Robert grinned. ‘As it happens I do.’ Gesturing to his friends, he proudly declared, ‘It’s right here!’
Chapter Six
When Daniel woke up on the ninth of December, the day that was set for the massacre of Protestants throughout the land, he was relieved to discover that he had not been butchered in his sleep. Robert had told him there was no need to worry but it was impossible not to worry just a little bit.
Robert was still asleep. He had spent most of the night on the wall, keeping watch. William Cairnes’s uncle, the lawyer, had taken charge. He doubled the numbers of guards, wanting to show the civilian population that they were safe thanks to their brave men and impenetrable city walls.
Daniel had promised his mother that he’d fetch the day’s water before he went to the walls to do his shift. Horace greeted him as he reached the foot of the stairs, demanding that the boy spend a couple of minutes scratching behind his ears before he would allow him to pass. Daniel asked him quietly, ‘You would have barked if anybody tried to attack us, wouldn’t you, boy?’ Horace replied with a sloppy kiss. ‘Ugh!’ Daniel protested, ‘Your breath is horrible!’ He sat down on a stool to put on his boots, aware that he did not feel quite himself. When could he be absolutely and definitely sure that he, his family and neighbours would not die today?
Robert had assured him that an invasion would be noisy. There would have to be shouting, screaming and horses thundering over the paved stones. Dogs would bark manically no matter whose side they were on. Right now, all he could hear were the usual sounds. Birds were singing, though not too many on this cold December morning. One dog was barking morosely in the distance. Not even Horace could be bothered to feign interest in that. Cart wheels were rumbling somewhere but that just meant that supplies were being delivered to the market place. These ordinary sounds were a source of real comfort for Daniel. Really, he couldn’t imagine any of this coming to an end.
He had a fleeting wish to own a gun, just in case. However, there was no gun in the Sherrard house; there weren’t enough to go around. Daniel was there to see the magazine unlocked and the disappointment on the lawyer Cairnes’s face. ‘Is that it?’
Daniel, not knowing any better, was struck by how many guns were there. He whispered to Robert, ‘There must be over a hundred!’
Robert knew enough to realise that there were a lot more Papist soldiers outside the walls than there were guns to defend the city against them.
A count was done. There were a hundred and fifty musket rifles. Mr Cairnes called for all able-bodied men to present themselves to him, those who were not already soldiers. Three hundred men placed themselves at their city’s beck and call. Daniel knew then that there weren’t enough rifles.
Mr Sherrard was one of the three hundred, although he still had a living to make and a family to feed. Mr Cairnes took down all the names and made out a time-table. The watching from the walls would be split into shifts, with the three hundred new part-timers sharing the burden.
Daniel voiced his concerns to his father. ‘We don’t have enough men or guns.’
His father asked him a question in turn, ‘Have you heard about the noble Spartan warriors?’
Daniel nodded his head, remembering his history. Sparta was sometimes a trustworthy ally of Ancient Greece and sometimes her deadliest enemy. Nevertheless, when Persia attacked Greece, it was Sparta who leapt to her defence. Daniel smiled, guessing where his father was going with this.
‘That’s right,’ said Mr Sherrard. ‘Three hundred brave warriors held off the monstrous Persian army, thanks to a decision to make their stand in a narrow pass between two steep mountains.’
His son nodded. ‘There were too many Persians for the narrow pass so it didn’t matter what size the army was, the three hundred held them off.’
‘Exactly,’ said his father. ‘They had the mountains and we have our walls.’
Daniel knew that the three hundred Spartans had died in the end but only because they had been deceived by a ‘friend’ who showed the Persians how to surround the defenders. Neither Sherrard mentioned this part of the story; it was more important to remember the noble and courageous battle of the Spartan warriors. They had never faltered in their belief about their combined strength.
By the time Daniel returned with the buckets of water his mother was up, preparing the breakfast. Alice was in her crib, finally fast asleep, and his mother placed a finger to her lips, warning him not to make a sound. The water sloshed merrily as he edged himself around the furniture, taking care not to knock over a stool.
