However, Jacob Richards also saw something that convinced him that there was a more immediate danger to the ship. He had spotted movement to the west, past Culmore. Closer examination revealed at least one team of horses dragging another artillery piece towards the fort. He descended to the deck and issued orders to weigh anchor and set sail to rejoin the other ships, from where he could send Kingfisher with a messenger to Kirke with the information he now had about the boom. But it seemed as if fate was taking a hand against Richards and his expedition. As Greyhound’s anchor was hauled out of the water, the wind not only dropped but also changed direction, ‘two points to the northward’. Greyhound was blown onto the shore across from Culmore. At this point the river is very narrow as it empties into the lough and the ship was at the mercy of the Jacobites, lying as it now was less than a quarter of a mile from them.
Although Greyhound’s crew made an attempt to haul their ship out of its predicament by kedging, the tide was receding and the vessel soon grounded. Her bow was facing seaward, but the falling water level meant that Greyhound was no longer floating as she should but was leaning towards the far bank. This meant that her starboard guns were not so much facing the Jacobites at Culmore as the air above the Jacobites. By now the latter had deployed a number of pieces, which Richards estimated at eleven, into positions where they could fire on the ship from either bank of the Foyle. He writes that these weapons included 24-pounders, 8-pounders and 3-pounders. If there were any of the heavier guns mentioned present, they must have been from the six pieces of heavy artillery that had arrived at Derry only days before. Guns of this size might have been English or French weapons while 8-pounders would have been French.4
The artillery was not the sole threat to the ship, as the Jacobites had a number of camps close enough to Culmore to be able to alert several units to march to the fort to deal with the Williamite ship. Richards now had a large body of infantry, estimated at ‘three or four battalions’, facing his ship, and, although the range was too great for accurate musket fire, the Jacobite musketeers could still cause much harm if any balls found their marks in sailors of Greyhound. Some help was soon at hand for Greyhound as Richards had already sent a message indicating his predicament to the Edward and James and seeking assistance. In response, the forty soldiers on the latter were brought up to Greyhound in a small boat and boarded the vessel to add their firepower to that of the sailors who had been keeping up fire with about 120 small arms.
From about midday the battle intensified, with both sides firing all that they could at their opponents. Of course, the crew of Greyhound and their soldier reinforcements could use only muskets, but the Jacobites were able to use both artillery and muskets. The Jacobite artillery holed Greyhound below the waterline no fewer than seventeen times while putting another fifty rounds through the ship above the waterline. Although several men were wounded badly by splinters – one of the greatest dangers in a contemporary naval engagement – only two were killed, one a soldier in Richards’ party and the other a crewman. Among the injured was Captain Gwillam, who ‘was wounded in several places’. While this fighting was underway, efforts had been made to lighten Greyhound so that when the tide came in again it might be possible to float the ship off the mud that was holding her and make way out into the lough and relative safety. To achieve such a reduction, most of the ship’s guns and many barrels of provisions were dumped overboard.
The tide was right for floating the ship off by about 7.00pm but there was so much water in Greyhound that she could not right herself. Captain Boyce, who had come on board to take command with Gwillam out of action, spoke to the warrant officers, who considered the situation hopeless, and they decided that Greyhound would have to be abandoned. The wounded, who now included Boyce who had been ‘shot in the belly’, would be taken off to safety and the ship would then be set alight. With the evacuation process underway, a skeleton crew was preparing to burn Greyhound when fate seemed to turn in the ship’s favour: the wind changed round from north to south, the skeleton crew loosed the sails, Greyhound caught the wind, righted herself and began slowly to sail away from Culmore and the Jacobite guns. The danger had not passed completely since the ship was still leaking like a colander and listing so heavily that the crew feared that she might sink at any time. To save their vessel they ran her ashore again so that they might careen her, repair the holes both below and above the waterline, and make her seaworthy once more. That task had been completed by 9 o’clock next morning, and Greyhound’s masts had been hauled back into place ‘and her rigging spliced’. Richards was pleased that the ship had been saved but not quite so pleased to learn that he had lost his money, instruments and clothing, worth some £300 or more. Some of these had been destroyed by enemy fire; the rest had been plundered by the sailors who had also looted their own captain’s belongings.
HMS Greyhound was now despatched across the North Channel to Greenock in Scotland for a complete refit since her hull was still ‘very leaky’. She left Lough Foyle on 9 June ‘in a great and breaking sea which so much worked [her] that she was in great danger of foundering’. However, the frigate did make safe harbour and Richards came back to Ireland on board HMS Portland, meeting Kirke’s fleet off Inishowen on the 11th. Kirke was on board HMS Swallow to which Richards transferred to make his report to the overall commander. That report included Richards’ assessment of the boom, although his diary does not record Kirke’s reaction to that information. When we consider the course of Kirke’s subsequent actions, it would seem that the general was in awe of that particular piece of French engineering and that his mind exaggerated the threat it represented to any vessels trying to force their way upriver to relieve the city. Whatever the physical strength of the boom, it now gave the Jacobites a further psychological victory and sentenced those within the walls to an even lengthier period of hardship. Hamilton seems to have considered that Greyhound’s apparent decision not ‘to pass beyond Culmore had a military significance’, while de Pointis wrote to Seignelay that he doubted if the Williamites planned to bring their ships into the river.13 Fatefully, this persuaded Hamilton to cancel the Frenchman’s plan for a second boom.
