There was an air of excitement in the streets of Derry. Knots of people
were gathered, talking excitedly. Women stood at the doors of all the
houses, while men moved aimlessly and restlessly about between the
groups, listened for a time to a speaker, and then moved on again. The
work of strengthening the defences, which had gone on incessantly for the
last three months, had ceased, while numbers of persons were gathered on
the walls, looking anxiously towards the south. A general air of gloom
and despondency hung over the place. The storm which Derry had braved was
gathering around it at last. King James and his troops were advancing
against it.
Opinion was strongly divided in the city. Almost without exception, the
older citizens deprecated resistance. The walls, indeed, were strong, and
the position formidable. The king had no artillery worth speaking of, and
the walls, manned by brave men, might well, for a definite time, resist
assault; but the stores of food could not long support the large
population now gathered in the town, and there seemed no possibility,
whatever, of assistance from England before the horrors of famine would
be upon them. To what purpose, then, oppose resistance, which must, even
if successful, cause frightful sufferings to the inhabitants, and which,
if unsuccessful, would hand over the city to the vengeance of James.
The garrison had been strengthened by two regiments and a vast quantity
of supplies. But, including everything, there were but provisions for ten
days, and as many weeks might elapse before assistance could come.
The younger and more ardent spirits were for resistance to the last.
"Better," they said, "die of hunger, than surrender the Protestant
stronghold to the Papists."
Every hour brought crowds of fugitives, the inhabitants of all the
villages deserting their homes at the approach of the royal forces, and
flying, with what goods they could carry, to Derry.
Archdeacon Hamilton had arrived with a message from the king, offering
that if the city would, within four days, surrender, there should be an
amnesty to all for past offences, and that the property of all the
inhabitants should be respected. This proposition was now being
considered by the governor and his council, together with all the
principal officers of the English regiments.
John Whitefoot had been out all day, and had just returned to his
cousin's house, which was crowded with fugitives, as the tanner had
friends and connections in all the villages, and had opened his doors to
all who sought shelter, until every room was filled. It was a pitiful
sight to see women, with their babies in their arms and their children
gathered round them, sitting forlornly, almost indifferent to the
momentous consultation which was going on, and thinking only of their
deserted homes, and wondering what had befallen them. The men had, for
the most part, been out in the streets gathering news. The tanner's wife,
assisted by two or three of the women, was busy at the great fire on the
hearth, over which hung some huge pots in which broth and porridge were
being prepared.
One by one, the men dropped in. No news had yet been heard as to the
decision of the council. It was dark when the tanner himself entered. His
face was stern and pale.
"It is settled," he said shortly. "The council have broken up. I have
just spoken to one of the members. They and the officers are unanimously
in favour of accepting the terms of James."
Exclamations of anger broke from some of the men.
"I cannot say aught against it," the tanner said, "though my heart feels
well-nigh broken. Had we only men here, I should say let us fight to the
last, but look at all these women and children! Think what thousands and
thousands of them are in the town. Truly, I cannot blame the council that
they have decided not to bring this terrible suffering upon the city."
"The Lord will provide for his own," a minister, who had come in with his
flock, said. "Friend, I had looked for better things from you. I thought
that you were steadfast in the cause of the Lord, and now that the time
of trouble comes, you fall away at once. Remember how Sennacherib and his
host died before Jerusalem. Cannot the Lord protect Londonderry
likewise?"
"The age of miracles is past," the tanner said. "Did we not see, in
Germany, how Magdeburg and other Protestant cities were destroyed, with
their inhabitants, by the Papists? No, Brother Williams, the wicked are
suffered to work their will here, when they are stronger than the godly,
and we must look for no miracles. I am ready to fight, and, had the
council decided otherwise, would have done my share to the last; but my
heart sickens, as I look round on the women, the weak, and ailing. Did
James demand that we should renounce our religion, I would say let us all
die by sword or Famine rather than consent; but he has offered toleration
to all, that none shall suffer for what has been done, and that the
property as well as the lives of all shall be respected.
"Truly, it seems to me that resistance would be not bravery, but a sort
of madness. There are promises of aid from England; but how long may we
have to wait for them? And there are but ten days' provisions in the
town. If these English officers of King William think that resistance is
hopeless, why should I, who know nought of war, set myself against them?"
"Because they have not faith," the minister said, "and you should have
faith; because they think only of carnal weapons, and you should trust to
the Lord. Remember Leyden, how help came when all seemed lost."
