Starvation and disease were now the only enemies they feared, but as they gathered on the walls that night and shook one another by the hand in joyful congratulation, they were unable to foresee the horror and despair that lay before them and the suffering they had yet to undergo.
Gervase had supped early and was about to retire to bed, when, with a humble knock, Simon Sproule opened the door and came into the room. “Elizabeth thinks I am safe in bed,” he said apologetically, “but I could not go to sleep till I had seen you. I would not ask you to strain your conscience, but I will take it as a favour if you will tell her that I have done my best, which is but the plain and simple truth.”
“But how can I do that, Simon?[Simon?]”
“With a full heart, sir. I did my best though I´m free to admit, it was far from well. I can march with the bravest and carry my musket like a man, but when the bullets begin to fly, and I catch sight of those murdering sword-blades, the Lord knows my knees are loosened under me and my heart dies in my breast. And all the while I would, if I might, be up and playing the hero, but I cannot. ´Tis a fearful position for an honest man to be placed in; my wife who is as bold as a lion itself thinks there is not a braver man in the city, and the neighbours that I have lived among all my life, cry out ‘There goes the gallant Sproule,´ and all the while I´m but a pitiful coward. I declare to God this life will kill me, Mr. Orme, and I want your aid and counsel----”
“Make a clean breast of the matter, Simon, and tell them how you feel.”
“No, that I cannot do now. I have boasted like the Philistine and talked loudly like a man of war and how can I, who am an elder in my church and an honest burgher that may sometime be an alderman, confess that I am but a liar and a braggart. I could never hold up my head again among my neighbours; and for my wife--no, Mr. Orme, I cannot do it.”
“Then I am afraid I cannot help you. You know”, and Gervase smiled significantly, “you have been wounded, and such wounds are ever long in healing.”
“A month?” Simon asked doubtfully.
“I trust to heaven less than that, but even a month if need be.”
“You have struck the mark for me and saved my credit,” cried Simon joyfully. “Twill be hard work but there is no help for it. And you will lend me your countenance as far as your conscience will let you?”