Determination of the besieged.
Rosen may have hoped to frighten the town into surrender without carrying out all his threats. If so, he was completely mistaken. In the evening of Monday, July 1, about 200 victims were gathered under the walls and a thousand more appeared in the morning. Many of these had been living peaceably under the King’s protection. Throughout that day and the next the number increased, being brought in from the surrounding country. It does not appear that Rosen’s orders were fully carried out in more distant parts, probably because of James’s action. Even before the King’s letter arrived the Marshal saw that his bolt had missed, and had merely furnished the garrison with an irrefutable argument. They erected a gallows on the south-western bastion, and warned the prisoners, who had hitherto been very kindly treated, to prepare for instant death. There were twenty of them, and they appealed to Hamilton, who gave them no comfort but the assurance that their deaths should be revenged on many thousands of people, innocent or guilty, both within and without the city. As to the proposals for capitulation, the governors said that they could not trust the besiegers, Rosen’s manifesto being inconsistent with Hamilton’s suggestions. Besides, the latter’s commission was dated May 1, since which a Parliament had sat in which their lives and estates were forfeited. Meanwhile neither the besieged nor the starving people outside had any thoughts of surrender. On the fourth day Rosen allowed the victims of his scheme to return to their devastated homes, and King James renewed Hamilton’s commission. A few of the strongest outside slipped into the town, and many of the weakest within seized the chance of escape. The governors thought their food would not last beyond July 26, and might have yielded if time had been given to that day, but it was refused, and all negotiations came to naught. Help did not come until after the last ration of famine-fare had been served out.[228]
The town relieved by sea.
From the time that Kirke appeared upon the coast until the end of the siege there were many attempts to establish communications. Daily signals were made from the cathedral and answered from the ships, but were not well understood on either side, though it seems, from the account of Captain James Roche, that there was so much of a preconcerted code as enabled him to tell Kirke how many more days the town could hold out. Roche was induced by the promise of 3000 guineas to carry a letter, and this he succeeded in doing, by swimming under great difficulties; but even he could not get back, and had to stay till the end. Another messenger was drowned, and a third taken and hanged. A little boy afterwards succeeded in bringing a letter. The investment was very close, but the besiegers gave up any hope of succeeding except by starvation, and Kirke’s chief advice by Roche was to husband the provisions. On July 20 Hamilton held a council at which six generals attended, all of whom agreed with him that the town could only be taken by famine. Rosen was in bed, and disclaimed all responsibility, saying that he was always against the siege, and that his advice had been slighted. The guns, said the others, were quite insufficient, and the besiegers had suffered so much that they were not numerically superior to the besieged. On Saturday, July 27, the day of Killiecrankie, Captain Ash wrote in his diary, ‘Next Wednesday is our last, if relief not does arrive before it.’ About six in the evening of the day following that on which these despairing words were written, three ships were seen coming up the Foyle. They proved to be the Dartmouth, of forty guns, commanded by John Leake, the Mountjoy, under Micaiah Browning, a native of Londonderry, and the Phœnix of Coleraine, under Andrew Douglas. If we consider what Rooke and Leake did together in after years, we may believe that they would have made the attack much sooner, but they were under Kirke’s orders, and he was a landsman. The Dartmouth anchored opposite Culmore and engaged the fort, the man-of-war having probably better guns, and certainly better gunners. Meanwhile the two merchant-ships, accompanied by boats from the fleet, sailed or were towed up to the boom, at each end of which a fort had been built. The boats’ crews hacked at the obstacle, and before it was quite cleared the Mountjoy struck against its timbers, and went ashore. A shout of triumph went up from the Irish army, and the hearts of the men on the wall sank. But a gap had been made and the Phœnix passed up to the Quay. The larger vessel—her burden was only 135 tons—used what guns she had, and the concussion, joined to the rising tide, soon brought her off, but not before her brave captain had been killed by a cannon-ball. He died, says Macaulay, ‘by the most enviable of all deaths, in the sight of the city which was his birthplace, which was his home, and which had just been saved by his courage and self-devotion from the most frightful form of destruction.’[229]
Cost of the siege.
The Phœnix carried three or four thousand bushels of Scotch meal, the Mountjoy was laden with biscuit, cheese, pork, and pease, and as Hamilton’s only hope was in famine, the siege was virtually over. It lasted 105 days, and cost some 15,000 lives, more from fever and starvation than from wounds. The mortality among the women and among those who were too old or too young to fight was far greater than among the soldiers. Michelburne lost his wife and all his children. For two days the Irish continued to fire from their trenches, but they were preparing to go. Everything within reach was destroyed, and on the night of July 31 they set fire to their camp and marched off to Strabane. Some of the late besieged, who had no horses, attempted pursuit, but the Irish rearguard turned on them and killed seven men. The battle of Newtown Butler was fought on the day that the siege was raised, and when the news reached Strabane, Hamilton’s army retired, abandoning their guns, and burning everything until they got near Charlemont. Avaux reported that they were completely ruined, and that the double disaster had demoralised the Irish everywhere.[230]
Defence of Enniskillen.
Repulse of Galmoy.
While Londonderry was beset Enniskillen kept her assailants at arm’s length. The north-east side was protected by the garrisons left by Lord Kingston in Donegal and Ballyshannon, but on the north-west Sarsfield had a good force of Connaught men at Sligo and Manor Hamilton, and in June he fixed a camp at Bundrowes, where the waters of Lough Melvin reach the sea. To the south, Colonel Crichton maintained Crom Castle. The Protestants living in the open country knew that they had nothing to expect from Lundy, who had ordered the evacuation of Dungannon, and done what he could to prevent Enniskillen from resisting. All the help he gave the defenders was five barrels of powder and some old gun-barrels, which they managed to fix with locks and stocks. They had no other ammunition for months, except what they took from the enemy. In March Lord Galmoy with a strong force approached Enniskillen and on March 30 the defenders saw the Protestants of Cavan pouring in. First came some horse and foot, then ‘the whole inhabitants with their women and children to their middle in clay and dirt, with pitiful lamentations, and little or no provision to sustain them.’ They did their best to persuade the Enniskilleners to fly with them to Londonderry. After two days’ rest they were told that if the men went the women and children should be turned out. Some remained with their families, but the majority went on. Galmoy came as far as Belturbet, whence he sent a party to besiege Crom. He had no battering guns, but made a show with two pieces consisting of tinplates covered with buckram, and bound round with whipcord. A wooden ball was fired from one of these machines, which quickly burst, and did not frighten the garrison, who were soon strengthened by a detachment from Enniskillen, conveyed partly in boats. Galmoy advanced as far as Lisnaskea, but drew back towards Crom on the approach of the whole Enniskillen force. The men in the castle and those who came by road then attacked the Irish simultaneously, and Galmoy retired with loss to Belturbet, leaving his buckram batteries behind him.[231]