Behind the Walls (8 page)

Chapter Eleven

S
ome weeks later Daniel had cause to feel sorry for Henry Campsie. His father, the mayor, was seriously ill. Mr Sherrard visited the Campsie house every day and returned again in the evening. A fever had taken hold of his patient, and try as he might Mr Sherrard knew he was losing him. He told Mrs Campsie to pray as her husband’s life was in God’s hands.

Henry felt useless. He was the oldest but had no great yearning to become man of the house just yet. His nights were spent watching over his father as he slept. What else could he do for him now?

Keeping a single stub of candle lit, he watched the flickering shapes over his father’s bed, swiping at the flies and moths who were tempted to land on the sheets. He had asked Mr Sherrard, when they were alone, ‘How long does he have?’

The physician looked into the eyes of the boy he had delivered eighteen years earlier and said, ‘I’m not sure. All I can do is make him as comfortable as I can. I don’t think he’s in any pain.’

Henry nodded and whispered his thanks.

Before he took his leave, Mr Sherrard told Henry that he would be back the following morning, adding, ‘Your father was a good man, Henry. We owe him a lot. You can be proud of him.’

Mr Sherrard let himself out and was glad to be escaping from the heaving sadness of the Campsie household. He breathed deeply and then scrunched his nose as the smell of fresh manure soared up his nostrils.
How long has it been since I’ve taken a good walk outside the walls? These days the city seems too small and dirty.

It was easy to forget that there was a whole other world outside. For the first time in ages Mr Sherrard noticed the silvery glow of the moon. There was a time he used to spend hours staring at the night sky, teaching himself the different constellations and experiencing elation at every shooting star. When he was a little boy his mother told him that a shooting star meant a good soul was going straight to Heaven. He sighed;
poor John Campsie will be there soon enough
.

Of course, in his line of profession, Mr Sherrard was well used to dealing with the dying. However, despite all his experience, he desired to know more about what actually happened in death.

He remembered how he had treated his mother on her deathbed. She had outlived his father by a good ten years
or so and was fiercely independent until the day she was forced to take to her bed and, in her words, ‘wait for the end!’

Whenever her son had stood over her, she had mistaken him for her dead husband. Gently he would tell her, ‘No, Mother. It’s Edward, your son.’ Eventually he’d given up as it had only confused her.

On that last afternoon, he had stepped into the next room to fetch something and had heard her gasp. She hadn’t spoken in two days and thinking he had heard her murmur his name, he had run in, knocking over a stool. Reaching her bed, he had stopped in fright. This wizened old woman, who had shrunk in length and breadth, whose skin was as thin as the pages of her bible, had appeared to glow.

‘Mother?’ He hadn’t meant to sound panicked.

She had turned to look at him and had smiled. Her fever had gone and she had appeared younger than ever. All her weariness and sickliness had gone. How happy she had looked. He had felt her farewell as she’d switched her attention to the air in front of her. Then she had bowed her head briefly and said, ‘Yes!’

Her son had watched her die then. The last breath had left her body; he swore he saw her soul go with it as her eyes had glazed and her body had wilted in thanks. Her journey was finally over.

Now beneath the Derry night sky Mr Sherrard shivered, realising the mist he had supposed was gathering was only his tears.

A few miles away Adam Murray was updating his father on the latest news. The old man was stirring soup that was simmering in a pot over the fire. Adam scratched his father’s old dog behind his ears, saying, ‘Lieutenant-Colonel Lundy is flourishing, but as what I can’t figure out. Is he a spy or a coward?’

His father didn’t seem particularly interested either way. ‘Fetch the bowls, lad. This is just about done.’

Adam sighed and did what he was told. He also poured two mugs of beer and brought everything to where the stools were positioned in front of the fire. His father didn’t bother with tables anymore, preferring the comfort of sipping his soup while plopped in the warmest part of the house.

As Adam watched Gabriel ladle the soup into the first bowl, he spotted a fresh tear in the seat of his trousers. ‘Father, you’ve ripped your trousers again.’

Gabriel smiled. ‘That explains the draught down there.’