"I do," the tanner replied, "and I remember how the women and children
suffered and died, how they dropped in the streets and perished with
famine in their houses. I remember this, and I shrink from saying 'let us
resist to the end.' I should rejoice if they had decided that Derry
should be deserted, that the women and children should be sent away to
shelter in the mountains of Donegal, and that every man should march out
and do combat with the army of James. We are numerous, and far better
armed than the Papists, and victory might be ours; but, were it
otherwise, were every man fated to fall on the field, I would still say
let us march forward. It is not death that I fear, but seeing these weak
and helpless ones suffer. I should not envy the feelings of the men who
decided on resistance, when the time came that the women and children
were dying of hunger around them. There is a time to fight; and a time to
sheath the sword, and to wait until a chance of drawing it successfully
again arrives; and methinks that, having such good terms offered, the
present is the time for waiting."
The preacher waved his hand impatiently, and, wrapping himself in his
cloak, left the house without another word. The next day the capitulation
was signed, and the following day the army of James was seen approaching,
and presently halted, on a hill within cannon shot of the town.
Londonderry stands in a bend of the river Foyle, and the position which
the army took up at once isolated it from the surrounding country. The
offer of capitulation had already been sent out to General Hamilton by
Captain White, the bearer receiving instructions to stipulate that the
army should not advance within four miles of the town, until all was
ready to hand over the city. In the meantime, General Rosen, who was in
chief command of the army, stationed it so as to extend from one corner
of the bend of the river to the other, and so to cut off all
communication between the city and the surrounding country; but, in the
course of the day, a country gentleman named Murray made his way through
their lines, with a body of cavalry, and rode up to the gate of the town.
The governor refused to open it, but, in spite of his orders, some of the
townspeople opened the gate, and Murray rode into the town, and, going
from point to point, exhorted the people not to surrender but to resist
to the last, accusing the governor and council of foul treachery, in thus
handing over the city.
The confusion and excitement in the streets was now great, and, while
this was going on, the governor sent a trumpeter to the king, requiring
one hour's time before the city should surrender.
Rosen took no notice of this, and, believing that all was arranged, rode
forward with the king and a portion of the army. But Murray's
exhortations and passionate harangues had their effect. A number of the
townspeople ran to the walls, and, loading the cannon, opened, with these
and their muskets, a heavy fire on the approaching troops. Several of the
soldiers were killed, and among them was Captain Troy, who was riding
close to the king.
Astonished at this unexpected resistance, the troops drew back, as they
were entirely without means of making an assault upon the city. The
governor and council at once sent Archdeacon Hamilton to the royal camp,
to excuse themselves for what had happened, and to explain that the
firing was the action of a turbulent body of men, whom they were unable
to restrain, and whom they represented as drunken rebels. The better
class of citizens, they said, were all resolved to surrender dutifully,
and were doing all they could to persuade the common people to do the
same.
As the royal artillery had not yet arrived, James drew off his troops to
Saint Johnston. Murray, with a body of horse, went out and skirmished
with them, but returned into the town on hearing that the council still
intended to surrender, and again harangued the people.
Eight thousand men assembled on the parade, and, after listening to a
passionate harangue, declared that they would resist to the last. They at
once chose a preacher named Walker, and a Mr. Baker, as joint governors,
appointed Murray as general in the field, divided themselves into eight
regiments, and took the entire control of the city into their hands.
Archdeacon Hamilton, Lundy, and several of the principal citizens at once
left the town, in disguise, and were allowed to pass through the
besieging army.
John Whitefoot had been present at all the events which had taken place
that day, and, although he had quite agreed with his cousin that
resistance would do no good to the cause, and would entail fearful
sufferings on the besieged, he was carried away by the general
enthusiasm, and shouted as loudly as any in reply to the exhortations of
Murray. The tanner was also present. John was by his side, and saw that
he was deeply moved by the speech, but he did not join in the
acclamations. When all was over, he laid his hand on John's shoulder:
"The die is cast, my boy. I am glad that no act or voice of mine has had
aught to do with bringing it about, and that the weight of what is to
come will not rest upon my conscience. But, now that it is decided, I
shall not be one to draw back, but will do my share with what strength
the Lord has given me."
"May I join one of the regiments, too?" John asked. "I am young, but I am
as strong as many men."
"It were better not, at present, John. Before the end comes, every arm
that can bear weapon may be needed, but, at present, there is no reason
why you should do so. Doubtless, plenty of work will be found for younger
hands, besides absolute fighting, but I think not that there will be much
fighting, save against famine. Our walls are strong, and we have
well-nigh forty pieces of cannon, while they say that James has but six
pieces, and most of these are small.
