The distance between them and the pikes was quickly disappearing, allowing Gerald to register the pock-marked features of the Williamite that had guessed their intentions and was preparing to stop them. Presumably he shouted a warning to the men standing either side of him, but he did not manage to emit more than a few syllables before Jacques reached him, slashing his cheek open with his sword, causing the Dutch soldier to take an involuntary side step away from the weapon that came for him a second time. As he dodged to the left, to avoid Jacques’ sword, Troy promptly bit his other cheek. Understandably, the man reached for his bleeding face with both hands, thus bringing his pike to an upright position and presenting the Jacobites with their first break.
Troy and Paris surged into a sea of swords and rifle fire, and Gerald was much relieved to see that they had been followed by dozens of comrades, whose horses lashed out at the Dutch guards with their back legs, while rearing up to dwarf the Williamites with their entire bodies. It was only now that Gerald truly appreciated the horse as a powerful fighting machine.
Meanwhile, the Jacobite riders fired their pistols and carved the air around them with their swords, maiming and killing the enemy, who now found themselves properly under pressure and already fatigued from the previous hour of fighting the Jacobite infantry.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Duke of Schomberg and the Reverend Walker
From the middle of the Boyne, the Duke of Schomberg spotted the Jacobite cavalry on top of the hill and drove his horse forwards, determined to be on the ground beside the Dutch Blue Guards for the first attack.
The next battalions were lining up behind them, and the duke saw William summoning his commanders to make a third crossing. Unsure as to how many horsemen made up the Jacobite cavalry, the Williamites’ only option was to lengthen the haphazard battlefield at Oldbridge, thereby forcing the Jacobites to stretch their lines. The best way to accomplish this was to send more battalions into the river but have them cross a good distance away from the Huguenots and the Derry soldiers.
Meanwhile, the Jacobite cavalry launched themselves onto the Dutch Blue Guards. From where William stood, his elite force looked to be taking a brutal thrashing. He shouted out in distress, ‘My guards! My poor guards!’
He roared to the nearest generals to take their men further down the river and make another crossing, though they would not have the benefit of a low tide. Once again, it meant having good fighters stuck in nowhere land because they could not fire their weapons from the middle of the Boyne. No matter, thought William. I will not sit here and watch my guards be slaughtered!
The duke silently commended his king on his quick thinking and then concentrated on getting his horse out of the river as fast as he could. All around him were the French Huguenots and he was bent on rallying them: ‘Allons, mes amis, rappelez votre courage et vos ressentiments. Voilà vos persecutors! (‘Onwards comrades, recall your courage and your resentments, there are your persecutors!). Just like William, the duke had his favourites; these Protestant French were dear to him because these were his wife’s kinsmen. Susanne’s sudden death two years earlier was probably the only reason that he was still, at this age, on top of a horse and about to fling himself into the middle of a bloody great battle.
He felt no need to personally urge the Derry regiment since he didn’t know any of them, but there was the good Reverend Walker rousing them out of the water and that booming voice was more than enough for any battalion.
The riverbank had been transformed into a muddy bog, while fresh difficulties arose as the numbers standing on it increased. The duke saw the guards ready themselves for the Jacobite cavalry and watched the horses tearing down that hill as if nothing human could stop them. Down they came, but most of the Jacobite horses swerved to avoid the deadly pikes; the duke saw a few riders continuing the charge head on and readied himself for confrontation.
Within seconds, he was in the middle of a frantic mêlée made up of both his men and enemy soldiers. As his horse twisted this way and that, he lashed out with his sword while continuing to direct the French Protestants to a more prominent spot. Guns exploded all around him, and the smoke prevented him from seeing farther than a few feet. None of this, however, particularly bothered him as he had spent the last fifty years surviving confusion such as this. Meinhard always said that he coped better in chaotic peril than he did at fancy dinner parties. In any case, he would never allow himself to display even a hint of anxiety in front of his men. If he did, he deserved to be stripped of his post as second commander-in-chief.
