Behind the Walls (6 page)

Daniel didn’t like to say that he had worked this much out for himself. Instead he said, ‘I suppose I should know how to use it, in case you are shot or wounded.’

James was aghast. ‘Nothing like that is going to happen to me!’

Daniel rushed to assure James that he agreed.

It was a cold morning. The clouds merged into one large mass of greyness as they glided across the sky. There was nothing much to see. The Jacobite army were completely ignoring the city. Not a single soldier seemed so much as to glance in their direction. They sauntered around their campsite. Some were engaged in lighting fires and making their breakfast while others were taking care of the horses. It was virtually the same occupations currently absorbing the residents of Derry.

Three hours later and Daniel was, much to his surprise, bored. James yawned, ‘No massacre then!’ The casual observer might be forgiven for thinking that at least one
of them seemed slightly disappointed. Their attention naturally wandered until they both found themselves watching a large group of noisy crows.

James sighed. ‘I’m glad I’m not a crow!’

Daniel giggled. ‘What?’

James had no idea he had said anything strange and he continued on, ‘They turn on their own kind, you know.’

Daniel was still puzzled by the topic.

‘Imagine,’ said James, ‘we were all crows in Derry.’

Daniel nodded out of politeness if nothing else.

James continued, ‘So, maybe you – Daniel Sherrard – get sick.’ He paused to consider his words and changed his mind. ‘No, not that. In fact you’ve never been sick a day in your life and you now find yourself at a good age. It is your fiftieth or even sixtieth birthday.’

Daniel found it easier to imagine Derry populated by crows than to imagine himself as an old man.

James was in his element now. ‘You have been a good citizen all your life but now you are aged and weary. So, you make mistakes like dropping things or tripping up over stones in the street.’

Daniel could understand this part. Just yesterday he had overturned a mug of milk, infuriating his mother with the waste of it, though Horace had gratefully lapped it up.

‘Nobody says a word to you about dropping things or falling down. Then, one day, you are told to attend a meeting
at the Town Hall. You hear that everyone has been asked to attend it.’ James’s voice was low and thick with barely concealed excitement. ‘So, you put on your good coat and you head out onto the street where you see all your neighbours and friends making their way to the Town Hall, just like you. When you get there you feel something strange is going on. Some of your oldest friends don’t even return your greeting, while others that you don’t know very well are madly hugging you and bellowing “hello” in your face as if you were miles away.’

At this point, both boys glanced towards the army to make sure it hadn’t advanced any nearer to the city.

‘The doors are closed,’ James paused for effect, ‘and then locked behind you. This had never happened before. The town leaders announce the commencement of the meeting.’

Daniel leant in to hear him better as James was almost talking in a whisper. He certainly wasn’t prepared for James to shout ‘Suddenly!’ Daniel jumped backwards.

‘Suddenly,’ James repeated, ‘you find yourself in the centre of the crowd. You’re completely surrounded by all these folk you have known for years. Their stares are empty but their hands aren’t. You notice that they are all carrying daggers and they are pointed at you. Each and every one of them takes their turn to stab you, until you are dead.’

Daniel wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say something so he didn’t.

James asked, ‘Do you understand what happened? They killed you off because you got old and became a burden on the community. Crows do that to one another.’

Daniel nodded. ‘Well, I’ve very, very glad I’m not a crow then!’

James shrugged and said, ‘It’s worse to be killed by friends and neighbours. At least you know where you stand with your enemies.’

Chapter Seven

‘L
ong live William of Orange!’ Reverend Gordon urged his parishioners and others to show their gratitude for the good news which had just arrived from England, and so they did. They roared their appreciation for the prince of Denmark’s decision to support William of Orange and Mary, his wife, as future king and queen of England. Outside the cathedral the reverend ordered for two cannon guns to be made ready to fire. Someone else called out, ‘Long live the prince of Denmark!’ The crowd roared again.

Daniel, James and some of the others climbed the walls, to see whether the Jacobites had heard any of the fun yet. Such good news for Protestants would have to affect the Catholics on the banks of the Foyle. Robert and Henry positioned themselves beside one of the cannons, warning everyone else to stand well back. Actual cannonballs would not be used because all artillery needed to be saved, just in case. A captain of the guards waited for Reverend Gordon’s say so before dropping his arms, the signal for Henry to light the fuse. The cannons belted out their own
version of joy and determination while the crowd roared once more: ‘Long live William of Orange; long live Protestants everywhere!’