"Methinks, then, that they will not even attempt to take the city by
storm. Why should they waste men in doing so, when they can starve us
out? It is famine we have to fight, in this sort of war. I do not think
that James has, in all Ireland, cannon sufficient to batter down our
walls; but ten days will bring our provisions to an end. It will be with
us as with Leyden. We have only to suffer and wait. If it be God's will,
succour will come in time. If not, we must even perish."
With his spirits somewhat damped by his cousin's view of the case, John
returned with him to the house. He would willingly enough have gone out,
to fight against the besiegers, but the thought of the long slow agony of
starvation was naturally terrible to a lad of good health and appetite.
The mob of Derry had shown good sense in the choice which they made of
their governors. Baker, indeed, who was a military man, was a mere cipher
in the matter. Walker was, in reality, the sole governor. He was a man of
energy and judgment, as well as enthusiastic and fanatical, and he at
once gave evidence of his fitness for the post, and set himself
diligently to work to establish order in the town.
He issued orders that all unable to bear arms, who wished to leave the
town, could do so, while the able-bodied men, now formed into regiments,
were assigned every man his place, and every regiment its quarter, on the
walls. No less than thirty thousand fugitives, exclusive of the garrison,
were shut up in the walls of Derry, and the army which was besieging the
town numbered twenty thousand.
The guns of the besiegers soon opened fire, and those on the walls
replied briskly. The besiegers threw up works, but carried on the siege
but languidly, feeling sure that famine must, ere long, force the town to
surrender; and fearing, perhaps, to engage the fresh and ill-trained
levies against a multitude, animated by the desperate resolution and
religious fanaticism of the defenders of the town.
Now that the die was once cast, there was no longer any difference of
opinion among the inhabitants, and all classes joined enthusiastically in
the measures for defence. All provisions in the town were given into one
common store, to be doled out in regular rations, and so made to last as
long as possible; and, as these rations were, from the first, extremely
small, the sufferings of the besieged really began from the first day.
John Whitefoot found that there was but little for him to do, and spent
much of his time on the walls, watching the throwing up of works by the
besiegers.
A regular cannonade was now kept up on both sides; but, though the shot
occasionally fell inside the town, the danger to the inhabitants from
this source was but slight; for, of the six guns possessed by the
besiegers, five were very small, and one only was large enough to carry
shell. All day the various chapels were open, and here the preachers, by
their fiery discourses, kept up the spirits and courage of the people who
thronged these buildings. The women spent most of their time there, and
the men, when off duty from the walls, however fatigued they might be
with their labour, flocked at once to the chapels, to pray for strength
to resist and for early succour. Never were the whole population of the
town more deeply animated by religious excitement, never a whole
population more thoroughly and unanimously determined to die, rather than
surrender.
When not upon the walls or in chapel, John spent much of his time in
amusing the children, of whom there were many in the tanner's house. The
change from their country quarters, the crowded town, the privation of
milk, and the scantiness and unfitness of their rations, soon began to
tell upon the little ones, and John felt thankful, indeed, that his mind
had been stored with stories from his varied reading of the last two or
three years. With these, he was able to interest and quiet the children,
who sat round him with wrapt attention, while the booming of the guns and
the occasional rattling of musketry outside passed unheeded.
Scarce a day passed without active fighting, the initiative being always
taken by the besieged, for, in the royal army, the policy of blockade
rather than assault was steadily adhered to. The besieged, however,
continually sallied out, and attacked the parties engaged in throwing up
works. There was no settled plan of operations; but the commander on each
portion of the walls led out his men against the enemy, whenever he
thought he saw a favourable opportunity. The fights which ensued were
stoutly contested, and many were killed, but no advantage was gained on
either side. If it was the intention of the besieged to incite the
Royalists to make an attack upon the city, they failed altogether, and,
indeed, would have served their purpose better had they remained quietly
within the walls, for the energy and desperation with which they fought
were well calculated to deter even the most energetic commander from
attacking a town defended by eight or nine thousand men, animated by such
fiery energy.
So confident, indeed, were the besieged, that the gates were often left
open, and taunting invitations to come on and take Derry were shouted to
the besiegers. The supply of provisions found to be stored away was
vastly greater than had been expected, for many of the fugitives had
brought in large stores, and a great number of the inhabitants had been,
for weeks, making preparation for the siege, by buying up quantities of
grain and storing it in their cellars.
