turned to him with a look of pride in her
tearful eyes. “He will never know, for I shall stand
loyally by the word that I have given him. I shall
school my feelings; I shall subdue myself; I shall
rise above my wayward thoughts. And you will
help me. You will say, ‘Farewell, my sister´, and
think of me always as a sister you have loved and
is dead.”
“But consider----”
.bn 356.png
.pn +1
“I consider all. When he lay there dying, faithful,
loyal, as he is, I thought I loved him and I brought
him back to life. My love, worthless as it is, is
precious to him, and there is one Carew who keeps
her word at any cost. Speak no more to me of love.
You demean yourself and me. I belong to another.”
“Oh! this is madness.” Gervase cried, knowing
in his heart that he could not change nor turn her.
“There is no code of honour in the world to make
you give your life to one you do not love. Such
marriage is no true marriage. You are mine by
every right, and I will not let you go.”
“There was a time when I should have liked to
hear you talk like that, but it will never be again.
I shall give him all duty and honour, and in time,
perhaps--you will help me to bear my burden,
Gervase Orme, nor make it heavier for me? I see
my duty clearly, and all the world will not drive
me from it.”
Gervase took her two hands, feverish and trembling
in his own. He saw there was no need for further
argument; he could not change her.
“I have no gift of speech to show you what you
do. Your will has been my law and I shall try to
obey you utterly. God knows I loved you, Miss
Carew, and still love you. But you will hear no
more of me nor my importunate love; there is room
abroad for a poor soldier like myself. And De
Laprade is a gallant gentleman and worthy of his
splendid fortune. I can say no more than that I
envy him with all my heart.”
.bn 357.png
.pn +1
He drew her to him unresistingly, and kissed her
on the forehead. There was nothing lover-like in
the act; it was simply in token of sorrowful surrender,
and she recognized it as such. She did not
dare to raise her eyes to his but kept them bent
upon the ground; he could see the lashes were
trembling with unshed tears.
“I knew,” she said, “you would speak as you
have spoken. It was my duty to see you; it is
very hard. You will go now?”
“I will go, Miss Carew, and I ask you to remember
that through life, in good and evil fortune,
you have no more loving and loyal friend than
Gervase Orme, your faithful servant. Time will not
change nor alter me. It was too great fortune for
me to deserve it.”
Before she could speak he was gone, and she
heard in a dream the door close behind him. One
of his gloves had fallen to the ground and was
still lying at her feet. She caught it up and pressed
it passionately against her bosom. She was now
able to read her own heart in all its depth and
fulness; standing there with her eyes fixed on the
door through which he had departed, she saw the
greatness of the sacrifice she had made. She felt
that moment that she stood utterly alone, closed out
from all love and sympathy. She had believed that
she had become resigned, and that she had succeeded
in mastering her feelings, but they had burst out
afresh and with a fervour and passion that terrified
herself. “Oh! God,” she cried, “how I love him!”
.bn 358.png
.pn +1
Throwing herself in the chair from which she
had risen, and burying her face in her hands, she
gave way to her sorrow, feeling all the while that
she dare not reason with herself, for however much
she suffered she determined that she would not
break her faith. She would bring herself to love
De Laprade; love him as she honoured and admired
him, the loyal and courteous gentleman, who treated
her rather as a goddess than as a woman.
She did not hear the footsteps coming from the
open window; she was thinking at the moment of
how she could meet her betrothed with an air of
gaiety. Then a hand was laid lightly on her shoulder
and she looked up. De Laprade was standing
over her, with a pleasant smile playing about his
lips. His face was pale and his voice trembled a
little when he spoke, but only for a moment; otherwise
his manner was free and pleasant, with something
of his old gaiety in it.
“I am a dull fellow, Cousin Dorothy,” he said,
“but a dull fellow sometimes awakens, and I have
aroused myself. I have been sleeping for weeks,
I think, with dreams too, but poof! they are gone.
You have been weeping--that is wrong. The eyes
of beauty should ever be undimmed.”
She did not answer him, and he sat down on the
chair beside her, taking Orme´s glove from her lap
where it lay, and examining the embroidery critically.
“Monsieur Orme is a pretty fellow, and I
have much regard for him. I am going to make
you very happy, my cousin.”
