Behind the Walls

by Nicola Pierce

  Robert knew he was winning this little battle. ‘Do you hear that wind and rain? Well, Derry needs you to remove your clothes and spend the rest of the day outside.’

  The boy could see the guard running through all this in his mind and added, ‘It is of great personal risk. Really, you would be risking your life in these wet conditions, particularly after months of reduced rations.’

  The guard began to smile and now he nodded his head, saying, ‘Yes, yes, I understand. And you say that Colonel Murray has expressly ordered me to do this?’

  Before Robert could answer him, the guard stretched out a scrawny arm. ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but if you would be so kind as to help me up and out of my shirt. It’s just I get a little dizzy.’

  Robert offered, ‘You can leave it on until we reach the gate.’

  The guard, however, wouldn’t hear of this. This was his chance to take command of himself. ‘No, sir. Best I take it off now, for the colonel and for Derry.’

  On the other side of the city Daniel led a group of grumbling ancient warriors towards Bishop’s Gate. Thoroughly frustrated, he felt that snails could crawl faster than the men were walking.

  ‘Of course, you’re young!’ One of the men kept muttering this as if that fact was Daniel’s fault.

  Fortunately it was too dark, and the soldiers were too caught up in their ailing bodies to notice the black looks that Daniel fired at them. Did they have to be so slow? Did that fool Scarrow have to keep coughing like that; it was disgusting. Why was this taking so long?

  His thoughts weren’t exactly charitable. Since Horace’s death he hardly recognised himself. There were days where he felt he had been cruelly tricked into taking part in something that he should never have got involved with. He knew it did not make a whit of sense because if he somehow was given the opportunity to do it all over again, he knew he would do the exact same thing again, that is follow Robert and the others and help close the gates. But nobody told me that my dog would have to die.

  He had said as much to his father who upset him deeply by asking if he would have preferred his baby sister or his mother to die in Horace’s place. It was a horrible question and also, Daniel felt, an unfair one. Is my father actually criticising me for mourning my pet?

  These had been his waking thoughts and, thus, explained his appalling bad mood.

  This miserable lot are being handed their freedom. Why can’t they move faster?

  Scarrow started whining again, in between creaking gasps for air, ‘Oh, why won’t he slow down?’

  Daniel bit his lip but ended up saying anyway, ‘Just be glad you’re getting out of here. How can you want to delay a moment more, for God’s sake?’

  His three followers were too exhausted to form a reply to this so Daniel was free to continue berating them. ‘You get to go somewhere else, where they don’t eat dogs or people’s pets!’

  His anger, however, wasn’t strong enough to carry him when his own strength dwindled. Therefore, it was with great bitterness that he had to slow down, accidentally giving in to the useless Scarrow.

  Because he had time to think, the most outrageous thought formed in his mind. He could strip off and slip out with the sick soldiers or – even better – he could hit one of these fools over the head with a rock and take their place. He could do it; he really could. And go somewhere else where they don’t make you eat your best friend.

  He yelped out a word, a bad word, one he had never dared to say aloud before, but now he sent it bouncing off the walls and the stones beneath his feet. It summed up everything, all his frustrations and his mixed-up feelings about Derry and even his family.

  The men didn’t chastise him; words like that were part of their daily conversation. They merely shrugged their bony shoulders in agreement, not that Daniel noticed.

  At Bishop’s Gate, Adam was busy. As the Sherrard brothers delivered their charges, and then returned for more, it was Adam who held the gate open, just enough to allow the sick to squeeze through and then have their substitute come through from the other side.

  The bad weather was both a hindrance and a help. On the one side it was not pleasant to be out in it but, on the other side, the Jacobites preferred to be out of it too and kept to their camp.

  Each naked body that came in was quickly given clothes and told to take their place on the walls. The new men were glad to be of service and glad to be wearing clothes again, although they could have done with a bowl of soup after their ordeal. However, they quickly understood the city’s plight; there really was little food to be had, other than small tallow pancakes that were flavoured with ginger.

