Adam stared coldly while silently wondering what on earth Lundy was getting at.
The lieutenant-colonel understood that Adam was biding his time, so he continued, ‘But what if Williams loses – in the long run? Think about that. James may well lose today’s battle but might still win the war for the throne. What do you suppose happens to us then?’
Again there was silence from Adam to this.
‘I know what the Jacobites are capable of. They would butcher us in victory; make us pay for every harmed hair on every Catholic head. Don’t you see what we are trying to do here? We are the ones who must think ahead and work out how to keep two potential kings happy with us.’
Of course Adam understood what Lundy was saying and it might have served to confuse him if he had been a different sort of person.
A clock ticked somewhere behind him as these prim old men waited for the young soldier to fall into line and agree. The lieutenant-colonel held up a piece of paper. ‘These are the terms that we are going to suggest to King James. All of us here are going to sign it. Perhaps you would like to sign it too?’
From where he stood, Adam could plainly see the day’s date on the document – 18 April 1689 – but he made no move towards it.
Lundy went on to let Adam know that he was aware of the mood outside. ‘You are popular with the people. They will listen to you.’
Adam stiffened as if he had been accused of something, he just wasn’t sure what.
The lieutenant-colonel explained the young man’s situation as he saw it. ‘Whether or not you know it, you are in possession of power. However, with power comes responsibility. You understand that, don’t you?’
Adam longed to be back outside, away from this grand room with its heavy curtains and ornate furniture. It was high time he made a response. Glancing around in order to address them all, not just Lundy, he finally spoke. ‘Thank you but I won’t be needing your pen. I will not sign my name to that document, or any like it.’
Lieutenant-Colonel Lundy blinked to cover his surprise and irritation, while a hint of a smile plucked at Reverend Walker’s features. One of the aldermen asked, ‘Can you tell us why?’
This time Adam replied immediately, ‘Because I’m a soldier. I don’t sign terms of surrender. I fight on the battlefield. Now if that is all gentlemen, I will take my leave of you!’
Half expecting to be told that, no, he would not be permitted to take his leave, Adam briefly bowed his head and made for the door, relieved that he was allowed to do so.
He found his soldiers at the Diamond. The crowd were milling around, most of them wearing white armbands. A shout went up, ‘Here he is!’ Adam quickly told his listeners about the council’s document. Silence greeted this revelation, making Adam wonder if he had agreed to help Lundy, would the crowd have been converted to surrendering. Leaving his listeners in no doubt as to his intentions, he declared, ‘But I refused to sign it. I told them that I preferred my sword and rifle to their pen!’
With that, a large woman came out of nowhere and flung herself upon him, all heaving bosoms and tree-trunk arms. ‘Oooh, God bless you, sir!’ His friends gently wrestled him out of her embrace.
It was easy for Adam to believe that the whole city was on his side. While he had been with Governor Lundy the crowd seemed to have doubled in size, all proudly bearing their white cloths, including the soldiers.
Of course not every single resident stood before him. There were still quite a few who felt that Lundy was right, that James could win, and it could only mean dire consequences that the city had dared to fire upon a king.
Not fifty years ago the rebel Sir Phelim O’Neill led his Catholic soldiers to rise up against the Protestant population, killing men, women and children in their hundreds. Well, wasn’t it the fear of another wholesale slaughter that locked the gates in the first place? And now it’s this same fear that prompts the likes of Lundy and Walker to reopen them to James.
Robert and Daniel’s father stood at the side of the square to watch the proceedings. When the rain thickened, he moved closer to the wall. Adam is a good man; he’s not led by vanity. He isn’t wealthy and has no ambition beyond wanting to keep Derry free. That was something to be thankful for. Mr Sherrard shrugged to himself, wanting to throw off his nervousness at what was happening. Thank goodness it’s not Henry Campsie that the crowd are cheering. Since losing his father the boy, as far as the physician was concerned, had taken on a desperate look. God only knows what lengths he might go to, both to make a name for himself and to distract himself from grief.
