Behind the Walls (5 page)

Chapter Six

W
hen Daniel woke up on the ninth of December, the day that was set for the massacre of Protestants throughout the land, he was relieved to discover that he had not been butchered in his sleep. Robert had told him there was no need to worry but it was impossible not to worry just a little bit.

Robert was still asleep. He had spent most of the night on the wall, keeping watch. William Cairnes’s uncle, the lawyer, had taken charge. He doubled the numbers of guards, wanting to show the civilian population that they were safe thanks to their brave men and impenetrable city walls.

Daniel had promised his mother that he’d fetch the day’s water before he went to the walls to do his shift. Horace greeted him as he reached the foot of the stairs, demanding that the boy spend a couple of minutes scratching behind his ears before he would allow him to pass. Daniel asked him quietly, ‘You would have barked if anybody tried to attack us, wouldn’t you, boy?’ Horace replied with a sloppy kiss. ‘Ugh!’ Daniel protested, ‘Your breath is horrible!’ He
sat down on a stool to put on his boots, aware that he did not feel quite himself. When could he be absolutely and definitely sure that he, his family and neighbours would not die today?

Robert had assured him that an invasion would be noisy. There would have to be shouting, screaming and horses thundering over the paved stones. Dogs would bark manically no matter whose side they were on. Right now, all he could hear were the usual sounds. Birds were singing, though not too many on this cold December morning. One dog was barking morosely in the distance. Not even Horace could be bothered to feign interest in that. Cart wheels were rumbling somewhere but that just meant that supplies were being delivered to the market place. These ordinary sounds were a source of real comfort for Daniel. Really, he couldn’t imagine any of this coming to an end.

He had a fleeting wish to own a gun, just in case. However, there was no gun in the Sherrard house; there weren’t enough to go around. Daniel was there to see the magazine unlocked and the disappointment on the lawyer Cairnes’s face. ‘Is that it?’

Daniel, not knowing any better, was struck by how many guns were there. He whispered to Robert, ‘There must be over a hundred!’

Robert knew enough to realise that there were a lot more Papist soldiers outside the walls than there were guns
to defend the city against them.

A count was done. There were a hundred and fifty musket rifles. Mr Cairnes called for all able-bodied men to present themselves to him, those who were not already soldiers. Three hundred men placed themselves at their city’s beck and call. Daniel knew then that there weren’t enough rifles.

Mr Sherrard was one of the three hundred, although he still had a living to make and a family to feed. Mr Cairnes took down all the names and made out a time-table. The watching from the walls would be split into shifts, with the three hundred new part-timers sharing the burden.

Daniel voiced his concerns to his father. ‘We don’t have enough men or guns.’

His father asked him a question in turn, ‘Have you heard about the noble Spartan warriors?’

Daniel nodded his head, remembering his history. Sparta was sometimes a trustworthy ally of Ancient Greece and sometimes her deadliest enemy. Nevertheless, when Persia attacked Greece, it was Sparta who leapt to her defence. Daniel smiled, guessing where his father was going with this.

‘That’s right,’ said Mr Sherrard. ‘Three hundred brave warriors held off the monstrous Persian army, thanks to a decision to make their stand in a narrow pass between two steep mountains.’

His son nodded. ‘There were too many Persians for the narrow pass so it didn’t matter what size the army was, the three hundred held them off.’

‘Exactly,’ said his father. ‘They had the mountains and we have our walls.’

Daniel knew that the three hundred Spartans had died in the end but only because they had been deceived by a ‘friend’ who showed the Persians how to surround the defenders. Neither Sherrard mentioned this part of the story; it was more important to remember the noble and courageous battle of the Spartan warriors. They had never faltered in their belief about their combined strength.

By the time Daniel returned with the buckets of water his mother was up, preparing the breakfast. Alice was in her crib, finally fast asleep, and his mother placed a finger to her lips, warning him not to make a sound. The water sloshed merrily as he edged himself around the furniture, taking care not to knock over a stool.

