Behind the Walls

by Nicola Pierce

  Mr Sherrard had done all he could for the governor, but they both knew it was useless though, typically, even as he was dying, Baker had thought to thank the physician for his attention and care.

  Furthermore the governor wanted to leave Derry in good hands and had, therefore, nominated Colonel John Mitchelburne to be his successor. And so Mitchelburne’s first sad task as co-governor, with George Walker, was to help to carry his predecessor’s coffin, not at all embarrassed by the tears that ran down his face.

  The second thing he did was to have a red flag flown from the tower at St Columb’s, which served both to show the city’s defiance in the face of the Jacobites and to signal to Major-General Kirke and the Williamite fleet just how perilous the city’s state was.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Mrs Sherrard made her way to the cathedral. It had recently become a habit of hers to spend ten or fifteen minutes a day praying to God that all this would come to an end.

  She had become used to stepping over the bodies in the street. The trick was not to look too closely. If it was dark enough some of them looked like bundles or clothes or logs. Of course she had heard the stories of bodies being cut up for food. She was quite sure she couldn’t eat a human body; oh yes, quite, quite sure.

  God must have meant this to happen. There was no other way to explain it. ‘No other way!’ Sometimes she spoke out loud to herself, taking comfort from the sound of her own voice. There were fewer and fewer people left to talk to. So many of her friends and neighbours were lying dead in the basements of their houses. Their families couldn’t squeeze them into the graveyards and wouldn’t have them out on the streets, so into the basements they went, accidentally infecting the atmosphere with the poisonous stench that would not go away.

  She was forced to stop every few steps to catch her breath. Her heart thumped in her chest from the least bit of movement and she had to keep catching the front of her dress so that she wouldn’t trip herself up. Now that she was so thin her dresses were too long. She put a hand to her mouth to try and stop the smell. What kept her going was the fright that she might fall down here and not be found. What if she fainted and somebody looking for a tasty morsel thought she was dead? No, she mustn’t think about that. She simply mustn’t fall down.

  The dirt was everywhere. Filth clung to her shoes, while sludgy puddles splashed up her calves. It was too much. No, I can’t think about that either. I’m only one person. God can’t mean for me to clean up this whole mess. It’s absurd.

  Meanwhile her own house was spotless. Well, what else was there for her to do? If she couldn’t make meals for her family, she could scrub the furniture, brush the floors and wash the walls. The house was her domain, her world, no matter what king sat on the throne.

  Dirt was evil. She believed that more than ever. Dirt represented the city’s misfortunes, a city in peril. Oh, she knew that Derry had been built out of the earth. What city hasn’t?

  Her lips curled as she turned a corner and the onslaught of urine and vomit made her gag. She imagined the air was thick with bitterness and this is what caught at her throat.

  When the city was born back then, well, it was only a mound, covered with lots of oak trees. That’s what attracted St Colmcille’s attention. When he looked at those trees he saw a home. So, he gave birth to a settlement which was to become the city she was today.

  Mrs Sherrard was mortified to discover that she could not remember the name Colmcille had bestowed on the city. How could I have forgotten it? Can the lack of food rid my head of knowledge, and such basic knowledge as this?

  She struggled to focus her mind on the problem. Derry’s other name, it was something to do with the trees; yes, it was the Irish for oak tree. Oak trees. The answer was nearby if she could only forget about being hungry and feeling weak. Half-closing her eyes in order to concentrate, she suddenly seized upon it and yelped the name aloud in triumph: ‘Doire.’ She blushed as she walked, Oh, thank goodness, I will not forget that again in a hurry. How foolish of me! Doire begot Derry.

  Years later, her grandfather arrived from London to help build the cathedral, the very cathedral she was heading towards. Derry was the only home she knew. Everything that had ever happened to her had happened within the city’s walls. For instance, this path with the broken stones, still wet from the morning’s rain, she remembered bursting her lip in a fall here when she was about six years old. How funny that she should think of that now.

  ‘Mrs Sherrard? Good morning to you.’

