Behind the Walls

by Nicola Pierce

  Robert longed to be back at the Markethouse, but it wouldn’t do to run off on his parents, now that he finally had their attention. Daniel stood at his brother’s hip in his eagerness to be part of whatever was consuming him.

  Horace seemed ready to sacrifice his afternoon nap, but Daniel told him to stay where he was. ‘You’ll only get trampled on in the crowd.’ The dog pouted but knew there was no point in arguing. Nevertheless, he did sound out a few whimpers of protest that were completely ignored. Horace sighed and stared at the wall until it suddenly occurred to him that an empty house meant he could go upstairs and lie on the boys’ bed. This cheered him up in no time and he managed a husky woof of fond farewell when the family finally headed out the door.

  The streets were thronged with people of all ages and class. Daniel could hear the word ‘letter’ reverberate throughout. It was a rather cool December afternoon. The sky threatened rain. Indeed that’s what Daniel felt hung heavy in the air, a threat, both from the sky above and from whatever they were about to hear.

  Robert walked ahead of his parents, politely dipping his head as his friends and their parents greeted him. Daniel watched him with pride. He knows just about everyone. Mr Sherrard gave the barest nod of his head, leaving his wife to do the smiling and hello-ing. He was not what one might call sociable. Daniel once heard him tell his mother that he had no real need for friends; he had enough with his family. His only social excursion was to the cathedral on Sundays. Even then, when the men gathered outside after the service, to talk business and politics, Mr Sherrard would only wish them a cordial good day as he passed them by.

  At the Markethouse Alderman Tomkins was waiting to start. The letter was in his hand; he kept his head down as if he were re-reading it over and over again. His face was grave; whatever was in the letter was serious. A large semi-circle formed in front of him, thus allowing as many people as possible to see and hear him. A group of church leaders and elders stood in silence behind him. They watched the crowd with the same grave expression.

  When it was judged that the community at large was before him, Alderman Tomkins raised a hand, signifying that the chatter must cease because he was about to unveil the reason for the meeting. A great deal of shushing and hushing ensued with some individuals bent on shushing more people than anyone else. The volume of their shushing made the younger children giggle. They thought they were witnessing a new game and some even joined in, roaring ‘HUSH’ in delight until their red-faced mothers swiped at them in embarrassment.

  Finally there was silence. The crowd waited for the alderman to begin, but the good man, relishing the attention, would not be rushed into speaking. As he perused the sheet in his hand, one more time, his index finger pushed against his lips, one cheeky five-year-old demanded of his mother, ‘What are we waiting for, Mama?’

  Pretending not to hear the question, Alderman Tomkins was set to stand there a little while longer but a short ‘ahem!’ from one of his colleagues had the desired effect.

  He peered at the faces in front of him as if it had only just now come to his attention that hundreds of people were impatiently waiting to hear him speak. ‘Yes, yes!’ he said, stretching out the page in his hand. ‘We, that is, my esteemed colleagues and I, have brought you here today because a matter of the utmost importance has come to our attention.’ He paused, feeling a break was appropriate here. This time the silence was broken by the mother of the five-year-old, who was already weary of waiting. ‘But what is it? What’s happening?’

  Alderman Tomkins sniffed in his most pompous manner, ‘In fact, madam, I am about to read it if you would be so kind as to allow me to continue.’ Someone somewhere groaned. ‘Before I read this,’ he said, holding up the sheet, ‘I should tell you that this is a copy of a letter that was found on a street in Comber, County Down. The writer does not provide his name but it is addressed to a Lord Mount Alexander.’

  At this point one of the church leaders, Reverend James Gordon, a Presbyterian minister, longed to take the letter himself and read it out. All of this time-wasting was, in his opinion, absolutely scurrilous. He gave another brief cough, hoping to accelerate the proceedings. However, it wasn’t necessary. At long last Alderman Tomkins opened his mouth and read out the following words:

  ‘Good my lord, I have written to you to let you know that all our Irishmen through Ireland is sworn that on the ninth day of this month they are to fall on to kill and murder (every Protestant) man, wife and child.’

