“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 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 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.”
“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.