  She hadn’t noticed the soldier until he addressed her which was peculiar since he was directly in front of her, sitting on a grubby white horse whose ribs she could plainly see.

  ‘Oh, Mr Murray. You’ve still got your horse; I thought they had all been eaten.’

  There was no malice in the woman’s words yet they shocked Adam just the same. He patted Pegasus as if to make up for her tactlessness.

  Forcing a smile through, he said, ‘Yes, I’ve still got her. There are a few more about the city. It’s mostly the Jacobite horses we’ve been eating.’

  Mrs Sherrard nodded but seemed distracted already.

  He offered her another titbit of information. ‘There are still some cattle left too, though I think they will be slaughtered soon.’

  She thought about this. ‘That will mean an end to the milk supply.’

  Adam blushed a little, feeling awkward. ‘The Jacobites have some cattle. I hope to make an attempt to grab them.’

  ‘An attempt?’ Mrs Sherrard repeated carefully.

  He couldn’t think of what to say to this. She reminded him of his old teacher who never allowed him to be vague in answer to her questions. Her response to any ambiguity, on his part, was to immediately follow with a second question, usually repeating his words back to him, just as Mrs Sherrard had done.

  He was doing his best to provide conversation but was quite unable to affect determination and positivity at this particular moment. Some days his confidence was strong and then there were days like this when he dithered about, unable to convince himself of anything.

  ‘I’m going to the cathedral.’ Adam hadn’t actually asked her where she was going but Mrs Sherrard thought he should know.

  There was an explosion somewhere behind them; not even Pegasus bothered to be frightened by it. The Jacobite cannons were fired day and night; the only option was to become used to them. Adam was perplexed at how the guns were aimed to fire over the walls instead of being used to blast a hole through them. It was such a waste of their artillery. He found himself wondering if the Jacobites had not, in fact, lost some of their determination, or else their leaders were lacking in basic military intelligence. He became aware that Mrs Sherrard had fixed her gaze on him.

  How long had she been staring at his face? For the want of something to say he exclaimed, ‘But, where are my manners? Please allow me to accompany you to the cathedral.’

  He was half-hoping that she might refuse his offer since he felt a little shy in her presence and briefly wondered what on earth they might talk about as they walked to St Columb’s. He was unused to being alone with a married woman – or any other woman for that matter.

  As if to confirm his own awkwardness, she misunderstood his intention. ‘No, I’m not getting up on your horse. It doesn’t have the strength to take two.’

  Adam got down from Pegasus and followed the woman’s sharp glance at his horse’s flank; he could see the ribs too. Sounding both defensive and guilty, he said, ‘She has a strong heart.’

  He had only climbed into the saddle to prove that Pegasus was still a working horse that was needed for skirmishes with the enemy. Although there was another reason too, something he hadn’t told anyone else. For some reason he decided to confide in Mrs Sherrard, despite the fact that her eyes bore no warmth. He struggled to find, in her pinched face, the kind and gentle woman he remembered from previous meetings, before all this trouble began. She scared him a little now; she seemed so shrunken, inside and
out.

  ‘Some weeks ago, I had, I think, a vision.’

  To his relief, she tipped her head to one side as she considered his confession. ‘A vision? Whatever do you mean?’

  A smirk played upon her lips. He hadn’t expected that. Would she think he had lost his mind? In any case it was too late to stop and he hadn’t the imagination to make up anything else.

  So, he continued, ‘It was the middle of the night. No, wait, it was just before midnight …’

  But it was too late, the woman’s attention had wandered, and she started her own confession. ‘Sometimes I cannot remember why we’re doing this.’

  To their right were bodies, some wrapped in blankets and some with just a couple of dried-up flowers on their chests. She focused on the smaller ones as they walked by. ‘Do you think that King William and King James would agree with those children dying for them?’ Her voice was strained. ‘I’m sure they would have preferred to live. After all, children don’t decide to be martyrs, do they? They probably didn’t even understand why they had to be hungry.’

  Adam swallowed and felt the by now familiar trembling in his legs.

