The telegraph operator sent his message along the newly installed wire to the Customs House. As soon as it was transcribed it was handed to the signalman from the Avenger whose flags quickly relayed it to the ship.
Short seconds later a second shell exploded. “Much better.” Buchner smiled and rubbed his hands together. This was going to work after all. “Tell them that they are on target and can fire at will.”
A few minutes later shell after shell began to explode in Dublin Castle.
General Sherman had his artillery — even if it was mounted aboard an ironclad. This was indeed a new kind of war that they were fighting.
General Napier was at a staff meeting in the Curragh when Lieutenant Knight burst in. “General, sir, I do believe that the Americans have invaded this country. I saw a train filled with American soldiers. Unloading. Coming this way.”
“Indeed,” Napier said. He was a good field officer but he did not like to be rushed. “Show me where.” He pointed to the map hanging on the wall.
“Here, sir, a ruddy great trainload of them. Blue uniforms, I remember them from the Hudson valley.”
Napier nodded. “This would explain why all the telegraph lines are down. If there is an invasion on it would be simple enough to get some of the locals to take care of that bit of sabotage. I am sure that they would exact great pleasure from interfering with our communications.” He looked around at his assembled officers. “Gentlemen. Let us go to war.”
General Hooker’s scouts reported contact with the enemy. In strength — with cavalry. Half of his men were crossing the ploughed fields and that wouldn’t do.
“Fall back to the last hedgerow. And bring up the Gatlings — we are going to need them.”
The fire grew fiercer when the two armies made contact. The British taking cover before the rapid-firing American rifles. General Napier saw the advance grind to a halt and ordered the cavalry around to flank the Americans. Take them from the rear and pin them down. Then go in for the kill.
The cavalry galloped out, jumping fences as they moved through the green fields. The Americans here were jammed in the single road between high hedges. A killing ground for the heavy cavalry sabers. With a roar they charged.
The Gatling guns that had hurriedly been driven forward opened up with their heady blast of sound. Horses screamed and fell, troopers as well as the hail of lead poured into them. In moments the charge was broken, the troops dismembered, killed.
General Napier did not know it yet, but the battle of the Curragh was as good as lost. His men were brave soldiers and good fighters. But they could not stand up to this new weapon of death.
With the charge broken, General Joe Hooker’s men pushed forward once again. The Gatling guns ready to demolish any resistance that stood in their way.
MOST SHOCKING NEWS
The officer ran out of the front door of the Horse Guards and across the courtyard. The two mounted cavalrymen in front of their guardboxes, as they had been trained to do, did not stir a muscle. Although they did look at him out of the corners of their eyes as his boots clattered across the cobbles towards them.
“You!” he shouted, “Trooper Brown. Take this!”
He shoved the piece of paper into the gloved hand of the mounted sentry.
“Take it to Buckingham Palace — to the Prime Minister. He is meeting with the Queen. Put that bloody saber away and go!”
That was a clear order that had to be obeyed. Brown seized the sheet of paper as he jammed his saber back into its scabbard, kicked his horse into action with his spurs and galloped out into Whitehall. Pedestrians turned and gaped at this wondrous sight. Here was one of the guards who was formally mounted in front of the Horse Guards, wit
h plumed steel helmet, shining gorget, now galloping wildly away. Dodging between the cabs and turning into the Mall. As he galloped its length he managed to take a glimpse at the paper he was carrying, gasped aloud and spurred his mount even harder.
Through the palace gates and clattering across the cobbled courtyard. His horse reared up as he pulled hard on his reins, then jumped to the ground.
“For the Prime Minister!” he shouted as he ran past the astonished porter, clumsy in his high boots.
Lord Palmerston was sure that the Queen understood little of what she was hearing now. Yet she wanted to see every order and hear every government decision herself. Not for the first time did he miss Prince Albert. A man of intelligence and decision. Not this pop-eyed and plump little woman, he thought unkindly. He doubted if she understood one word in ten. Lord Russell droned on about the exhaustive and boring administrative details of the latest tax rise. Stopping when, after a brief knock, the door was thrown wide and the cavalryman clattered in.
“A telegraph message, a matter of some emergency for Lord Palmerston,” the equerry called out.
The messenger stamped to a halt, thudding and jangling as he came to attention and saluted. Queen Victoria’s jaw dropped. Palmerston reached out and seized the paper, read the first three words and gasped aloud.
“Good God!”
“What is the meaning of this?” Victoria shouted, her temper beginning to rise.
“The Americans…” Palmerston could only choke out the words. “The Americans — they have invaded Ireland.”