  The letter was longer than that but nobody wanted to hear anything else after that awful first line. A gasp rapidly became a roar as the alderman’s audience quickly digested its meaning. Daniel saw his mother take his father’s arm and, instinctively, he moved closer too. All around them panic was fluttering. One man called out, ‘What are you saying? What are you telling us?’

  Alderman Tomkins raised his hands to try to settle the crowd while saying, ‘Surely the meaning is obvious – the Irish supporters of King James want to wipe us out!’ He pleaded with them for confirmation. ‘Wouldn’t you agree? That much seems to be clear from what I have read.’

  The next question to surface was chanted from the back of the crowd. ‘What is today’s date?’

  Reverend Gordon felt obliged to step forward and answer, ‘The seventh of December.’

  A few women screamed.

  Daniel heard his father mutter, ‘Ridiculous!’ Mr Sherrard freed his arm from his wife’s grasp and moved forward. Robert looked surprised but followed him.

  ‘Could it not be a hoax?’ Mr Sherrard called out. ‘Is it not strange that the letter is unsigned?’

  Some of his neighbours nodded gratefully; this was a much more attractive explanation. Others, like Henry’s father, Mayor Campsie, refused to be comforted. Instead, he offered his own theory. ‘Perhaps the writer is protecting his own skin. He might well be a Catholic who is risking his life to pass on this warning to his Protestant friend. He could hardly provide his name then.’

  The community took a moment to consider this, allowing Mayor Campsie to underline his point. ‘Either way, do we really have the luxury of not accepting this as a real threat? It’s only us and Enniskillen that are the two main Protestant garrison cities, and that scoundrel Richard Talbot wants us to support his Catholic king … or else!’

  From the moment of his appointment by King James, Lord Lieutenant Talbot had made his presence, that is, his religion, felt. His changes were many and made fast. He rid the Irish army of Protestant soldiers and ousted well-to-do Protestants from the best of the government jobs. Catholics poured in from everywhere to fill up the vacancies.

  Robert found himself agreeing with the mayor. What he said made perfect sense and didn’t it echo what his father had said himself only a few weeks ago?

  Reverend Gordon spoke. ‘We believe that there is a Catholic army on its way to Derry.’

  Someone shouted, ‘Evacuate the city!’

  The reverend shook his head. ‘No, wait.’ He had more to say, but the noise was tremendous as people voiced their own concerns, no matter who else was speaking.

  However, as his sons noted, once Mr Sherrard started to speak, the crowd quietened down to hear him. ‘Are we really to believe that there is going to be an all-out massacre? From what I hear of James, he is not a man to prompt unnecessary bloodshed.’

  Mayor Campsie shook his head at this. ‘How can we be sure?’ Sensing that more than a few of his neighbours felt he was correct, he declared with pride, ‘I, for one, could never trust a man who gives up his father’s faith. An English king who chooses the Pope over his family and country? I’ll tell you what that it is, it’s an insult to all of us!’

  This was an opinion that he had shared many times since James II took the throne. Daniel heard a whispered groan. ‘Oh don’t get him started or we’ll be here all day!’ His mother heard it too but hid her smile behind Alice’s head.

  Alderman Tomkins did his best to take charge again. Clapping his hands, he said,
‘The question is, dear neighbours, do we allow the army in? They’re coming to take up residency here, like any army of the English king.’ Not many people were listening to him. He clapped his hands some more. ‘That’s why we’re here today, to decide what to do.’ The poor man looked hurt that so few were paying him attention.

  It was the Anglican bishop of Derry, Dr Ezekiel Hopkins, who patted him on the arm. ‘I was afraid of this. Perhaps we should have a meeting with only the most prominent citizens.’

  The alderman refused to agree or disagree with this, only pleading with the bishop, ‘But why don’t they listen? They should be demanding to hear what we think.’

  Dr Hopkins said as quietly as he could, ‘That, my dear sir, is mostly a mob with a blind will of its own. But don’t give up yet, they just might come to their senses.’

