Henry said, ‘I don’t mind saying it would be better if they all went home. They’re a strain on our resources.’
Daniel felt Henry was simply repeating something his father had said.
Robert said, ‘Well, now that William has the crown, perhaps they will feel confident to go back to wherever they came from.’
‘And the Catholics of Derry could return home too,’ added Daniel.
There was a shocked silence.
‘What did you say?’ asked Henry.
Daniel hadn’t meant to say what he thought about the Catholic refugees out loud. He opened his mouth but only to feel the rain drop onto his tongue.
Robert rushed to assure his friend. ‘He’s only teasing you, Henry. Don’t mind him, I don’t!’
Daniel sniffed for a response.
On arriving at the Campsies’ house, Robert arranged to meet up later that evening, for their shift at the wall. He didn’t wait to hear the clip of the Campsies’ front door closing before grabbing his brother by the arm. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
Daniel sighed. ‘Henry gets on my nerves sometimes. He can be such a know-it-all!’
Robert argued, ‘But he does know more than us.’
Daniel was petulant. ‘Only because his father is the mayor.’
Robert held out his hands. ‘And what’s wrong with that?’
Daniel didn’t answer, prompting his brother to marvel, ‘I’ve never seen you in such a bad mood. What is it?’
Daniel felt himself blow hot and cold. It was just a bad mood, no need to fuss. But then he found some words and asked, ‘Don’t you ever get tired of him constantly airing his opinions?’
Robert stifled a laugh. ‘Eh … no!’
Daniel tried again. ‘But have you ever noticed that he never has good news? He’s always set on worrying us.’
Robert flicked raindrops off his nose. This was all new to him.
They walked on in silence until Daniel spoke again. ‘I know you and Father have your problems …’
Robert could not resist mounting a defence. ‘That’s not my fault!’
Daniel grew impatient with the unnecessary interruption. ‘I’m not saying it is. Anyway, that has nothing to do with what I’m saying.’
Robert sighed. ‘Which is?’
Daniel continued, ‘Well, I like the way Father thinks about things. Some people think in a straight line which must never be broken but Father thinks in circles.’
Robert chuckled. ‘That doesn’t sound very flattering. You mean he goes around and around, never making any progress? At least a line can get longer.’
Daniel quickly shook his head. ‘No, no. That’s not what I meant!’
Robert smirked at the sour expression on his little brother’s face.
Coming in sight of their house meant an end to their conversation had to be reached.
Daniel said, ‘I meant that Father collects information from more than one source. He looks for options before making his mind up. His thinking is as wide and rounded as a circle.’
Robert appreciated the effort his brother had taken to present his argument. Keeping his mind clear of his various gripes with their father, he generously said, ‘Ah, I see what you mean. That’s a good way of putting it.’
Daniel accepted the compliment with a weary ‘Thank you!’
The door suddenly swung open. Horace filled the entrance as their mother called out, ‘What have you two been up to?’
Her sons grinned at one another and replied in unison, ‘Just talking!’
On 21 March King William’s Deliverance, the ship containing men, ammunition and money, finally arrived. It should have meant tidings of joyous relief but, instead, it only brought more trouble for Governor Lundy. He stepped on board and was received by the captain who handed him a letter from King William.
The letter contained his orders and Governor Lundy was obliged to read it aloud to those present: ‘His Majesty wishes that I distribute the weapons and ammunition as I see fit and use the money to fortify the city against attack. He further wishes to be kept informed of our situation and …’
Here, the governor read the next couple of sentences to himself before he continued aloud. He did his best not to sound self-conscious, yet he could not blind himself to the smirks on the faces of those around him. It was mortifying, but he had no option other than to read: ‘His Majesty desires that, from now on, any persons taking office either in the army or in the council must first swear allegiance to him.’
It started to drizzle and Lundy was obliged to fold up the royal message to prevent the words being smeared by raindrops.