Then all went quiet. To be sure the action continued all around him, but he could no longer hear it. When he opened his mouth to shout, he found he could not speak. Slowly he looked down at himself to see if he was really here at all. He could still feel the warmth of the sun and that much was a comfort. Fascinated, he watched the men fight. He saw the swords cut through flesh and the bullets that ripped out lumps of bone and skin.
To his surprise he could plainly see the bullets being fired out of the guns; his eyes were able to track their routes as they smashed through one man and continued on their way into the next. How strange, he had never been able to see them before. He saw men claw at one another, trying to gouge out eyes and punch noses bloody, and it seemed to him a dreadfully sad thing. What was this rage that had contaminated even the horses? Those magnificent animals should be at peace not war.
He felt tired and thought of floating off to sleep on the river. The Boyne sparkled in the sun like a diamond necklace. He closed his eyes and heard the birds sing, a sound he had not heard since early morning. How he had missed it. He saw Meinhard sitting on his horse, bored and frustrated but safe. That was good news indeed.
Feeling a gentle breeze on his face, he gradually became curious about his surroundings. So he opened his eyes, bid the Reverend Walker a good day and found himself walking in a meadow where his hands were caressed by the tall grass and his mind was soothed by the sight of pink roses and wild blue hyacinth. He laughed out loud. ‘When did I ever look at flowers?’
It was only when he saw his wife waiting for him beneath their favourite tree that he realised where he was … and why.
‘Keep it quiet!’ was William’s response when he was told how the duke had been felled by two sabre cuts to his neck and a bullet to the back of his head.
When he was told that the former governor of Derry, the Reverend George Walker, was also dead, from a bullet to the stomach, William only muttered, ‘That fool had no business being on a battlefield!’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Looking after Reverend Walker
Daniel was appalled at the sight of Reverend Walker sliding from his horse into the water. Unused to such circumstances, the horse continued on without its rider. No, no, this was not meant to happen. We have not begun to fight back. The battle hasn’t started yet.
He screamed at his brother’s back, ‘Robert! Robert!’
But Robert was too distracted to hear him. Bullets stabbed the river around him, a deadly downpour, and the noise was like a heavy blanket wrapped around his head.
He might not be dead; I might be able to help him! These were the thoughts that pushed Daniel to break out of his line and commence kicking the river out of his path as he headed towards the reverend who – it must be said – appeared to be sleeping soundly, aside from the blood that poured from his stomach and formed a reddish cloud in the water.
There was too much going on and Daniel felt enormous relief to be able to concentrate on this one thing. His arms were already complaining at holding his heavy rifle over his head, but he was adamant he would not lower it. That was the number one golden rule as explained to him by Henry and Robert. The river must not, under any circumstances, be allowed near their weapons.
The water sloshed up and he swallowed a mouthful, choking on it as he considered it was diluted by Williamite blood. The reverend wasn’t the first man down; Daniel had seen plenty fall in the last few m
inutes, but he knew the reverend and had depended on the churchman, amongst others, to get his family and city through the siege. Daniel felt it was only his duty, as a native of Derry, to tend to his leader now.
He dearly wished his father was beside him but then scorned such a ridiculous thought as to desire to have his father here in what surely was the most dangerous place to be in the whole of Ireland.
‘Reverend Walker! Sir, I’m coming!’
Shouting helped to release the tension in his jaw. He thought that he must have bitten his tongue or maybe it was the inside of his mouth. He could taste blood and it was all he could smell too.
Finally he reached the reverend and saw that the man’s eyes were open. Daniel tugged at him. ‘Sir? It’s Daniel Sherrard!’
The clergyman did not stir. Daniel was reluctantly reminded of the last time he saw his friend James on the walls of Derry. He too had stared like that, obliging Daniel to close his eyes for him.
‘Reverend Walker, it’s Daniel Sherrard!’
