Lee nodded. “A more than sensible suggestion. And one that goes very well with something I have been turning over in my head. I think that we are in agreement that the Irish Brigade will lead the attacks in the south of Ireland. They would burn us at the stake if we didn’t let them do that. But I am sure that you will also agree with me that we want to keep them out of the north. However we go about the invasion there — we don’t want them anywhere near it. That would be the one certain way to guarantee a civil uprising.”
“I have been thinking exactly the same thing,” Sherman said.
“Well then, if you think I’m fit, I would like to command in the north. Lead the attack with my Southern regiments. Every one of them a Protestant as well!”
“The job is yours if you want it. I can’t think of another officer who could handle the problems there as well as you could. Now, before Meagher and his surgeon appear, let us see where we stand on the overall invasion. What is the best way to envelop the south? Let us consider the broad sweep of this map. Soldiers and defenses in the east, few people and fewer defenses in the west. Landings would be very easy to make there.”
“They would — but we would have to cross the width of the country before we could reach the enemy in any numbers.”
Sherman’s finger kept tapping the west coast of the country, the central part around Galway, then tracing a route east. Then back again, over and over again. When he did this his finger traced along markings on the map. Lee watched him do this, concentrating as he repeated himself — then he smiled.
“I don’t know what you are thinking,” Lee said, “but I have a feeling that we are of a mind…”
“The railroads.”
“The railroads indeed.” Lee joined him at the map, traced a line from coast to coast. “A landing here at Limerick — and then the train straight to Cork.”
“And here at Galway directly to Dublin. But the situation in the north is not clear at all. We want to avoid Londonderry if we can because it seems to be stoutly defended. We will have to get some advice from the Irish. But trains will be our strength. We made good use of the railroads during the past conflict.”
Lee nodded begrudging agreement. “I always worried about the railroads. As fast as I could move my troops you would still be able to use the trains to flank me.”
“Then let us put this knowledge to good use. Ireland has a finely developed network of rail lines. I feel that we should design any invasion around them.”
Lee nodded. “I agree completely. There is one main advantage to this plan of attack. We land where we can expect little opposition. When we have secured a foothold we advance by train. Which means that we will be arriving at these strong-points on the east coast from inland — while all of their defenses point out to sea. But we must have the benefit of surprise. Not only must the railroads be seized and used to our own ends — but communication must be cut so the enemy will not know of our presence.”
“Better than cut,” Sherman said, eyes alight with growing certitude of the plan. “The population here in the south will side with us. Instead of cutting communication, which would surely be most suspicious, we must subvert it.”
Lee gazed at the map unseeingly, stroking his white beard, deep in thought. “You realize that we are talking about a new kind of warfare here?” he said.
“I do. We are just applying lessons we learned during the war. Strike hard where you are not expected. A lightning strike into unprepared enemy positions. Plus false reports, not information — what shall we call it? — disinformation. There will be confused and conflicting reports, severed communication between enemy units so they have no way of assessing the truth of the reports that they are receiving.”
“We must involve the navy at the earliest occasion. They will have to assist our landings—”
“ — And mount diversionary attacks where we are not going to land!” Sherman said, finishing Lee’s sentence, so much were they in agreement.
“Smoke and cloud and confusion,” Lee added. “And when the smoke rises the enemy will be defeated. I think we have the heart of a plan here. Now we must flesh it out.”
By three in the afternoon they had agreed on the overall plan of the invasion. Their papers were already put away, and the map locked from sight, when there was a discreet tap on the door. Lee unlocked the door and ushered the two men inside. Meagher made the introductions before they were seated. Surgeon Reynolds accepted the presence of all this top brass with relaxed Irish aplomb.
“General Meagher here says that you are greatly interested in the Fenian movement, of which I can assure you I am an authority.”
“That is very true, Surgeon Reynolds,” General Sherman said. “But the matter goes deeper than that. Can you assure me that nothing you hear in this room today will be repeated outside this room?”
“You have my word on that — as an officer and as a surgeon. The oath of Aesculapius is a firm one.”
“I do believe that it is. Now then — I assume that you have heard the rumors about our impending attack upon the enemy.”
“I have. It appears to be what might be called an open secret. Going to attack the British invasion road from the Pacific end, while General Grant takes on the road itself. Seems a worthwhile plan.”
“What if I told you that the rumors were leaked deliberately and an entirely different plan was being drawn up?”
“If what you say is true, why then it has been a masterful bit of misdirection on the army’s part. I would never have expected so much guile in the high command. If not Mexico — why where else can we attack them? Sail up the Thames and drop a few shells on Buckingham Palace?” He smiled at the thought and Sherman smiled back.
“Not quite. But we are going to attack Ireland and throw the British out.”
His chair fell over with a clatter as Reynolds jumped to his feet, mouth agape, eyes staring.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Tell me it’s not a joke!”
“I am dead serious. Now you know why we enlisted your aid.”
The surgeon’s fingers, so firm on the scalpel and always under control, were shaking uncontrollably now as he picked up and righted the fallen chair, sat down on it heavily. His voice was so hushed when he spoke that he could barely be heard.