The hairs stood on the back of his neck as he felt his every movement, every little facial twitch, being closely inspected. He knew exactly what they were waiting for, his swearing his own allegiance to King William, but he grew stubborn with anger. I will not parade myself like some street performer.
What about the fact that I have already embarked on the city’s fortifications? William cannot seriously think that I needed his say-so before strengthening the walls and building the ravelin to protect Bishop’s Gate.
Knowing what was at stake, that quite possibly he would not be allowed any of the ship’s bounty until he swore his devotion to William, Governor Lundy demanded a private consultation with the captain, away from prying eyes. It was not a wise decision.
No one from Derry could swear to Lundy’s swearing the oath to their new king. Therefore, it was generally assumed that he did not.
Chapter Eleven
Some weeks later Daniel had cause to feel sorry for Henry Campsie. His father, the mayor, was seriously ill. Mr Sherrard visited the Campsie house every day and returned again in the evening. A fever had taken hold of his patient, and try as he might Mr Sherrard knew he was losing him. He told Mrs Campsie to pray as her husband’s life was in God’s hands.
Henry felt useless. He was the oldest but had no great yearning to become man of the house just yet. His nights were spent watching over his father as he slept. What else could he do for him now?
Keeping a single stub of candle lit, he watched the flickering shapes over his father’s bed, swiping at the flies and moths who were tempted to land on the sheets. He had asked Mr Sherrard, when they were alone, ‘How long does he have?’
The physician looked into the eyes of the boy he had delivered eighteen years earlier and said, ‘I’m not sure. All I can do is make him as comfortable as I can. I don’t think he’s in any pain.’
Henry nodded and whispered his thanks.
Before he took his leave, Mr Sherrard told Henry that he would be back the following morning, adding, ‘Your father was a good man, Henry. We owe him a lot. You can be proud of him.’
Mr Sherrard let himself out and was glad to be escaping from the heaving sadness of the Campsie household. He breathed deeply and then scrunched his nose as the smell of fresh manure soared up his nostrils. How long has it been since I’ve taken a good walk outside the walls? These days the city seems too small and dirty.
It was easy to forget that there was a whole other world outside. For the first time in ages Mr Sherrard noticed the silvery glow of the moon. There was a time he used to spend hours staring at the night sky, teaching himself the different constellations and experiencing elation at every shooting star. When he was a little boy his mother told him that a shooting star meant a good soul was going straight to Heaven. He sighed; poor John Campsie will be there soon enough.
Of course, in his line of profession, Mr Sherrard was well used to dealing with the dying. However, despite all his experience, he desired to know more about what actually happened in death.
He remembered how he had treated his mother on her deathbed. She had outlived his father by a good ten years or so and was fiercely independent until the day she was forced to take to her bed and, in her words, ‘wait for the end!’
Whenever her son had stood over her, she had mistaken him for her dead husband. Gently he would tell
her, ‘No, Mother. It’s Edward, your son.’ Eventually he’d given up as it had only confused her.
On that last afternoon, he had stepped into the next room to fetch something and had heard her gasp. She hadn’t spoken in two days and thinking he had heard her murmur his name, he had run in, knocking over a stool. Reaching her bed, he had stopped in fright. This wizened old woman, who had shrunk in length and breadth, whose skin was as thin as the pages of her bible, had appeared to glow.
‘Mother?’ He hadn’t meant to sound panicked.
She had turned to look at him and had smiled. Her fever had gone and she had appeared younger than ever. All her weariness and sickliness had gone. How happy she had looked. He had felt her farewell as she’d switched her attention to the air in front of her. Then she had bowed her head briefly and said, ‘Yes!’
Her son had watched her die then. The last breath had left her body; he swore he saw her soul go with it as her eyes had glazed and her body had wilted in thanks. Her journey was finally over.
Now beneath the Derry night sky Mr Sherrard shivered, realising the mist he had supposed was gathering was only his tears.
