“Yes, sir,” the sergeant-major said, smiling. They had been in the barracks too long. It was about time for a fight.
It was not long in coming. As they came down the road towards the villages rifles cracked from the windows of the stone buildings. As they dropped, seeking shelter, there was a tremendous burst of firing and bullets tore the leaves from the trees, ricocheted from the stones, tore up the ground.
“Get back!” the major ordered. “Fall back to that stone fence!”
From the sound of the firing it sounded like he was facing an entire company.
Like all the other officers in the British Army he had never heard a Gatling gun before.
RAISE THE ALARM!
Captain Frederick Durnford was lunching ashore with Admiral Cousins, who was commander of the Plymouth Navy Yard. It had been a most pleasant meal, and the port that followed was of a much-valued vintage. Captain Durnford had just poured himself a good measure when an officer tapped on the door, came in and handed a message form to the admiral.
“What? What?” the admiral said as he opened the paper; the source of his nickname that everyone in the fleet — except him — knew. He read it quickly, then turned to Durnford, a look of dazed vacuity on his face. “Have they gone bloody mad at the admiralty — or is this true?”
“I have no idea, sir. What does it say?”
Cousins stumbled over the words. “It purports to say that the Americans have invaded Ireland. That they are attacking Belfast. All communication with Ireland has been severed. Mail boats haven’t arrived. The last part is addressed to you. You are ordered to take Conqueror and find out what is happening over there.”
Durnford’s chair crashed unnoticed to the floor as he sprang to his feet. “Your permission, Admiral, if I could, soonest…”
“Go man, go. And get us back a report as soon as possible. I have the feeling that this is all some ghastly mistake.”
Captain Durnford did not agree. The Admiralty, for all its imperfections, could not make a mistake of this magnitude. Something was very, very wrong in Ireland, of that he was very certain. He discovered when he returned that more detailed orders had been telegraphed to the ship and were waiting for when he boarded Conqueror, he read them through most carefully. He ordered his officers to the bridge as they got up steam, then rolled out the charts and pointed to their destination.
“Here,” he said. “We’ll clear The Lizard and Land’s End after dark. Hold a course towards Ireland with a landfall here at the Old Head of Kinsale. You must understand that, as of this moment, no one in government has the slightest idea of what is happening in Ireland. Except for the single report from Belfast we are operating in the dark. As you can well imagine, there is great agitation in high places. They have absolutely no information as to what is going on there — on land or at sea. However some action has been taken. Troops are being landed at Carlough Bay, north of Belfast. After our reconnaissance we are to report our findings by telegraph. Then sail north to add our presence to the landings there.” He tapped the map of Ireland, the coastline south of Cork. “Now I want some marines landed here under a good officer — you Strutten.” He nodded at his first officer. “Take them inland, into Kinsale. There is a constabulary barracks there. Find out if anyone knows what the devil is going on. Be smart about it, because you only have until an hour after dawn to get back to the beach.”
He looked grimly into the unknown future. “The ship will be off Cork at dawn. No idea what we’ll find. But I do know that I will not take this ship into battle — no matter how tempting the prospects. Whitehall wants information — not engagements. And the same applies to you, Lieutenant. Is that absolutely clear?”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Make sure that this is understood by everyone in your landing party. If attacked they are of course to defend themselves. It is up to you to see that they are not placed in that position. I want information — not heroics.”
“I will do my best, sir.”
They headed north in the darkness. If there was a war in Ireland it appeared that it had not affected the maritime trade. The light on the Old Head of Kinsale was flashing. Conqueror approached it and slowed her engines in the deep water by the head. The ship’s boat was lowered, the very newest sort with its own steam engine. With the two squads of Royal Marines aboard, it chugged off into the darkness towards the shore. Throttled back, the ironclad stood out to sea again, timing her arrival for dawn off the mouth of the estuary.
At first light the great ship crept forward, her officers on the bridge with binoculars and telescopes fixed on the shore.
“There, to starboard, sir, that’s Charles Fort.”
“And James Fort, across the water from it.”
Both forts stood out clearly against the western sky, sharp black silhouettes until the sun cleared the eastern horizon. Captain Durnford adjusted the focusing wheel on his glasses, peering at the top of the fort just as the sun touched it. There was a flag there, hanging limp — then stirring as the dawn breeze caught at its fabric.
“Damn my eyes!” one of the officer gasped. “That is the stars and stripes on that fort!”
“I do believe that it is,” Durnford said, lowering his glasses. “Stop engines.”
His ship still had some way and was sliding steadily into the mouth of the estuary. Just beyond the forts it could be seen that the waterway turned sharply to the left. As the inner reaches of the river came slowly into view they became aware of the growing bulk of an ironclad that was anchored there.
“Full speed astern,” the captain ordered, staring hard at the unfamiliar black shape. “I can truthfully say that vessel is not part of the Royal Navy.”
The propeller bit hard, sending swirls of foam to the surface. In a moment they were moving away from the black menace of the warship which, if it had seen them, which was a certainty, had made no move in their direction. Her anchor chain was visible and a small trickle of smoke rose up from her funnel. That she was well aware of the intruding ship was proven when the immense two-gun turret on her bow rumbled about to face in their direction. Then the headland intervened and the menacing enemy ship vanished from sight again.
