Latest / The History of Ireland: Rebellion, Empire, and Independence — Fexingo History / The Siege of Derry 1689 No Surrender
Transcript
- Lucas: Luna, we've talked a lot about the Battle of the Boyne and the Siege of Limerick — big Williamite-Jacobite set pieces. But there's one siege that started before the Boyne, lasted over a hundred days, and gave birth to a phrase you still hear in Northern Ireland today. Luna: 'No Surrender'? Lucas: Exactly. The Siege of Derry in 1689. It began when thirteen apprentice boys — teenagers, really — slammed the city gates shut in the face of James II's approaching army. They had no official authority, no orders. They just decided they weren't going to let the Jacobites in. Luna: Wait — the city was Protestant, right? So they were siding with William of Orange even though William hadn't landed in Ireland yet? Lucas: That's the thing. Derry was one of the few Ulster towns that had held out for William after James fled England in 1688. The city's Protestant governor, Robert Lundy, was actually prepared to surrender. He'd been negotiating with the Jacobite commander, Lord Antrim. But when the Apprentice Boys saw Antrim's troops approaching the Ferryquay Gate on December 7, 1688, they just acted. They closed the gates and declared for William. Luna: So Lundy was a turncoat? Lucas: That's the harsh judgement history handed him. Lundy believed the city couldn't withstand a siege — he thought surrender was the only way to avoid massacre. But the citizens and the Apprentice Boys didn't trust him. They effectively deposed him and put a clergyman named George Walker in charge of defence. Walker had no military experience, but he had charisma and an iron will. He became the living symbol of defiance. Luna: So how long did they hold out? Lucas: One hundred and five days. From April 18 to July 31, 1689. The Jacobite army under James himself — he came in person — surrounded the city with about twenty thousand troops. Inside Derry were perhaps seven thousand soldiers and thirty thousand civilians. They had food for maybe a month. By June, they were eating horses, then dogs, then rats. A rat carcass sold for a shilling. The stench of starvation was everywhere. Luna: And the city's walls — could they even hold against cannon? Lucas: Remarkably, yes. Derry's walls were built in the 1610s as part of the Ulster Plantation. They were thick, twelve metres high in places, and they had a commanding view of the River Foyle. The Jacobites bombarded the city daily, but they never managed a breach. James offered generous terms — pardon for everyone, freedom of worship — but the defenders, inspired by Walker, kept shouting 'No Surrender.' That phrase was born in those desperate months. Luna: What about relief? Was anyone coming? Lucas: A naval relief force under Major-General Percy Kirke sailed from England in May. They reached Lough Foyle, the inlet north of Derry, but they hesitated. Kirke was a cautious commander. He saw the Jacobites had stretched a heavy boom — a chain of logs and cables — across the river near Culmore, blocking any ship from reaching the city. For weeks he just sat there, and inside Derry people began to despair. Luna: So what finally broke the deadlock? Lucas: On July 28, Kirke finally ordered three ships to attempt the boom: the Mountjoy, a merchant vessel from Derry commanded by Captain Micaiah Browning; the Phoenix, a smaller frigate; and the Dartmouth, a man of war. The Dartmouth provided covering fire while the Mountjoy rammed the boom. The first attempt failed — the Mountjoy bounced back. But then the tide lifted her, and on the second try she crashed through. The Phoenix followed. They sailed up to the city quay under a hail of Jacobite musket fire. Luna: And that was it — the siege lifted? Lucas: Almost. The Jacobites, seeing the relief ships had broken through, abandoned their siege lines that night. They set fire to their camp and retreated south. The next morning, August 1, the defenders opened the gates. But the cost was staggering. About eight thousand people — soldiers and civilians — had died, mostly from starvation and disease. Only three thousand of the original garrison were still standing. George Walker emerged as a hero, though his accounts of the siege were later criticised for exaggerating his own role. Luna: It's interesting that you mention the accounts. Was there controversy? Lucas: Big time. Walker published a best-selling narrative called 'A True Account of the Siege of Londonderry' in 1689. It made him a celebrity in England — he was even painted by Kneller. But the actual military commander, Colonel Adam Murray, and others felt Walker had downplayed their contributions. There were pamphlets flying back