Behind the Walls (18 page)

She was none too surprised at the tears rolling down onto Alice’s head. Confiding in the baby, she gasped, ‘I can’t believe how much I miss him already!’

Alice stirred but did not stop feeding.

The thought of returning to the empty kitchen filled Mrs Sherrard with dread. Nonetheless, she nursed her baby, knowing that she had done what was absolutely necessary.
I chose the lives of my family.

A few miles away, at some point in the evening Gabriel’s old dog relented and ate the cold, lumpy porridge. When he was finished he took his place at the foot of his master’s bed, both friends again.

Chapter Twenty-Three

O
n a cold night in May Daniel and James were keeping watch over Bishop’s Gate. Conversation had long dried up as they huddled against the chilled stone of the wall, trying not to think about a hot supper that did not exist. Daniel wondered if he should strive to be a decent companion and find a topic to take their minds off their condition. But what else was there to talk about, beside their incessant hunger, their work of guarding or … or the weather? After sharing hours upon hours of standing side by side there was little enough left to discuss. Daniel even knew rather too much about the wondrous size of the blister on Mrs Morrison’s left foot.

However, the sound of a scuffle somewhere below them suddenly freed Daniel from the need to fill the silence. ‘What was that?’ he whispered as James was already straining over the wall in an effort to peer through the darkness.

‘I don’t know. I can’t see anything,’ replied James in frustration.

The two boys stared hard, the sound of their own breathing obscuring all other sounds until a blast of
gunfire deafened them. Musket balls spat against the bricks beneath them while James swore in shock and grabbed Daniel by the neck, dragging him to the ground. Now they huddled in panic while James roared in Daniel’s ear, ‘We have to return fire!’

Too shocked to answer, Daniel could only think how dangerous it would be to stand up and face shooters they could not see. The torches on the wall served to show the guards off to an enemy that remained swathed in darkness. It would be madness, but he could not refuse to put up a defence; otherwise what was he doing here?

James began the countdown and Daniel clutched his rifle, determining to locate the courage required. ‘One … two …’ James did not bother with three because the shooting ceased. Then he and Daniel clearly heard feet running off into the night. Without another word, they both stood up and fired their rifles, hoping against hope to find their mark.

Not surprisingly, the incident caused huge consternation throughout the city with both James and Daniel obliged to repeat the meagre details for the governors and Colonel Murray.

The following morning Governor Baker made a close inspection of the wall around Bishop’s Gate and then he moved his search to the houses nearby, ordering his men to check every single cellar. Naturally the occupants were
anxious as to what he expected to find. He wore a grim expression as he sent soldiers here and there to demand entrance to any building he deemed to be a threat.

He had explained himself to his colleague, Governor Walker, saying, ‘The fact that the Jacobites came right up to the walls makes me extremely nervous.’

Governor Walker nodded thoughtfully, asking, ‘Do you think they will attempt to climb the walls? We don’t even know how many there were last night.’

Governor Baker shrugged. ‘George, I fear it may be worse than that. For all we know we could have Jacobites in the city who are trying to find a break in the wall to allow their fellow soldiers inside the city.’

‘Good God, man!’ Reverend Walker was breathing heavily while trying to process this theory, finally saying, ‘Yes! Yes, I see what you mean. That is entirely possible. What should we do?’

His friend shrugged and said, ‘I think we need to examine all the houses near the wall, concentrating on their cellars for signs of newly dug tunnels. But we should keep it quiet, we don’t want to alert our enemies to what we are looking for and give them a chance to cover up their evil work.’

Governor Walker thought this a splendid idea. ‘Yes, let’s not say a word to anyone. In these dark days it is hard to know who we can trust.’

Even innocent people did not like to see their own soldiers poke about their homes, turning over their belongings.

Governor Baker stood apart purposely to watch the soldiers bang on door after door and make their ways inside the houses. He carefully observed the attitudes of the house-owners, trying to discern any hints of treason in their faces. And it wasn’t just house-owners; a lot of these houses had opened up lodgings for the new arrivals into Derry. Governor Baker shivered as he imagined that there could be Papists amongst the population.