Later, when he heard how Henry had fired upon King James, Mr Sherrard was to wish anew that he had been able to prevent Mayor Campsie from dying. His death was proving to be too soon for Derry.
Still, thought Mr Sherrard, this stalemate situation cannot be allowed to continue forever. Now that we are practically surrounded on all sides, it is surely only a matter of time before our hand is forced. They must find someone to surrender the city, someone who is foolhardy enough to pass this crowd. Who would volunteer for such a task? Though really I think it’s far too late for that now.
Outside Derry, a mile or so away, a disheartened and deeply disappointed king sat astride his tired horse, drenched through and bleak in figure. His advisors stood by, whispering. Blissfully ignorant of the bewilderment and pity surrounding him, James stared at the walled city in silence. How had it come to this? His body ached from the damp and the cold – and, yes, from the shock too. That young lad, the trumpeter, how proud he had been when his king beckoned him to his side. James felt genuine sorrow. It was the most important moment of the boy’s short life. He had died for his king.
It didn’t occur to James that the people of Derry might be afraid of him, his soldiers and his religion. Instead, he dwelt on the personal attack. How they hate me. Why couldn’t they have let me in and hear what I had to say? Well, I can do nothing more for them now. If they refuse to listen, that is that.
A gentle voice called to him, ‘Sire?’
James gazed around, past Avaux, the owner of the voice, at the army of men behind him, all soaking wet and wondering why they were still there, neither making camp nor moving on. He closed his eyes for a moment and knew in his heart that it was time to go. Both the lord lieutenant and his cousin, the French king, had warned him it might come to this, but he had not wanted to listen to them. How naïve I have been. But, now, it was different; he was different. After listening to Derry’s population screaming their chorus of ‘No surrender!’ and dodging their bullets, his limit had been reached. Those proud citizens had left him no choice. Now he was bound to act like royalty. Giving the city a last, lingering look, he quietly asked, ‘How far is it to our camp at St Johnston?’
Avaux replied, ‘I believe it is about five miles from here, Your Majesty, in Donegal.’
King James sighed to himself and then said aloud, ‘Have the cannon brought to us there … and anything else that will be needed for the forming of a siege.’
Avaux barely hid his relief. ‘As you wish, Your Majesty!’
A few miles away, in his small, homely cottage, Gabriel Murray sniffed the air and informed his elderly dog, ‘Well, now, old friend. I think that something has finally begun! I just hope that Adam knows what he’s doing.’
Back in Derry, amid tentative celebrations for having seen off the Papist king, the governor had also reached his limits. Within hours of Adam walking out on him, Lieutenant-Colonel Lundy informed the council that he no longer wanted to be governor. Having seen himself through Adam’s eyes, he recognised that he would never make a difference to what was happening. He had no friends and no supporters, aside from the dutiful but cool politeness shown to him by the politically ambitious old men of Derry.
The following day, and much to his surprise, Adam was invited back to the chamber to take part in the election for the new governor. As far as he was concerned, stepping down as governor was the first sensible thing that Lundy had done since his arr
ival. However, before he could make his vote Adam had to decline the governorship himself.
Reverend Walker smiled at the shocked expression on the young man’s face. ‘You have the crowd at your heel and your own soldiers who call you colonel. Surely you realise you are the obvious choice.’
Adam shook his head. ‘With respect, Reverend, I have no interest in politics. I’m just a soldier.’ He pretended not to notice that his response was met with barely contained relief by those who fancied themselves as leader of Derry. Well, let them have it if it means so much to them.
For himself he could only vote for those men who, as far as he knew, had not loudly clamoured to surrender the city nor tried to forge a close relationship with Lundy. And it seemed that others shared his opinion. The two most popular councillors proved to be Reverend George Walker and Major Henry Baker. Accordingly, the duo was elected as co-governors of the city, effective immediately. The two were fighting men who had not been favourites of the former governor and this was their reward.