  Samuel Clebourne was among the new men. He shook Adam’s hand warmly. ‘Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down!’

  A couple of hours later, Adam decided that enough people had been swapped. He told the Sherrard boys to return to their posts, noting how exhausted they looked. He had forgotten which one was older and younger; they were both so thin and pale. Of course, he reminded himself, I probably look as bad as they do.

  The new men stood out as if they had a light shining on them. It inspired confidence in him that there was plenty of fight left in Derry.

  So, now, we wait once more, he told himself.

  The following day the naked crowd outside the walls was shepherded over to Windmill Hill, to wait yet again for what, nobody was sure.

  Throughout all this the bombs continued to fall. Bishop’s Gate was taking a right battering and the walls either side of it needed constant attention and the reapplying of mud and stone. Fortunately these were two items that were still plentiful in the city.

  Governor Walker was adamant that any able-bodied soldier must now stay on the wall. He walked about with his notebook and pencil, constantly counting things like musket balls while also making lists of what foodstuffs were left, along with the number of soldiers who had died that day. He didn’t share with anyone else that he was keeping a daily record of events.

  It had started accidentally. One day he busied himself listing out the food measurements, for he was in charge of doling out the soldiers’ rations. Next, he thought he should list the prices of the foods that were available to buy, along with their prices: 2s 6d for a dog’s head; 1s for a rat and 4s 6d for a cat. Gradually it occurred to him that he should write everything down. For one thing it gave him something to do and it reminded him that there would come a time when the siege would be over – nothing lasts forever – and people might like to understand how it had been for him and his parishioners, what they had gone through for God and for King William.

  He blotted his paper, one evening, after describing how a certain citizen of ample proportions had not left his house in days because he felt his neighbours might wish to kill him in order to make a meal of his wobbly belly. Oh, he wasn’t entirely sure if it was true or not but it made a good story.

  He smiled and nodded his head, looking for his cat to share his excitement with. However, the poor creature had gone the way of other pets. After all, just the same as everyone else, the reverend had had to make sacrifices, including parting with his collection of beer and butter, but that was a long time ago now and best forgotten. He wouldn’t be writing that particular story down.

  Yet, his ambition was being realised: I will write about everything and then, when this is all finally over, I will publish it as a book. My own book!

  He puffed out his chest and continued aloud, ‘My book will be known as the one and true account. Yes, yes, the king and queen themselves will read it.’

  The reverend took a clean sheet of paper, dipped his pen in ink and, with a worthy sniff, wrote in large, confident letters:

  A TRUE ACCOUNT OF THE SIEGE OF DERRY

  BY

  REVEREND GEORGE WALKER

  He peered over what he had written, holding the page up to the flame of the candle, turning it this way and that, highlighting one letter at a time. Who would doubt the written word?

  From the city walls a shout wen
t up. ‘Look! They’re leaving.’

  James Morrison, Robert and Daniel followed the sound of the voice, just in time to see the crowd of naked parishioners being led off in the direction they had come from.

  James took a guess. ‘They must be bringing them home.’

  The brothers felt he must be right. Daniel also felt relieved but he wasn’t sure why. Something niggled at him. What was it? As they watched the sprawling crowd recede into the distance, he realised what it was. Now, he had to decide whether to keep it to himself or not. After all it was only his opinion and what did he know?

  Still, at the heart of his understanding beat his rage over what had happened to Horace. The world was a different place since ‘that’ day, or maybe it was just that he had changed. He made sure to say the words as casually and lightly as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was provoke a heated debate that he didn’t have the energy for.

  ‘’Tis strange that!’ he sighed.

  Robert glanced at James, leaving him to be the cooperative one.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked James. ‘What’s strange?’

  Daniel looked at him and looked away again as if he were embarrassed.

  The reliable James was intrigued. ‘What is it, Daniel?’ How he hated to be left out of anything.