‘What is all this? What on earth is going on?’

Oh no
, groaned Baker to himself. He recognised the voice immediately. It was Colonel John Mitchelburne.

It was not that he didn’t like and respect the colonel, he did. The governor had a lot of time for the colonel who had had to sneak away from his position as commander of the Irish army in order to come to Derry’s aid. It was a story that the colonel enjoyed telling, how he had dressed himself up as a Scottish highlander and rode away from Dublin, hardly stopping until he reached the besieged city.

No, it was simply that the colonel was the type of man one did not like to offend which was fine except for the fact that he could be sensitive to offence where none had been given.

‘Ah, Colonel Mitchelburne, good morning to you.’

‘Governor Baker, why is my sister crying in the middle of the street?’

The governor had known that the gentle lady was indeed the colonel’s sister, but he and George Walker had both determined that all houses should be searched, no matter who the occupants were.

Gesturing that perhaps they should talk quietly, without being heard by any of the soldiers and concerned citizens, Governor Baker said, ‘I’m sure you have heard how the Jacobites reached the walls last night, actually came right up to Bishop’s Gate and started firing at the guards.’

The colonel was already impatient. ‘Yes but what has that to do with my sister?’

Without meaning to, Governor Baker sighed. He had not slept much after the shooting, although he had not slept much before it either. In truth, he could not remember the last night he had slept soundly and woke feeling refreshed. Governing a city under siege was not a relaxing occupation.

Colonel Mitchelburne’s response to the governor’s sigh was sour and instant. ‘Forgive me for upsetting you, for making you sigh like I am dreadful news. Perhaps I should go knock on your relatives’ door and see how you like it.’

It was a ridiculous conversation and both men knew it, but they were stressed, tired and – of course – hungry. Colonel Mitchelburne would only eat what was available
to his soldiers, refusing to take advantage of his position. Yesterday his breakfast consisted of a small, flimsy pancake and dinner had been the exact same. This morning he had yet to break his fast. A quiet voice in his mind advocated calm but he was too worked up now to listen to it.

‘Yes,’ he said excitedly. ‘Perhaps I should go and rouse your sister from her bed and make her cry in front of her neighbours.’

Biting his lip to delay his reply, Governor Baker decided to assert himself. ‘My dear Mitchelburne, this is a governor matter. George Walker and I believe that someone could be harbouring a Jacobite sympathiser who may well be trying to dig a tunnel, a passage through to the other side.’

‘You think my sister is a traitor? How dare you, Baker! I mean, I have not always agreed with you on certain matters, but this … this is preposterous! You are insulting my family and thereby insulting me.’

The governor suddenly felt exhausted and longed to sit down. How he wished that his colleague would appear beside him and handle the irate colonel because he suddenly felt incapable of doing it. People had started to stare and why wouldn’t they? The colonel was creating quite a scene. Who would want to miss it? The sight of the governor of Derry being bawled at on the street.

Governor Baker could only think of one solution to end this embarrassment. Calling for two soldiers to approach,
he explained to the colonel, ‘You need to calm yourself, sir. I am going to have you escorted back to your home where you will remain until my say so.’

However, the colonel was not used to being treated as if he were a mischievous child. To the surprise of the onlookers, including his sister, he drew his sword and commanded the governor to do the same. To his credit, John Mitchelburne was aware of some shame at his dramatic behaviour but felt it was easier to pursue his anger than attempt to reason with it.

‘Draw your weapon, Mr Baker!’

The governor snapped with whatever energy he could muster and raised his sword to meet the colonel’s which was already swiping at him.

‘John, stop. Please, I beg you!’ The colonel’s sister pleaded with her brother as more and more people gathered to watch. Finally, her voice punctured her brother’s temper and he dropped his sword, looking as if he had just arrived and had no idea what was going on.