  Daniel felt bound to stick by his mother. He could see Robert and his father arguing with the people nearest him and longed to join them. However, he couldn’t leave her alone. She already looked bothered by the people pressing in around her, fearing that the baby would be distressed. As if she could read his mind – and she claimed that she could – she said to him, ‘You stay right here!’

  He widened his eyes. ‘Of course!’

  She wasn’t fooled; she could see he wanted to follow his brother.

  The two of them observed their neighbours, feeling slightly distant from the debating. Mrs Sherrard kissed the baby’s head. ‘Oh, I wish your father would come back to me. There’ll be no one answer that will please everyone.’

  A man walked by them. Something in his manner made them watch him as he worked his way purposefully through the crowd until he reached the group of elders and churchmen. A circle was formed and heads were bowed as the man said his piece. Gradually the arguing between everyone came to halt. The man was a messenger sent by a Colonel George Phillips of Newtown Limavady. Whatever he said, it certainly caused something of a stir amongst his listeners.

  A second alderman moved to the front and addressed the square. ‘Colonel Phillips has seen the army himself. And it is a Catholic army. His advice is to lock the city gates against them.’ There was probably no need for him to add, ‘He says we should prevent them from coming into Derry.’

  There was a roar of ‘Hear! Hear!’ from some. Bishop Hopkins didn’t look too pleased. The noise threatened to escalate again. Waving his arms, and doing his best to hide his irritation, he called out, ‘Let me just remind you – this army represents King James, the king of England.’ Despite the cool temperature, the bishop was obliged to wipe away sweat that was beading his forehead.

  He continued, ‘As citizens of this city, we are servants to the throne.’ He waited for agreement to this and spied a few heads nodding. ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Who are we to refuse entrance to the king’s army? Would that not be treason?’

  Both Daniel and his mother made sure not to lose sight of Mr Sherrard. What did he make of this?

  Reverend James Gordon, the Presbyterian minister, had made up his mind. ‘Lock the gates!’ He repeated himself to make sure. ‘Lock the gates!’

  Dr Ezekiel Hopkins repeated his disagreement immediately. ‘No! It is the duty of a subject to obey his sovereign. No matter what, King James is still our sovereign.’

  A row broke out again. Mrs Sherrard was not surprised to see her husband shrug his shoulders and make his way back to her. Mayor Campsie took up a new cry. ‘But what about the letter? If we let them in, we may be slaughtered!’ Ha! That surely put an obstacle in the plan to play polite hosts to James’s Jacobite army. Daniel noted with dismay that even his father began to look confused.

  Who knows how much longer the debate might have continued if a second messenger had not arrived, this time from the Ferry Quay Gate that overlooked the river Foyle. There was a brief whispered discussion before Reverend Gordon, looking slightly dazed, informed the city, ‘They’re here! There are Jacobite soldiers standing on the banks of the Foyle.’

  In the resulting chaos, Daniel dived forward to be with his brother. His father would take care of his mother and Alice. Women began screaming for their children, who were standing right next to them. The younger ones were bewildered by the terror on the faces of their mothers. Daniel saw one woman pick up two small boys while their siblings did their utmost to climb up her body, to the safety of her arms.

  The crowd began to disintegrate, taking off in all directions but all heading for the same destination: home. One husband bellowed at his wife, ‘Pack what you can, as fast as you can!’ So, this was it. They were going to make a run for it, not bothering to check what exactly they were running from.

  However, not everyone was leaving. Robert saw several of his friends in the crowd. Over and between the figures of their fellow citizens, they signalled to one another to make their way to the Ferry Quay Gate. ‘Coming?’ Robert asked his brother. Daniel didn’t bother to answer such a silly question, though he did check on his parents. They seemed to be heading towards the gate too, no doubt his father refusing to react until he inspected the danger for himself.

  Mr Campsie encouraged Henry, ‘Go on, son. You lead the way.’

  On reaching the gate, several men and boys climbed the ramparts, to confirm to the tense onlookers that, yes, there was definitely an army approaching the city. One of the boys on the ramparts was a former classmate of Robert’s. He shouted up to him, ‘Hi James, what can you see?’

  James Morrison’s face was dark with rage. ‘They’re all wearing kilts, the whole stinking lot of them!’

