Behind the Walls (17 page)

Out they shuffled, in a solitary line, too wet and downcast to bother thanking their benefactor. No doubt they had a long walk in front of them.

Because they had nothing else to do, Daniel and James watched the family’s painfully slow walk away from the gates. They appeared to be heading south, bypassing Windmill Hill. From time to time the boys glanced over at them, as they became dots in the distance. It took a while for the two guards to figure out what they were doing and where exactly they were going. But in the end it was obvious. James took off and returned with the telescope so that they could be sure. They passed it back and forth as they watched that poor family deliver themselves into the hands of the Jacobites.

James whistled and said, ‘Are you going to tell your brother, or should I?’

Daniel pretended not to hear him. Things were already so confusing without this.
Was Robert wrong to have let them go? Was the family wrong for wanting to save themselves?

When he realised James was still staring at him, he
shrugged. ‘Can’t we just not saying anything? It’s just one family, who are not even from Derry.’ As if in agreement, his stomach croaked pitifully.

James scratched his ear. ‘Alright but that doesn’t mean that somebody else didn’t see them.’

Daniel decided he was willing to take this risk.

As it happened, James was right. Robert was told about the deserters, for that was what the little family were called. However, there was no point in dwelling on that particular bunch of grandparents, parents and children because they were only the first of many, many more. Other families, starving and diseased, began to sneak out from behind the walls to throw themselves at the mercy of Colonel Hamilton who had let it be known that they would not be harmed if they surrendered.

Paranoia gripped the remaining population. Were they insane to stay put and stay hungry? Dying was in full flow, disease finding the weak and eating them alive, no matter who they were.

Perhaps it was inevitable that rumours struck up like wildfire to stoke the flames of terror. Someone told someone else, who told someone else, that Governor George Walker was hoarding food in his house.

What a delicious piece of news to have in the middle of a famine!

With people longing to believe that there were cupboards
still bulging with wheat, potatoes, salted fish and beef, the little story was bounced along from one empty mouth to the next with wondrous enthusiasm. Well, there was only one way to find out if it was true; an immediate inspection of the property must be launched.

Who knows how many started out for the governor’s house, maybe it was only a handful of angry individuals, but once they reached their destination their number and rage had increased considerably. Henry happened across them midway through their journey and, noting the determination in their step, decided to follow them. He held back as the men and women confronted the Walker house.

He was fortunate that his father had been popular, much more popular than Governor Walker. Dead men are popular forever and the crowd were ready to blame someone for their hunger and it did not seem that they especially held the Catholic army to account. No, they wanted to blame someone who was nearer home. The very idea that this man of God, who lectured them at every opportunity, would be stuffing his face while his lowly congregation and the rest of the city were living on candle wax and mice was too much to bear.

Henry briefly considered placing himself between the mob and the governor’s house, but even he understood that nobody would be able to calm them down. However,
it appeared that God was looking after the governor and his family because the house was empty.
Well, now the jig would be up.
Henry shrugged.
Let them do what they must
. He had the strongest feeling that his father stood beside him, willing him to keep his distance, for now. The young man’s nose and cheeks felt as cold as stone as he felt his heart harden against the governor.
Besides, it’s only what Walker deserves if he is hoarding.

There was a crash followed by a boorish roar of triumph. The front door was smashed and the house was invaded. Henry licked his lips as he listened to the sounds of furniture being thrown around.

As the son of a politician, he was equipped to reason that the poor do not altogether mind hardship in order to make a point, to be patriotic in the face of a foreign enemy. However, should the people feel that they are the only ones to endure suffering while those with money and fancy clothes continue enjoying their comforts, benefitting even from their neighbours’ hardship,
well, then, this is only to be expected.

Henry waited but when he heard exclamations of outrage, and joy, his curiosity got the better of him and he hurried through the broken entrance.

A man yelped, ‘I don’t believe this!’ A woman screamed.

In spite of himself, Henry grew excited at the thought of decent food. ‘What? What is it? Meat? Fish? Bread?’

He found the gang in the pantry, standing in awe at the sight of a multitude of bottles filled with beer alongside plates of what looked like butter. Nobody said a word.