  They continued to walk although perhaps it would be more accurate to describe it as shuffling. From a distance you would be forgiven for believing they were an elderly couple as they bent forward to protect themselves from the sharpness of the summer breeze.

  Paying little heed to the explosions, the dead, the dying and the begging of the homeless, they eventually arrived at the cathedral which continued to stand strong, just like the walls, the red flag of defiance waving gaily at their approach.

  ‘What time is it?’ Mrs Sherrard asked. ‘Though I don’t know why I should care. Time means nothing nowadays; it marches forward, leaving us behind, reminding us how stuck we are here.’

  Adam took out his pocket watch. Mrs Sherrard peered at it, saying, ‘What an unusual piece.’

  Adam found himself holding it up for her to inspect, turning it upside down so that she could see the engraving on its back, in black and red, of a bare-backed rider, on a horse, with his bow and arrow.

  Mrs Sherrard asked, ‘Is that you?’

  ‘No, ma’am,’ he said, wondering how she could think that. The watch had belonged to Gabriel who had made a present of it to him, explaining that he no longer cared what time of the day it was.

  Adam told Mrs Sherrard it was almost ten o’clock, showing her the clock’s face with its dainty hands and roman numerals as if afraid she might doubt him.

  They were still some distance from the cathedral and, needing to fill the uncomfortable silence that threatened, Adam tried to return to their earlier conversation. ‘My vision, it … well, it looked like … an angel.’ He found himself unable to say more than that.

  ‘An angel?’ Mrs Sherrard stared at the sky as if searching for one of her own. ‘They are God’s messengers. Maybe it was telling you that we’re about to win … or we’re all going to die. I should imagine it’s too late for anything else.’

  Adam knew she was referring to the cannonball that had recently been fired into the city. The massive ball of lead had landed in the middle of the street, inflicting no damage or wounds. Closer inspection revealed that it had been hollowed out to carry a sheet of paper with yet more terms of surrender penned by the Jacobites: if the city reopened her gates, nobody would be punished. Quite reasonable really, all things considered. Nevertheless, the cry of the people remained solid: NO SURRENDER!

  Perhaps in an attempt to instil some positivity before she left him, Mrs Sherrard gestured to the cathedral. ‘Either way, I’m sure this will continue to stand here whether we survive or not.’

  Adam smiled politely and watched her go through the door into the darkness beyond.

  The very next day it was Henry Campsie’s turn to deliver shocking news. ‘Adam Murray has been shot!’

  Robert gasped, ‘Is he dead?’

  Henry shrugged. ‘No, I don’t think so. Last I heard the surgeon was working on him. It’s his legs, I think, both of them.’

  Mr Sherrard went to visit Adam as soon as he heard. He found him in bed, in his aunt’s house, looking frail and forlorn. His aunt was crying. It was Adam who explained her tears. James Murray, his cousin, had been killed.

  ‘I’m so very sorry for your loss, Mrs Murray, and you too, Adam.’

  When the tearful woman left them alone, Adam whispered, ‘I think she blames me.’

  Mr Sherrard checked the young colonel’s wounds; the surgeon had done a good job as usual. ‘Well, you’re looking a lot better than I expected. I feared we had lost you. Someone must have been watching over you.’

  Adam shrugged. ‘It was my idea but I felt it was worth it, to make another attack on the trenches near Butchers’ Gate.’

  Mr Sherrard sat down heavily on the side of the bed. Adam took this to mean he wished to hear more and obliged. ‘There were twelve of us, all armed. We got as close to the Jacobites as I am to you and we just kept firing our rifles until we had no more bullets left.’ He paused, to catch his breath.

  ‘Are you in much pain?’ asked Mr Sherrard.

  Adam shook his head, but Mr Sherrard knew better than that. He also knew better than to air his opinion about what he thought of the whole adventure. Twelve men running out to attack goodness knows how many enemy soldiers. What was he thinking? It was suicidal and a miracle that more of them weren’t killed!

