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

by S. R. Keightley

“´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 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 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 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 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 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 let[let] 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. 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.