Henry, taking in the reverent expressions on the faces of the intruders, along with the liquid treasure trove, couldn’t help it; he threw back his head and laughed.

To their credit, his companions – most of whom looked to be of a rough sort – waited until he was finished before one of them asked, ‘What’s so funny, friend?’

Henry beamed at his interrogator. ‘Don’t you see? Can’t you guess? Surely you do!’ But they obviously didn’t, so he enlightened them. ‘All those speeches every Sunday. I thought he was being fired by God above but no …’ Here, he pointed at the beer and laughed again. ‘No! That’s all it was!’

Chapter Twenty-Two

T
he old dog was off his food and Adam Murray’s father had no sympathy for him.

‘Don’t you know that people are starving and here’s you turning up your nose at porridge?’

Gabriel shook his head in disgust. His pet stared at him, refusing to be blackmailed into eating his meal. Wagging his finger at him, Gabriel said, ‘It’s that or nothing!’

The dog whined.

‘No,’ said Gabriel. ‘I’m not making any more biscuits until tomorrow.’

Sitting down, he stirred his own porridge. He couldn’t help grinning at the dog. ‘You’re a stubborn fool and you know it!’

He received a sharp bark by way of reply.

Gabriel made a face and said, ‘No, you shut up!’ before continuing to eat his breakfast in peace.

In the city Daniel was relieved to reach his front door. There hadn’t been a break from the rain in the last couple of hours. How lovely it was to get away from it and remove his sodden clothes. He did his best to ignore
the creaking of his empty stomach, wishing that the sun would shine. One’s appetite was never as demanding on a hot summer’s day.

He peeled his wet coat off himself, trying not to make a puddle on the floor. The fire was lit so he dropped his things over the nearest chair, hoping that they would dry out quickly. So absorbed was he in fussing over his clothes that it took a few minutes for him to sense that there was something different about the house. For one thing he could smell food, hot food. Real food. The fire crackled in the grate and the delicious scent thrilled him, giving him goosebumps – a proper dinner at last. Baby Alice gurgled in her cot, which had been placed to the side of the fireplace. For too long she had either wailed out of hunger or was silent from the effort. Now, she was punching the air in front of her with her little fists, her toothless mouth curved into the shape of a gaping grin.

Daniel cooed at her, ‘Are you trying to tell me something, Alice?’

When was the last time that the house had felt like home?

His brother and father appeared. Daniel was pleased to note that they were neither arguing nor pretending the other was absent. Yet, somehow, they did not exactly appear at their ease. He caught them stealing glances at him but was too enthused about dinner to enquire if anything was wrong. So he merely smiled at them as they
stood in front of the fire.

‘Did you get very wet on watch?’ asked his father.

Daniel replied, ‘It rained all afternoon. I thought I’d never get home.’

Robert nodded vigorously to this. There was a pause before he then said, ‘I was just telling Father about the new leader of the Jacobite army, the French lieutenant-general called de Rosen. Rumour has it that he is appalled at how little Hamilton has achieved.’

Mr Sherrard nodded. ‘I think we may expect an increase in pressure from the Jacobites. By all accounts, the Frenchman shows none of Colonel Hamilton’s patience.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Robert. ‘He has already made his presence felt. There are trenches being dug near Windmill Hill while their long cannons, the culverins, are being moved towards Butchers’ Gate. It seems he intends to start firing at it.’

Daniel’s head dutifully swivelled between his brother and father, as each spoke, while they failed to meet his eye. He put it down to the fact that Robert and his father were out of practice at relaxing in each other’s company. That explained their hearty voices and unwillingness to allow even the tiniest pause. He was ready to bridge any gaps in the conversation and was surprised to find that he was not needed in any way.

A crash from the pantry startled him but the other
two made no comment. So, Daniel felt he should ask, ‘Is Mother alright?’

His father shrugged. ‘She complains of dizziness.’

Rather unnecessarily, Robert explained, ‘It’s the lack of nourishment. She needs to eat for two or the baby will die.’

Daniel asked, ‘Should I go and check on her?’

His father surprised him by saying rather quickly, ‘Oh, I’m sure she’d call us if there was a problem.’

