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,