Adam laughed. ‘I’ll mend them for you after we eat.’

As a reward for this, his father prompted him to continue. ‘Well, what’s this about Lundy?’

Adam took his bowl and stirred the soup with his spoon. As usual Gabriel had waited until it was too hot
to eat, to serve it up. Sure enough, the spoon burnt his lip when Adam tested the temperature. Meanwhile, his father took his place beside him and began to eat immediately. Adam could only conclude –
he must have no feelings left in his tongue
! He said, ‘He has fortified the city, there’s no doubt about that.’

His father looked at him and blinked, obliging Adam to remind him who he was talking about. ‘Robert Lundy.’

His father rushed to assure him, ‘Oh, yes. Yes!’ Then he thought of something. ‘How’s that horse of yours?’

Used to his father’s meandering conversations, Adam replied, ‘Pegasus is fine. She’ll probably need new shoes in the next month or so but apart from that she’s grand.’

‘Aye,’ said his father, ‘you have a good animal there. Take care of her.’

Adam exhaled before saying, ‘Yes, Father, I know. I do take very good care of her.’

His father took a mouthful of boiling soup and exclaimed, ‘You probably need a wife!’

Adam rolled his eyes at the dog who probably agreed with his father.

Adam returned to the former subject with some determination. ‘Colonel Lundy is talking about breaking up the other Protestant garrisons in Dungannon, Monaghan and Cavan. Why would he do that? These towns are full of men eager to fight the Jacobites. From what I can see, he’s
preparing Derry for attack while also getting rid of our valuable allies. I reckon he’s playing a dangerous game.’ When Gabriel said not a word to this, his son continued, ‘Nobody has accused him of anything yet, but I hear there are a lot of complaints behind his back. For instance, he has been told that more Jacobite soldiers are on their way but doesn’t seem to be doing a thing about it. Also, it seems we had a chance of receiving fresh soldiers into the garrison and he turned them away. I cannot prove it yet, but the rumour persists. There was a meeting, but only a select few were present to decide, it would appear, to reject more men. At the very least his behaviour bewilders me.’

Again there was silence at this.

‘Father,’ said Adam, ‘are you listening to me at all?’

Gabriel stopped slurping his soup long enough to say, ‘Of course I am, son.’

Adam went to talk again. ‘It’s just that …’

However, his father interrupted him. ‘I hope you find a girl who is even half as lovely as your mother was.’

Adam’s smile and tone were tender. ‘Yes, Father. I’ll do my best to.’

Gabriel waggled a finger in his left ear, trying to clear it so that he could hear better while saying matter-of-factly, ‘It sounds like Lundy doesn’t believe in himself.’

Ignoring whatever his father had found in his ear, and was now stuck to his finger, Adam asked, ‘Do you really
think that’s what it is, a lack of self-esteem is causing him to make worrying mistakes?’

His father grunted, ‘He’s just a man after all. And it’s contagious too.’

Adam asked, ‘What is?’

Having scooped up the last of his soup, Gabriel placed the bowl at his feet and stood up to wriggle himself out of his trousers. Next he went searching for needle and thread. When he sat back down again, he said, ‘A few passers-by have told me that Lundy doesn’t believe that Derry can be defended.’

‘Really, Father? You never mentioned this.’

Gabriel was incredulous. ‘But I just have. Lundy doesn’t have faith in himself and, consequently, people don’t have faith in him.’

Adam put his empty bowl at his feet and pulled the trousers into his lap, taking the needle and thread from his father, saying, ‘That seems to be the point alright. They just don’t trust him.’

His father gave the old dog a perfunctory rub across his matted spine and sighed. ‘You can never truly know what goes on inside another man’s head.’

Adam shrugged as he began to sew. ‘But if you accept leadership over a city, I think a great deal should be transparent.’

His father took out his box of snuff and stuffed a
thimbleful up his nose before offering it to his son. The old man gave a hearty sniff and asked, ‘Will you be staying here tonight?’