Mrs Sherrard shared her younger son’s nervousness, despite her husband’s unshakeable belief that no massacre would take place today. The previous evening when he had sought once more to reassure her, she had asked, ‘Are you saying that the Comber letter was a forgery then?’

Her husband had never lied to her. ‘Well, I don’t know for sure, but I would be surprised if it wasn’t.’

This had not been good enough for his wife. ‘So, you
don’t know for sure that our lives aren’t in mortal danger come the morrow?’

All Mr Sherrard had been able to do was sigh and shrug his shoulders. He knew he did not believe in a massacre but he also knew he had no sure evidence to offer his wife. Therefore he lacked the means and maybe even the confidence to attempt to convince her. Because what if … what if he was wrong?

Not surprisingly, neither of them had slept too deeply though Mr Sherrard had told her that the bells of St Columb’s would ring out if the walls were in any danger of being breached.

As Daniel took his place at the breakfast table, Mrs Sherrard enquired, ‘Was there many about?’

Daniel shook his head. His mother went to check on the bread she had baked the night before. The smell of it lingered in the air.

Sunday mornings were usually quiet but this one had come with its own brand of stillness. Daniel had been glad of Horace’s company to the well and back. Hearing his and Horace’s every footstep was unnerving in a way he had never noticed before. Horace’s overgrown nails noisily struck the cobbled stones and then, on hearing rats or cats, he would dash off down a dark alley, leaving Daniel bereft. The boy waited, ill at ease, not wanting to move until Horace was back by his side.

He was actually surprised and even a little hurt that his parents were happy enough for him to go out alone on this particular morning. Although maybe he was to take comfort from this, that there really was nothing to fear from today.

The previous evening, he and the others had attended an open meeting in the Town Hall to discuss, once more, what to do about James’s army. Some of the churchmen still advocated allowing them into the city, repeating the same reason over and over, that it was treason to do otherwise.

Deputy Mayor John Buchanan offered, ‘We should let the soldiers in because we won’t have any peace if we do not.’

Alderman Tomkins was disgusted. ‘How dare you! We are a Protestant city, which is why Richard Talbot wants to control Derry and make slaves of the lot of us!’

There was a mixture of ‘naying’ and ‘yeaing’ to this until Bishop Hopkins took to the floor. He too believed that one should obey one’s king even if one disagreed with what he was saying. The boys shook their heads in disbelief, with William Cairnes going so far as to murmur, ‘What rot!’

However, the bishop had a second point to make. He paused, taking the time to peer into the faces of his audience as he set his scene. ‘My friends, consider this. What if
it doesn’t go William’s way? What if James wins? I mean, what if he regains control of his throne, this time after triumphing over William’s army?’ The boys scowled; they had not thought of this. Bishop Hopkins continued, ‘Won’t James have every right to be enraged by our behaviour? Who’s to say that he won’t make an example of us, to show other Protestant towns like Enniskillen and Dungannon that he means business? He may order his army – the very army we are shunning – to treat us the same way that Oliver Cromwell treated the town of Drogheda.’

Drogheda! This was the garrison town that Cromwell had razed to the ground, years earlier in 1641, bringing death and destruction to soldiers, women and even children. Who knows how many had died? The bishop, realising he had hit a tender spot, went on, ‘Women and children were pushed into the river to drown. People, including clergymen, were slain on the streets in daylight, in front of shops, in the doors of their own homes.’

Mr Sherrard shifted in his seat. The noise caused several heads to swivel in his direction. A nod from Reverend Gordon prompted him to speak. ‘With all respect, my lord, I don’t believe that James is another Cromwell. There is simply no evidence to support what you say.’

Daniel, who was sitting with his brother and their friends, noted relief on some of the faces of the men who were staring at his father. He was also glad to see the tiniest
bit of pride in his brother’s eyes. He much preferred when his father and brother got along. Mr Sherrard’s soft tone and reasonable approach soothed some of his listeners.