Governors Walker and Baker welcomed a challenge and surely this was not going to be easy, to take over the running of a little city that was in constant danger of being squashed like an insect beneath one’s boot. Governor Walker was still very much an Anglican reverend, who in considering Derry’s position compared it to the Israelites standing in front of the Red Sea.
At God’s bidding, the prophet Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt, where they had been enslaved. The journey was treacherous and, it seemed, had come to an abrupt end when the refugees found themselves between their hot-tempered pursuers and the Red Sea. Naturally, they panicked, believing that they were well and truly caught. However, Moses begged them not to lose faith, telling them, ‘Be brave. God will save you. He’ll fight for you. Just wait and see!’
Chapter Seventeen
Two days after Governors Walker and Baker were sworn into office, Daniel woke up in confusion, unsure if the noise which had disturbed him had been part of a dream. Horace’s frantic barking soon convinced him that it wasn’t. Then a second crash sounded in the distance followed by a third.
The sight of Robert’s empty bed produced an awful shock until Daniel remembered he had the night shift on the wall. Pulling on his clothes, Daniel charged downstairs, where a trembling Horace was mightily relieved to see him.
The house shook with the next explosion. His parents were behind him, Alice still miraculously asleep in her mother’s arms.
‘What is it?’ Mrs Sherrard fought an urge to scream.
Her husband and son opened the front door and stood in silence until Mr Sherrard said, ‘It sounds like Ship Quay Street?’
Daniel nodded and said to his mother, ‘It’s alright. We’re safe here.’
They could hear screaming in the distance. Then the quiet street burst into action as neighbours piled outside to check that their houses weren’t in danger. There was a pause, so it seemed, when the sounds of many footsteps and shouts grew louder and louder. Mr Sherrard touched Daniel on the arm and they slid back inside the house, quietly shutting the door. Most of their neighbours copied them. Seconds later, their street was full again, this time with women, children, dogs, old men and women, half-trotting, half-running down the narrow street. Daniel and his parents watched from the small window. Panic distorted the already strange faces, the dogs barking madly as if the fires of Hell were upon them.
Horace started up again only to be smacked on the nose by Mrs Sherrard.
Mr Sherrard felt obliged to find out what was happening. Opening the front door, he called out, ‘What’s going on? What are you running from?’
An old man, who, for all his fright, seemed glad to ease himself to a temporary stop, gasped, ‘The Jacobites. They’re firing on the old houses on Ship Quay; the cannonballs are smashing right through the roofs all the way down to the ground floor.’
At this Mr Sherrard opened his door a little more, to call up the street, ‘Is anybody hurt?’ The man, doing his best to control his breathing, replied, ‘Don’t know, sir. None of us hung around long enough to see.’ He felt the need to explain further, ‘We sleep on the street, you see. No room for us anywhere else!’
‘Of course, of course!’ said Mr Sherrard. What else could he say? He turned to his family and said, ‘I’m going to run over to see if anybody needs me!’
Daniel took his father’s place at the front door while the physician ran for his bag and coat.
In the street the old man nodded. ‘It’s a fine start to a Sunday morning, isn’t it? And it’s only the beginning.’
Daniel was curious. ‘The beginning? What do you mean?’
‘Aye, indeed,’ said the man. ‘Most folk around here have no idea what’s about to happen.’
Pulling the door closed behind him so his mother couldn’t hear, Daniel wished the old man would hurry up and say whatever he was about to.
‘You mark my words, young man; these explosions are nothing. The next time we hear them will be in the middle of the night and the next night and the night after that. The truth of the matter is we won’t be allowed to rest until this is all over. They are going to terrorise us with noise and bombardment.’
Of all people, Henry Campsie appeared at the man’s side. Daniel was somewhat shocked when Henry roughly pushed the man, causing him to cry out, ‘Oy, what’s the meaning of this?’
