“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.”
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 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 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 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.