Everywhere was life and bustle. Men were cleaning their arms, preparatory to the march of next day. Others were cooking at the fires. Troopers were grooming their horses. Snatches of song, and loud laughter, rose in the air.
After wandering about for an hour, Walter rejoined his father. Captain Davenant was sitting with the two officers of his troop, Lieutenant O'Driscoll and Cornet Heron, by a fire, the materials for which the three troopers who acted as their servants had collected. There was no cooking to be done, for sufficient cold provisions had been brought with the troop.
"You are just in time, Walter," his father said. "We are going to fall to, at once, at our meal.
"Hand over that cold chicken, Larry; and do you, Tim Donelly, broach that keg of claret. Give me the bread, Fergus–that's right.
"Now, gentlemen, here's a hunk each. Plates are a luxury which we must do without, in the field. Now let us fall to."
Walter seated himself on a truss of straw beside his father, and thought he had never enjoyed a meal so much, in his life, as the bread and cold chicken, eaten as they were in the open air in front of the crackling fire. Each was provided with a horn, and these were filled from the keg.
"Here's to the king, gentlemen. Success to his arms!"
All stood up to drink the toast, and then continued their meal. Three chickens vanished rapidly, and the troopers kept their horns filled with claret.
"If we always do as well as that," Captain Davenant said, as they finished the meal, "we shall have no reason to grumble. But I fear that's too much to expect.
"Bring me my pipe and tobacco, Larry. You will find them in the holsters of my saddle.
"Fergus, do you undo these trusses, and lay the straw out even–that will do.
"Now, lads, you will find plenty more provisions in the wallet. Do you go and get your own suppers, then give an eye to the horses. We shall not want anything more."
For two or three hours, the three officers and Walter sat chatting by the fire, occasionally piling on fresh logs. Gradually the din of voices in the camp died away, and the bright fires burned down.
"I think we had better turn in," Captain Davenant said at last. "We must be astir an hour before daylight, for we march as soon as it's light."
Rolling themselves in their long cloaks, they lay down upon the straw. It was some time before Walter got to sleep. The novelty of the situation, and the strangeness of lying with the night air blowing in his face, made him unusually wakeful. Occasionally, too, a laugh, from some party who were sitting late round their fire, attracted his attention, and the sound of the snorting and pawing of the horses also kept him awake; but at last he, too, went off to sleep.
In spite of his warm cloak, he felt stiff and chilled when the sound of the trumpets and drums roused the camp.
"Well, Walter, how do you like sleeping in the open?" his father said, as he rose to his feet and shook himself.
"I don't mind the sleeping, father, but the waking is not so pleasant. However, I shall soon get accustomed to it, I suppose. But I always did hate getting up in the dark, even when we were going out fishing."
"You won't always get as comfortable a bed as this, Walter; so don't expect it. The time will come, ere long, when you will look back upon this as absolute luxury. We are not likely to get straw another night, I can tell you.
"Now, Fergus, bring that wallet here. We must breakfast before we get in the saddle."
Walter came to the conclusion that breakfast, eaten in the dark, was a very inferior meal to dinner before a great fire. However, he kept his thoughts to himself, and, as soon as he had finished, went to aid Larry in saddling the horses.
"I suppose I can ride with you today, father?" he said, as he mounted.
"Yes; there will not be any military display by the way. Many of the soldiers have got nothing in the way of uniform at present. So you can ride with me. But if any general officer comes along, you must draw off a little, and drop behind with Larry, who will follow in the rear of the troop."
As soon as daylight appeared, the bugles gave the signal, and the force, preceded by its cavalry, started on its march towards the north.
Chapter 4: The Siege Of Derry
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