“It has indeed,” Peter agreed, bending over to read the blessed words.
General William Tecumseh Sherman was also admiring the bold headline in the Irish Times. The first issue of the paper that had been published since the army had reached Dublin. Through the open window he could hear the cheering of the crowd outside in Sackville Street. He had moved his headquarters to the General Post Office here as soon as the telegraph wires had been repaired; all of them seemed to have terminated here. One of his aides had hung his big battleflag outside on the pole next to the main entrance. Now the street was packed solid with people come to see the flag and to cheer the liberating army.
“You are the man of the hour, General,” General Francis Meagher said as he came through the door.
“That credit belongs to you and your men in the Irish Brigade. First in battle, first in peace. We should hang an Irish flag up next to the stars and stripes.”
“We would if we could — but we don’t have one. Yet. I’m thinking that that will be the first order of business. But I’ll be forgetting my head next. The telegraph to Limerick is working again. The troop ship Memphis Star has finished loading and is just waiting for the message.”
“Fine. Here it is. Addressed to President Lincoln.” He handed it to an orderly who hurried away. “The Memphis Star is the fastest ship we have. Got a load of British prisoners below decks. Her captain assured me that she’ll do twenty-one knots all the way to Halifax, Nova Scotia — that’s where the new cable to the United States ends. That message will be in the President’s hands just as soon as the ship docks there.”
Meagher shook his head. “It is a miracle of modern telegraphic communication. It is a brand new world that we live in.”
The Cabinet was meeting when Hay brought the telegram to the President and laid it on the table before him.
“The message from General Sherman that you have been waiting for, Mr. President.”
Lincoln found his fingers trembling slightly when he put his glasses on. But his voice was firm as he read the telegraph message aloud.
“ ‘It is with the greatest pleasure that I inform you that our forces in the field in Ireland have achieved success on every front. The landings in Limerick and Galway were relatively unopposed, so that the attacks on Dublin and Cork went as planned. There was fierce resistance from British troops defending Dublin, but their defeat was the order of the day. The same might be said of Cork as well. The joint operation with the Navy was most successful in all the cities. However the defenders of Belfast, and the counter-attacking forces in the north, put up a strong resistance. They were in the end overwhelmed and defeated.
“ ‘I have declared martial law until the garrisons and pockets of enemy troops we bypassed in our swift attack are neutralized. They pose no real threat to peace since they are few in number and disorganized. I can therefore truthfully state that we have prevailed by might of arms. Ireland is free.’ It is signed General William Tecumseh Sherman.”
“I make it five days from beginning to end,” the Secretary of War said. “History has seen a Forty Years’ War, as well as other conflicts both longer and shorter. But, gentlemen, I don’t think history has ever seen a war before that began and ended in less than a week. This is a new kind of war, just as General Sherman told us. A lightning war where the enemy is overwhelmed — even as they are discovering that they are being attacked. Ireland is taken, the usurper defeated, the deed done.”
“For that we are most grateful,” Lincoln said wearily. “I, for one, am tired of war no matter how swiftly executed, how rapidly won. Perhaps now our British cousins will read the handwriting on the wall and will begin to underst
and. The warring is done. We look only to peace in the future. My fondest wish is that they will now withdraw their troops from this hemisphere and join us in looking forward to a peaceful future.”
“This is impossible!” Queen Victoria shrieked, her face flaming red under her white face powder. “You stand before Us and say that We are no longer Queen of Ireland?”
Lord Palmerston bent his head in a sorrowful bow. “That, Your Majesty, appears to be the case. We have had the wired report from the Conqueror about her investigations of Cork. In Northern Ireland the Scots troops have fought a successful retreat and have returned with the news that Belfast is taken as well. In addition there is the telegram from Holyhead that the mail ship from Kingstown has arrived on schedule, for the first time in a week. There were only British passengers aboard, and the vessel was short-handed since only British sailors remained on her crew. However she did carry copies of an Irish newspaper, which, in its entirety, is being telegraphed here even as we speak.” He straightened up and proffered a handful of telegraph papers. “These are the first to arrive. They speak in some detail of the defeat of our forces and the jubilation of the natives at what is referred to as the removal of the English yoke…”
Palmerston ceased speaking when he realized that the Queen was no longer listening. She was wailing, half-fainting, crying into the kerchief held by one of the circle of ladies-in-waiting who attended her. Murmuring his regrets Lord Palmerston bowed his way out.
“A damn’ black day indeed!” he said as the door closed behind him. He shoved the papers into his pocket as he turned to leave the palace.
“Damnation!” he shouted at the trembling royal servants. “This is not the end, I swear it is not — but it is the beginning! It will end only when those Americans are destroyed — destroyed to the last man! We were caught by surprise, that is all. This evil shall not prevail.”
A NEW IRELAND IS BORN
It was Sunday, the first Sunday since the brief battle for Ireland had ended with victory for the American troops. Church bells sounded throughout the land and in many churches prayers of thanks were given, and a warm welcome extended to the soldiers who came to attend services. Smiles and handshakes and, even better, in the public houses there was drink all around and no mention of payment expected from these brave men from across the sea.
In the south.
In the north of Ireland, in Belfast and in the cities that the Americans had marched through, the Catholics went to mass in silence, not even glancing at each other as they trod the rain-slick streets. Not until they were inside, and the church doors locked, did they dare speak, voices raised in questions that had no answers.
In Portstewart the Catholic church was next to the sand dunes, behind the beach where the Americans had landed. The priest had stood in the doorway while the long lines of gray clad soldiers had come up from the beach and passed his church. Some had waved to him as they went by. Even others — to his amazement — had crossed themselves as they passed his church. Grinning from ear to ear, he had made the sign of the cross, blessing them over and over. Now it was time to speak about this to his parishioners. The talk died away as he stood in the pulpit.
“We must be silent — and we must be hopeful. Those are the first two things that we must do. Silent because we do not know Ireland’s fate. We have seen the American army move south to Belfast. We can hope them all success there, and in the rest of Ireland. Have they invaded the south as well? We do not know. We can only hope — and we can pray. Pray that these men from across the sea have come here to unite Ireland in a freedom never experienced before. We can pray, pray earnestly for the success of their cause. But we must pray in silence until we know Ireland’s fate. Bow our heads and pray in the hope that they bring to these beleaguered shores.”
In Belfast there was a coldness in the Protestant congregations that matched the chill wind and driving rain under the lowering October sky. General Robert E. Lee and his officers rode from the Townhall Building, where he had his headquarters, to May Street Presbyterian Church where the gentry attended Sunday service. A troop of cavalry trotted by and Lee returned their salute: he noticed the sentries posted outside the government buildings. Martial law was still in effect.
There was a rustle of movement and suppressed whispers when the American officers passed between the high pillars and entered the church. The Reverend Ian Craig was just entering the pulpit and, although a most loquacious man at all other times, he could at this moment think of nothing to say. The military men marched calmly to the front row, which quickly emptied of the few souls there, and seated themselves. The officers sat upright, their hats on their laps, and looked expectantly at Reverend Craig. The silence lengthened until he cleared his voice and spoke.
His sermon was about redemption and brotherly love and was — for him — unexpectedly short. Nor did he stand at the doorway as his parishioners left, as was his wont, but instead hurried into his vestry.
“How do, ma’am,” General Lee said tipping his hat to a black-garbed and elderly woman passing in the aisle. She gasped, looked horrified, and hurried on. As did all the others.