The Redshanks were understandably startled. Daniel could make out men jumping to their feet, naturally wondering if they were under attack. However, they seemed even more confused when the sound of a cannon firing was not followed up by an explosion of some sort, with a cannonball smashing into a tree or landing somewhere in the middle of them, to wound or kill. But there was nothing of the sort. Could they hear the cheering from the city? Daniel couldn’t believe that the tumultuous noise was not being flown across the river by the choppy breeze.

James got carried away, as he was wont to do. He did his best to hide what he was doing but Daniel was standing right next to him and could plainly see he was loading his rifle. ‘Er …?’ mumbled Daniel but James was too caught up to hear him. Daniel shrugged to himself.
He won’t dare fire it
. He was wrong. James had been waiting a long time to do this; that was how he explained it to himself. Besides, he couldn’t actually inflict any damage on anyone; they were too far away. Really, the gunshot was simply a nice accompaniment to the cannon fire.

Below them the butcher, Mr Cook, was assembling his own version of an army. Boys, about fifty of them, surrounded him and then followed him to the gate. People
were laughing and pointing. ‘Let’s go tell those scallywags that they can bugger off back to wherever they came from!’ The butcher raised his hairy fist in the air, and his boys cheered in delight. The gate was unlocked and out they poured, not a gun between the lot of them, only heart and comradeship. Mr Cook started the chanting, ‘You miserable Papists scoundrels, get going while you still can!’ The lads took up the call and repeated it, along with the most flamboyant of insults.

Daniel and James watched the Redshanks begin to stir in earnest. What was going on? Cannon fire, gunfire and now it looked like they were going to be attacked. They couldn’t see that the butcher’s warriors were young, unarmed and much too giddy to hurt them. Daniel was sure he heard the words ‘Run for it!’ For a moment he thought it meant that the army was going to run towards the city and Mr Cook’s army. However, much to his amazement and relief, it meant run in the opposite direction, away from Derry. It was a while before it sank in, what they were doing: these towering giants were running
away
. And what a magnificent sight it was to behold. James bellowed in his ear, ‘We’ve scared them off!’ The two friends hugged one another as Derry rejoiced. There was more cheering, more backslapping, with lots of people who hadn’t done anything being lavished with congratulations.

James went to reload his rifle, but Daniel spoke up this time. ‘Oh, there’s no need for that. You’d be wasting gunpowder!’ James was forced to agree with this, especially on spotting Reverend Gordon climb the walls to see the Jacobites in disarray. He didn’t doubt that the reverend meant what he said about having him locked up if he ever endangered the city again.

Meanwhile, a couple of miles away, Gabriel Murray heard echoes in the air.
God above
, he thought.
Is the city under attack?
Something told him it wasn’t cries of anguish he was hearing. He didn’t feel tempted to go and check it out. His horse was as old as he was, in horse years at least. They only made the most necessary of journeys.

Sometime later, his dog began to complain. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Gabriel asked. These days the dog normally held his peace beyond a guttural growl or two. He was more like a shadow than an animal. Something was up alright. Gabriel watched him stretch his snout up and sniff the wind before emitting a brief torrent of barks that lost their sharpness. Gabriel teased him for not finishing his sentences properly, ‘Do you realise you only say “Woo!” instead of “Woof!”?’

His horse was nervous too, shaking its head and stepping one way and the other. Gabriel searched the sky for a clue. To be sure, it wasn’t a pretty picture unless you had a preference for grey clouds. However, it didn’t seem that a
storm was on the horizon. Normally the animals got skittish when thunder and lightning were on their way. In any case the cows were still standing. They usually sat down when rain was due. So, what was it?

He was too old to be scared by most things, he was just curious as to what the animals could sense. He stood against his front door and waited. It was not long before his patience was rewarded when he spotted a group of men in red coats coming over the hill. Although they looked impressive from a distance, Gabriel began to notice a few flaws in their appearance as they drew near. Hats were askew and some of them were in their stocking feet, while only a few wore their regiment’s coat and carried weapons. Oh, he knew who they were alright: Jacobites.
Now, are they going to cause me trouble?

