When Longstreet saw that the beach landings were going as smoothly as could be expected, he ordered the two boatloads of marines to begin their own landings. They did not join the army on the beach, but were rowed instead across the mouth of the River Bann, to land at the little village of Castlerock on the far side. A few early-rising people gaped at the marching troops, then quickly closed and locked their doors. A uniformed constable came out to see the cause of the tramping feet and was instantly seized.
“Into the constabulary with him,” the lieutenant ordered. “Take any arms you find. If there is a cell lock him in it.” He smiled at the stunned gaping man. “This newly begun war is already over for you, suh.”
“What war?” the man gasped.
“Now that’s a fair question. Hasn’t got a name yet that I know of.”
There was a whistle in the distance and he led his men at a swift trot to the station. It was a freight train from Londonderry heading south towards Belfast. The marines quickly clambered aboard while the lieutenant, his Colt.45 Peacemaker revolver in his hand, rode the footplate behind the terrified driver.
In the harbor of Portrush General Lee watched the orderly disembarking of his troops and he was pleased. A textbook operation. A captain of his staff approached and saluted.
“Two trains in the Portrush station, sir. Getting up steam now.”
“Flatcars?”
“More than enough for the Gatling guns, General.”
“Fine. Load them up. Board as many troops as you can. Get the rest of them moving on the road to Coleraine. It’s about four miles. We’ll rendezvous there. What was the condition of the telegraph?”
“Inoperable. Line broken somewhere between here and Belfast.”
“Fine. Everything is going according to plan.” He wrote a quick note and handed it to a runner. “For the captain commanding the transports.”
Once the army was safely ashore and military situation in hand, the transports were to leave and rendezvous at Limerick to refuel. The two ironclads would head south as well — to Belfast. Part of the overall plan was to restore telegraph communication as they advanced. His report would apprise Sherman of the success so far.
By road and train the soldiers moved south to join forces again at Coleraine. They had landed successfully without a shot being fired. The telegraph wires had been cut, no alarm had been raised, their presence in Ireland known only here. Now they moved south towards Belfast confident that they could take the enemy there by surprise.
Not for the first time had General Robert E. Lee cut himself free of his base and marched his forces against an enemy.
He liked it that way.
Well before ten that morning, by road and by rail, they entered Ballymoney where Lee ordered a halt. The pickets were out, both before and behind — and on both flanks as well. His army was used to living off of the country — only this time they paid for the privilege. Good U.S. greenbacks in exchange for the hams, chickens and other vittles. There had also been some reluctant horse purchases; the gentlemen had little option but to agree. All of his staff were now mounted, Lee himself on a handsome thirteen hand hunter. He took time only to snatch a few mouthfuls of food before gathering his officers around him.
“We are here — and Belfast is here. If we keep to this march we should reach Belfast around three in the morning…” He looked up as Major Craig hurried up.
“Run into another train on a siding, sir. Any more like this and we’ll all be able to ride the cars in style.”
Like most of rural Ireland there was only a single train track leading south. When a train entered a block of single track it picked up a brass “key” on a metal loop from the stationmaster. Only the train with the key was allowed on the single track. At the other end of the block the train would enter a siding while the key would be passed to the up train, which would be waiting on the other track for the down train to pass. Then it could use this section of track, sure that there would not be a head-on collision with a train moving in the opposite direction.
Not today. As the invaders had encountered each waiting train they had seized it and added it to the American cause. Now the first train, seized in Castlerock, was led by three trains, laden with troops, all of them moving majestically in reverse.
“That is good news indeed,” Lee said. “The fresher the troops, the easier the victory.” He looked back to the map. “We’ll make a halt again in Antrim. Looks to be ten miles out of Belfast. Then we’ll go on three hours before dawn. At first light we will hit them and hit them hard. You all have assigned targets so we all know what must be done. Nevertheless we will go over the attack once again in detail.”
At first light the first train rattled into Blank Street Station. The first of the marching troops had already secured the area around the station and willing hands rolled the Gatling guns from the cars and into the streets. All along the line of march horses had been seized, and paid for, and were now waiting to be hitched up to the guns. There was sporadic fire from the city, but nothing heavy and concentrated until the infantry barracks on North Queen Street was surrounded, the artillery barracks next to it as well.
The Battle of Belfast had begun.
While far to the south the battle for Cork was over. The trains from Galway had brought the American forces into Cork Station. Stonewall Jackson’s troops had fanned out while the Gatling guns were being unloaded. The attackers had spread out along the Lower Glanmire Road, through the fields and past the hospital. They had crossed the Old Youghal Road and had launched a fierce attack on the barracks there — which was almost over even before the first ragged bugle call had sounded the warning.
The impregnable forts guarding the entrance to the harbor were taken from the rear, even as the gunners were firing ranging shots at the great black bulk of the ironclad. The attacking ship had fired two broadsides before retiring out of range. The first that the gunners knew that they were under attack from the land was when they saw the bayonets at their throats.
It was indeed a new kind of lightning war.
IRELAND UNDER SIEGE
General Arthur Tarbet was wakened by the hammering on his bedroom door. He blinked his eyes open and saw that there was the first light of dawn around the window curtains.
“What is it?” he called out.
“Ships, sir. Battleships in the lough!”
Even as the words were spoken there came the rumble of distant gunfire.
“Damn it to hell!” he swore as he kicked the bed covers off and jammed his feet into his boots. He pulled on his heavy woolen robe and stumbled hastily across the room. He was seventy-five years old, arthritic and weary, and had been offered command of Her Majesty’s forces in Belfast as a sinecure, an easy post to fill while he awaited his retirement. This was obviously not to be. Captain Otfried, the officer of the day, was waiting for him.
“What is happening, Captain?”
“A certain confusion, sir. Something has gone wrong with the telegraph connection to the gun batteries on the Lough. Not functioning. They sent a runner to report. At least two ironclads are in Belfast Lough. I imagine that is their firing that we hear.”
“Any identification?”
“None at the moment. Though we can safely assume—”
“Yankees. Bloody Yankees. I can figure that one out for myself. Telegraph Dublin at once.”
“I’m afraid that line is not functioning either.”