  Another man cooed, ‘And they’re all bloody giants. Look at them! Did you ever see anything like it?’

  William Cairnes, another of Robert’s friends, spat, ‘They’re Redshanks, bloody Scots from the Highlands!’ The boys faced him. ‘How do you know that?’ asked Henry. William couldn’t help sound smug. ‘My Uncle David is a lawyer and he heard rumours about Talbot’s army only taking on men over six feet tall.’

  Robert was furious. ‘Do they imagine that height will scare us?’

  Daniel, feeling scared, said nothing, although he did wonder why William had kept such an important piece of information to himself.

  ‘Look!’ said one of the watchers on the wall. ‘They’re sending someone over.’

  Sure enough, two men were making their way to the gate. Robert guessed the man to be a lieutenant and the companion was probably his assistant. They were met by John Buchanan, the deputy mayor of Derry, and Horace Kennedy, one of the city’s sheriffs. Silence fell upon the crowd; no one wanted to miss a word. Mr Kennedy greeted the men coolly. ‘You need to show your warrants, gentlemen.’

  The lieutenant, noting how many pairs of eyes were on him, nodded amiably and said, ‘We have them right here.’ The sheriff took his time checking the two documents while the lieutenant and his man stood patiently, their arms relaxed at their sides. It bothered fussy Mr Kennedy that he had to look up at them; they were so much taller than him and his colleagues. He also felt that they looked more confident than they had a right to: Cheeky dogs!

  In his own good time, Mr Kennedy handed the warrants back to them. The lieutenant smiled, took out another sheet of paper and said, ‘On behalf of King James II, I request entrance to the garrison of Derry. I require billets for my men and forage for our horses.’

  Mr Kennedy grinned to himself. We have them now. One of his fellow sheriffs winked at him. Mr Kennedy asked, ‘Who is to be billeted within our walls?’

  The two men heard the emphasis on the word ‘our’. The lieutenant raised his eyebrows. ‘Why, our soldiers. Of course!’ He hadn’t meant to add the last two words but the sheriff’s pompousness was beginning to grate on him.

  ‘Oh!’ parroted the sheriff. ‘Of course, is it? Well, I’m afraid there is a problem with your warrants. Your request for billets must be accompanied by a list of the names of each soldier.’

  Doing his best not to show dismay, the lieutenant said slowly, ‘We have travelled a long way on behalf of King James.
It is he who wishes us to take up quarters in Derry.’

  Mr Kennedy beamed at the men. ‘I am sorry, gentlemen, but rules are rules. We need a list of names or else we must turn you away.’

  In the background, the rest of the army, ignorant of dodgy paperwork, were preparing to cross the Foyle. No doubt they were looking forward to a decent meal and the chance to rest after their journey.

  The stand-off at the gate continued, with voices being raised on both sides. Daniel wondered why the lieutenant didn’t just go and fetch a list of the names. It seemed the most sensible thing to do.

  Meanwhile, the tramping of the soldiers and the neighing of their horses made the residents jumpy. They were still coming and Daniel fancied that the self-important sheriffs were shrinking in size.

  The crowd turned inwards to consider the question of letting the army in or not. Daniel heard his father’s voice. ‘They don’t seem violent, or they would have rushed the gate instead of producing warrants.’

  However, he was immediately contradicted by Mayor Campsie. ‘Are you willing to risk the lives of your wife and children because they don’t seem to want to kill us just yet?’

  Heads turned this way and that as neighbours and friends were torn between wanting to stand strong together and, at the same time, make the right and the best decision. It was the same dilemma that the church leaders and town elders were in. Bishop Hopkins was still adamant that the army be allowed in while folk like William Cairnes’s uncle, David, the lawyer, were equally adamant that the gates be locked against them immediately.

  It took Daniel a while to realise that his group – Robert and his friends – had reached their own conclusion. They were indignant boys who hated to waste time on talk. For them, there was only one option. Henry Campsie scanned his friends and muttered, ‘Are we all in agreement?’ Eleven boys, including Robert Sherrard, nodded in unison.