He mused to the dog, ‘I wonder if the city scared them off?’ Certainly it was all a bit unexpected, but what could he do except wait and see?

The first group passed him by, followed by a second and then a third group of soldiers. None of them showed any interest in the old man though he smiled pleasantly at them, especially the younger ones, boys of sixteen or seventeen years. Of course, he presented no threat, with his stooped, skinny frame and ill-fitting clothes.

He couldn’t resisting calling out, ‘Are you heading home, boys?’

There were some scowls and eye-rolling, but one older fellow deigned to answer him, ‘I hope we are, sir, as I’m sure you do too.’

Gabriel shrugged. ‘Ach right, we’ll always have hope, if nothing else!’

Chapter Eight

T
he days passed as they always do, no matter what is afoot. Life went on behind the walls of the city. After all is said and done, it is the small things that matter most. Chamber pots had to be emptied, bread had to be baked and eaten, candles were lit and extinguished and so on.

Derry was as lively as ever, watching over her swollen population and doing her utmost to keep it safe. In this she was helped when orders were issued to repair all cannon guns and have them placed on wheels so that they could be quickly moved from one place to another. A cannon gun was also positioned on the highest tower in the city, that of St Columb’s Cathedral.

When they discovered they were not being pursued, the Jacobites returned to their camps. People took little notice of them. As James Morrison said, ‘It’s almost like they’re part of the landscape now.’

The same argument raged back and forth:

Should we let them in
?

No, we bloody well shouldn’t!

But they’ve said that they mean us no harm.

And you believe them, do you?

Oh, I don’t know!

One morning a message arrived from Lord Mountjoy, the commander of the regiment that had been summoned to Dublin by Lord Lieutenant Richard Talbot, explaining that he had been sent back to sort out the situation. He asked for a parley with the city’s leaders. A Protestant, whose two sons lived in Derry, Lord Mountjoy was anxious to find a solution to the city’s predicament.

There was some discussion as to who would go and meet with the returned commander. Bishop Hopkins had left Derry for London, feeling hard done by at the scorn that was poured on his warnings of a Jacobite triumph. John Buchanan had lost the respect of his peers with his gentle pleading for peace at any cost while Mayor Campsie was ill in bed. Eventually, it was agreed that the aldermen would meet him at Mongavlin Castle, eight or so miles from the city, and they had their part of the dialogue worked out beforehand.

Alderman Tomkins said, ‘Well it’s simple, your lordship. All we – that is, the people – want is, firstly, for Talbot to promise that only Protestant troops will be lodged in our garrison. Secondly, we want our present soldiers, made up from the population, to remain in place, and thirdly we want a general pardon for all that had taken place
until this present moment.’

There was nothing complicated about their demands; indeed Lord Mountjoy could have recited them himself without any help. However, and this was the sticking point, as he informed the delegation, ‘You know as well as I do that there is no way that the lord lieutenant will agree to the first point and perhaps not to the second one either and most definitely not to the third.’ He sighed heavily when the only responses to this were cold, uncomprehending stares. They reminded him of the man he had just left in Dublin, the lord lieutenant himself.

Lord Mountjoy was a superb soldier, for whom an order was an order. Therefore, he hadn’t questioned his boss when, three days after reaching Dublin with his tired men, he had been ordered to head back to Derry to sort things out. Before he had left he had heard, with some amount of glee, that such was Richard Talbot’s anger at the gates being closed to the Redshanks, he had actually ripped his expensive wig off his head and flung it into the fire. How he would have enjoyed seeing that.

However, with his superior’s wrath still ringing between his ears, despite spending the last few days marching from Dublin in cold, unforgiving weather, Lord Mountjoy did not indulge his former townsmen unnecessarily. And so he told them, ‘I’m afraid, gentlemen, there are few options.’ The ensuing silence was only broken when he added, ‘Go
home and think over your position. Tomorrow morning I will present myself at Bishop’s Gate and ask to be allowed through.’ He stood to indicate that the meeting was at an end. ‘Good day, sirs!’