.bn 359.png
.pn +1
“I am not----”
“Nay, I know what you would say. But I have
a long story to tell, so long that I know not how
to begin, nor how to make an end. It will be easier
by what you call a parable.”
Dorothy looked at her lover curiously. For some
time his old manner of jesting with something of
gay cynicism about it had disappeared, but all at
once it had returned with something else she did
not recognize. He could not have learned her secret,
for she had guarded that too carefully, but her
woman´s instinct warned her that perhaps after all
he had guessed the truth.
“There was once,” he went on, “a prodigal who
spent his youth in his own way; he drank, he diced,
he knew not love nor reverence; no law, but that
poor thing that men call honour. But it was well
he knew even that. So far, he did not think, for
he had no mind nor heart. He only lived for
pleasure. Then he found that he had spent his
fortune, burst like a bubble, gone like a dream, and
his friends--they were many--left him to beg with
his outstretched hands, and turned their faces as he
passed them on the way. But he had grown old,
and loved pleasure and the delights of riotous living.
Then there came to him a great good fortune--to
him unworthy, beggared, disgraced. He seized it
eagerly and he thought--what will men think?--that
he would again be happy. It was not to be.
He carried with him the stain of his early riot, the
shame of his sinful life, the thoughts that will not
.bn 360.png
.pn +1
die, the habits, even, he could not alter. His fortune
hung heavily about his neck and pressed him down
to the ground. He knew that it was of priceless
value, but it was not for him. Then being a wise
prodigal, he said: ‘I am selfish. This cannot make
me happy. I will place it in the hands of another
who will know how to use it rightly, and so rid
me of my load.´ And he gave the treasure to
another, and then went away and the world saw
him not any more. There, my cousin, is my story.
Monsieur La Fontaine must look to his laurels.”
“You are jesting with me, Victor; I do not understand
your parable.”
“It must be that I shall speak more plainly. My
story must have its moral.”
He still held Orme´s glove upon his knee and was
unconsciously plucking to pieces the lace with which
it was embroidered. But neither of them noticed
it. Dorothy was waiting breathlessly for what was
to come, and determined on her part to refuse the
generous offer De Laprade was about to make.
“It shames me to think I was an unwilling listener
but now, and I heard, not all, but enough. The
window was open and I heard before I could withdraw.
But I had known it all before and was only
waiting.”
“You shall not wait,” Dorothy cried impetuously.
“I am true and loyal.”
“I never doubted you, but I am not. I am inconstant
as the wind, and change my mind a hundred
times a day. Fortune, not love, is my goddess, the
.bn 361.png
.pn +1
fickle and the strange. I am out of humour already
and long for change. Your city chokes me, a bird
of prey mewed up among the sparrows. You must
cut the silken thread and give me my freedom, ma
belle.”
“I shall never,” Dorothy said, disregarding the
words and thinking only of the spirit that prompted
them, “I shall never forgive the weakness I have
shown. Indeed you have my regard and my esteem,
and some time I hope you will have my love. I
shall keep my faith, truly and loyally. I shall not
change.”
“Then I must help myself when you will not.
You are cruel, my cousin, and force me to speak.
I, Victor De Laprade, a poor gentleman, having
found that in all honour I cannot marry Dorothy
Carew, here declare that I am a pitiful fellow and
leave her to go my own way, hoping that she will
trouble me no further with her importunity. Now,
that being done, let us be friends, which we should
never have been had you married me.”
“This is like you, Victor,” she said sadly; “I
am a pitiful creature when I measure myself
with you.”
“You are a woman, my dear; I have served
them long and bought my knowledge dearly. But
you are better than most of them,” he added with
a smile, “for some that I have known would have
held me despite all that I have said. I was not
made for your Shakespeare´s Benedict, I think
it was.”
.bn 362.png
.pn +1
“Oh!” she said, “but I cannot treat your words
as serious; you are but playing with my weakness.
I will not let you--how can I, a woman, say what
I should say?”
“You should say: Monsieur le Vicomte, I am
happy that you have discovered yourself in time.
You are free--go--farewell?”
“But I cannot say that.”
“Then I shall do it for you. My cousin,” he
went on, more seriously, “my mind is made up.