Mrs Sherrard shared her younger son’s nervousness, despite her husband’s unshakeable belief that no massacre would take place today. The previous evening when he had sought once more to reassure her, she had asked, ‘Are you saying that the Comber letter was a forgery then?’
Her husband had never lied to her. ‘Well, I don’t know for sure, but I would be surprised if it wasn’t.’
This had not been good enough for his wife. ‘So, you don’t know for sure that our lives aren’t in mortal danger come the morrow?’
All Mr Sherrard had been able to do was sigh and shrug his shoulders. He knew he did not believe in a massacre but he also knew he had no sure evidence to offer his wife. Therefore he lacked the means and maybe even the confidence to attempt to convince her. Because what if … what if he was wrong?
Not surprisingly, neither of them had slept too deeply though Mr Sherrard had told her that the bells of St Columb’s would ring out if the walls were in any danger of being breached.
As Daniel took his place at the breakfast table, Mrs Sherrard enquired, ‘Was there many about?’
Daniel shook his head. His mother went to check on the bread she had baked the night before. The smell of it lingered in the air.
Sunday mornings were usually quiet but this one had come with its own brand of stillness. Daniel had been glad of Horace’s company to the well and back. Hearing his and Horace’s every footstep was unnerving in a way he had never noticed before. Horace’s overgrown nails noisily struck the cobbled stones and then, on hearing rats or cats, he would dash off down a dark alley, leaving Daniel bereft. The boy waited, ill at ease, not wanting to move until Horace was back by his side.
He was actually surprised and even a little hurt that his parents were happy enough for him to go out alone on this particular morning. Although maybe he was to take comfort from this, that there really was nothing to fear from today.
The previous evening, he and the others had attended an open meeting in the Town Hall to discuss, once more, what to do about James’s army. Some of the churchmen still advocated allowing them into the city, repeating the same reason over and over, that it was treason to do otherwise.
Deputy Mayor John Buchanan offered, ‘We should let the soldiers in because we won’t have any peace if we do not.’
Alderman Tomkins was disgusted. ‘How dare you! We are a Protestant city, which is why Richard Talbot wants to control Derry and make slaves of the lot of us!’
There was a mixture of ‘naying’ and ‘yeaing’ to this until Bishop Hopkins took to the floor. He too believed that one should obey one’s king even if one disagreed with what he was saying. The boys shook their heads in disbelief, with William Cairnes going so far as to murmur, ‘What rot!’
However, the bishop had a second point to make. He paused, taking the time to peer into the faces of his audience as he set his scene. ‘My friends, consider this. What if it doesn’t go William’s way? What if James wins? I mean, what if he regains control of his throne, this time after triumphing over William’s army?’ The boys scowled; they had not thought of this. Bishop Hopkins continued, ‘Won’t James have every right to be enraged by our behaviour? Who’s to say that he won’t make an example of us, to show other Protestant towns like Enniskillen and Dungannon that he means business? He may order his army – the very army we are shunning – to treat us the same way that Oliver Cromwell treated the town of Drogheda.’
Drogheda! This was the garrison town that Cromwell had razed to the ground, years earlier in 1641, bringing death and destruction to soldiers, women and even children. Who knows how many had died? The bishop, realising he had hit a tender spot, went on, ‘Women and children were pushed into the river to drown. People, including clergymen, were slain on the streets in daylight, in front of shops, in the doors of their own homes.’
Mr Sherrard shifted in his seat. The noise caused several heads to swivel in his direction. A nod from Reverend Gordon prompted him to speak. ‘With all respect, my lord, I don’t believe that James is another Cromwell. There is simply no evidence to support what you say.’
Daniel, who was sitting with his brother and their friends, noted relief on some of the faces of the men who were staring at his father. He was also glad to see the tiniest bit of pride in his brother’s eyes. He much preferred when his father and brother got along. Mr Sherrard’s soft tone and reasonable approach soothed some of his listeners.