“The dream of every Irishman, passed down through the ages, to come true in my lifetime… My heart is beating as though it will burst in my chest.”
“ ’Tis true, Francis,” Meagher assured him. “We shall march on Ireland and set her free.”
“Ask what you will of me. Anything.” Spoken with such conviction and assurance that none dared doubt him.
“We want you to tell us about Ulster and the northern provinces,” Lee said.
“Of course. Now I see why I was brought here. First a grave warning.” He looked directly at General Meagher. “Take your brave lads of the Irish Brigade and march on Ireland and set her free. But don’t let any Catholic Irish soldier set one foot in the province of Ulster or there will be rivers of blood in the streets.” He turned to Sherman, his face most grave. “There are two tribal peoples up there, living locked tight to each other in the streets and villages of the province. Set them at each other’s throats and only the most wicked and deadly battle and slaughter will follow.”
“We have already decided that,” Lee said calmly. “I shall command in the attack in the north and my Southern troops will lead in the field. All of them Protestants.”
“A wise and wonderful decision. It will then be American troops against British troops. A war between soldiers and I doubt that the Orangemen will takes sides. At least not at first. At heart they are a moral people, steeped in Presbyterianism. The plantations in the north of Ireland began in 1605 when Sir Arthur Chichester proposed the settlement of English and Scots to strengthen royal control of the province. The native Irish Catholics were pushed out of the cities and towns and made to live outside the gates. This pattern has not changed since the seventeenth century. Eve
ry man in Ulster knows to an inch what is the property of his side. A siege mentality has prevailed there for all these centuries. Myths not history rule. What both sides believe about their past has been altered to suit their respective needs.”
“So what do I do about it?” Lee asked. “What happens when my troops enter Belfast and subdue the enemy?”
“That is a very good question,” Reynolds said, pulling at his jaw, deep in thought. “You must not discriminate, that is the first rule. Protestant and Catholic must be treated equally. Declare martial law and a curfew and see that it is obeyed. You must treat everyone with an even hand.” He rubbed his forehead, thinking hard. “Tell me,” he said. “Are there not some Southern regiments from Louisiana, from New Orleans?”
“There are indeed,” Lee said.
“French regiments? Catholics?”
“Yes.”
“You must attach at least one of these regiments to your invasion force. You must show that you are above religious differences. This is most important when you meet with the civic leaders — separately of course. Most of them would refuse to be in the same room together.”
Lee threw his hands up in exasperation. “I think I know what you are saying, though I don’t really understand it. I shall need advice, leadership in all this. Firstly, we need to find the right spot to invade. In the south, where there are roads and train lines from Galway to Dublin, that seems to be the obvious route — as does Limerick to Cork. But what about the north? Do you think that we should invade through Londonderry?”
Lee strode across the room to unlock the map cabinet, then swung the door open.
“Ill advised,” the surgeon said, standing and walking over to look at the map. “If you go that way your ships will have to pass up the length of Lough Foyle and into the mouth of the River Foyle. And only then will you be able to face forts and guns. It could be a hard-fought battle if the alarm is raised. Even after you win the battle and seize the trains, why they just meander along a single track along the coast. No, here is what you want. I grew up there, in Coleraine, and know the whole area well. I haven’t been back since I went away to study medicine in Queen’s College, Belfast — but nothing will have changed.” He tapped the map. “Here in Portrush, that is where you must strike. It has a fine harbor with rail service to Coleraine here — where it joins the line from Londonderry which will supply more trains.”
“How are the roads?” General Lee asked.
“Excellent. Or as excellent as any road is in Ireland.”
Lee studied the map closely. “Then we will have trains and good roads — and it looks to be no more than fifty miles from Belfast. Good troops can march that in a day, a day and a half in the most. We will take your advice under serious consideration,” Lee said, then pointed his finger at the surgeon. “With General Meagher’s approval you now have a new posting. My staff surgeon is about to have family problems and will return home on leave. I would like you to take his post until he returns. Which is going to be a very long time. I will need all of your medical skills — but also all of your political knowledge as well. You shall be both a medical officer and a political officer. Can you do that?”
“It will be my great pleasure, General Lee.”
“Take him,” Meagher said. “Keep him safe and return him after the war.”
LOCKED IN COMBAT
London had been miserable for over a week. Unseasonal storms and high winds had lashed the capital and drenched her citizens. William Gladstone, who hated the damp, had huddled next to the fire in his study for most of that time. Palmerston’s orders had been peremptory and specific. The military needed more money: there was the need to raise taxes. The stone that was the British public must be squeezed again. Squeezed for money, not for blood.
When Gladstone awoke this Monday morning it was with a feeling of dread. This was the day of the Cabinet meeting. The Prime Minister would be sure to be displeased at the new taxes. Nothing unusual; he was always displeased. Not only a Cabinet meeting, but a dreaded visit to Her Majesty afterward. She could be infinitely trying these days. Either introspective and mourning her dear Albert — which was bearable, though terribly boring. Better still than the other extreme. The reddened face and the shrill screams. Not for the first time did he remember that, after all, she was the granddaughter of mad German George.