and forth accusing each other of cowardice or vanity. Still, Walker's version became the dominant story, especially among Ulster Protestants. He died at the Battle of the Boyne just a year later, which sealed his martyrdom. Luna: And the phrase 'No Surrender' — how did that live on? Lucas: It became the motto of the Apprentice Boys of Derry, a society founded in 1714 to commemorate the closing of the gates. Every year on December 18, they march around the walls carrying banners and shouting 'No Surrender.' The siege itself is still a potent symbol in Northern Irish politics. For unionists, it's a story of Protestant defiance against Catholic domination. For nationalists, it's a reminder of the sectarian divisions that the siege hardened. The irony is that in 1689, the city was not uniformly Protestant — there were Catholics inside who also resisted James, but later histories erased them. Luna: So the narrative became simpler over time. Lucas: Exactly. And that's what we try to do on this show — not simplify, but look at the complexity. We dig into these stories not because they're comfortable, but because they shaped the world we live in. And we do it without any ads, without any corporate sponsor telling us what to say. That freedom matters to us. Luna: Absolutely. If you want to help keep it that way, you can support the show at buymeacoffee.com/fexingo. It's a small thing that makes a big difference to us. Lucas: Now, back to Derry — one detail that often gets overlooked is the role of women in the siege. While the men manned the walls, women like the legendary 'Dame of Derry' carried ammunition, tended the wounded, and even loaded cannons. We know the name of at least one: Elizabeth Grant, who fired a cannon at the Jacobite lines. The defenders needed every hand they could get. Luna: Were there any attempts to negotiate during the siege? Lucas: Several. James II himself came to the walls on April 18 and offered a full pardon if the city would open its gates. The defenders responded with musket fire. Later, a truce was arranged to allow women and children to leave — but the Jacobites stopped them and sent them back, hoping to deplete the city's food faster. That move backfired: it only hardened the resolve inside. The defenders knew they were in it together, no matter what. Luna: So the siege was as much a psychological battle as a military one. Lucas: Completely. The Jacobites had the numbers and the artillery, but they couldn't break the will of the defenders. And the longer they sat outside the walls, the more their own supplies dwindled. Disease spread through their camp too. By July, the Jacobite army was melting away. James had already left for Dublin, leaving command to the French general Maumont — who was killed by a sniper on the walls in June. After that, command fell to Richard Hamilton, but he couldn't force a breakthrough. Luna: What happened to Lundy? The governor who wanted to surrender? Lucas: He escaped the city disguised as a common soldier during the siege. He made his way to Scotland and then to England, where he was court-martialled for cowardice. Surprisingly, he was acquitted — the court found he had acted out of a genuine belief that surrender was the only way to save lives. But his name became a curse in Derry. To this day, 'Lundy' is a term of abuse among Ulster loyalists — they burn his effigy on bonfires every year. It's a harsh fate for a man who might have been simply realistic about the odds. Luna: And what about the relief commander, Kirke? Did he face any consequences for hesitating? Lucas: None at all. He was actually rewarded with a knighthood and later became Governor of London. The delay cost thousands of lives, but in the eyes of William III, the relief succeeded. Kirke was a hero. The ones who paid the price were the ordinary people of Derry — and the Jacobite soldiers who starved in the trenches. Luna: It's a story without a clean moral, isn't it? Lucas: History rarely gives us clean morals. The Siege of Derry is a testament to human endurance and also to the tragic costs of religious division. The phrase 'No Surrender' still echoes in parades and political slogans, often stripped of the context of starvation and desperation. But if you walk the walls of Derry today — they're still intact, the best-preserved city walls in Europe — you can feel the weight of those 105 days. It's a place where memory is still alive, and still contested. Luna: I'd love to walk those walls someday. Lucas: Me too. And when you do, you'll see the cannon that the Apprentice Boys used, the gates they slammed shut, and the river where the Mountjoy broke the boom. It's not just a story — it's a landscape that still holds the trace of that summer.