Daniel could not see anything but he took their word for it. ‘James, the cannon!’
But James had already rolled a ball into the cannon and pushed the women away for their own safety. A match was struck, ears were covered and the gun roared. As the noise of the cannon faded, someone nearby guffawed, ‘Sounds just like your Meg!’ There was no returning cannon fire, suggesting that ‘Meg’ had met her mark.
Then, just like that, this particular battle was over.
Rather sensibly, the Jacobites saw that they were in a tight spot. Wounded comrades were picked up, shoved onto the remaining horses and the order to retreat was given. The victors cheered and hugged one another. At long last there was the feeling that they had won something.
Feeling somewhat stunned, Daniel counted almost a hundred bodies on the ground, the ones that lay perfectly still, from both sides. So, it had been a real battle indeed. He couldn’t help thinking they had been lucky and then felt a little ashamed of himself.
James thumped his shoulder. ‘Are you coming down?’
Daniel shrugged, preferring to stay where he was.
He watched James, Robert and the others peel off into small groups to attend to two important but very different tasks. One was to retrieve the Derry dead for their families while the other was to strip the foreign corpses of coins, ammunition, food, weapons and even boots. Daniel felt strange watching dead men’s boots being waved in the air as some sort of prize. However, the truth was that a surprisingly high number of Derry men, including James Morrison, were in dire need of good boots. James whistled up to him to show off his new footwear. Daniel gave him a thumbs up.
Henry Campsie brandished his newly acquired hip flask, generously offering Robert the first sip of the contents which proved to be brandy. It burnt the back of Robert’s throat, making him splutter and cough.
Governor Walker could not stop smirking. He patted everyone he passed, saying over and over again, ‘Well done!’
Adam allowed himself a smile too, relieved at how the whole community had worked together. However, he cringed at the naivety of his volunteers. He hoped that some lessons were learned today and determined to start training the men properly. Not a single musket ball or an ounce of gunpowder could be wasted from now on. Nevertheless, as he gazed about him, he was pleased to see that out of a hundred dead bodies only ten or so were not wearing the tell-tale red jackets of the Jacobite army. His men had done extremely well.
His thoughts were instantly echoed by Governor Walker’s words. In preacher mode, the reverend cried out, ‘We have with God’s help proved ourselves today. Let us give thanks for our victory and ask God to continue to protect us from all harm.’
Adam cheered along with everyone else, wondering how things stood now. The white armbands were everywhere and here was the War Council making their way to Butchers’ Gate now that the trouble was over. Surely those old fogies see that Derry is far from surrendering.
Chapter Eighteen
That was Sunday, 21 April 1689.
This was Monday, the first day of the week and the second of many days of bombardment. Mrs Sherrard thanked God for the rather impressive miracle of Alice falling asleep in spite of the sounds of cannonballs bouncing through houses mere streets away.
Horace had felt obliged to anoint every single crash with much barking, but one look of barely suppressed rage from his mistress was enough to change his mind. Indeed, he thought it best to leave the room entirely and put himself to bed under the kitchen table. He knew when he wasn’t wanted.
Things had changed over the last while and he was a bit put out. Daniel had little time for him anymore. Horace could barely remember the last time that the two of them enjoyed a good nose around the streets.
Horace wasn’t stupid. Maybe humans don’t realise how much a dog senses. He felt the tension vibrate in the house whenever Robert and Mr Sherrard spent too long in one another’s company. Indeed he smelled the bewilderment from outside and blamed Robert for bringing it inside the home. Daniel was caught in the middle and Horace sensed the boy’s inner turmoil. Sometimes Daniel was in full agreement with his brother but other times he was in full agreement with his father. It was all a bit confusing.
Mrs Sherrard stayed out of it as much as she could. Her job was to mind everyone, keep the house respectable, make sure they all had clean clothes and provide tasty meals. Only in this last matter Horace guessed there was some new trouble and it had to do with food.