“Captain,” the second lieutenant said. “I am certain that I know that ship. Saw her off the Mexican coast. The USS Virginia, two turrets each with two guns. Launched this past summer.”
“I do believe that you are right; she was described in recent Admiralty reports. Set course for the Old Head of Kinsale.”
There was silence on the bridge, but not on deck or in the wardroom below.
“A Yankee ship — here in Irish waters. What can it mean?”
“It means the bloody Yankees have invaded the country — you saw their flags there. Their troops must have been landed, perhaps there was an uprising as well by the Irish, whatever. But they are certainly here, and in some force as well if they stormed and took those forts.”
“Strutten will have found out something, he should know what has happened.”
It was full daylight by the time they were clear of the estuary, and the ship turned south-west for their rendezvous off Kinsale. As they approached the head the ship’s boat could be seen waiting for them. A rope ladder was dropped and Lieutenant Strutten was mounting it even before the falls were hooked onto the boat. He said nothing to the waiting officers, but hurried below to see the captain.
“There is an American warship anchored in the estuary,” the captain said. “The two forts there are taken as well.”
“It is far worse than that,” the lieutenant said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I talked with the captain of the constabulary in Kinsale. They were besieged in their barracks by a mob, but the attackers fled when they saw our guns. He had been to Cork, talked to people who escaped the city, for there was a pitched battle there. No details, just fighting and the like, but he saw the troops and the flags. The city is taken. Troops everywhere, and the crossed American flags above the gates. But no landings were m
ade, he was sure of that. Talk is that there were trains, from Limerick Junction, for Dublin. The telegraph lines have been cut, so there is no real information, just speculation and rumors.”
“And facts. We know that the enemy were in Belfast — and now Cork. It stands to reason that Dublin would be attacked as well. There have been attacks, dastardly attacks. Our sovereign nation has been stabbed in the back!”
Frustrated and livid with anger, Captain Durnford hammered on the porthole frame.
“The country must know. Milford Haven in Wales, that is the nearest port with a telegraph station. Set the course, full speed. As soon as the boat is back aboard. England must know the full extent of this disaster!”
He looked grimly north along the Irish coast. “When that is done we will have to go and see what is happening with the troops at Carnlough Bay.”
TROUBLE TO THE NORTH
In the attack on Belfast, the 83rd Regiment of Foot had put up a strong defense of their barracks on North Queen Street, a solidly built and sturdy compound of buildings. While he knew that the Gatling guns were first-rate against troops in the field, not for the first time did General Robert E. Lee wish that he had had some artillery to fall back on. It wasn’t until the 33rd Mississippi had stormed the artillery barracks to the north of the infantry barracks that the battle had tilted in the direction of the American troops. There were cannon in store there, old smooth-bore 12-pounders that fired solid iron shot. General Longstreet had them pushed out onto the drill field even before the last of the defenders there had been subdued. Horses were brought from the stables and hitched up, while axe-men broke down the door to the powder store. Longstreet looked inside, then waved his men back.
“There’s black powder all over the flagstones in there. Take off those boots — anyone who goes in there goes in barefoot. If a hobnail on a boot makes a spark on the flags we’ll all be blown to kingdom come.”
The barrels of gunpowder were gingerly loaded onto the gun limbers, along with the round shot, horses were hitched up and Longstreet and his men followed the guns when they headed back to the infantry barracks. Behind them the firing died away as the last defenders surrendered; ahead the firing seemed to be as brisk as ever.
The arrival of the three cannon changed all that. The barracks was solidly built, but it was no fort. The wooden doors, and the surrounding masonry, were soon battered down by the solid shot. Lee ordered a bayonet charge which, urged on by rebel yells, rolled over the few defenders inside. Once the prisoners had been taken away, General Lee set up his headquarters in the offices inside.
The reports came in, one by one, and he permitted himself the smallest of smiles. Carrickfergus Castle had been shelled from the sea and had surrendered.
“The remaining defenders at the Ulster Railway Station have surrendered, General,” Captain Green said. “That seems to be the last strong point.”
“How are the casualties?”
“Seen worse,” Green said, passing over the list. As Lee picked it up a runner brought in a message; Lee looked at it.
“Trouble to the north.” He bent over the map. “The patrol we pushed north along the coast road past Larne have come under fire, some strong resistance at a village named Ballyruther. Scotch troops they say, soldiers wearing kilts. Colonel Clebourne passed the message back. He says he is taking the rest of his division forward from Carrickfergus to reinforce them.”
Lee frowned down at the British Ordnance Survey map. “There are no enemy troops to the north of us that we know of. And there are no sizeable cities at all. There is only this coast road, between the mountains inland and the shore. There are just small villages along the coast, no barracks or camps that we have any record of.”
Major Howard was puzzled. “Then where could they have come from?”