To-morrow I start again on my pilgrimage, and
you are as free as air. Do not think that your
words have pained me, for I have long known that
I was unworthy and I myself almost desire to be
free. We cannot live twice.”
“You are too generous.”
“By no means. I am only a prodigal; even
this treasure I could not keep, but I must let it
slip through my fingers with the rest. Now I shall
leave you to think upon what I have said. Do
not judge me hardly.”
“I shall think of you always as the best gentleman
in the world. Oh! Victor,” she cried, as though
interrogating herself, “why cannot I love you?”
“Because, my dear, I would not let you. There
is but one thing more to do and then I leave your
cold North for ever to seek my fortune elsewhere.
.pm start_poem
‘Et je m´en vais chercher du repos aux enfers.´
.pm end_poem
I shall send you a peace-offering that I know
.bn 363.png
.pn +1
you will receive as much for my sake as its own.
And now I kiss your hand.”
.tb
He had borne himself throughout with a cheerful
gaiety, never once complaining or reproaching her,
but placing himself in the wrong as though he were
to blame for her inconstancy. She knew that he
was only playing a part and that he was suffering
while he jested; that he was making his
sacrifice in such a way as to avoid giving her pain.
She reproached herself bitterly that she had been
unable to control her heart and guide her wayward
feelings. It was true she had been loyal in outward
act but her heart had been a traitor to her vow.
She was not worthy of so much heroic sacrifice;
she was but a Carew after all, with the taint and
sin of her race; she, who had cried out for loyalty
and truth. She had boasted of her strength and
constancy, and this man who had laughed at virtue
had shown a sovereign strength that put her quite
to shame. What had been done would never be
undone; her weakness, her want of faith, her treachery
of affection, had been made plain to the two men
whose regard she esteemed the most in the world.
Yet all the time she had tried to follow the path
of duty; she had striven to do what was right and
trample her inclinations under foot.
And so she sat and thought while De Laprade
went out to complete the great work of his renunciation.
He smiled bitterly to himself as he passed
down the street, wondering what sudden change
.bn 364.png
.pn +1
had taken place within himself that he had surrendered
so easily what he had so earnestly desired to obtain.
He knew that he loved Dorothy Carew as he had
never loved before, and that he had never loved her
half so well as that moment when he bade her
farewell. He was unable to recognize himself or
the new spirit that had prompted this stupendous
sacrifice. “If,” he thought, “I was inviting him
under the walls to a repast of steel, I should be
acting like a sensible fellow anxious to cure my
wounded honour. But that is not my humour. I
think I have lost all my manhood. Oh! my cousin,
you have taken from me more than you will ever
dream of. It was hard to bear, but now that it is
done it will not have to be done again. A year
ago I had not given up so easily, but the battle is
to the strong. Orme will make her happy.”
Gervase was surprised to see De Laprade entering
his room, and though he bore him no ill will, he
would have preferred that he should not meet him.
He had not yet faced his bitter disappointment and
resigned himself to the sudden fall of his house of
cards. He had come home to realize what his
rejection meant for him, for he had been so certain,
so blindly certain, of Dorothy´s love, that she had
seemed a part, and a great part, of his life. The
cup of happiness had been dashed from his hand
when it was already at his lips; he was still smarting
and sore, and it would be idle for him to attempt
to offer congratulations to his successful rival. He
was not magnanimous enough for that. But he
.bn 365.png
.pn +1
wished him well and wished that he would leave
him in peace. He took De Laprade´s hand without
ill-will but with no great show of cordiality.
“I could not leave your city, Monsieur Orme,”
said De Laprade, “without bidding you farewell.
We have been friends, I think, and done one
another some service in our time.”
“Your departure is sudden; I had not heard----”
“Only an hour ago I found that I must leave.
We strolling players live at large, and shift our
booth a hundred times a year.”
“When do you return?”
“I disappear for ever,” answered Victor with a
laugh. “Your country suits me not; your speech is
barbarous, your manners are strange, and your climate
dries the marrow in my bones. I want sunshine
and life and pleasure. Your blood runs slowly here.”
“It has been running fast enough for nine weeks,”
said Gervase, with a grim humour, though feeling
in no mood for jesting.