Thus, up to the end of the first month, although the allowance of food
was short, no real suffering was undergone by the inhabitants; but, as
time went on, the supplies doled out became smaller and smaller, and
dysentery and fever broke out in the crowded town.
Fierce disputes arose between those belonging to the Established Church
and the Nonconformists, and it was with the greatest difficulty that
Governor Walker prevented the two parties from engaging in open strife.
Day and night, the besiegers' fire continued, and many were killed by the
shells which fell in the city. The fighting men on the walls were far
better off than those who had nothing to do but to wait and suffer, and
it was among the women and children, chiefly, that disease at first made
its victims.
For a time, the children of the families who had taken refuge with the
tanner remained healthy. The visitors were lodged for the most part in
the cellars, so as to be in shelter from the fire of the enemy's mortar;
but John Whitefoot suggested to his cousin that the children would soon
pine and sicken, unless they had air. The tanner gave his consent to
John's establishing a shelter in the yard. A corner was chosen, and a
number of casks were placed along by either wall; on these beams were
laid, for it happened that the tanner had intended, shortly before the
siege, to build a large shed, and had got the timber together for the
purpose.
On the timber, bark from the now disused pits was heaped to a depth of
some feet, which would effectually break the fall of any shell which
might light upon it, and, along the front of this low triangular
building, two lines of sacks filled with tan were placed. These would
suffice to prevent any fragment of a shell, which might fall and burst in
the courtyard, from entering the shelter; save by the opening, about a
foot deep, between the top of the sacks and the beams.
When the whole was completed, John gathered the children there, and made
it their headquarters, and established himself as captain of the castle,
as he called it.
The elders entered warmly into his plans. It was a great relief, to them,
to have the house cleared of the eighteen or twenty children. Their
mothers had no longer any anxiety for their safety, and the children
themselves looked upon it as great fun. There was plenty of air here,
and, in a short time, John persuaded the parents to allow the children to
sleep, as well as to pass the day, in the shelter. Here he told them
stories, constructed toys for them, and kept them amused and quiet,
appointing as his lieutenants three or four of the oldest of the girls,
who had the little ones under their special charge. John was rewarded,
for his pains, by seeing that the children kept their health far better
than did those of their neighbours, and, up to the end of May, not one of
them had succumbed, although several of the parents had already fallen
victims to dysentery and fever.
Thus the month of May passed. With June, the hardships rapidly increased;
but, on the 13th, shouts of joy were heard in the streets. John ran out
to ascertain the cause, and learned that a fleet of thirty ships had
appeared in Lough Foyle, and was approaching the city. The inhabitants,
frantic with joy, ran to the walls, and both sides suspended their fire
to watch the approaching fleet.
Suddenly, the ships were seen to turn and sail away. The people could not
believe that they were deserted; but, when they saw that the fleet was
really making off, curses and cries of lamentation and grief rose from
the crowd.
Why Major General Kirk, who commanded the force on board the ships, which
were laden with provisions, did not attempt to sail up to Londonderry,
which, as was afterwards proved, they could have done without difficulty,
was never satisfactorily explained. The besiegers had erected two or
three small forts on the banks of the river, but these were quite
incapable of arresting the passage of the fleet, had it been commanded by
a man of any resolution. Kirk anchored in Lough Swilly, and contented
himself with sending messages to the town, to hold out to the last.
A fresh search was now made for provisions, and parties of men entered
houses which had been abandoned, or whose inmates had died, and dug up
the floors of the cellars. Several considerable deposits of grain were
discovered, and many inhabitants, moved by the intensity of the general
suffering, voluntarily brought out hoards which they had hitherto kept
secret.
Early in the siege, the water in the wells had become turbid and muddy,
partly owing, it was thought, to the concussion of the ground by the
constant firing, partly by the extra supplies which were drawn from them.
As the time went on, many of them dried altogether, and the water in the
others became so muddy that it had to be filtered through cloth or
sacking, before it could be drunk.
During fishing expeditions, previous to the commencement of the siege,
John had more than once had a drink of water from the well of a peasant,
living in a little hut near the river bank. This hut lay between the
outposts of the two parties, and had, at the commencement of the siege,
been deserted by its owner. After the water became bad, John set out
every evening with a bucket, leaving the town just before the gates were
shut, and making straight down to the river. When it became dark, he
crawled along under the shelter of the banks, unperceived by the outposts
of either party, until close to the hut. Then he filled his bucket at the
well, and returned as he had come, lying down to sleep on the bank, well
in the rear of the Protestant outposts, until morning; when, as soon as
the gates were opened, he carried home the precious supply.