“Here,” Lee said pointing to the coast. “Small ports, harbors — and a very short crossing to Scotland. I think that we can now safely assume that the British know that we are here. Send Clebourne reinforcements — and those smooth-bore cannon as well. Do they have Gatlings?”
“A single one, sir.”
“Reinforce them with four more. Have we opened communication with the south yet?”
“The wire crews are out. Found one break and reported in. They are carrying on south tracing the line. There will be more breaks they said.”
“Let me know the moment that you are through to Dublin. Now what about the Stalwart? Is she still in the harbor at Larne?”
“Yes, sir. She captured the mailboat that goes to Scotland and has bottled her up there.”
“She has more important things to do. Is there a telegraph station at the harbor there?”
“Yes, sir. We have our own telegraph operator working it.”
“Then get a massage to the Stalwart. They are to disable the ferry so she cannot leave port. Then tell them to go north along the coast to find out where those troops came from. Then get my horse — and yours too, Green. I want to see for myself what is happening out there. Longstreet, you are in command here until I return.”
It was Colonel Roberts who brought the telegraph message to General Sherman in Dublin. “General Jackson reports the end of hostilities in Cork,” he said, holding up the telegraph report that had just arrived. “The British know that something has happened in Ireland. One of their armorclads took a look in there, but the Virginia saw her off.”
Sherman took the paper and read it. “We’ve done just as we planned here — and now Cork as well. A model campaign, victory on all fronts. But — what is happening in the north? I must know how General Lee has fared.”
It was midafternoon before the last breaks were repaired and the line was open between Belfast and Dublin. The first message was rushed to Sherman, who quickly read through the sheets of paper while his staff looked on in silence.
“The landings went very well. No resistance whatsoever on the shore of the north coast. Our information was correct. No troops stationed there. They reached Belfast on schedule. Some heavy resistance, but our forces prevailed. But they are now under attack from Scotch troops north of the city. Lee is of the opinion that the British have landed troops on the coast north of Belfast. He has sent the USS Stalwart to investigate and he is proceeding to the battlefront now.” Sherman dropped the report onto his desk. General Meagher picked it up and read it, then passed it to the other staff officers. Sherman had turned to look out of the window, his eyes cold and distant. Seeing past Dublin to Ulster and the clash of forces there.
“I don’t like this at all. The north was always going to be the unknown quantity, and it is proving so now. We have succeeded in the south. All of the coast defenses have been seized and manned as was planned. With the coastal defenses in our hands — and an ironclad in each major port — it will be very difficult for British forces to make any landings of importance along the east coast. Our navy has possession of the sea for the moment. We can defend ourselves here.” He turned his chair back and spoke to his staff.
“We must be bold. Get a telegram to General Jackson in Cork. I want him to send at least half of his forces to join us here in Dublin. Bring along any cannon he has seized as well. General Meagher, you and men of the Irish Brigade must hold the defenses that we now occupy. I am sending the 15th Pennsylvania and the 10th New York to reinforce Lee.”
He looked again at the map. “When General Jackson’s troops arrive I’ll send them on to Belfast. General Lee must hold.” He turned to Captain Green.
“Get word to Commander Goldsborough aboard Avenger. Apprise him of the situation here. Tell him that he is to remain in Dublin, since his guns are vital to our defenses. But if I find that his ironclad is needed in the north he must be prepared to sail immediately.”
This was the first time that the rail line from Dublin to Belfast had been used in the invasion. The men of the 15th Pennsylvania marched slowly through Dublin to the station. They had been awake for over thirty-six hours, and in combat for half of that time. They were
exhausted — but still ready to fight. The quartermaster had seen that their bullet pouches were full. Hot rations were waiting for them before they boarded the train. Within minutes most of them were asleep. They were good soldiers, General Sherman thought, as he walked the length of the train and looked through the windows at the sleeping forms. They needed the rest.
He did too, but he had no time for it. He could sleep only after the reinforcements were on their way north. Guns from Dublin Castle were now being carried through the streets by Dublin draymen. Powder and shot would follow, and the Gatling guns, then more and more ammunition would be needed. The trains the invaders had used to get here from Galway must return there to get the ammunition that was being unloaded from the troop ships. His staff would take care of all of this. They were good and efficient officers. Maybe he could take that rest after all.
General Robert E. Lee’s horse was a sturdy hunter. Not half the horse that Traveller was, but serviceable indeed. At a steady gallop he passed the horse-drawn Gatling guns, then the marching troops. Captain Green, on a slower horse, could barely keep up.
“Let’s hear it for good old Bobby Lee!” one of the soldiers called out as he rode by and a great cheer went up. He waved his hat at them and headed for the sound of firing. It grew louder and closer and, when he heard the bullets crackling through the tree leaves above, he dismounted and Green joined him; they led their horses forward. Around a bend they came to a large oak tree with two gray-clad soldiers lying under it. One had a bandage around his head and appeared to be unconscious. The other, with a sergeant’s stripes, had his arm in a sling: he touched the brim of his hat with his left hand.
“Colonel sent me back with Caleb, General. Seeing how I can’t fire no gun or nothing and Caleb, he’s doing poorly.”
“What is the situation that you know of?”
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