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 that which has often, in desperate extremities, retrieved the fallen fortunes of nations.
Betrayed, deserted, disorganized, unprovided with resources, begirt with enemies, the noble city was still no easy conquest.

Whatever an engineer might think of the strength of the ramparts, all that was most intelligent, most courageous, most highspirited among the Englishry of Leinster and of Northern Ulster was crowded behind them.