“Ay, you fight very prettily, and you not among
the worst, but phlegmatically. I have heard the
story of your journey, but I did not come to talk
of that.”
“I am glad of that at least. I have heard nothing
else all day, and ´twas no great feat when all was said.”
“Perhaps. Your people are proud and cold and
lack sympathy. But I want sympathy.”
“Vicomte de Laprade,” said Gervase, “I am in
no mood for playing upon words. I tell you that
I am but now bearing a great trial, the nature of
.bn 366.png
.pn +1
which no man can know but myself, you, perhaps,
least of all. I sincerely value your friendship; I
have seen your goodness of heart, but it is best
that you should shorten this interview. With all
my heart I wish you all good fortune, though I
shall not see it. I leave by the first ship for
Holland.”
“We shall see, my friend, we shall see, but I
think not.”
“How?”
“I said but now you were phlegmatic. I was wrong--you
are too impetuous. There are many things
which you must put in order before you set out, and
perhaps you will never take ship at all.”
“I do not understand you, sir.”
“Mr. Orme, I know you think I am laughing at
you, but it is only a trick that I have, and I am in
no mood for jesting any more than yourself. I know
you think me a coxcomb, a trifler who hath no depth
or height of feeling. But I am come here to speak
serious words. I had hoped to marry Miss Carew,”
he continued softly, looking Gervase full in the face
with his eyes fixed and bright, “but that is past.
I found that she loved a better man and a worthier
than myself, and that I--perhaps that I did not love
her as she deserved to be loved. With a deep
sense of honour, duty merely--mistaken duty--she
would have remained steadfast and allowed me to
mar her happiness. I tell you--why should I not
speak it?--I loved her too well to marry her, and
she is free to give herself to the man she loves. I
.bn 367.png
.pn +1
owe this speech to her, for she hath suffered, and
I would not add to her sorrow.”
The two men had risen to their feet, and before
Gervase knew De Laprade was holding him by the
hand, with the tears running down his face.
“God knows,” said Gervase, steadying his voice,
for he felt himself visibly affected by the other´s
excessive emotion, “you are a far better and stronger
man than I am. I could not have given her up.”
“I am a weak fool,” said De Laprade, with a
forced laugh. “But I know that you will make her
happy. You must not tell her of my weakness
else--There, the comedy is played out and the curtain
having fallen, leaves me a sensible man again.
As I have said, I depart to-morrow, to return never
again, but I shall hope to hear that all goes well
with you. And meantime remember Victor de Laprade,
who will not forget you.”
“Why,” cried Gervase, “should my happiness be
gained in your loss?”
“That is past,” the other said simply. “You will
see Miss Carew when I leave you. She will reproach
herself, and you will comfort her, for she is only a
woman after all, and will find happiness and consolation.
You will sometimes think of me when I
am gone and perhaps--perhaps she may name one
of her boys after her poor kinsman who by that
time will have found rest.”
When the evening came down it found Gervase
Orme alone with a great happiness and a great regret.
The curtain rings down and the players pass
.bn 368.png
.pn +1
from view while the humble showman to whom this
mimic stage has been a great reality, wakens from
his dream, rubs his eyes and goes about his business.
He has lived for a while in the stormy days of
which he has written--days in which men made
heroic sacrifices and performed most memorable
deeds, the memory of which still stirs the languid
pulses of the blood. Not the muse of history has
been his companion; not his is the lofty task to
write the story of his people with their valour, their
endurance and their intolerant pride; it was only
his to tell an idle tale for weary men by winter
fires. The men and women of whom he has
written did their work for good and evil, and in
due time went the way of all flesh.
Simon Sproule again blossomed out in the sunshine
of prosperity, and the archives of the city show
that he was elected an Alderman, and did his duty
faithfully, which cannot be said of all men. And
though history is silent on the subject, there can be
little doubt that his wife stimulated his civic ambition,
inspired his speeches, and kept him in excellent
order. There are still Sproules in the North
Country who look to Simon as the head of the race,
and when touched by family pride they tell the
story of his gallant deeds in the memorable siege.
But they will find the true history here.