Henry bared his teeth in a chilly grin. ‘I think, old man, that you are trying to scare us.’
Daniel blushed though he didn’t know why. Neighbours reappeared at their doors to watch. Henry’s fiery expression reminded Daniel of how Henry had looked just before he shot at King James. What was the sense in trying to intimidate a harmless old man? Daniel wanted to shout at Henry to leave the poor fellow alone but could not find the courage.
In confusion the man stepped away from Henry and turned to continue his journey to wherever he was going. However Henry had not finished with him yet and, instead, persisted, ‘Are you for King James, then?’
The man faltered. Was he bewildered to be asked such a question or was he terrified because he had been found out? He began to stammer, ‘What? No … I … I’m not!’
It was Mr Sherrard who saved him, urging him to keep walking the road. ‘Go on, Old Timer, best you go join your family and friends.’
Reeling from the glaring attention of Henry’s roughness and aggressive accusation, the man stumbled away, no doubt wishing he had never opened his mouth in the first place.
Henry watched the man’s retreat carefully in order to hide his annoyance at Daniel’s father. However, he felt it was his duty to both explain his actions and warn Mr Sherrard, ‘We need to be aware that the city is infested with Jacobite sympathisers.’
Mr Sherrard fixed his coat and said lightly, ‘And perhaps he was just an old man who likes to talk!’
Henry’s expression was tight. ‘Yes, sir’. He tipped his hat in false agreement.
Daniel longed to say something to bridge the gap between his father and Henry but could think of nothing. Meanwhile, Mr Sherrard’s mind was on more important matters; he bid the boys farewell and headed off in the direction of the city’s broken houses.
Henry bit his lip and appeared deep in thought.
Finally, Daniel offered, ‘So, they have fired upon us?’
Henry snapped back into action. ‘Adam Murray is looking for men to join him in an attack on the army.’
Daniel murmured cautiously, ‘You mean, Colonel Murray.’
Henry answered impatiently, ‘That’s what I just said!’
Daniel didn’t bother to argue.
Across the river Foyle, to the north of Derry, the newly arrived lines of Jacobite tents straddled Pennyburn Hill. Apart from being an irritating eyesore, the tents represented the Jacobite army laying stake to good foraging territory. Standing on the part of the wall between Ship Quay and Butchers’ Gate, Colonel Adam Murray recognised that, at the very least, this would cause a problem for Derry’s horses who needed to
graze on the fresh grass outside the city’s walls.
Of course the situation was made infinitely worse due to the orders of the Jacobite French commander, Lieutenant-General Maumont. Adam clenched his jaw as he took in the acres of ruined land. The Frenchman had instigated what was called a ‘scorched earth’ policy to make sure that the people and animals of Derry had no hope of living off the land outside Derry. The smell of smoke had lingered for days and the guards on the wall could only watch in frustration as the Jacobites went about their work, burning crops and every piece of decent grass.
Adam also recognised that the Jacobites must be prevented from going into the nearby little village at Pennyburn. At present it was unoccupied by either side, but those tents blatantly signalled that the Jacobites were planning to do just that.
If the enemy took Pennyburn it would give them a useful vantage point over the city, not to mention it would be far too close for comfort. Adam knew he had to do something and that something would involve a fight. He sent out a call, asking for soldiers and horsemen to join him in the city’s first offensive.
The young officer could not overlook the fact that most of the soldiers available to him were recent recruits who had never stood in battle. However, he reasoned that all they needed was experience, and as soon as possible. We could lose a minor battle if needs be, if only we win the war.
‘Colonel Murray, they’re on the march.’ Robert Sherrard delivered this message, adding, ‘And they’re heading for Pennyburn village!’
It was the news Adam had been expecting and dreading. He scrunched up his features in annoyance until Robert gave him something to cheer him up. ‘About a thousand or so have answered your call to arms.’
‘That many?’ asked Adam, unable to keep the gratitude out of his voice.
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