Unfortunately, the bishop wasn’t one of them. The eyes of the churchman narrowed in annoyance as he glanced around to see who else agreed with the physician. He posed, head cocked to the side, as if in deep reflection over Mr Sherrard’s words. The ensuing silence was a tense one, men and boys trying to determine the bishop’s reaction.

‘Although,’ began the bishop, ‘I think it is noble to want to defend James like this …’ Robert felt a tingle of displeasure; was his father being insulted in some way? ‘But,’ added the bishop, ‘it is, I feel, unhelpful. I mean, the only way to prove your theory is to put James to the test.’

The cocky owner of one of the busiest taverns spoke up. ‘And the only way to test him is to open our gates to his army, to see if they wish to kill us or not.’

Some people actually laughed a little. Another man, a popular shopkeeper, offered, ‘The city walls protected the Protestants in 1641 when that madman O’Neill went on the attack. I tell you Catholics cannot be trusted, and that goes for the king too.’

The bishop looked to be lagging behind; he had lost his footing somehow and sought to regain it. ‘But what about the fact that James might win, as I have said?’

Alexander Irwin had had enough. This normally polite
boy, who lived a couple of streets away from the Sherrards and rarely had a bad word to say about anyone, stood up and actually shouted at Bishop Hopkins, ‘You have a way with words, my lord, but I’m afraid I can’t listen to you any longer!’ There was a lone gasp from someone nearby while the bishop stood in shocked silence, the colour draining from his face. Alexander felt suddenly awkward and looked down at his friends for reassurance. Emboldened, they all jumped to their feet and nodded at him to lead the way, and out they strode without a backward glance, while David Cairnes and Mr Kennedy, the sheriff, smiled after them.

Outside Henry thumped Alexander with his good arm and complimented him on his rude behaviour. ‘You surprised me!’

Alexander shrugged to hide his own surprise. Had he really just shouted at the bishop of Derry in front of everyone?

‘What now?’ asked Robert.

Henry was confident that a decision would be reached and said, ‘The gates will remain locked. It’s what the majority wants.’ The others tended to agree with this. ‘But remember,’ Henry added, ‘It’s not just the enemy outside; it’s also the enemy inside that we must be wary of.’

Robert nodded. ‘We should keep an eye on the Papists who are still here.’ He paused before saying, ‘Although if
they have any thought for their own safety, they should really leave the city now.’

Daniel made a rare contribution to the conversation. ‘At least we have the rifles and the gunpowder.’

Robert seemed proud. ‘Daniel is right. The advantage is ours!’

At ten o’clock Daniel took his place on the wall. From where he stood, just beyond the Ferry Quay Gate, he had a clear view of the Redshank soldiers who were camped out on the eastern bank of the river Foyle known as the Waterside.

Mr Cairnes had instructed that the city was to be alerted immediately if the watchers saw anything untoward … anything at all. James Morrison passed this information onto Daniel, who suddenly felt breathless. ‘Does he mean the massacre for today? Is that what he means?’

James wasn’t one for playing down a situation or taking care to tell a younger boy not to worry so much. No, indeed. James merely looked terribly serious as he scanned the Foyle, eventually saying, ‘It certainly seems so, doesn’t it?’ Then he did tell Daniel not to worry but only because, ‘I’ll be right here with you!’

Daniel offered a slight shake of his head that James interpreted as his being magically cured of any anxiety.

Although, to be fair to James, he did have one of the precious hundred and fifty rifles in his possession. Gunfire
was the fastest way to alert the population that they were under attack. Generously, he allowed Daniel to hold it for a second or two. Daniel was surprised at the weight of it. When he handed it back he was obliged to receive a lecture on how to load it and then fire. James was most informative. ‘Of course, you need to have a steady hand and a keen eye. No point otherwise. You’d be wasting powder just shooting at fresh air.’