His father’s casualness regarding his mother was a bit strange but Daniel chose not to dwell on it. At least there was dinner.

It struck him that he had not thought to ask about the smell until now. ‘Where did the food come from?’ He couldn’t understand the confusion on his father’s and Robert’s faces. Suddenly alarmed that his belly was conjuring up a smell that wasn’t real, he asked his father, ‘Is it my imagination? Mother is cooking something, isn’t she? Can’t you smell it too?’ He failed to see the panicked expression on Robert’s face.

Meanwhile, his father ignored Robert and said, ‘Yes, of course’, which could have meant anything at all.

‘I need you boys to keep a proper eye on Alice,’ his father quickly added. ‘Babies are defenceless against hungry rats. There should be no need to describe the state I found an infant in after a rat got under her blankets.’

In a sudden panic, Daniel immediately pulled back Alice’s covers. She squeaked as they flapped in her face.

His father nodded. ‘Very good, Daniel. We’ll need to remember to do that as often as we can, to be safe.’

Mrs Sherrard appeared with two bowls of steaming stew. ‘Right, are we ready to sit down together? Robert, you say grace!’ She returned to the kitchen to fetch the last two bowls.

Daniel expected his brother to roll his eyes, but Robert sat down, waiting for the rest of the family to join him. He didn’t have long to wait. Daniel’s mouth and eyes watered in anticipation. ‘Thank you, Mother!’ She didn’t seem to hear him.

‘Now, mind you don’t eat too fast,’ warned Mr Sherrard. ‘Our stomachs need to get used to eating solid food again.’

The family held hands and Robert rushed through a prayer of thanks to God for the food they were about to eat. His voice trembled slightly.

Something bothered Daniel but he chose not to explore it, just yet. He did feel guilty about his dinner, hoping that James Morrison was enjoying a tasty meal such as this. His companion on the walls deserved it just as much as the Sherrards did; indeed, everybody in Derry deserved a meal such as this.

It was difficult to banish all those starving people huddled in the streets from his mind. How they would enjoy
this, actual
lumps
of dark meat sitting in their own greasy juice.

Nobody spoke. Four heads hung over their bowls and moved in time together, spooning out the meat, catching the fat, swallowing it whole and returning for more. Mrs Sherrard’s face was flushed from the heat of the kitchen. Her hair was askew but she barely allowed herself the time to push it back out of her way.

Daniel smiled in gratitude at his mother, but she was too absorbed to notice. He was looking away from her to focus on his next mouthful when a sliver of a thought – that is, the merest whisper from the depth of his being – nudged him, forcing him to take in his surroundings. He could deny it no longer; his family were definitely avoiding him even as they sat right here at this table.

What is wrong?

Was this how Robert usually felt, always on the outside of the family group; feeling that he had taken a wrong step or misjudged what was understood by his parents and young brother? Well, now it was his younger brother who was feeling left out. And then it was as if the fog dissolved to allow the sun to shine through because, in that instant, Daniel realised what was troubling him. He pronounced it calmly. ‘Horace!’

The Sherrards, as a family, stopped chewing and sat frozen as if some wicked enchantress had struck them
with her magic wand. Only the clock kept moving, its ticking dominating the unexpected stillness.

A timid voice in Daniel’s head tried to tell him something that he did not wish to hear. Nevertheless, he glanced around the table and settled on his father, saying again, ‘Horace?’

Out of the three, Mr Sherrard had been the most confident of handling this scene when it finally unfolded. However, now that it was here, he found himself abandoned by his deceitful confidence. He was unable to swallow the morsel in his mouth, clinging to it as a reason for being unable to speak.

In any case, his father’s delay told his youngest son all he needed or wanted to know. The spoon spilled from his hand and slid into his bowl with the daintiest splash.

His mother began to cry even as she continued to eat.

Daniel’s tone was flat. ‘Was it you who killed him? Or you, Father? Or was it you, brother?’

Only his mother answered him. ‘I gave him to the butcher to do it because … we … I couldn’t …’

Daniel closed his eyes; his head felt as if it was being struck by a heavy object.