The following morning was 12 December and, as promised, Lord Mountjoy turned up at Bishop’s Gate and asked for the gate to be unlocked. Henry Campsie and Robert Sherrard were on duty and refused. It caused a bit of a stir amongst the crowd who had gathered to watch the goings-on.

Because his lordship was a former resident of the town and not shy when it came to spending money, some of the traders wondered if the rules should be relaxed. ‘Surely,’ said Mr Dobbs, the owner of the coffee house, ‘we could just let Lord Mountjoy through. He might like a beer or a coffee after all his marching.’ The cobbler, Mr Sanderson, couldn’t help wondering what state the men’s boots were in after walking to and fro from Dublin. Those selling food and snuff nodded their heads in complete agreement with Mr Dobbs.

This line of reasoning was bludgeoned by the scorn that poured forth from Henry and Robert.

Robert rolled his eyes. ‘For God’s sake, he’s Talbot’s man. Allowing him in is the same as giving in to the Catholic king.’

Henry declared, ‘Now is not the time to make a mistake!’

Mr Sanderson asked, ‘Well, what are we going to do then? Just leave him standing out there?’

The usual merry-go-round of ‘yeses’ and ‘noes’ began all over again. More people arrived on the scene, the boys’ fathers included.

Mr Sherrard suggested it might be wise to reopen negotiations. ‘Don’t forget that this man is also the Master of Ordnance.’

Someone rather cheekily called out, ‘So what?’

It was the mayor who answered him, ‘So … he knows how little ammunition we have and the poor condition it’s in.’

Mr Sherrard smiled at this unexpected but welcome show of support. ‘Exactly!’

With the appearance of Reverend Gordon and a few others, it was decided that a party of ten men should go out to talk to Lord Mountjoy. The men were chosen and in due course the gates were unlocked, but not to allow his lordship inside, only to allow the ten men out to meet with him.

It was a cold and dry morning. People waited about to hear how the meeting went but, as one hour passed into the next, they got restless. Some headed home or back to work. Finally an agreement of sorts was reached. The town elders agreed to allow Lord Mounjoy’s most trusted man – Lieutenant-Colonel Robert Lundy – into
the city with two companies of Protestant soldiers, about one hundred and twenty men in all. Lord Mountjoy gave his word that no other troops would enter Derry and should Lundy be called away, for any reason, he would hand the city back to its elders, just as he found it.

It was a start in the right direction, at least this is how Lord Mountjoy described it in his report for Lord Lieutenant Talbot.

The following evening, there was a welcome reminder that Derry wasn’t the only obstacle to King James and Richard Talbot’s plans for a Jacobite Ireland. Robert brought the latest news home in great excitement. His face was flushed, and his alarmed mother called for her husband while asking, ‘Goodness, Robert! What has happened now?’

With his family gathered around him, Robert let fly. ‘A force at Enniskillen attacked a Jacobite regiment and sent them on the run all the way back to Cavan!’

His family breathed together, taking in the news. ‘Who attacked first?’ asked his mother.

Robert was oblivious to her anxious expression. ‘Why, they did, Mother. They heard that two regiments were coming to take up residence in the town and decided not to stand about waiting for their arrival.’ He laughed. ‘Much to the Jacobites’ surprise!’

Mrs Sherrard pulled her shawl tightly around her
shoulders. ‘I wonder if they have not acted hastily.’

Robert was patient with her. ‘They had little choice, Mother. Enniskillen doesn’t have walls like ours.’

His father stayed quiet, so Daniel asked him what he thought, noticing how Robert bristled, obviously expecting to hear something negative.

Mr Sherrard glanced at his wife and sons, saying, ‘This is quite an achievement for Enniskillen.’

Robert exhaled and felt confident enough to say, ‘It is a beginning.’

His father nodded carefully. ‘Well, yes. That’s what it is – all it is – a beginning.’

Daniel watched his brother deflate just a little. Sometimes it was hard to interpret their father. Was he now belittling Enniskillen’s worthy triumph?

Robert managed to ask, ‘What are you saying, Father?’

