“Have no fear for the end; Londonderry may fall, but Dutch William is stronger than a walled city. I know the Stadtholder of old, and I tell you behind that cold look and slow speech there is the power of many regiments. I have seen his eyes in the day of battle. He is one of a race that never knows when it is beaten. I think that he will not leave the men in Londonderry to die like so many rats. But, believe me, they are the stuff whereof fighting men are made, and will make a gallant stand.” “I would,” said Gervase, “we were among them once more. By this time, I doubt not, if Colonel Lundy be a true and loyal man, Roaring Meg and her iron sisters have given joyful voice.” “Bah! How goes your burghers ditty?” “‘Scour me bright and keep me clean-- I´ll carry a ball to Calais green.´” “Your colonel is no true man, but a hypocrite and a coward, and I put no faith in the long guns, though they have their uses, but in stout and loyal hearts that will hold out in trial and privation. The Irish do not understand the practice of artillery; they may not batter down the walls or breach them, while there are men there to say ‘stand back´; but hunger and disease are enemies that few can fight against: and hunger and disease Londonderry will have to face. ´Tis here the Protestant faith must make its last stand. Should the city fall before relief may come, then the end is far off, and the Stuart may yet wear the crown of his ancestors. Relief ever comes slowly--how slowly, only that man knows who, like myself, with wasted shanks and shrunken jaws, has kept his place on the ramparts, while women and children were dying indoors by the score, and brave fellows were struck down at his side by an enemy no man could see.” “But William of Orange is a soldier, as you say, and, being a soldier, will not leave the city to stand alone. Besides, the Irish cannot fight a stubborn fight.” “There you are wrong utterly, and here I speak of what I have seen and known. In the army of Louis is many a gallant gentleman of Irish birth, who has displayed a courage and devotion in a foreign country that he might not show in his own. These wild kernes want but the sergeant´s drill and a cause to fight for to prove the stoutest soldiers in Europe. But they care not for James Stuart, and I think he has no general who can take their measure. Rosen is a foreigner, and Hamilton a man of few parts; while Sarsfield, of whom I have heard much, lacks discretion and temperate wisdom, else might he do greatly. ´Tis ever the general that makes the soldier--that is the difference between a rabble and a regiment. Tilly and Gustavus and Turenne, all of whom fought great battles, first put heart into their men, and then taught them to fight as if fighting were the easiest trade in the world.”