It was this, as much as the light and air, which kept the children in
comparative health; but, on the further diminution of rations which took
place after Kirk's fleet retired, they began to fade rapidly.
The horses had now been killed for food. The sufferings of the besieged
inhabitants became greater daily, and numbers died from sheer starvation.
The little inhabitants of John Whitefoot's castle were mere skeletons.
Most of their parents were dead, and a mournful silence pervaded the
town, save when the bells of the chapels called to prayer, or the yells
of the mob announced that the lower orders were breaking into houses in
search of food.
John could stand the sight of the faces of the suffering children no
longer. He was himself faint and ill from hunger, for he had, each day,
given a portion of his own scanty rations to the weakest of the children,
and he determined to try and get them some food, or to die in the
attempt.
He set out at his usual hour in the evening. The tide was high, but just
running out, and, entering the river, he floated down with the stream.
Keeping close under the bank, he passed the batteries which the besiegers
had erected there without notice, dived under the great boom which they
had constructed across the river, directly Kirk's expedition had retired,
and continued to float down to the mouth of the river, where he landed
and boldly struck across the country, for he was now beyond the lines of
the besiegers. He knew that his friend Walter was in the Royalist army,
for one of the last mails which entered the city had told him that he was
to accompany his father, and that Captain Davenant's troop would most
likely form part of any army that might march for the north.
By the morning, his clothes had dried upon him, and he then boldly
entered the Royalist camp, mingling with the peasants who were bringing
in provisions for sale. He soon learned where Captain Davenant's troop
was stationed, and made his way thither. He stood watching for some time
until he saw Walter come out of a tent, and he then approached him.
Walter looked up, but did not recognize, in the thin and pallid lad
before him, his former companion.
"Do you want anything?" he asked.
"Don't you know me, Walter?" John said.
Walter started, and gazed at him earnestly.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed at last. "Why, it can't be John!"
"It is what remains of me," John replied, with a faint smile.
"Why, what on earth have you been doing to yourself, John?"
"I have been starving, in there," John said, pointing to the city.
"Come into the tent, John," Walter said, grasping his friend's arm, and
then letting it fall again, with an exclamation of horror at its
thinness. "You needn't be afraid. My father is out--not that that would
make any difference."
John entered the tent, and sat exhausted upon a box. Walter hastened to
get some food, which he set before him, and poured out a large cup of
wine and water, and then stood, looking on in awed silence, while John
devoured his meal.
"I have wondered, a thousand times," he said at last, when John had
finished, "what you were doing in there, or whether you left before the
siege began. How did you get out?"
"I floated down the river to the mouth, beyond your lines, last night;
and then worked round here. I thought I might find you."
"Well, I am glad indeed that you are out," Walter said. "Every time the
mortar sent a shell into the town, I was thinking of you, and wishing
that I could share meals with you, for, of course, we know that you are
suffering horribly in the town."
"Horribly!" John repeated. "You can have no idea what it is, Walter, to
see children suffer. As for men, if it is the will of God, they must bear
it, but it is awful for children. I have had eighteen of them under my
charge through the siege, and to see them getting thinner and weaker,
every day, till the bones look as if they would come through the skin,
and their eyes get bigger and bigger, and their voices weaker, is awful.
At last I could stand it no longer, and I have come out to fetch some
food for them."
"To fetch food!" Walter repeated. "Do you mean to say you are thinking of
going back again?"
"That I am," John said. "I am going to take some food in to them. You
will help me, won't you, Walter? It isn't for the men that fight, but for
little children, who know nothing about King James, or King William, or
the Protestants, or the Catholics, but who are just God's creatures, and
are dying of hunger. No one could grudge food to infants like these."
"I will help you, of course, John," Walter said, "if I can; but now, tell
me all about it."
John then gave an account of all he had been doing throughout the siege.
"And now what have you been doing, Walter? Fighting?"
"No. I have not been doing any fighting, except that, once or twice, I
was out with the troop, when they had a skirmish with your horsemen, but
I kept in the rear. I hope, ere long, my father will let me enter, but he
is waiting to see what comes of it. No. I have been idle enough. Well, of
course, I know all the officers in the cavalry now, and pretty nearly all
the officers in the camp, and then, with these constant skirmishes and
attacks by your people and ours, there is always plenty to interest one.
General Hamilton has been conducting the siege lately, but General Rosen
returned yesterday and took the command; but there's really not much to
do. We know you cannot hold out much longer."
