“The day is hardly over,” said Gervase, who could not restrain his amusement; “they are still pushing us hard in the ramparts down by the Bogside, and I heard a whisper that our men had been driven in there. If you feel able we might go thither and see if we cannot strike a brave blow together.”
“The Lord forbid--I mean--that is--I have had my share of this day´s fight, and so look you, Mr. Orme, I say with all courage, I think I´ll even turn my steps homeward, if my wife will lend me her arm, and will not keep you waiting here. You are young and lusty, and hot blood must have hot blood.”
Mistress Sproule who was herself so courageous, that she was unable to suspect cowardice in others, still imagined that Simon had sustained some internal injury, and with great tenderness and solicitude took him under her arm and led him to the city.
This was a memorable day in the annals of the siege. The men of the garrison had fought with heroic courage, and only in the intrenchment by the Bog had there for a moment been any doubt as to the result. There, indeed, the defenders had been taken by surprise, and the grenadiers had gained possession of the trenches, but only to hold them for an hour. That night the bell in the Cathedral rang out a joyous peal, and hearts that were beginning to despond took fresh courage.
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.”
“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----”