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, and he determined to try and get them some food, or to die in the attempt.
He set out at his usual hour in the evening.

The tide was high, but just running out, and, entering the river, he floated down with the stream.
Keeping close under the bank, he passed the batteries which the besiegers had erected there without notice, dived under the great boom which they had constructed across the river, directly Kirk's expedition had retired, and continued to float down to the mouth of the river, where he landed and boldly struck across the country, for he was now beyond the lines of the besiegers.