  Daniel ignored his brother’s obvious growing discomfort, while poor James was oblivious to all.

  Meanwhile, Robert sensed a tingle of his brother’s attitude. He stared hard at the multitude in the distance, prepared for just about anything. Daniel was so moody and peculiar these days. His father said he was grieving for Horace, and that grief affected different people in different ways.

  Daniel leant against the wall and lied, ‘Well, it has only just struck me that no massacre ever occurred.’

  James scrunched up his face to make sense of this but he needn’t have bothered. Daniel didn’t want his conversation side-tracked and continued, ‘All those hundreds and hundreds of people out there with no clothes and no weapons. The Papists could have slaughtered them all but they didn’t. It would have been so easy … but, they didn’t hurt them at all.’

  Against his better judgement, Robert queried quietly, ‘So?’

  By now James had figured out that he wasn’t required to make a contribution.

  Daniel repeated his brother’s word, ‘So? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking out loud.’

  Robert wiped his nose with the back of his hand. ‘I’m glad they are being allowed home, but that doesn’t mean that we are out of danger yet. Those people didn’t close the gates on the Jacobite army or fire on a king. We may still be made to pay for all of that.’

  James wanted to add something else. ‘Have you forgotten that the ships William sent are somewhere out there?’

  He was surprised at the scowls on the brothers’ faces and added, ‘Why would we give up now that help is almost here?’

  Robert replied before Daniel could name his own feelings. ‘He doesn’t know what he means.’

  It wasn’t kind, but then again it wasn’t meant to be.

  Robert felt as prickly as if it was his father standing in front of him. He felt keenly that his younger brother was trying to provoke him, wanting to make the point that everything they had gone through, everything they were going through and everyone they had lost had been for nothing. Well, Robert was not prepared to play along or act the least bit guilty. After all, he missed Horace too.

  In any case, it was James who persisted with Daniel. ‘Have you lost your faith in us?’

  Daniel hesitated. His head hurt, and the questions in his mind were too big and too many.

  Both brothers were startled when James suddenly leapt to the front of the bastion, collected as much spit as he could inside his mouth and spat it over the wall, watching it fall, fall until he could no longer see it. James breathed heavily, with the effort, and bent over slightly to steady himself. Hunger had reduced his strength considerably. He glanced from one Sherrard to the other. When he was able, he said, ‘It’s easier to just make a decision and stick with it, no matter what.’ He thought for a moment before saying, ‘This whole thing will be something to tell our grandchildren!’

  Robert smirked, not unkindly. ‘You do know that you have to find a girl who will marry you before you can start dreaming about having grandchildren.’

  In spite of everything, Robert and Daniel laughed at the expression on James’s face.

  Their friend just winked and tapped his index finger against his nose. ‘Oh, don’t you worry about me, boys. I just have to decide which one I want.’

  Daniel added, ‘You mean which one will have you.’

  James shrugged. ‘Ach, same thing!’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Robert and Daniel were on the wall when they heard shouting from the Jacobite camp. To their horror they could see that the Jacobites had hastily constructed a gallows from which a sodden body dangled. The enemy soldiers were doing their damnedest to get the attention of the city’s guards, hollering and pointing at the corpse, while also taking the opportunity to make coarse, rude signs with their fingers. They put on quite a show complete with lots of laughter, as if mocking the dead man.

  Appalled, Daniel barely waited for Robert to focus the telescope on the scene, before demanding to know, ‘Who is it? Do we know him?’

  Meanwhile, Henry Campsie had raced to their side and lifted his rifle to fire at the soldiers. It was Robert who snarled at him not to waste time or precious bullets. Despite the state of the body, Robert recognised him as the plucky McGimpsey, a Derry man who had bravely volunteered to swim up the Foyle, past the Jacobites, all the way to the Williamite fleet, carrying letters from the governors describing the state of Derry and urging Major-General Kirke to come to their rescue before it was too late. Robert shook his head in sorrow. McGimpsey had been a favourite of his; he’d always had a joke ready to cheer up his fellow guardsmen.

