It was a moonless night, but they could see the dark path of the bureen clearly enough by starlight. It was close to an hour before they could make out the roofs of Dualla, sharp against the stars.
“You’ll be able to find the cottage?” Condon asked.
“With me eyes closed. I was born there, never went anyplace else until we took the ship.”
“Good. Look, I’m going to wait here until you find your uncle, and you know that everything is all right. I’ll stay in this copse by the road. Come and get me if he is alone. And remember — my name is Kelly. Do you have that straight?”
“Yes, sir,” Gallagher muttered. He had only been asked this question a dozen times. “I’ll see the uncle first.”
He trudged on through the village, finding his way without thinking about it, wondering at what kind of a reception he would get. As he passed the dark doorway of the village store a voice spoke from the shelter.
“Now who would that be, out and about this time of night?”
The cover was opened on a bull’s-eye lantern and he stood transfixed in the beam. In the sudden glare he could make out the distinctive cap of a Royal Irish Constable. He felt his heart surge in his chest, thought he was going to die.
“Speak up, boyo,” the man said, not unkindly. Jimmy fought to speak, managed to squeeze out the words.
“My uncle, here, Patrick Gallagher…”
“So you’re Paddy’s nephew. I could well believe that since you’re the spit of him. Been away working?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well get on with you then. He’ll be wanting to see you.”
Jimmy tried not to stumble when he turned away. Forced himself to walk, not run, from this frightening presence. There was his home, further down the street, a light showing from a chink by the window. Was the door locked? Never to his knowledge. He lifted the latch and opened the door.
“Whoosh,” the man sitting in the chair by the fire said. He had been dozing, only awoke when the door creaked open. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, uncle. Jimmy.”
Gallagher was awake now — his jaw dropped wide. “May the saints preserve us — is it indeed you, little Jimmy? By God it is, grown and filled out. But you’re in America across the ocean…”
“ ’Tis a long story, uncle Paddy, and I’ll tell you all about it in a moment. But I have a friend with me, could I bring him in?”
“Of course, lad.”
“I met a constable on the way here, he stopped me.”
“That would be old Bert. Rattles the door handles a bit this time of night.”
“Do you think he is still out there?”
“No, he’ll be tucked in by now.” Paddy frowned. “Not in trouble with the law, are you?”
“No, not at all. Let me go get Capt… Mr. Kelly. He’ll explain everything far better than I can.”
He went out, almost whistling. He was home, safe. Everything was going to be all right.
The village retired early because light cost money — and there was very little of that about. Jimmy met no one as he walked between the dark and silent cottages. He found the copse easily enough. “Captain” he whispered when Condon appeared at his shoulder.
“Try to forget my rank, Jimmy, that’s a good lad. You must forget that we’re in the army when we are here in Ireland. If you can’t call me Patrick — well then ‘sir’ will have to do. Did you find your uncle?”
“I did. I told him I was going to get you, nothing else.”
“You did fine.”
Jimmy’s uncle had brewed a pot of tea and was pouring it into thick mugs when they returned. They shook hands and Paddy cocked his head, curious.
“So you’re a friend of Jimmy’s, are you then, Mr. Kelly?”
“I am happy to say that I am.”
“Sure and you’re a good deal older than him.”
“I am. But that can be easily explained. I first came to know him through an organization we both belong to, a patriotic group that raises money in the cause of Ireland.”
“Which she can certainly use a bit of that,” Paddy said emphatically. “ ’Tis a land of poverty and hunger.”
“It is. And we know whose responsibility that is.”
Paddy looked up, his face grim. “Then it’s not the hunger you use the money for — it’s for the politics. And I tell you now, I’m not one for politics.”
“We are all for politics,” Condon said grimly, “when it means freedom for Ireland.”
“I did not invite you to my house, Mr. Kelly,” Paddy said in a cold voice. “And I can ask you to leave.”
“You can — and I will. But hear me out first. I am a member of the Fenian Circle. Our aim is a free Ireland. In order to one day accomplish that goal we must know everything we can about the enemy. Where their troops are stationed, how many there are, their battlefield readiness. We also need to know all about her railroads because troops travel by train. We are not searching for fighters, not yet, but we do need good Irishmen who can supply the information that we need so badly. Would you be one of them?”
Paddy waved away the suggestion. “I know nothing of matters military. I’m an engine driver, nothing more.”
Condon leaned across the table, spoke the words softly. “These are modern times and modern war. As I said, troops travel by train. The more we know the more we can prepare.”
“So that’s it, is it? You want me to spy for you.”