The previous day Mr Sherrard called his sons to him. It was a rare enough occasion to have both of them inside at the same time, although Robert was wearing his coat and anxious to be back at the walls. His father knew not to waste time and said, ‘If this siege persists, if it runs into months, we will have to consider the possible consequences.’ His expression and tone made Robert forget his impatience to be elsewhere. Mr Sherrard continued, ‘I don’t want your mother and sister left alone. When the people on the streets get hungry enough they may start raiding houses for food.’
Daniel felt icy fingers tip-tap across his shoulders. This was something that he had not considered, that they could be attacked not just in their city, but in their own homes.
Robert could not resist finding an argument. ‘Do you think so badly of our people, Father?’
Daniel felt his shoulders sag with tiredness.
Mr Sherrard was ready for Robert this time. ‘Do you claim to know all those who are currently living on our streets? I certainly don’t. The city is overrun with scared strangers.’ Seeing Robert open his mouth again, Mr Sherrard rushed to end the conversation. ‘Please! We are talking about your mother’s and sister’s safe-keeping and nothing else. I’m too busy for a political debate.’
To his credit, Robert looked mortified. He mumbled something which sounded like, ‘Yes, Father!’
In any case, Daniel said his words loud and clear, just to be sure. ‘Yes, Father!’
Horace, for his part, was relieved to see Robert head out the door. The atmosphere vastly improved in his absence.
Over the following days the guards on the walls found themselves under attack from the actual streets of Derry. The Jacobite cannonballs that were being continually pumped into the city were smashing up the pavements, sending jagged shards of polished stones shooting in all directions.
After two of the guards were soundly walloped on the backs of their heads, an order was given to erect a screen which would act as a shield from the city side of the walls. Plenty chuckled at the irony.
A heavy responsibility sat on the soldiers who manned the walls and gates. Defending the city was no small task now that the big cannons were trained upon them. Civilians were told to keep their distance from the walls. Women, and children under the age of sixteen years were sent to spend their days on the streets that no cannonball could reach.
In the beginning a few of the younger recruits might have admitted their terror. The boom of the cannon gun was all the warning they received with absolutely no hint of where the killer ball would land. Once the gun sounded, birds would take fright, flinging out their wings and rising together like dust from rooftops or trees. Barking dogs would not let up for hours after. But this is what the Jacobites hoped to do: cause unrest in the city.
Things were about to get worse. A contingent of Jacobites had settled themselves into Stronge’s Orchard, from where they began to fire mortars straight into the city. In other words, apart from cannonballs that could shatter entire houses, now the people of Derry had to deal with exploding bombs. Not that the guards were always impressed. You see, the bombs came in all sorts of sizes and some were no bigger than pocket watches, doing nothing more than spitting out the tiniest puffs of smoke.
Of course the larger ones were deadly. One killed old Mrs Stewart. Some soldiers had recently taken up residence in her small house and she had just put out their dinner, made up of their daily army rations (2 pounds of flour, 2 pounds of oats and 2 pounds of salted meat). Thick beef soup it was, which
the four soldiers claimed later to be thoroughly enjoying, before they were cruelly interrupted by a large bomb that dropped through the ceiling – so quickly that they had no time to move before it left the room, via the floor, to plunge below atop Mrs Stewart as she mended their uniforms.
At least she would have felt no pain. Luckily for her tenants the blast blew out the entire side of her house, giving them an easy escape route. The four of them returned later to pull the poor woman’s bruised and bloodied body from the rubble. She had been a good landlady. Her hands still gripped her darning needle and spool of thread. It was judged kinder to leave them where they were, to be buried with her.
Both Daniel and Robert quickly learned to hide their army rations as they walked the streets, otherwise they invited the pleading of despairing women who had no idea how to feed their children. Daniel might have felt more guilt about this, but there was hardly enough to feed his own family, even with two rations. Only soldiers were eligible for the rations that were doled out by Governor Walker.