Robert spoke. ‘I’m so sorry, Daniel. But we had to eat. Mother is getting weaker by the day. Alice is sleeping so much because she hasn’t the energy to do anything else. And, Father, well, we didn’t like to worry you but he has fallen
down on the streets once or twice while making his rounds.’

Daniel opened his eyes and looked around the table once more. This time he saw the greyness in his mother’s face, noted how the bones of her cheeks and the line of her jaw protruded; her skin was tightly drawn as if there was barely enough to cover her. My God, the shape of her face had completely changed. Why hadn’t he noticed this before now?

Look how his father had aged. Daniel was reminded of his grandmother as she lay dying. Up to this moment, he had forgotten what she looked like; he had been so young when she died. But, see now, here she was again! His father looked like an old, old woman. When did this happen?

Robert was no better. His hands shook while his wrists seemed dwarfed by long and skinny fingers. Goodness, when did those blue veins start showing through, like cold, narrow streams cutting across one another? Daniel stared at his brother’s hands for a moment, mesmerised. They reminded him of maps … or something like that.

It wasn’t Robert’s fault, but he decided to break the silence, saying something that really,
really
did not need to be said. ‘We all have to make sacrifices at times like this!’

Daniel blinked, shook his head and asked, ‘What?’

His brother obliged him, which was a mistake. ‘I mean, we all have to make sacrifices … you know … at times like this.’

Slowly, Daniel pushed back his chair, giving himself over to the roar within, gritting his teeth as he asked, ‘Pray tell, what sacrifices have you made?’

Robert gaped, realising he had jumped too soon, far too soon.

Their parents did not attempt to intervene. In any case, what could they have said to make this right? Daniel was free to collect every little anxiety he had accidentally gathered over the last few months. He stood up, wanting to be the tallest in the room, wanting to make them look up to him, for once.

‘You,’ he spat at his brother, ‘you have dragged this city to her knees, ever since we closed those gates on your orders. You – yes, YOU – have caused much more damage than any Catholic.’

Robert was stunned. Who was this stranger?

‘Oh?’ snorted Daniel, his face blotchy with rage. ‘Don’t you see the dying on your strolls to the walls? The graveyards are full, or did you not know that? Imagine – not one more body can be buried properly.’

His father laid a heavy hand on his eldest son’s arm, preventing him from also standing up; Robert was obliged to gaze up at his younger brother as he fought to respond to these impossible accusations. ‘Daniel, you’re not thinking straight! You know as well as I do why we keep the gates locked. It’s for all our sakes and Derry’s too. You know this!
I know you know this!’

He reached out to take Daniel’s hand but thought better of it when the boy looked at his limb as if it were a poisonous snake.

‘Boys.’ Their mother uttered the word feebly, not expecting it to have any real effect. She brought a hand to her forehead, causing her husband to get to his feet and rush to her side. ‘My dear, are you alright?’

Daniel’s anger would not be quelled just yet. Pointing at the frail couple who all at once seemed overwhelmed by life, he demanded of his brother, ‘Do you not see how you have caused this?’

This was too much for Robert. He exploded too, tears pumped out of him – a rare sight – and his face contorted in agony. ‘Of course I do, you little fool! What? Do you think I’m made of stone like the walls?’

Ah, so that was it. That quenched Daniel’s rage and his father’s too for that matter.

Robert felt that his father agreed with everything Daniel had just said. He fell back down onto his chair. His head throbbed while his heart struggled to keep up with him. Almost fascinated by his own admission of guilt, Robert repeated the words, ‘Of course I do.’

Mrs Sherrard patted her husband’s hand and bid him to return to his seat. ‘It was just another dizzy spell but it’s gone now.’

And just like that the family returned to their meal. Daniel’s was flavoured with his salty tears yet he kept eating because he knew he had to. Not another word was said and no more apologies were given.

As soon as she emptied her bowl, Mrs Sherrard took the baby upstairs to feed her. Somehow Alice had kept quiet throughout the upset. Daniel’s mother was sorry about Horace; she truly was. He had gotten in her way for years now, sometimes causing her to lash out at him with her foot so that she could have the kitchen to herself. Only now she realised that she had lost a true companion. No matter how badly she had treated him he always –
always
– wagged his tail at the sight of her the following morning. His love for her had been pure and undeserved.