All the household of the Countess sallied forth and crowded round the mortar, eager to give a hand to the ropes which were now passed about it to drag it within the walls. Captain Ogle, with a detachment of soldiers, protected the men who pulled the ropes, and very soon, amidst the joyful shouts of the whole garrison, and to the consternation of the besiegers, the savage monster went rolling into the courtyard to the feet of the Countess, who forthwith summoned Chaplain Rutter, and, in company with all her people, rendered thanks to Heaven in the chapel. The soldiers wanted to take the artillery as well, but the pieces were too heavy, and they contented themselves with spiking them, as they had vainly striven many times to do with the mortar. “This action cost the Lathom men two soldiers; the loss of the enemy was more considerable.”[16] All the time it was going on, the gunners on the walls never ceased peppering the Parliamentarians, and did great havoc among those who were near the fort and the trenches. The ditch was levelled in this sally. Footnote 16: Halsall. The joy at the capture of the mortar knew no bounds in the house. The monster whose flames had so often threatened to burn the older parts of the house, which were constructed mainly of wood, now lay in the courtyard silent and impotent. The soldiers indulged their feelings by bestowing on it a kick when they passed it, for all the terror it had caused in its time. Everybody was the more delighted from the fact coming to their knowledge that Captain Rigby had invited his friends and neighbours that same day to assemble to witness either the ceding or the burning of Lathom House. They were invited to be there at two o’clock. “And they punctually arrived in time to console Rigby, who was sick with shame and rage at finding himself beaten by a woman and a handful of soldiers.”[17] Footnote 17: Halsall. The besiegers now began to lose heart. Captains and men deserted the camp; the rain, which fell incessantly that spring, destroyed their trenches, and the undertaking throughout had brought them little credit. On the 23rd May the Countess was once more required, in insolent terms, to capitulate, “and to submit to the mercy of Parliament.” Lady Derby replied with a bitter smile, “You mistake. You mean the cruelties, not the mercies.” “No, madam,” replied the puzzled delegate, “the mercies of Parliament.” “The mercies of the wicked are cruel,” quickly responded she. Then she added that it was not Parliament, but its corrupt agents with whom she refused to treat. “Let them make terms with my lord,” she went on; “failing that, they will have neither me nor my friends while there is life in us.” When the deputy persisted, she said: “This insolent rebel shall make no more proposals. If he does, his messenger shall hang at my gates.”