: The Crimson Sign A Narrative of the Adventures of Mr. Gervase Orme Sometime Lieutenant in Mountjoy's Regiment of Foot by Keightley S R Samuel Robert - Historical fiction; Derry (Northern Ireland) History Siege 1688-1689 Fiction

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"SHE STOPPED SHORT AND LOOKED ROUND HER " 188 CAUTIOUSLY"

"JASPER BUCKLING HIS SWORD ABOUT HIM" " 254

THE CRIMSON SIGN.

In the year of grace 1689 men were not a whit more long-suffering nor more patient than they are to-day. The choleric captain who had been pacing the guard-room for a quarter of an hour showed evident signs that he was fast losing what temper he possessed. As he marched with a hasty stride up and down the oaken floor, and wheeled with military abruptness on the broad stone that formed the hearth, the rafters of black oak rang with the clank of his sword and the jingling of the spurs on his heavy jack-boots. He pulled with a gesture of impatience at the grizzled white moustache that concealed his mouth, and muttered anathemas which, had they been heard in the pious city of Londonderry, would have been deemed little in keeping with his reputation. Nor did he seem a man with whom others would take unwarrantable liberties, or keep dangling upon their careless will and pleasure.

At first sight there was no mistaking him for anything but a soldier, and one who had seen lengthened service where hard blows had been struck and long marches had to be made. His lean face was brown and seamed with lines, each of which had in all likelihood its history; and a great scar, half concealed by his broad beaver, ran from the temple almost to his chin. His mouth was firm and resolute, giving its character to a face that did not seem apt either to lighten in humour or to soften in pity. He wore his own hair, which was nearly white, and, though he must have been close on sixty, his carriage was upright and soldierly, with a certain stiffness, probably learnt in early life from the drill-master.

The Town clock struck five. Halting suddenly in his walk he turned to the door, and his hand was on the latch when a young man entered hurriedly and stumbled against him. When they recovered themselves, they stood looking at one another inquiringly for a moment. Then the young fellow, who wore a military uniform, drew back a step and saluted gravely. "You are Captain Macpherson, I think?"

"I was Captain Macpherson, sir," the other answered, "a moment since, but what I am now I hardly know till my wits come back. You have a strange way of forcing your company on your neighbours."

"Such sudden acquaintanceship was wholly unexpected, I assure you, sir," the young man answered, with a pleasant smile that lit up his handsome face. "I was directed to meet you here. My name is Orme."

The old soldier, without speaking, retired into the embrasure of the window followed by the younger man, and then turned round sternly.

"Mr. Orme, you must know it hath struck five by the Town clock. A soldier?s first duty is discipline, and here have I, your commanding officer, for such I take myself to be, been awaiting your coming a full quarter of an hour. I have been in countries where the provost-marshal would have known how to deal with such offences. Cities have been sacked and great battles lost and won, by less delay than that."

"I have left the Colonel but now, sir. He said nothing of the time, but told me that I should meet you here."

"Very like, very like," growled the other. "I know the breed of old. Feather-bed soldiers who need a warming-pan in camp. They take no heed of time. I was brought up in a different school, and would have you know that while you keep me company, you must learn my ways. How long have you served?" He asked the question abruptly, bending on his companion a keen and penetrating look that nothing seemed to escape.

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