As James Morrison said, ‘If we’re too weak to defend the city, then we might as well open the gates.’
Daniel did think to ask, ‘But what about everyone else? What will they eat?’
James had no answer to this apart from a wistful, ‘Oh, it should be all over before we run out of food!’
And then James said something else, but Daniel didn’t hear it so he asked James to repeat what he just said. His friend blushed as he offered, ‘Anyone who tries to get food from a soldier should be locked up for treason. We’re too important to go without food. That’s my opinion anyway!’
Daniel felt certain that James was not allowing himself to notice the children sitting on the ground, wherever you looked, crying from hunger.
Please God, prayed Daniel in silence, please let this be over soon!
Mr Sherrard was also concerned about the rations and wondered if he should say something to Adam Murray. Perhaps it would be best if there were two different church leaders dealing out the rations from Governor Walker’s stores. He had heard rumours of the Anglican reverend skimping on rations for the members of Reverend Gordon’s Presbyterian flock.
Saint Columb’s Cathedral was becoming something of a battlefield itself. Rationing of food was one thing but now there was a rationing of hours of worship. The Presbyterians were feeling hard done by the rambunctious Governor Walker who would keep reminding people of how he had saved Adam Murray’s skin that day. Rather wisely, Adam kept his distance, preferring to do his praying in the saddle.
Of course it was Governor Walker who had allotted the times of worship on Sundays, giving himself and his Anglican parishioners the morning service. Sometimes his sermons ran over, leaving the Presbyterians to wait outside in the rain with a fuming Reverend Gordon.
After experiencing this one Sunday, Mr Sherrard exclaimed to his wife, in the safety of his own home, ‘As if there weren’t enough divisions already!’
Henry and Robert came face to face with the hornet’s nest that Governor Walker was – accidentally or otherwise – creating. As they walked through the Diamond a sulky group of soldiers approached them, asking if they had received their rations. Henry was defensive. ‘Well, what of it? We’re entitled to them.’
Robert didn’t know the men. Their uniforms were in foul condition and none of them were wearing shoes, not that this was unusual in itself. Their faces were pale and Robert felt they probably hadn’t had a decent meal in a while. He let Henry be the impatient one while he kept an eye on the men’s hands.
Sounding like his father, Henry demanded, ‘State your business!’
There was surprise at his cheekiness; after all, the two boys were facing five soldiers.
‘State my business?’ echoed the ringleader in disbelief. ‘Who do you think you’re talking to, lad, a Papist?’
His friends tittered. Then one of their bellies growled in protest which seemed to embarrass them.
Robert asked them, ‘What do you want?’
One of the men asked him a question in turn, ‘Is it true that you get money as well as food?’
His friends waited for the answer. Seeing Henry’s lips curl with impatience, Robert spoke quickly, ‘Well, yes, just a couple of shillings a week.’
The men glanced at one another, hardly believing their ears.
Robert couldn’t ignore their response. ‘But aren’t you receiving the same as us?’
The ringleader shook his head. ‘We’re living in the same city as you. We’re fighting the same enemy as you but …’ Here, he raised his eyebrows while Henry repeated his last word. ‘But?’
Choosing to look at Robert instead, the soldier said, ‘But we are not receiving any food or money, not from the city anyway. It is our own people, our fellow Presbyterians that give us whatever they can spare which is not much.’
Henry showed them little sympathy. ‘What do you expect us to do about it?’
Robert wished his friend would lose his voice for the next few minutes. He rushed out a solution to compensate for Henry’s rudeness. ‘Have you brought your grievance to Governor Walker? He’s in charge of the rations.’
The ringleader smirked. ‘Unfortunately your reverend is always busy when one of us needs to speak to him.’
The encounter might have ended there as the five soldiers did seem slightly relieved at having explained their woes to Governor Walker’s soldiers. Alas, Henry Campsie could not walk away in silence. Instead, he committed a dreadful crime in accusing the men and their ilk of cowardice. ‘You lot have been one step behind us since we closed the gates. Wasn’t it your ministers who wished them to be unlocked again?’