Governor Baker was sweating heavily and fought to catch his breath. When he could, he berated his attacker. ‘Look around you, John. We are checking
all
the houses, not just your kin. Of course she isn’t a bloody traitor but someone could be hiding in her cellar. Surely you understand?’

John Mitchelburne immediately offered his hand and his genuine apology. ‘I am so sorry for my rudeness. I can’t
think what came over me. I’ll go home now, in accordance with your wishes, and will wait to hear from you.’ His cheeks were red and his voice trembled.

Baker grasped his hand and waved his other to disperse the audience. When they were alone again, he assured the colonel, ‘No, stay where you are. I could do with your assistance. It is only natural that tempers will burn when we are hungry and locked into the one place for months on end. As much as I love this city, I would very much like to be able to leave it and go elsewhere, just for a couple of days.’

The weeks passed as they do. People grew hungrier and weaker. Is it part of the human condition to get used to a situation no matter how bad it gets? Surely it is a gift and explains how after a certain point the people of Derry simply gave into their circumstances.

No longer was the siege, the stubbornness, questioned. Every day was the same: the gates remained locked to the army outside while the population tried not to think about the emptiness of their bellies.

The number of dead bodies rose hour by hour. Tears were shed but there was no special anger over the loss of the old, the weak and children. It was accepted that this was what was happening now; this was the state of affairs for the time being. Derry would starve for as long as the siege continued.

Adam Murray prayed for relief from his constant anxiety. He did his best to hide his worry from his comrades. It was important he was calm and always looked as if he knew what to do. If he managed to sleep at night, he dreamt that he was in his father’s house, where there was neither bombing nor bone-thin corpses, only breakfast and hot soup. Under his father’s roof he could relax, be free from responsibility and people who expected him to save the world.

He was only human after all. Surely it was natural if sometimes he wondered when this was going to end. And other times he was scared; there was no other way to put it. He had never ever seen so much death before. Who had planned for that? Certainly not he. His nervousness increased when he patted his horse’s scrawny neck and felt hungry eyes upon her. Other horses had been sacrificed to feed the soldiers, but he couldn’t – wouldn’t – allow Pegasus to be taken. She trusted him with her life. How could he look her in the eye and take her life from her? No, she would not end up on someone’s dinner plate, he’d kill himself first.

Even a passing visitor could not fail to notice the absence of animals in the city. Nothing was going to waste. A mouse cost six pence. In exasperation Adam wondered what was next to be consumed: a bowl of spiders, worms, wool, or words of passion? There were days when
he believed all that was keeping the people going were Governor Walker’s Sunday sermons from the altar of St Columb’s Cathedral that were full of begging for strength and faith and making threats against cowardly behaviour. All words.

William of Orange had to send help soon, because how else was this going to end? Their king and queen coming to their rescue was the obvious solution. They had been told about Derry’s suffering. There were stories about ships full of men and supplies being sent from London. Where were they?

One June night he found himself wide awake. It was a common enough occurrence by now. In the early days of hunger he could fool his stomach into feeling full by drinking a glass of beer. Nowadays, his body was weaker and wiser and demanded nothing less than good, solid food, such as Gabriel’s biscuits and bread. What wouldn’t he give to have some now? Wait, was that really true? Could he give up his religion, his king or his freedom for a mouthful of biscuit? No, that was unthinkable.

Yet it was good to think about Gabriel and the world beyond Derry. On nights like this, when sleep just would not come, Adam toured the walls, checking that the gates were locked and the night guards were awake and breathing – so many were dying on duty. It’s not that he was in charge of what was left of Derry’s army. There were still
professional military men – generals and captains – organising the men, but he felt better after personally seeing that all was quiet.

It had rained earlier and Adam kept stepping into puddles, the cold water splashing up his legs. However, there were no bombs or cannonballs to frighten people out of a good night’s sleep. Adam breathed a sigh of thanks before instantly worrying that he had been thankful too soon. Just because it was almost midnight did not mean the Jacobites were giving them a night off from terror. Now if he was a Jacobite general that’s what he would do: lull the city into thinking there would be no trouble and then let them have it good and proper, when they least expected it.