A few miles away Adam Murray was updating his father on the latest news. The old man was stirring soup that was simmering in a pot over the fire. Adam scratched his father’s old dog behind his ears, saying, ‘Lieutenant-Colonel Lundy is flourishing, but as what I can’t figure out. Is he a spy or a coward?’
His father didn’t seem particularly interested either way. ‘Fetch the bowls, lad. This is just about done.’
Adam sighed and did what he was told. He also poured two mugs of beer and brought everything to where the stools were positioned in front of the fire. His father didn’t bother with tables anymore, preferring the comfort of sipping his soup while plopped in the warmest part of the house.
As Adam watched Gabriel ladle the soup into the first bowl, he spotted a fresh tear in the seat of his trousers. ‘Father, you’ve ripped your trousers again.’
Gabriel smiled. ‘That explains the draught down there.’
Adam laughed. ‘I’ll mend them for you after we eat.’
As a reward for this, his father prompted him to continue. ‘Well, what’s this about Lundy?’
Adam took his bowl and stirred the soup with his spoon. As usual Gabriel had waited until it was too hot to eat, to serve it up. Sure enough, the spoon burnt his lip when Adam tested the temperature. Meanwhile, his father took his place beside him and began to eat immediately. Adam could only conclude – he must have no feelings left in his tongue! He said, ‘He has fortified the city, there’s no doubt about that.’
His father looked at him and blinked, obliging Adam to remind him who he was talking about. ‘Robert Lundy.’
His father rushed to assure him, ‘Oh, yes. Yes!’ Then he thought of something. ‘How’s that horse of yours?’
Used to his father’s meandering conversations, Adam replied, ‘Pegasus is fine. She’ll probably need new shoes in the next month or so but apart from that she’s grand.’
‘Aye,’ said his father, ‘you have a good animal there. Take care of her.’
Adam exhaled before saying, ‘Yes, Father, I know. I do take very good care of her.’
His father took a mouthful of boiling soup and exclaimed, ‘You probably need a wife!’
Adam rolled his eyes at the dog who probably agreed with his father.
Adam returned to the former subject with some determination. ‘Colonel Lundy is talking about breaking up the other Protestant garrisons in Dungannon, Monaghan and Cavan. Why would he do that? These towns are full of men eager to fight the Jacobites. From what I can see, he’s preparing Derry for attack while also getting rid of our valuable allies. I reckon he’s playing a dangerous game.’ When Gabriel said not a word to this, his son continued, ‘Nobody has accused him of anything yet, but I hear there are a lot of complaints behind his back. For instance, he has been told that more Jacobite soldiers are on their way but doesn’t seem to be doing a thing about it. Also, it seems we had a chance of receiving fresh soldiers into the garrison and he turned them away. I cannot prove it yet, but the rumour persists. There was a meeting, but only a select few were present to decide, it would appear, to reject more men. At the very least his behaviour bewilders me.’
Again there was silence at this.
‘Father,’ said Adam, ‘are you listening to me at all?’
Gabriel stopped slurping his soup long enough to say, ‘Of course I am, son.’
Adam went to talk again. ‘It’s just that …’
However, his father interrupted him. ‘I hope you find a girl who is even half as lovely as your mother was.’
Adam’s smile and tone were tender. ‘Yes, Father. I’ll do my best to.’
Gabriel waggled a finger in his left ear, trying to clear it so that he could hear better while saying matter-of-factly, ‘It sounds like Lundy doesn’t believe in himself.’
Ignoring whatever his father had found in his ear, and was now stuck to his finger, Adam asked, ‘Do you really think that’s what it is, a lack of self-esteem is causing him to make worrying mistakes?’
His father grunted, ‘He’s just a man after all. And it’s contagious too.’
Adam asked, ‘What is?’