Adam shook his head. ‘I can’t. I’m on patrol. I’ll do my best to drop in before the end of the week. Is there anything you need?’

His father, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the tiny snores from the dog, replied, ‘No. Thank God!’

Chapter Twelve

T
here was a new notice on the Markethouse to be read out to the men and boys of the battalion. April showers had created dozens of puddles throughout the Diamond. They sparkled like precious stones as they mirrored any slivers of sunshine that managed to puncture the grey clouds.

Henry Campsie had turned up, much to the Sherrard boys’ surprise. His absence would have been understandable since he had buried his father that very morning. The brothers had attended the funeral with their parents but had been unable to get near poor Henry due to the huge number that turned up. The mayor had been a popular man and all his peers lined up to convey their personal sadness to his widow and eldest son. Afterwards Henry imagined he might stay home for the rest of the day. However, once home, he had an abiding need to get away from the room where his father died and away from his mother’s tears.

Gervais Squire was the new mayor. His signature, along with the other city elders, adorned the ‘Mutual Agreement’,
the document that was to be read out.

The lawyer David Cairnes had returned from another visit to London, bearing a letter from King William about his appreciation for Derry’s efforts on his behalf and his promise to look after them. Mr Cairnes informed Lieutenant-Colonel Lundy and the city councillors that there were preparations taking place this very minute, in London, to help Derry and he strongly felt that nobody should be allowed to leave the city.

With everyone fired up, knowing that King William was following their every move, it was decided to draw up a list of rules – a ‘Mutual Agreement’ – for the population to keep the city on her best behaviour.

Robert and Daniel lined up with the other soldiers to hear the news. Robert quietly asked Henry how he was and received a half-hearted shrug for an answer, making him feel he should have asked a more sensible question. Daniel thought Henry looked different or strange. There was something about his clothes; they were too big for him. Later he would find out that Henry was wearing his father’s old tunic and trousers.

Daniel struggled to concentrate on what was being said. The speaker, one of the aldermen, was making an announcement: ‘We will not put up with cowards. To this end, a pair of gallows is to be erected and anybody in the garrison, who commits treachery in its many forms, will
be hung by the neck until they are dead.’

Soldiers were smiling and nodding enthusiastically. Daniel could not mimic their response. Instead, he swallowed hard and tried to imagine what it would be like to be swinging from a rope, wishing for death to come quickly.

Daniel felt an unpleasantness steal into the atmosphere, despite the fact that some men were responding so positively to the man’s words.
Surely
, he thought,
this means that we are now going to play judge and jury with our neighbours and friends
. Anybody’s patriotism could be called into question by anybody else.
Why did this sound familiar?
And then it hit him that he was accidentally remembering James Morrison’s story about the crows, about the way they turned on the weakest in the community.

Daniel looked at his brother to see if he shared his thoughts, but his brother cheered heartily when everyone else did. Daniel rushed to cheer himself, especially when Henry gave him a peculiar look. It seemed like the judging was to start immediately.

The speaker continued: ‘Nobody is allowed to leave the city unless they have special permission from the newly formed Council of War, made up of our most prominent citizens and headed by Lieutenant-Colonel Lundy.’

It was Robert who experienced a mixture of emotions at this. On the one hand, this was all hugely exciting and
couldn’t have happened at a better time. Suddenly he was part of something real and important. This was what he had been searching for, the chance for glory. On the other hand, this excitement and newly discovered self-belief made him impatient to see what lay beyond the city he had grown up in. He dreamt of sailing the sea and seeing London. William Cairnes’s uncle had told him about the endless streets, the fancy buildings, the pretty girls and the sheer wealth of the aristocracy.

A plan was forming in his head. He believed that a soldier’s life would give him all that he wanted: travel, a nice wife and untold riches. The possibilities were endless. Why, he might join King William’s army and make his mark in some exotic land he had yet to hear about. The world was finally opening up to him.

But, first things first
.

He must help to hold Derry for his king and if that meant seeing nothing but these worn, well-familiar streets for another few months, well, so be it.