  Oblivious to the physician’s thoughts, Adam spoke slowly now, exhaustion beginning to claim him. ‘I didn’t see who shot James. I didn’t even see who shot me. It happened when we were falling back toward the wall.’

  Mr Sherrard just nodded and listened, waiting for his patient to drift off to sleep. When the physician stood up and prepared to go, Adam stirred and murmured, ‘Tell your wife I’m sorry I didn’t get the cows for her.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Yes, there were cattle to be got. The Jacobites had put them to graze on the grass just behind their lines, not too far from Pennyburn.

  Daniel and James reckoned they had been put there, in full view of the hungry guards on the walls, to taunt them.

  Robert warned both of them, ‘Keep your rations on you, in your pockets, at all times.’

  The two boys nodded at this. Food was number one on everyone’s list and some guards had learned the hard way that it wasn’t wise to leave anything edible lying around.

  The three of them and Henry Campsie were standing beside Ship Quay Gate in order to volunteer their services, along with five hundred other men and boys, for the planned big cattle raid.

  Despite the tiredness and lack of strength, the atmosphere was one of good cheer.

  The last of Derry’s cows had indeed been butchered for meat, all except one. So, as Mrs Sherrard rightly predicted, this precious source of milk – not to mention butter, cream and cheese – was coming to an end. Something had to be done.

  A couple of short streets away, Adam Murray lay awake, bitterly disappointed that he couldn’t join in the raid. He tried to distract himself by reading his bible, but when he came across the words ‘lowing cattle’ he felt too upset to continue. At least he had managed to get word to Gabriel that he was alive and as well as could be expected.

  Daniel wondered why one cow had been kept alive, although it did mean that his father could continue to get a little milk for his sister.

  So, here they all were, at three o’clock on the morning of Thursday, 25 July – and it wasn’t raining. That in itself was a good enough reason to be cheerful.

  As usual, Henry had all the information. ‘Our job is to herd the cattle back here, which sounds easy enough except for the ditches and trenches full of Jacobites that stand between us and the cows.’

  James Morrison got so excited at the thought of a hot meal that it triggered a coughing fit. The others stood by, useless to help him catch his breath, as he wheezed and spluttered.

  In fact, Daniel was growing more and more concerned about his friend.
He had confided in Robert that James was doing poorly these days. His mother had taken to her bed and James was sorely torn between duty to his king and duty to his mother. The stress was taking its toll on him.

  Thanks to his father’s profession, and teaching, Daniel could spot the worrying signs. James was constantly trembling with the cold and complaining about strange pains in his bones. His breathing always sounded forced, and once or twice he had actually fallen asleep on his feet. It was hard to believe this was the same boy who had boasted of catching the fastest rodents with his bare hands.

  Poor James suddenly found himself the centre of attention when the captain in charge appeared in front of him and said, ‘We can’t have you coughing like that when we go outside. If we can’t surprise the enemy we’re done for! I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here.’

  Even if James had managed to speak, he wouldn’t have bothered to argue. He just hoped it was too dark to see the tears in his eyes. As soon as he could, he wished his friends the best of luck and turned away, meaning to climb the walls, to watch the proceedings from there.

  Governor Walker called for silence. ‘I just want to say a few words before you go. Keep up your hearts, my dear fellow-soldiers, if you care about your families, your homes, your freedom and, above all, your religion. Take courage. It’s because of our courage and religion that we are persecuted. And it’s for that we shall be glad to suffer for and defend until our last breath. So help us God!’

  Every one of those five hundred officers and soldiers made a hearty reply. ‘Amen!’

  They were split into three groups: the first would go out by Bishop’s Gate, and the second would go through Butchers’ Gate, to the north-west of the city, while the last group would stand by Bishop’s Gate in case of attack.

  Daniel filed out through Butchers’ Gate, following his brother and Henry. Because so many of their guards had died from hunger and disease, there were now enough rifles to go around. Daniel clutched his to his chest, determined neither to look nor be scared. He would have preferred to have James with them and experienced a wrench at leaving him behind. But he had to concentrate on the job at hand.