The Crimson Sign: A Narrative of the Adventures of Mr. Gervase Orme, Sometime Lieutenant in Mountjoy's Regiment of FootKeightley, S. R. (Samuel Robert)
History
The Crimson Sign: A Narrative of the Adventures of Mr. Gervase Orme, Sometime Lieutenant in Mountjoy's Regiment of Foot
Gervase told his story shortly as well as he was able, interrupted
repeatedly by exclamations of wonder and horror by the captain and the
mate, and when he had finished they sat staring at him open-mouthed.
“That is the tale as briefly as I can tell it,” said Gervase, “and you
will not wonder that I would put the letter in Kirke´s hands with all
the haste I can. Next Wednesday there will not be a scrap of food in the
city, and if you wait till then you may lift your anchors and go back to
where you came from. For God´s sake, tell me what you are waiting for?”
“Till Kirke has emptied his puncheons,” said the mate bitterly.
“Not a soul on board the fleet thought it was going so hard with you,
but you had better see Leake, who is a plain-spoken man with some
authority. I hear he is all for making up the river, and your story will
help him to move the scarlet-coated butcher who is but half-hearted in
the business.”
“Colonel Kirke I must see first,” said Gervase; “my message is to him,
and when he reads Walker´s letter he can hesitate no longer. All that is
wanted is the wind and the tide. There need be no fear of the guns, for
in Londonderry we have learned what they can do.”
The skipper had said nothing, but sat leaning his head on his horny
hand. Then he seemed to awaken from his fit of abstraction. “And poor
Tom is gone, you tell me? He was a younger man than myself by half a
score of years, and as likely a fellow as ever lived when I danced at
his wedding nine years syne. A putrid fever, you say. Odds, I would like
you could have told me how it is with Marjorie and the young ones.”
“He chanced to be of my regiment,” said Gervase, “and that is how I came
to know his end. But many a brave fellow has fallen into his last sleep
yonder, and all for want of a little manhood here.”
“For God´s sake tell me no more of your story,” said the master, “but
even fall to on the boiled beef, and don´t spare the liquor. For myself,
please Heaven, I´ll drink the taste of your yarn out of my mouth, though
belike it will take a hogshead at the least to do it.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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