s 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