Having scooped up the last of his soup, Gabriel placed the bowl at his feet and stood up to wriggle himself out of his trousers. Next he went searching for needle and thread. When he sat back down again, he said, ‘A few passers-by have told me that Lundy doesn’t believe that Derry can be defended.’
‘Really, Father? You never mentioned this.’
Gabriel was incredulous. ‘But I just have. Lundy doesn’t have faith in himself and, consequently, people don’t have faith in him.’
Adam put his empty bowl at his feet and pulled the trousers into his lap, taking the needle and thread from his father, saying, ‘That seems to be the point alright. They just don’t trust him.’
His father gave the old dog a perfunctory rub across his matted spine and sighed. ‘You can never truly know what goes on inside another man’s head.’
Adam shrugged as he began to sew. ‘But if you accept leadership over a city, I think a great deal should be transparent.’
His father took out his box of snuff and stuffed a thimbleful up his nose before offering it to his son. The old man gave a hearty sniff and asked, ‘Will you be staying here tonight?’
Adam shook his head. ‘I can’t. I’m on patrol. I’ll do my best to drop in before the end of the week. Is there anything you need?’
His father, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the tiny snores from the dog, replied, ‘No. Thank God!’
Chapter Twelve
There was a new notice on the Markethouse to be read out to the men and boys of the battalion. April showers had created dozens of puddles throughout the Diamond. They sparkled like precious stones as they mirrored any slivers of sunshine that managed to puncture the grey clouds.
Henry Campsie had turned up, much to the Sherrard boys’ surprise. His absence would have been understandable since he had buried his father that very morning. The brothers had attended the funeral with their parents but had been unable to get near poor Henry due to the huge number that turned up. The mayor had been a popular man and all his peers lined up to convey their personal sadness to his widow and eldest son. Afterwards Henry imagined he might stay home for the rest of the day. However, once home, he had an abiding need to get away from the room where his father died and away from his mother’s tears.
Gervais Squire was the new mayor. His signature, along with the other city elders, adorned the ‘Mutual Agreement’, the document that was to be read out.
The lawyer David Cairnes had returned from another visit to London, bearing a letter from King William about his appreciation for Derry’s efforts on his behalf and his promise to look after them. Mr Cairnes informed Lieutenant-Colonel Lundy and the city councillors that there were preparations taking place this ve
ry minute, in London, to help Derry and he strongly felt that nobody should be allowed to leave the city.
With everyone fired up, knowing that King William was following their every move, it was decided to draw up a list of rules – a ‘Mutual Agreement’ – for the population to keep the city on her best behaviour.
Robert and Daniel lined up with the other soldiers to hear the news. Robert quietly asked Henry how he was and received a half-hearted shrug for an answer, making him feel he should have asked a more sensible question. Daniel thought Henry looked different or strange. There was something about his clothes; they were too big for him. Later he would find out that Henry was wearing his father’s old tunic and trousers.
Daniel struggled to concentrate on what was being said. The speaker, one of the aldermen, was making an announcement: ‘We will not put up with cowards. To this end, a pair of gallows is to be erected and anybody in the garrison, who commits treachery in its many forms, will be hung by the neck until they are dead.’
Soldiers were smiling and nodding enthusiastically. Daniel could not mimic their response. Instead, he swallowed hard and tried to imagine what it would be like to be swinging from a rope, wishing for death to come quickly.
Daniel felt an unpleasantness steal into the atmosphere, despite the fact that some men were responding so positively to the man’s words. Surely, he thought, this means that we are now going to play judge and jury with our neighbours and friends. Anybody’s patriotism could be called into question by anybody else. Why did this sound familiar? And then it hit him that he was accidentally remembering James Morrison’s story about the crows, about the way they turned on the weakest in the community.
Daniel looked at his brother to see if he shared his thoughts, but his brother cheered heartily when everyone else did. Daniel rushed to cheer himself, especially when Henry gave him a peculiar look. It seemed like the judging was to start immediately.
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