Ignoring the obvious, Daniel pulled at the reverend’s collar to loosen it and gingerly lifted back his jacket, wanting to see the wound. There was a sudden sharp pull at the body and Daniel realised that a second bullet had penetrated the reverend, this time in the hip.
Daniel could no longer deny the truth. He looked around him in horror, not knowing what to do. Why couldn’t the reverend just wake up for a moment to give him some guidance? Out of sheer desperation he tried shouting in the dead man’s ear, ‘Please, I beg you, sir, what should I do? I can’t leave you here and you won’t help me.’
He was suddenly thumped in his side and turned to find his brother shouting at him as if he had gone quite mad, ‘What the hell are you doing? You fool! Get out of the river! NOW!’
Daniel was stunned. He had never seen such fury in Robert’s face and wouldn’t have believed it was possible that his brother could speak to him like this. Feebly, he pointed to the man beside them. ‘We can’t leave him here!’
‘He’s dead! Dead! Don’t you get it? Come on!’
‘I KNOW he’s dead!’ It was all that Daniel could think to say.
Robert gave him a dreadful look as he declared, ‘I will not look after you!’
His expression was a mixture of anguish and fear, but it was easier to be angry so he added, ‘You should’ve stayed at home!’
Daniel felt he had been smacked in the mouth. Only this time it wasn’t by Henry Campsie but by his own brother who had never ever hurt him, even when they were children.
‘Did you hear me? I wish you had stayed in Derry!’ It wasn’t enough for Robert to shout it once – oh, no – he had to shout it a second time.
Daniel felt his knees sag and bumped up against the reverend. He turned away from Robert because he couldn’t bear such anger. Using one hand to keep his musket aloft, he seized hold of the body, his decision made.
Robert screamed, ‘What are you doing? Get back in your line!’
‘No!’ shouted Daniel. ‘I’m bringing the reverend back to our shore.’
When Robert looked fit to burst, Daniel added, ‘He’d want me to, you know he would.’
As much as Robert wanted to argue with this he couldn’t. Yes, of course, the last thing Reverend Walker would want would be for his body to be abandoned as if it were nothing more than a piece of dry wood.
But they were meant to be advancing on the Jacobites with the rest of their comrades. Surely the reverend would not wish to prevent them from carrying out their duty?
Robert struggled to pinpoint his decision while assailed by a hundred thoughts and, perhaps, the same amount of bullets.
‘Damn you!’ he yelled at Daniel.
If it wasn’t for his brother, he’d be up on the Oldbridge bank simply fighting for his life and king, without having to deal with complicated matters like this.
Robert then went back on his word, not to mind his sibling, as he shouted, ‘All right, take him across but I need you back here as fast as you can!’
Daniel nodded. ‘I’ll be a few minutes.’
Had such an ordinary sentence ever been uttered before in such extraordinary circumstances?
Robert focused on finding his fellow soldiers. He was sure that Henry would rebuke him for releasing Daniel however temporarily, but there was no time to think about that. Then he saw something which perhaps confirmed that he had, after all, made the right decision. There, not twenty feet away from him, was the lifeless figure of the Duke of Schomberg, draped over his horse’s back, the reins in the hands of a Dutch guard who obviously shared Daniel’s sense of propriety that a fallen leader should be retrieved immediately and removed from further harm. The guard pulled the horse back into the Boyne, preparing to cross it once more.
William had lost two great leaders one after the other. Robert shivered as if a freezing pebble had skimmed the back of his sweating neck. Of course he had heard all about the duke’s gallant career, but then had been shocked when he finally set eyes upon the famous general to see a frail, old man weighed down by his uniform.
An elderly man and a stubborn clergyman: Robert wondered if perhaps their deaths were inevitable today.
Wait! He had an idea. Surely the Dutchman could not refuse to take Reverend Walker’s body too? That made sense didn’t it, seeing how they were both headed back to camp. Robert worried that he was only trying to keep Daniel safe, and out of the battle, in allowing him to return the reverend to the right side of the Boyne. Well, his new solution would disprove that notion.
