Soon after midnight, on May 20, the ships took in their lines and went to sea. It was a straight run of less than a hundred and forty miles across the Irish Sea to the British shore. Dawn found them in Liverpool Bay, with the first warships already steaming up the Mersey.
The attack was a complete surprise to the shocked Liverpudlians, the crashing of heavy guns the first intimation that their country was again at war. Every fort, gun battery, and military installation had been carefully marked on the American charts. Years of spying had not been in vain. Each of the ironclads had its own specific targets. The sun was still low in the eastern horizon when the first guns fired.
High explosives smashed into the defenses, sending guns, masonry, and pieces of men hurtling out from the maelstrom of death that was spread by the heavy shells. A cavalryman, clutching his wounded arm, galloped his horse through the empty streets to the central telegraph office. He hammered on the sealed door with the pommel end of his saber until he finally broke it open. A terrified operator soon appeared, sat down at his machine still wearing his nightclothes, and sent word of the invasion to London.
For the first time in over eight hundred years, Britain was being invaded. Shock — and then horror — spread through the island. The barbarians were at the gate.
General Sherman had set up his headquarters in the customhouse in Cork City. This was a handsome white stone building that stood at the very end of the island on which the center of the city had been built. From the tall windows he had a fine view of the river Lee. The North Channel and the South Channel of the river joined together just before his windows, blue and placid, flowing out into Cork Lough. Filled now with the varied ships of the southern invasion fleet. The transports were close in, many of them tied up at the city’s wharves. Farther down the river, in Cork Harbor, were the ironclad ships of war, with others on patrol farther east where the river met the sea. Enemy warships had probed in this direction, but were driven off long before they could observe a thing. As much as possible all ship movements had been kept secret — other than the few chance observations that could be expected. The Americans had proclaimed publicly that they were protecting Irish shipping from the incursions of foreign powers. The British protestations about entry into their coastal waters were pointedly ignored.
General Grant entered the room and looked at the large MAY 20 displayed on the calendar before he sat down across the desk from General Sherman. He ran his fingers thoughtfully through his thick beard.
“May the twentieth,” he said. “Dublin telegraphed as soon as the last ships sailed. Barring breakdowns at sea, the city of Liverpool will have come under attack this morning.”
“A percentage of ship losses was allowed for in the operating orders,” General Sherman said. “So the attack will have gone ahead as planned.”
“When will we know anything?”
“It will be hours yet. Only after all strongpoints have been taken and the first trains seized will word be carried back to Dublin by the fastest vessel. They’ll know first, then will telegraph the news on to us.”
Sherman nodded his head toward the open door and telegraphists working in the room across the hall. Wires were festooned from the ceiling and ran out of the window, connecting them to the central post office and the fleet.
“The waiting is not easy,” Grant said. He took a black cheroot from his breast pocket, struck a sulfur match, and lit it.
“It never is,” Sherman said. “But patience must be our watchword. One thing we can be sure of is that word of the attack will be telegraphed to London by now. Undoubtedly they will want to order instant mobilization. We must allow them at least one day to find out what has happened, then to come to a decision as to what must be done.”
“That will be tomorrow, the twenty-first.”
“It will indeed. And I am also allowing that one day for confusion. The government must sit, plan, seek advice, run to the Queen, and back.”
“You estimate that an entire day will pass like that before any firm actions are taken by them?”
“I do.”
Grant puffed out a cloud of smoke, looked unseeingly out of the window. “You are a man of decision, Cumph. I would not like to be in your position and be responsible for the progress of this war. I would have continued the invasion at once.”
“Then again perhaps you would not, if you were in my shoes. It is a command decision — and once made it cannot be altered. In London, evaluations will have to be made as well, orders written and transmitted. Their thinking will have to change completely, which is never an easy thing to do, because they have never been in this position before. For the first time their armies will not be attacking — but defending. Of course, there is always the possibility that plans have been made for such an eventuality. But even if they have plans, they will have to be unearthed, examined, modified. If anything, I think that I am being overly conservative in allowing only a single day for confusion. But it is too late to change all that. I am sure that tomorrow will be a quiet day for all the enemy forces in the country. I am positive that meaningful movement of troops will not happen until the twenty-second.”
“And then they will all be marching toward the Midlands to counter the invasion.”
“They will indeed,” Sherman said; there was no warmth in his smile. “So it will be on the twenty-third that you will sail with your men.”
“I look forward to that moment, as do all the troops. By which time we will surely have been informed how the first invasion, at Liverpool, is proceeding.”
“I am counting upon you to drive your attack home.”
“I will not fail you,” Grant said in an even voice that was firm, even gruff. He would get the job done all right. Sherman knew that if any general in the entire world could succeed, it was Ulysses S. Grant.
As soon as the Liverpool fortifications had been leveled and the guns silenced by the naval fire, the transports of the invading army tied up one by one at the city’s central docks. The ships that were already berthed there had their hawsers unceremoniously cut and were towed to the Birkenhead side of the river, where they were run aground. Even while this was happening the gangways on the Irish ships were dropped. The first men ashore were Irish riflemen, who fanned out in defensive positions and took shelter from any counterattack. They were scarcely under cover before the loading ramps of the special transports were extended and the American cavalry galloped out into the morning light.
Within an hour the waterfront was secured while the attackers fanned out through the city. There were pockets of resistance, which were swiftly reduced because after the cavalrymen left the transports and charged forward into battle, the cannon were unloaded. As they emerged they were prevented from too fast progress down the ramps by restraining ropes that were wrapped around deck winches. Slowly and carefully they were rolled down onto the dock. The horses were in their traces within minutes. The Gatling guns, being much lighter, were manhandled down the ramps to the dockside, where their horses were hitched up. The cannon, with caissons and limbers attached, were soon ready to go into battle as well. The advance continued into the city, slowly and inexorably.
General Robert E. Lee had set up his headquarters close by the Mersey. Runners, and an occasional cavalryman, brought their reports to him.
“There is a strong defense at the barracks, here,” Colonel Kiley said, touching his finger to the map of the city spread out on the table.