The Crimson Sign / A Narrative of the Adventures of Mr. Gervase Orme, Sometime Lieutenant in Mountjoy's Regiment of Foot

by S. R. Keightley

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 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 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.

“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 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.”

“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.