‘Hi! Hi!’ He shouted at the guard, wishing he had learned ‘Stop’ in Dutch.
Of course the man could not hear him. Robert’s voice was one of thousands at that precise moment.
So he turned to call his brother who was somewhat nearer. ‘Daniel! See there!’
Diligently keeping his gun above him, Daniel was dragging on Reverend Walker’s neck, losing the battle to keep the clergyman’s head out of the water. Nevertheless, he reasoned that it was more important to reach the opposite bank than to try to keep the dead man’s hair from getting wet.
He hadn’t bargained on such a heavy load. Certainly the reverend was not slim, but Daniel had not expected to feel like he was pulling a large, live animal that wished to go elsewhere. Several times he had had to make a grab for the body as it threatened to float back to the Jacobites. Daniel began to panic at how much time he was losing. Robert might well think he was using the reverend to miss out on the fighting. Oh God, he suddenly thought, maybe I am? How he wished the reverend would open his eyes and tell him what to do.
‘D-a-n-i-e-l!’
He just about heard the familiar shout and looked over his shoulder. Roger was gesturing frantically to his left … wait, Daniel’s right. His brother shouted something, but Daniel couldn’t catch it and was too distracted to decipher the shapes his brother’s mouth was forming.
‘What?’ he shouted in exasperation. ‘What is it?’
He scanned the scene to his right and finally guessed what his brother meant. If he’d had time, he would have been dismayed by the death of the grand old duke, but he was only relieved to have understood what Robert wished him to do.
‘Reverend, I have to put you on the duke’s horse!’
Daniel felt reassured by the sound of his voice and so he added, ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
He hailed the Dutch soldier who was in the distance, urging the horse to keep up with him, ‘Hallo! Hallo!’
‘You see,’ he explained rather proudly to his silent companion, ‘“hallo” is Dutch for “hello”!’
He saw the guard glance across at him, and Daniel did his best to raise the reverend’s head so that the guard might recognise him as the leader of the Derry battalion. Daniel shouted, ‘Will you take him too?’
The guard did not look the slightest bit interested in whatever Daniel was asking, only knowing that the boy was talking English, a language he did not understand.
Daniel felt obliged to make a pro
mise. ‘Don’t worry, sir, if he refuses I’ll take you back anyway!’
And he would have, of that we can be sure, only for the musket ball that forced him to let go of the clergyman and briefly watch him drift off without protest.
Daniel thought Robert had thumped him again, but this time in the back of his neck. Having freed his arm from Revered Walker, he lifted it towards his head, wanting to protect himself from another blow, but his arm failed him and, instead, led him face down into the water so that he could witness his precious musket plunge towards the riverbed. James would be so mad at him for losing it. No, no, he didn’t mean James. James was dead. He had starved to death in Derry. No, he meant Robert, his brother.
How was it possible that his hands were completely empty when moments ago he had staggered beneath their weight? Daniel felt lost even though he knew exactly where he was.
Sounds were dreadfully muffled and the cold water beneath the surface stunned him. A sudden shadow blocked the light as he vaguely felt himself pulled upwards again.
‘Daniel! Daniel!’
Ah, it was only Robert. Daniel wished he would let him sleep; he felt overcome with drowsiness and shut his eyes.
‘NO! NO! Wake up!’
Daniel could not see the terror in his brother’s face nor could he hear the grief in his brother’s cries. He just wanted to be left where he was. That was all.
He dipped his head only to have Robert clutch his chin out of the water. Daniel marvelled at how the sunlight broke in and around his brother’s face and enjoyed the motion of the water’s current, which rocked him gently as his brother held him close. Robert sounded so very far away, but Daniel didn’t mind. He only felt love and beloved. The Boyne held him in a warm embrace and there was Robert right beside him, his tears washing away the grime and the dust.
Kings of the Boyne Page 17