Yet when his manservant opened the curtains Gladstone’s spirits, if they did not soar, were lifted more than a little bit. Golden sunshine poured into the room; a blackbird sang in the distance. After breaking his fast he was in a still better mood. He would leave his carriage behind and walk, that is what he would do. It was a pleasant walk to Whitehall from his rooms here in Bond Street. He poured himself another cup of tea and sent for his private secretary.
“Ah, Edward, I have a slight task for you.” Hamilton nodded in expectant silence. “Those budget papers we have been working on. Put them together and bring them to the Cabinet Room for me. Leave them with Lord Palmerston’s secretary.”
“Will you want the navy proposals as well?”
“Yes, surely. Pack them all up.”
The sun was shining radiantly through the fanlight over the front door. Gladstone put on his hat, tapped it into position, picked up his stick and let himself out. It was indeed a glorious day.
The pavements were crowded, particularly in Piccadilly, but the crowd was in a friendly mood: the sun cheered everyone. Further on, near Piccadilly Circus, a man was holding out to the passers-by. His clothes revealed him to be a Quaker, one of that very difficult sect. Gladstone had to listen to him, whether or no, since the people in the crowded street were scarcely moving.
“…violates God’s will. Plague may be a curse upon mankind for living in evil ways, but plague cannot be avoided by an act of will for it is indifferent to class or rank. The lord in his castle will fall victim, just as surely as the peasant in his hovel. But war, I tell you, war is an abomination and a sin. Is this the best we can do with the intelligence God gave us, with the money that we have earned by the sweat of our brow? Instead of food and peace we spend our substance on guns and war. The citizens of the Americas are our brothers, our fellows, fruit of the same loins from whence we ourselves have sprung. Yet those who would be our masters urge us to spill our blood in attacking them. The scurrilous rags we call newspapers froth with hatred and calumny and speak with the voices of evil and wrongdoing. So I say unto you, disdain from the evil, speak to your masters that war is not the way. Is it really our wish to see our sons bleed and die on distant shores? Cry out with one voice and say…”
What the voice should say would never be known. The strong hands of two burly soldiers plucked the man down from his box and, under a sergeant’s supervision, carried him away. The crowd cheered good-naturedly and went about their business. Gladstone turned down a side street and away from the crowd, disturbed by what he had seen.
Was there really an antiwar movement? Certainly there were grumbles over the increasing taxes. But the mob did love a circus and read with pleasure about the glowing — and exaggerated — prowess of British arms. Many still remembered the defeats in America and longed for victories by strength of arms to remove the sour smell of that defeat. At times it was hard to assess the public mood. As he turned into Downing Street he joined Lord John Russell, also going in the same direction.
“Ready for the lion’s cage, hey?” Gladstone said.
“Some say that Palmerston’s bark is worse than his bite,” the Foreign Secretary answered with a worldly flip of his hand.
“I say that bark and bite are both rather mordant. By the way, on the way here I heard a street speaker sounding off at the evils of our war policy. Do you think he was alone — or is the spirit abroad that we should be seeking peace?”
“I doubt that very much. Parliament still sides with the war party and the papers scream and froth for victories. Individuals may think differently, but, by George, the country is on our side.”
“I
wish that I had your assurance, Lord John. Still, I find it disturbing, disturbing indeed.”
“Vox populi is not always vox dei, no matter what you hear to the contrary. The voice that matters is that of Palmerston, and as long as this party is in power that is the only voice that you will hear.”
It was indeed a voice that demanded respect. As the Cabinet assembled around the long table Lord Palmerston frowned heavily down at them and rubbed his hands together. He was used to bullying his Cabinet. After all he was the Prime Minister, and he had appointed every one of them. So their loyalty must be to him and him alone. Parliament could be difficult at times, but the war spirit was running high there, so that they could usually be cajoled into backing his proposals. And then, of course, there was always the Queen. When Prince Albert had been alive there had been scenes and difficulties when Palmerston had made unilateral decisions without consulting the Royal Couple. As he had done in the Don Pacifico affair. David Pacifico was a Portuguese Jew born in Gibraltar. He became a merchant in Athens. His house there was burned down during an anti-Semitic riot. On very questionable grounds, he sued the Greek government — with little result. Without consulting the Queen, or her consort, Palmerston had organized an attack on Greece on Don Pacifico’s behalf. To say that the Queen was disturbed by this was an understatement. But that was happily a thing of the past. After Albert’s death she had retired more and more inside herself. Yet sometimes she had to be consulted, lest she lost her temper over some implied insult, or more realistically, a major decision taken without her knowledge. This was now such a time. She must be consulted before the planned expansion was undertaken.
This meeting was like most Cabinet meetings these days. Lord Palmerston told them what he would like to have done. After that the discussion was about how it should be done — and never any discussion whether it should be done at all. This day was no exception.
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