Jasper Carew fell with many a better man on
that day when the fate of the kingdom was decided
on the banks of the Boyne. He was seen heading
the gallant charge of Berwick´s horse on Hanmer´s
.bn 369.png
.pn +1
men coming out of the river, and as the smoke and
dust closed on the broken ranks, he went down and
was never seen again.
Of Gervase Orme there is little more to tell. He
married the woman he loved, and had sons and
grandsons, and served his king like a good and
loyal subject. There are certain manuscripts extant
which speak of these things, and an escritoire filled
with precious letters which came too late to hand
to use in this narrative. Especially interesting are
certain letters relating to the search after and
discovery of a great treasure. But of all the memorials
I think the most precious is that portrait
in the gallery, of which I have spoken--the portrait
of Dorothy Orme taken some two years after her
marriage. Above the picture there hangs a rapier,
whether by design or by accident I know not, which
they tell you vaguely belonged to a kinsman of the
lady, who had served in Ireland with Rosen, and
fell a year or two afterwards, a gallant gentleman,
on the slopes of Steinkirk. He had a history, but
they do not remember it; not even his name. Sic
nobis.
.sp 4
.ce
THE END.
.bn 370.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 2
.ce
MARK TWAIN´S JOAN OF ARC
.in 4
.ti -2
PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC. By
the Sieur Louis de Conte (her page and secretary). Freely
translated out of the Ancient French into Modern English from
the Original Unpublished Manuscript in the National Archives
of France, by Jean Francois Alden. Illustrated from Original
Drawings by F. V. Du Mond, and from Reproductions of
Old Paintings and Statues. Crown 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental,
$2 50.
.in
One of the most delightful books of the time. It is read with keen
enjoyment, and its leaves will be turned over again many times in delicious
reminiscence of its fascinating episodes and its entrancing digressions.--Richard
Henry Stoddard, in N. Y. Mail and Express.
Vivid, abounding with life and color, with pathos, with humor....A
story to be intensely enjoyed by all lovers of the Maid and of good
reading.--Advance, Chicago.
.hr 10%
.ce
BY THE SAME AUTHOR:
.nf c
New Library Editions, from New Electrotype plates. Crown 8vo,
Cloth, Ornamental, $1 75 each.
.nf-
.in 2
.ti -2
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Illustrated.
.ti -2
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur´s Court. Illustrated.
.ti -2
The Prince and the Pauper. Illustrated.
.ti -2
Life on the Mississippi. Illustrated.
.ti -2
Tom Sawyer Abroad--Tom Sawyer, Detective, and Other
Stories, Etc. Illustrated.
.ti -2
The American Claimant, and Other Stories and Sketches.
.in
The print and form of the volumes are excellent, the binding is
serviceable and artistic, and altogether the handsome set of books pays
the tribute to the novelist that it should.... He is a man to have on
one´s shelves, somewhere near Thackeray.--N. Y. Tribune.
.hr 20%
Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York
☞ The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be mailed by the publishers,
postage prepaid, on receipt of the price.
.bn 371.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 2
.ce
By JOHN KENDRICK BANGS
.hr 20%
.in 2
.ti -2
The Bicyclers, and Three Other Farces. Illustrated. 16mo,
Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25.
.in
The farces are crowded with comic situations, brilliant repartee, and wholesome
fun.--Brooklyn Standard-Union.
.in 2
.ti -2
A House-Boat on the Styx. Being Some Account of the Divers
Doings of the Associated Shades. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth,
Ornamental, $1 25.
.in
Well worth reading.... It is full of genuine crisp humor. It is the best work of
length Mr. Bangs has yet done, and he is to be congratulated.--N. Y. Mail and
Express.
.in 2
.ti -2
Mr. Bonaparte of Corsica. Illustrated by H. W. McVickar.
16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25.
.in
Mr. Bangs is probably the generator of more hearty, healthful, purely good-humored
laughs than any other half-dozen men of our country to-day.--Interior,
Chicago.
.in 2
.ti -2
The Idiot. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 00.
.in
“The Idiot” continues to be as amusing and as triumphantly bright in the volume
called after his name as in “Coffee and Repartee.”--Evangelist, N. Y.
.in 2
.ti -2
The Water Ghost, and Others. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth,
Ornamental, $1 25.
