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. 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 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.´”
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 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.”
“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 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.”
“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 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 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, 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. 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 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.