Strangely, one Williamite account of the Greyhound episode dismisses it in few words.
Three ships come up to Culmore, and fired at the Castle, which was, at that time, in possession of the enemy; one of them having run aground, was, for a short time, greatly exposed to their shot, but having at length got safely off, was obliged to return down the river.14
The chronicler was more interested in recording the bombardment of the town which continued on 8 June ‘by which many lost their lives’. However, there was no firing from the Jacobite artillery the following day as this was the feast of Saint Columb, the city’s patron. Thus the city was spared bombardment on two days since the 10th was a Sunday and it had been Jacobite practice not to fire their artillery on Sundays. But, against this respite, the inhabitants had to balance the news that the few surviving horses in the city were to be slaughtered for meat. The garrison was reduced to 6,185 effective men with each soldier’s ration now reduced to a pound of tallow, a pound of meal and a half-pound of horse flesh per day.15
This reduction in rations could not have done much for morale, and the bombardment by the Jacobites continued, claiming a further seven lives between 13 and 15 June, these men being killed by cannon rather than mortar fire.16 But, on the evening of the 15th, came news of the sighting of a fleet of thirty ships in Lough Foyle,
which we believed came from England for our relief, but we could not propose any method to get intelligence from them, and we did fear it was impossible they could get to us, and the enemy now began to watch us more narrowly.17
Thus Kirke makes his first appearance to the garrison and people of the besieged city. But he had arrived in Liverpool on 5 May, so why did it take so long to reach the Foyle? His critics might argue that this provides circumstantial evidence of Kirke’s ambivalence about the expedition, and
that would be supported by Lord Shrewsbury’s despatch to him on 13 May in which the Secretary of State expressed the king’s concern that Kirke was ‘still on this side of the water’ when he had been appointed to lead forces for the speedy relief of Londonderry.18 But it was not so easy for Kirke, or anyone else for that matter, to act as promptly as William and Shrewsbury desired. The relief fleet’s departure from the Dee and the Mersey depended on the winds, which proved contrary between 5 May and the 22nd. Thus the fleet did not weigh anchor until the 23rd and even then was forced to turn back the following morning. It finally departed for Ireland on 30 May.19 Even today the maritime traveller will notice the many navigational buoys in the Mersey estuary which attest to the navigational complexity of those waters.
The Jacobites had cut off any possibility of landward communication between the fleet and the city, and there was no one within the walls with sufficient knowledge of naval signalling to send a clear message to the ships. Thus Walker noted that in spite of efforts from both sides ‘very little information’ was passed between them.20
This communication problem inspired a return to basics by Kirke, who sent a messenger called Roche, an Irishman, who made his way to the Waterside before swimming across the Foyle to reach the city. Roche’s story is worth some detail. When Kirke realized that he would have to use a messenger to contact the garrison, he issued a call for volunteers, with an offer of 3,000 guineas to anyone who succeeded in reaching the city. Roche was still recovering from wounds received in the Battle of Bantry Bay when he learned of Kirke’s call with its very attractive reward. However, he was not fit enough to make the journey, and so two other volunteers set off to try to earn the reward. The pair were put ashore but one returned to the fleet a day or two later, having got no farther than a Jacobite camp where he had been forced to turn back. The two men had become separated in the darkness, and the one who returned said that he had overheard Irish soldiers ‘talking of a spy the Papists had taken and hanged this morning, which he thinks to be his companion that was sent with him’.21 There is one shadow of doubt about this story which lies in the fact that most of the Jacobite army would have been Gaelic-speaking, although it is conceivable that the messenger did overhear a conversation in English, or that he himself was a Gaelic-speaking Irishman.