  ‘Oh my God!’ was Henry’s response. ‘Do you mean to say that they have actually murdered him?’

  Robert passed him the telescope saying slowly, ‘No. I think the poor fellow drowned, judging from his pallor. They must have found his body and decided to have their fun by taunting us.’

  ‘Fun,’ gasped Daniel.

  Robert shrugged an apology while Henry growled, ‘Yes, the curs are signalling that he drowned. They keep pointing at the river.’ He offered Daniel the telescope but he refused it.

  The Sherrard boys alerted both governors and Adam Murray. The mood on the wall was sombre.

  Adam Murray offered, ‘It would have been a hard swim for any man under any circumstances.’

  He longed to say more, to curse Kirke for his stubbornness and stupid fear. Derry is dying and still that fool will not come. What does he imagine the city to be living on at this point?

  Governor Baker stated the obvious. ‘Well, now the enemy has our letters they know how badly off we are, just how little food and bullets we possess to get us through the next few weeks, if even that.’

  The situation was alarming and depressing to say the least. Even as the miserable group stood there, the bombs began to fly over the walls once more.

  A few nights later about two hundred Jacobite soldiers followed their commander to the outskirts of Butchers’ Gate and proceeded to throw bombs into the trenches built by the Williamites.

  Governor Baker, who was suffering from shortness of breath and overwhelming fatigue, determined to lead the counter-attack. ‘They are daring to do this because they know how vulnerable we are. We must put up a fight as a show of strength, if nothing else.’

  Even as his soldiers began to prepare to exit Derry, they could hear, much to their horror, Jacobites just outside Butchers’ Gate; one man was clearly heard calling for a torch. ‘Let’s set fire to the gate!’

  Meanwhile, someone on the wall shouted out that there were Jacobites approaching the Gunner’s Bastion, mere yards from Butchers’ Gate, with spades and picks in their hands.

>   Governor Baker was appalled. ‘They’re going to try to collapse the wall!’

  With every breath in his feeble body, he summoned his soldiers back to the wall. ‘Take your position and fire on my command!’

  Fear was no longer an option. There was no time to think so the various leaders spurred their soldiers into action.

  Adam Murray led about sixty men out of Bishop’s Gate, ignoring the weakness in his legs as he kept up a tremendous pace, praying to God for help and strength. As soon as he and his men got close enough to the Jacobite party that was posted to protect the diggers at Gunner’s Bastion, they fired on them, sending them running.

  ‘Re-load! Re-load,’ roared Adam needlessly since his men were already doing just that. No one was going to allow a single moment to pass without attempting to blast a hole through a Jacobite soldier.

  Shots rained down from the walls as the two governors and the rest of the soldiers, as well as civilians who could use a rifle, fired at the Jacobite soldiers. The noise was tremendous, while Governor Walker forbade himself to think about all the musket balls that were being used up.

  He saw his co-governor sprint along the wall, urging everyone to keep firing as fast as possible.

  To the city’s immense relief, the Jacobites fled, the volume of rifle fire being unexpected. Once the danger was removed, the Williamites’ adrenalin evaporated, leaving a lot of men quite literally leaning against the wall to stop themselves folding to the ground from the exertion and stress.

  It had been so close, so close. Women who had once cheered their men now cried openly in shock. Children were too stunned to do much other than cling to their mothers.

  Governor Baker found it necessary to bend forward, willing his heart to return to normal. His face was covered in sweat and his vision was blurred. He realised now just how ill he was but, nevertheless, he congratulated those around him, in between painful gulps of breath, saying, ‘Well done, well done!’

  It was this generosity and determination that George Walker alluded to in his homily, just two days later, on Sunday, 30 June, at Governor Baker’s funeral, saying ‘His death is a terrible loss for Derry. His courage and good humour will be missed.’