“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?”
“Pretty bad until he showed up with his men. We’re hunkered down behind a stone wall but them Scotties coming around the flanks. More and more of them.”