With the first attempt to reach the city a failure and he now feeling that he was in better physical condition, Roche volunteered to be Kirke’s emissary to Derry. One other volunteer came forward, James Cromie, who, although he could not swim, knew the countryside and could guide Roche to the city. Walker tells us that Cromie was a Scot but his possessing local knowledge indicates that he lived near Derry and may have been a locally-domiciled man but originally from Scotland. The two were dropped off by boat at a place that Roche called Faughan but which Sir Patrick Macrory believes was at the mouth of the Faughan river which flows into Lough Foyle. Since this would have meant that the boat landed within sight of Culmore Fort, just across the lough, and where there were many Jacobite patrols, it is more likely that the landing spot was some distance away. Roche and Cromie walked through the darkness, avoiding Jacobite patrols, through the enemy lines and, at about midnight, reached a fish house some three miles from the city. The building was abandoned, and it was from there that Roche entered the cold waters of the Foyle to swim to Derry, presumably with the help of an incoming tide.22
Roche’s account states that he came ashore at Derry at about 4 o’clock that morning, by which time it would have been daylight. What at first appeared as a welcoming committee, complete with restorative spirit, turned into judge, jury and would-be executioners as the Williamites prepared to hang Roche as a spy. Somehow he was able to argue for a stay of execution while he proved his credentials. This he could do, he claimed, by making a pre-arranged signal from the tower of St Columb’s Cathedral to the fleet, to which the latter would respond. The signal would be ‘the discharge of four guns from the tower at 12 o’clock at noon’. When the fleet responded to this signal Roche was transformed immediately from villain to hero in the eyes of the Williamites and then gave the garrison ‘an account of the ships, men, provisions and arms in them for our relief’. He also told them of the number of ships and men with provisions and arms that were available for their relief and of ‘the great concern of the Major General for us, and his care and desire to get with his ships up to the town’. In addition, Roche passed over a letter from Kirke which assured them that help would soon be with them but advised them to ‘husband their food, an admonition more alarming to them than all the menaces of the enemy’.23
Roche had arranged to return to the fleet with a rendezvous arranged for that night. Thus, with a letter from Walker in a bladder tied to his hair, he slipped into the river again and swam back to the fish house where he had left Cromie. According to his own story, lodged in the House of Lords’ Library, Roche was able to swim to that exact spot, which is a considerable achievement of navigation in itself, but, once there, found three troops of Jacobite dragoons waiting for him instead of Cromie. He took to his heels and ran, stark naked, through three miles of woodland before jumping from a height of thirty feet into the river. En route he had received a number of injuries, as well as many cuts and grazes from brambles, and was hit by bullets when he entered the water. These rounds caused wounds to a hand, a shoulder and his chest. Realizing that Cromie had been captured, he swam back to Derry.24 This story of considerable heroism is somewhat diminished by Ash’s version which notes that Roche ‘attempted to go back . . . but seeing the enemy on the shore opposite to him, he desisted and returned to us, where he yet continues’.25
Among the questionable aspects of Roche’s version are the distance he ran with dragoons in pursuit and the height from which he jumped into the river. In the area in which this adventure allegedly occurred there is no ground that matches his description. However, when Roche later approached the government for his reward his story was accepted, if not in every detail, and he was commissioned as a captain in the army, awarded a grant of tolls and, some time afterwards, was given land in County Waterford.26 Of Kirke’s promised reward of 3,000 guineas there is no further mention.
What of his companion in this venture? Cromie was captured by the Jacobites and taken to the camp at Stronge’s orchard where, according to Walker, he became a traitor. However, that is Walker’s version, and Cromie might in fact have further assisted the Williamites. His captors hung out a white flag of truce and two Williamites, Lieutenant Colonels Fortescue and Blair, crossed the river to parley with Lord Louth and Sir Neil O’Neill in Stronge’s orchard. The two men were told that they were mistaken if they thought Kirke was going to relieve the city and that they might learn more from Cromie. When asked why his story differed so much from that of Roche, Cromie told Blair that he was a prisoner in enemy hands while Roche was in the city. This convinced Fortescue and Blair that the Jacobites were, again, attempting a subterfuge, but Walker continued to consider Cromie to be guilty of treachery.27
As arranged, a boat had been sent to collect Roche and Cromie. When it was about fifty yards or less from the shore, the crew rested their oars and were shortly hailed from the riverbank. The lieutenant in charge of the boat asked for the password, but the figure on the shore claimed to have forgotten it. When the lieutenant asked the man if he knew the name of the ship, he replied that he had also forgotten that but asked that the boat should come in closer. Asked where his companion was, he said he ‘had not seen him since he went into Derry’. The lieutenant then invited the man to wade out to the boat and he would take him on board but made it plain that the boat was coming in no closer. At that the man disappeared and several musketeers opened fire on the boat crew who began rowing for their ship. No one was hurt but it appeared that both messengers had been captured. Kirke, therefore, remained unaware of the true situation within the walls. Since the Jacobite ambush party did not know the password, it seems reasonable to assume that Cromie had not become a traitor.28
The appearance of the relief fleet had caused consternation in the Jacobite lines. John Mackenzie noted this and commented that the enemy were ‘pulling down tents (as we heard) in order to be decamping; and many of their soldiers (as the country people informed us) changed their red coats and ran away’. But, whatever the degree of panic in Jacobite ranks, it was not long before they had recovered and were soon engaged in work intended to make it impossible for the relief fleet to reach the city.29
Before any of Kirke’s ships could reach Derry they would have to break the boom as well as endure fire from artillery on either bank of the river, to which would be added small-arms fire from the infantry. Hamilton’s men now improved their positions along the river. From the ships, Richards could see that the Jacobites had been working for some days ‘on this side the Otter Bank, and have now raised several timbers, as if they would frame a wooden fort such as that was in the water at Tangier’. He was also able to see the boom. On a lighter, if not more positive, note, he recorded that three fat cows swam by his ship which put out its longboat to catch them; they were believed to have fallen from the ferry at Culmore. There were, however, no fat cows for George Walker in the city who wrote that the Jacobites
The Siege of Derry 1689 Page 19