Unfortunately, the bishop wasn’t one of them. The eyes of the churchman narrowed in annoyance as he glanced around to see who else agreed with the physician. He posed, head cocked to the side, as if in deep reflection over Mr Sherrard’s words. The ensuing silence was a tense one, men and boys trying to determine the bishop’s reaction.
‘Although,’ began the bishop, ‘I think it is noble to want to defend James like this …’ Robert felt a tingle of displeasure; was his father being insulted in some way? ‘But,’ added the bishop, ‘it is, I feel, unhelpful. I mean, the only way to prove your theory is to put James to the test.’
The cocky owner of one of the busiest taverns spoke up. ‘And the only way to test him is to open our gates to his army, to see if they wish to kill us or not.’
Some people actually laughed a little. Another man, a popular shopkeeper, offered, ‘The city walls protected the Protestants in 1641 when that madman O’Neill went on the attack. I tell you Catholics cannot be trusted, and that goes for the king too.’
The bishop looked to be lagging behind; he had lost his footing somehow and sought to regain it. ‘But what about the fact that James might win, as I have said?’
Alexander Irwin had had enough. This normally polite boy, who lived a couple of streets away from the Sherrards and rarely had a bad word to say about anyone, stood up and actually shouted at Bishop Hopkins, ‘You have a way with words, my lord, but I’m afraid I can’t listen to you any longer!’ There was a lone gasp from someone nearby while the bishop stood in shocked silence, the colour draining from his face. Alexander felt suddenly awkward and looked down at his friends for reassurance. Emboldened, they all jumped to their feet and nodded at him to lead the way, and out they strode without a backward glance, while David Cairnes and Mr Kennedy, the sheriff, smiled after them.
Outside Henry thumped Alexander with his good arm and complimented him on his rude behaviour. ‘You surprised me!’
Alexander shrugged to hide his own surprise. Had he really just shouted at the bishop of Derry in front of everyone?
‘What now?’ asked Robert.
Henry was confident that a decision would be reached and said, ‘The gates will remain locked. It’s what the majority wants.’ The others tended to agree with this. ‘But remember,’ Henry added, ‘It’s not just the enemy outside; it’s also the enemy inside that we must be wary of.’
Robert nodded. ‘We should keep an eye on the Papists who are still here.’ He paused before saying, ‘Although if they have any thought for their own safety, they should really leave the city now.’
Daniel made a rare contribution to the conversation. ‘At least we have the rifles and the gunpowder.’
Robert seemed proud. ‘Daniel is right. The advantage is ours!’
At ten o’clock Daniel took his place on the wall. From where he stood, just beyond the Ferry Quay Gate, he had a clear view of the Redshank soldiers who were camped out on the eastern bank of the river Foyle known as the Waterside.
Mr Cairnes had instructed that the city was to be alerted immediately if the watchers saw anything untoward … anything at all. James Morrison passed this information onto Daniel, who suddenly felt breathless. ‘Does he mean the massacre for today? Is that what he means?’
James wasn’t one for playing down a situation or taking care to tell a younger boy not to worry so much. No, indeed. James merely looked terribly serious as he scanned the Foyle, eventually saying, ‘It certainly seems so, doesn’t it?’ Then he did tell Daniel not to worry but only because, ‘I’ll be right here with you!’
Daniel offered a slight shake of his head that James interpreted as his being magically cured of any anxiety.
Although, to be fair to James, he did have one of the precious hundred and fifty rifles in his possession. Gunfire was the fastest way to alert the population that they were under attack. Generously, he allowed Daniel to hold it for a second or two. Daniel was surprised at the weight of it. When he handed it back he was obliged to receive a lecture on how to load it and then fire. James was most informative. ‘Of course, you need to have a steady hand and a keen eye. No point otherwise. You’d be wasting powder just shooting at fresh air.’
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.’
‘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
‘Long 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!’
Behind the Walls Page 5