It was a lie and an ill-timed one. Within the blink of an eye Henry was on his back, blood streaming from his nose. Nobody had seen that coming, including the ringleader, the one who had thrown the punch. He looked as stunned as his victim.
Robert kept quiet, longing for the men to leave. And surely they would if only Henry did not attempt to antagonise them further.
However, instead of shuffling off, the men regrouped, while the ringleader balled up his fist and, at a nod from his companions, issued a demand. ‘Hand over your food and coin, the pair of you.’
Robert sighed. It was all so predictable. Hadn’t his father warned about hunger driving men to do dreadful things?
Worse yet was the fact that their little tussle was starting to draw attention from the poor unfortunates that lived in, around and on the Diamond; more hungry people who had no rations to speak of. Food was still being sold but only if you had the money to buy it.
As Robert discreetly studied the onlookers who were all barefoot and grimy, he reckoned there was not much coin between the lot of them. There was no doubt in his mind; his and Henry’s situation was growing trickier by the second. How he wished it was his cautious brother who was with him instead of the fiery Henry. Immediately he knew this was stupid as it would only mean the Sherrards were about to be robbed of two precious lots of rations.
The crowd pressed ever closer. Among them were elderly men and women, who looked as desperate as cornered rats.
Robert stuck out a sweaty hand and pulled Henry from the ground. He squeezed his friend’s hand hard, hoping he’d stay quiet. Poor Robert! As soon as he let go of Henry’s hand, Henry squared up to the men. ‘How dare you hit me!’
Had it not dawned on Henry yet that he had absolutely no control over the situation?
Two of the men yawned and looked away.
Robert felt keenly that they were only pretending to be bored, that they were waiting for a magic word to jump on the two boys and give them both a right thrashing.
‘Shut your mouth, boy, or I’ll put you on your backside again!’ The ringleader then took a deep breath and said, ‘I’m only going to say this one more time. Empty your pockets!’
‘No!’ replied Henry. ‘I’ll do no such thing!’ He even laughed though his eyes showed no mirth.
Robert longed to sit down. In
the old days the two lads might simply have made a run for it.
Then Henry’s next words surprised them all. ‘I must get home to Mother!’
One of the men was so taken aback he actually said, ‘Pardon?’
Henry obliged him. ‘I need to get home to Mother now that Father is dead.’
A couple of onlookers nodded sagely while someone explained, ‘He’s Mayor Campsie’s lad; he was a good man!’
Robert was fairly astonished to see genuine pity in some of the expressions.
A second person felt it appropriate to add, ‘And the other one’s the physician’s son.’
Robert was obliged to bow his head to acknowledge a woman who said, ‘Aye. Mr Sherrard, he’s another fine gentleman!’
Robert was wondering should he say something like, ‘My thanks to you, Madam!’ when there was a squeal, ‘Ooh, look, here is he now! Mr Sherrard, sir, over here!’
The soldiers looked as uncomfortable as Robert when the physician was welcomed into the centre of the disorderly circle. Mr Sherrard hid his surprise at finding his son and Henry Campsie standing in front of him. Guessing that he had arrived at a good time, Robert’s father ignored the scruffy soldiers and greeted the two boys. ‘There you are. I was looking for you.’
It didn’t occur to Henry that this was his cue to play along, so he just looked surprised and asked, ‘Why?’
Mr Sherrard just turned and asked a general question of the gathering. ‘Well, what is the news today?’
One of the women answered, ‘The walls need repairing at Bishop’s Gate!’
The physician stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘Indeed!’
Meanwhile, four of the five soldiers were making faces at one another, all suggesting that they should leave without any further ado. However, the ringleader was stubborn, believing they had been seconds away from getting their hands on the boys’ rations and coin. But he found himself at a loss when Mr Sherrard addressed him directly. ‘So, what are you men up to?’
Behind the Walls Page 14
