y took on themselves
to change the passwords and to double the guards. The night, however,
passed over without any assault, [198]

After some anxious hours the day broke. The Irish, with James at their
head, were now within four miles of the city. A tumultuous council of
the chief inhabitants was called. Some of them vehemently reproached the
Governor to his face with his treachery. He had sold them, they cried,
to their deadliest enemy: he had refused admission to the force which
good King William had sent to defend them. While the altercation was
at the height, the sentinels who paced the ramparts announced that the
vanguard of the hostile army was in sight. Lundy had given orders that
there should be no firing; but his authority was at an end. Two gallant
soldiers, Major Henry Baker and Captain Adam Murray, called the people
to arms. They were assisted by the eloquence of an aged clergyman,
George Walker, rector of the parish of Donaghmore, who had, with many
of his neighbours, taken refuge in Londonderry. The whole of the crowded
city was moved by one impulse. Soldiers, gentlemen, yeomen, artisans,
rushed to the walls and manned the guns. James, who, confident of
success, had approached within a hundred yards of the southern gate,
was received with a shout of "No surrender," and with a fire from the
nearest bastion. An officer of his staff fell dead by his side. The
King and his attendants made all haste to get out of reach of the cannon
balls. Lundy, who was now in imminent danger of being torn limb from
limb by those whom he had betrayed, hid himself in an inner chamber.
There he lay during the day, and at night, with the generous and politic
connivance of Murray and Walker, made his escape in the disguise of a
porter, [199] The part of the wall from which he let himself down is
still pointed out; and people still living talk of having tasted the
fruit of a pear tree which assisted him in his descent. His name is, to
this day, held in execration by the Protestants of the North of Ireland;
and his effigy was long, and perhaps still is, annually hung and burned
by them with marks of abhorrence similar to those which in England are
appropriated to Guy Faux.

And now Londonderry was left destitute of all military and of all civil
government. No man in the town had a right to command any other: the
defences were weak: the provisions were scanty: an incensed tyrant and
a great army were at the gates. But within was tha