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.”
Lee turned slowly, looking at the terrain with a general’s eye. Then he took out his Ordnance Survey map and called Green over.
“As near as I can make out the fighting is going on about here. What I want is a new defense line here at these villages. Corkermain and Carncastle. From the hills to the shore. Make use of the natural cover.” He took the notepad from his saddlebag and wrote a quick note, then handed it to the captain.
“The reinforcements will be coming up behind us. Give them this order. I want them to form a firing line in these fields here, to left and right, using those stone walls we passed. Get some trees across this road and put the Gatlings behind them. I want them to send a runner forward as soon as that is done so we can fallback on this position.”
His aide galloped off and Lee gave the sergeant his horse to hold — then went towards the sound of battle.
Colonel Clebourne had his headquarters in a ramshackle barn, now well perforated with bullet holes.
“Are you holding them, Pat?” Lee asked when he came up.
“Good to see you, General. Just about. But ammunition is running low and I don’t think we could stop another a bayonet attack like the last one.”
The defenders were spread out in a thin line to right and left. Most sheltering behind the hedgerows or in a sunken lane. The firing was occasional and spattering — until there was a throaty roar from the enemy soldiers out of sight down the hill. Another charge was being made. The firing was almost continuous now.
“Hold them as long as you can, Pat. There are reinforcements coming up right behind me. I’m moving them into defensive positions to your rear. As soon as they are there you can pull your men back.”
The Gatling gun fell silent as its ammunition ran out; the gunners removed the firing handle, rendering it inoperable. There was no way they could take it with them when they fell back. The defenders only had their Spencer rifles now — and they were down to their last tubes of cartridges. Enough — just enough — to break the charge. A dozen kilted soldiers made it to the defenders behind the wall. It was hand-to-hand combat before they were pushed back. General Lee was reloading his pistol when the runner came up.
“Major says to tell you, sir, that the line is in position.”
“Good. Pat, let us start pulling your men back.”
It was a close-run thing. The attackers were overrunning the positions even as the gray-clad soldiers fell back. But it was a fighting retreat to the second line of reinforcements. A light rain began to fall. The British advance was being held.