Mr Sherrard patted his wife on the arm and asked for a mug of beer. She understood that he wanted her out of the way so that he could discuss matters more freely with his sons. No husband wants his wife to worry needlessly about matters she has no control over. It was only right that Mr Sherrard confide in his sons, who were almost full-grown but still had so much to learn. It was only right that they learn from their father. Off she went with Horace behind her, hoping she’d throw him a morsel of something.

Robert tried not to be sulky. ‘You don’t think we can win. Do you?’

‘Win what?’ Mr Sherrard’s question surprised his boys. They exchanged looks, checking whether the other had the answer to this. As the youngest, Daniel didn’t mind being tripped up so he tried, ‘Win Derry for us?’ Robert gave him his support with a solid nod.

Their father smiled. ‘Alright. But I have to warn you both that this situation could go on for a long, long time. Closing the gates against James’s men has started a chain of events and not one of us knows where it’s going to end or when.’

Robert, assuming he was being criticised, grew prickly. ‘We had to close them or else risk the city being invaded by murderers!’

Mr Sherrard thought for a moment before asking, ‘My boy, did you truly believe we were going to be massacred?’

Robert puffed up. ‘It has happened before!’

‘Yes,’ agreed his father. ‘Many things have happened before, but it doesn’t mean that they will happen again.’

This was confusing. Robert shook his head to clear it.

‘Look,’ said his father, ‘all I am saying is beware of the more excitable sort. Closing the gates was rather flamboyant. Perhaps fear of invasion wasn’t the only reason for doing it; some people enjoy drama and attention.’

Robert breathed heavily. ‘Are you talking about the
Campsies and my friends?’

Mr Sherrard welcomed the return of his wife. She had been eavesdropping in order to barge in at the appropriate moment. Ignoring the tension and the fact that her eldest was struggling to contain his emotions, she handed her husband his beer and smiled brightly at everyone.

Robert turned away and made for the door. ‘Just remember,’ his father called, ‘no matter what happens, form your own opinion. Calmness is strength.’

It was only Daniel who said, ‘Yes, Father!’

There was a curt nod from Robert as he opened the door and dived out onto the street.

It occurred to Robert that he was beginning to feel more at home outside the house. He was heading to take his place on the wall, where he’d be sure of decent conversation and of being treated with respect.
That’s the trouble with Mother and Father,
he thought.
They still think of us as children
. He thundered along, hardly noticing the greetings that were being thrown to him. He was too caught up with his silent monologue.
If it was left to Father, these streets would be covered in our blood.

His battle for independence with his unimaginative parents was proving to be more demanding on him than the one brewing between James II and William of Orange.
Well, at least I realise now that nothing I do will ever be good enough for them
, he thought, meaning his mother and father.

Back at the house, the air still sparked with Robert’s anger. Daniel wished he had made his excuses and followed his brother, but he had missed his cue and so found his parents staring at him quizzically.
What do they want me to say?

Finally his father said, ‘You know that we only want the best for you and Robert, don’t you?’

Daniel squeaked out a ‘Yes, of course!’

His mother sighed. ‘There is enough rage in this city without it being brought into our home.’

Mr Sherrard sat down on a stool and sipped his beer. ‘Very nice!’ he said to his wife. There was silence again until he said, ‘This city is like a cauldron that has been sitting on a pile of dry twigs. Only one person is needed to set the twigs alight. The soup in the cauldron gets hotter and hotter as more twigs are added. If there is no proper care, too much firewood will be added and the contents will bubble up and be ruined.’

Daniel found his voice. ‘But we have to stand up for what we believe in, Father.’

Mr Sherrard swirled the beer in his mug. ‘Yes, we do. I think maybe I just don’t fully trust who is building the fire.’

Baby Alice began to wail, letting the whole street know that her nap was over and she was hungry.

‘Time to get back to work,’ said Mr Sherrard with a
smile. ‘Come on, son, I want to show you my new book.’ They both went into the workroom while Mrs Sherrard headed upstairs to her daughter.

Alice’s face was scrunched up like her fists, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Mrs Sherrard peeled off the small hill of blankets that she had piled on top of the infant. Next she did something she always did. She lifted up the baby, placed her nose in the crux of her daughter’s neck and sniffed. She felt better immediately:
Nothing – not even freshly baked bread –smells half as nice as a newborn.