"I don't know," John said quietly. "I think that, as long as a man has
strength enough to hold his arms, Derry will not surrender. When you
march in, it will be to a city of dead people. We had such hopes when the
fleet came. If the people could have caught Kirk, they would have torn
him in pieces. He had five thousand soldiers on board, and, if he had
landed them, we could have sallied out and fought, instead of dying of
hunger."
"Yes," Walter agreed, "we should have retired at once. We have only seven
or eight thousand men here now, and if five thousand English soldiers had
landed, we must have raised the siege at once. I can tell you that,
though he is on the other side, I was almost as angry at Kirk's cowardice
as you must have been. I shall be glad when this awful business is over.
I knew it was bad enough before, but after what you have told me about
the women and children, I shall never think of anything else, and I will
gladly help you in any way I can. There can't be any treason in trying to
prevent children from starving to death. What do you want me to do?"
"What would do the children more good than anything, the women say, would
be milk. If I could get a keg that would hold two or three gallons--and a
watertight box with about twenty pounds of bread, I could swim back with
them just as I came. I would show you the exact spot where I landed, and
would come out again in four days. If you could put a supply ready for
me, every fourth night, among the bushes at the mouth of the river, with
a little lantern to show me the exact spot, I could come down with the
tide, get the things, and float back again when the tide turns."
"I could do that, easily enough," Walter said. "The mouth of the river is
quite beyond our lines. But it is very risky for you, John. You might get
shot, if a sentry were to see you."
"I do not think that there is much fear of that," John said. "Just
floating along as I do, without swimming at all, there is only just my
face above water, and it would be hardly possible for a sentry to see me;
but if I were shot, I could not die in a better cause."
"I think, John, if you don't mind, I should like to tell my father. I am
quite sure he would not object, and, in case you should happen to get
caught, you could refer at once to him to prove that you were not a spy.
They make very short work of spies. But if you were to demand to be
brought to Captain Davenant, and say you were acting in accordance with
his knowledge, no doubt they would bring you."
"Do as you think best, Walter, but don't tell him, unless you feel almost
sure that he will not object."
"There is no fear of that," Walter said. "He is constantly lamenting over
the sufferings of the people of Derry, and has, all along, been in favour
of attempting to storm the place by force, so as to put a stop to all
this useless suffering. Now, John, you had better lie down on that straw
bed of mine, and get a sleep. After that, you will be ready for another
meal. I will tell Larry to go out among the market people, and buy three
gallons of milk and twenty pounds of bread. There are plenty of small
spirit kegs about, which will do capitally for the milk, and I don't
think that we can have anything better than one of them for the bread. We
can head it up, and make it watertight. How do you mean to get into the
town? I should have thought that they were likely to be seized."
"So they would be," John said. "I shall hide them in some bushes at the
foot of the walls, at the side of the town facing the river. There are
only a few sentries there. Then, when it is light, I shall go in and tell
my cousin; and get him, after dark, to lower a rope from the wall. I
shall of course be below, to tie on the kegs. He can then walk with them
boldly through the street to our house, which is only a short distance
from that part of the walls. If anyone saw him, they would only suppose
he was taking home water from one of the wells."
John was soon fast asleep. Walter sat watching him until, two hours
later, his father returned with his troop. John still slept on, while
Walter told his father the errand on which he had come.
"He is a brave lad," Captain Davenant said, "and I honour him for his
conduct. It is not many men who, at a time like this, would risk their
lives for a number of children who are not any relation to them.
Certainly, I will gladly assist him. I am sick at heart at all this. My
only consolation is, that it is brought on solely by the acts of these
men, who, though comparatively a handful, set themselves up against the
voice of all Ireland. If they had risen when an English army arrived to
their assistance, I should say nothing against it. As it is, without
doing any good to their cause, they are entailing this horrible suffering
upon thousands of women and children.
"By all means, help the poor lad, and if he should fall into the hands of
our people, let him mention my name. Rosen would no doubt disapprove of
it, but I cannot help that. All the Irish gentlemen in the army would
agree that I had done rightly, and, even if they didn't, my own
conscience would be quite sufficient for me to act upon. I am fighting
against the king's enemies, not warring against women and children.
"How soundly the poor lad sleeps, and how changed he is! He is a mere
skeleton. I should not have known him in the least. If this is the
condition into which a strong, healthy lad has fallen, what must the
women and children have suffered! I wish Kirk had not turned coward, but
had landed his troops. We could then have brought up our scattered
forces, and could have fought them in a fair field, with something like
equal forces. That would have been vastly more to my taste than starving
them, like rats in a hole."