Once the threats and proposed punishments for this and that were read out, the speaker moved on to the good news; that is, the rations that would be made available to every soldier in the garrison. As of yet, there was no actual money to pay the men, but this was a temporary situation that would surely be rectified by King William and the parliament in London.

In the meantime, the speaker read: ‘Each soldier shall receive a weekly ration of eight quarts of meal, four pounds of meat and three pounds of meal. A daily measure of beer will also be provided.’

The men cheered their gratitude.

Lieutenant-Colonel Robert Lundy studied the faces of the men.
How defiant they seem. Not one of them shows any uncertainty.

Their belief was solid, God was on their side and therefore Derry would be saved.

Lundy searched the sky above for a sign that they were right. After all, the Jacobites had their God too – the same God, by all accounts. Would He choose between the two kings of England, William and James?

Oh, why can’t I just believe like they do?
Lundy hoped, however vaguely, that Lord Mountjoy would return from Dublin, but he had had no word on how his commander had fared at the hands of an enraged Richard Talbot.
Blast that man! Why doesn’t he come up here and see how things stand for himself?

A raven landed on the roof of the building in front of him. Robert Lundy stared at the bird who seemed to be listening to the goings-on. Birds were believed to be messengers, so was this his sign? What was the other thing he had heard about ravens? Where had he read it, about them meaning war?

He shivered. What exactly was it that bothered him? He took in the city around him, or at least the part he could see from where he stood. Most of the men in front of him were inexperienced. They were soldiers who had yet to fight a single battle. There weren’t nearly enough weapons and, if it came down to it, Derry was on a path of no return. Should the city dig in her heels and attempt to out-wait the Jacobites the lieutenant-colonel knew there wasn’t enough food. The population was far too big. Every soldier standing here, who was braced to fight, was local and so had parents, siblings, grandparents or children that would need to be fed.
God help us all!

It had been his idea to dismantle the old houses near the walls. They took up valuable space that would be needed by a fighting army.

Of course, he had sensed his unpopularity growing day by day and had a brief, grim thought about the new gallows.
I hope I don’t end up swinging from them.
He sighed to himself.
I’ll do my best for this city but it might not be good enough
.

As he stood there watching the enthusiastic crowd, he was unaware that he was the focus of someone else’s attention, someone who already believed that the governor was not good enough for the job in hand.

A recent addition to the city, Reverend George Walker had made his way to Derry after Lundy ordered the
break-up of the garrison at Dungannon. He was an Anglican reverend first and a soldier second:
I’m a soldier of the Lord whether I am at the pulpit or on the battlefield
. And so he was. A couple of short months ago, when he was rector at Donoughmore in Armagh, he heard about the Jacobite army position at Derry’s walls. This was his moment, he felt, to show his worth to the Lord. So he gathered his own soldiers together and marched to Dungannon, preparing to lay in for whatever came their way.

As far as Reverend Walker and his friends were concerned, Lundy’s order to break up the garrison did not make sense. Superior in size to Derry, Dungannon had been ready to fight. Provisions had been gathered for the expected trouble ahead while troops, including Reverend Walker’s, were formed and armed. All that was needed was a nod from Lundy to make their move. But he surprised them by telling them to evacuate the town. Naturally this created confusion and dismay. However, orders were orders. The troops fell back, allowing Jacobite soldiers, in turn, to fall upon their provisions.
No, it made no sense whatsoever
.

Taking his bible in hand, the reverend had prayed long and hard over what he should do next. In the end the answer was simple.
I’ll go to Derry!
God, he felt, had told him that the city needed him.

He was ambitious,
but only to be all that God wants me to be
.

Judging from the expression on Lundy’s face, it would appear that Derry’s governor keenly desired to be elsewhere. The reverend found himself disapproving of the man’s demeanour; his shoulders were hunched with tension, his chin dipped apologetically while his face had a waxy sheen to it. He looked like a man overly burdened with worry – and with guilt.
No, Lundy did not deserve to govern this city. Not at all.

The reverend knew another man who would make a far, far better governor.

A spasm of delight passed over him as he gripped his bible and felt anointed by the Lord.