.in
The funny side of the ghost genre is brought out with originality, and, considering
the morbidity that surrounds the subject, it is a wholesome thing to offer the
public a series of tales letting in the sunlight of laughter.--Hartford Courant.
.in 2
.ti -2
Three Weeks in Politics. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, Ornamental,
50 cents.
.in
He who can read this narrative of a campaigners´ trials without laughing must be
a stoic indeed.--Philadelphia Bulletin.
.in 2
.ti -2
Coffee and Repartee. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, Ornamental,
50 cents.
.in
Is delightfully free from conventionality; is breezy, witty, and possessed of an
originality both genial and refreshing.--Saturday Evening Gazette, Boston.
.hr 20%
.nf c
Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York
☞ For sale by all booksellers, or will be mailed by the publishers, postage prepaid,
on receipt of the price.
.nf-
.bn 372.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 2
.ce
By A. CONAN DOYLE
.in 2
.ti -2
The Refugees. A Tale of Two Continents. Illustrated.
Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 75.
.in
A masterly work.... It is not every year, or even every decade,
which produces one historical novel of such quality.--Spectator, London.
.in 2
.ti -2
The White Company. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental,
$1 75.
.in
... Dr. Doyle´s stirring romance, the best historical fiction he has
done, and one of the best novels of its kind to-day.--Hartford Courant.
.in 2
.ti -2
Micah Clarke. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental,
$1 75; also 8vo, Paper, 45 cents.
.in
A noticeable book, because it carries the reader out of the beaten
track; it makes him now and then hold his breath with excitement; it
presents a series of vivid pictures and paints two capital portraits; and it
leaves upon the mind the impression of well-rounded symmetry and completeness.--R.
E. Prothero, in The Nineteenth Century.
.in 2
.ti -2
Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Illustrated. Post 8vo,
Cloth, Ornamental, $1 50.
.ti -2
Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. Illustrated. Post 8vo,
Cloth, Ornamental, $1 50.
.in
Few writers excel Conan Doyle in this class of literature. His style,
vigorous, terse, and thoughtful, united to a nice knowledge of the human
mind, makes every character a profoundly interesting psychological study.--Chicago
Inter-Ocean.
.in 2
.ti -2
The Parasite. A Story. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental,
$1 00.
.in
A strange, uncanny, weird story,... easily the best of its class.
The reader is carried away by it, and its climax is a work of literary art.--Cincinnati
Commercial-Gazette.
.in 2
.ti -2
The Great Shadow. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 00.
.in
A powerful piece of story-telling. Mr. Doyle has the gift of description,
and he knows how to make fiction seem reality.--Independent, N. Y.
.hr 20%
.nf c
NEW YORK AND LONDON:
HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers
☞ The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by the publishers,
postage prepaid, on receipt of the price.
.nf-
.pb
.dv class='tnotes'
.ce
Transcriber’s Note
Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and
are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.
The following issues should be noted, along with the resolutions.
.ta l:8 l:46 l:14 w=100%
| answered the other gravely[,/.] | Replaced.
| the other parried his th[ur/ru]st | Transposed.
| My men are not soldiers; they are poltroons[.] | Added.
| and was watching the fug[u/i]tives | Replaced.
| Presently Dorothy quit[t]ed the room. | Inserted.
| I´ll have a taste for fighting.[”] | Added.
| should you try to run away.[”]| Added.
| “Ay, safe and sound.[”] | Added.
| th[o/e] roaring of the guns | Replaced.
| and le[f/t] his gibes pass unnoticed | Replaced.
| there was much lik[e]lihood | Inserted.
| “But how can I do that, Simon[./?]” | Replaced.
| and the words[./:] "Yours in confidence, | Replaced.
| with a light and b[ou/uo]yant heart | Transposed.
| that is why I sent for you to[ /-]day |Replaced.
| What had moved De Laprade to[o] make | Removed.
| [l/L]ess would have done. | Replaced.
| I’ll even fetch her mysel[.’/’] | Transposed.
| [“]He’ll be away before the morn,” he said; | Added.
| I love the clink of a glass sometim[se/es] | Transposed.
| set up a great [cheer which,/cheer, which] was caught up| Replaced.
.ta-
.dv-