“We don’t need spies. We need loyal Irishmen who can record what they see. You can be paid…”
“Hush, man,” he responded angrily. “Money is for informers and spies and gobbeen men. If I do anything for you it will be for the good of Ireland — not for myself.”
“Then you will do it?”
The trainman turned to his nephew. “And you are working for these Fenians, Jimmy?”
“Aye.”
“Is it dangerous?”
Jimmy shrugged. “Don’t know. Could maybe be. But I enlisted with my eyes open. And I will fight.” Did he mean the army — or the Fenians? Or both? Yes, it was both. Paddy smiled and leaned back in his chair.
“Well if a wee lad can do it — why then a man of my years cannot say ‘no.’ I have never been a political man. But, when it comes down to it, I am a loyal Irishman and would dearly love to see Ireland free. Is that what you wanted to hear, Mr. Kelly?”
“It is indeed — and I can only think the more of a man who puts country before heart and head.”
It was easier now. Paddy made a fresh pot of tea and they drank it in friendship. Condon explained all the things they needed to know, and told him to memorize what he found out, and to keep nothing on paper. In the end he took out a five-pound note and held it up. Smiling at Paddy’s frown.
“This is not for you, my friend, but to identify someone who is also a friend.” He tore it in half and passed one piece over. “Whoever shows you the other half is one of us. Tell him everything that you know. Agreed?”
“Agreed. Though ’tis an awful crime to treat a fiver like this.”
“One day soon the two pieces will be conjoined and it will be as good as new. Now, could you tell me — when can we get a train back to Dublin?”
“That will be the seven oh six. But if it’s sooner you want to leave I’m taking a goods train out at four. You could ride the footplate as long as you didn’t get in the way.”
“Your fireman would see me, remember me.”
Paddy laughed. “Not old Seamus. Deaf as a post with the curiosity of a thick plank. And you won’t be the first, inspectors and suchlike ride in the cab. Seamus will keep his nose clean, remember nothing.”
“Where will Jimmy ride?”
“He’s not going on this train. The constable saw him last night and would wonder where he vanished to if he didn’t see him around. Let him stay a day or two and I’ll see he gets to Dublin. And it has been donkey’s years. The lad and me have a lot to talk about.”
“That is fine
by me. Three days from now, Jimmy, on the Thursday. Take that first morning train and I’ll be waiting at the station in Dublin.”
FIGHTING BACK
Captain Green was very proud of himself, his ship and his crew. The USS Hartford had taken a severe beating during the war when she had run the gauntlet between Fort Jackson and Fort St. Philip on the Mississippi. She had run aground once, had worked her way back into the river, then had caught fire — but still went on to lead the fleet that had seized New Orleans. After that battle Admiral Farragut had transferred his flag, then the Hartford had limped back to the Washington Naval Yard for repairs. The refitting had proceeded at a leisurely pace, mainly because most of the military supplies and guns had gone to the newly built ironclads. Even though the Hartford was wooden hulled, she was well armed with cannon and, since she was powered by both steam and sail, could go anywhere that her captain desired. Just two days after her refit was completed he was in his cabin working on the new manifests when his first lieutenant, Lathers, knocked on the door.
“Officer coming aboard, sir, just got word. Gustavus Fox, Assistant Secretary of the Navy.”
“We should be honored. Bring him down when he gets here.”
Gus Fox wore his naval uniform: in the navy yard it would be less conspicuous. The captain and his first lieutenant were waiting. Trying to hide their curiosity at the reason for this visit.
“I have your sailing orders, Captain.” Fox pushed over the sealed envelope. “I would appreciate it if you would read them now.”
Captain Green opened the envelope and quickly scanned the contents. The orders were brief and to the point. He passed the sheet of paper to Lathers. Who read it and shook his head in puzzlement.
“ Salina Cruz in Mexico? Why — I’ve never even heard of the place!”
Captain Green smiled and tapped the chart that lay open on the table between them. “You’ve not been keeping up with the news. This used to be a small fishing port in Mexico, on the shores of the Gulf of Tehuantepec …”
“Of course! This the Pacific port where the British have landed all those troops.”
“The very place.” They both turned to look at Fox. “I imagine you brought this order in person for reasons of your own,” the captain said.
“I certainly did. I want to tell you what you are going to do when you reach this port. You are being sent to make our presence felt down there, and yours will be the first American ship to have that honor. We want you to use your best judgement as how to do that. There are British ships there and we want them destroyed. You are to leave for Mexico as soon as your coal bunkers are full and supplies boarded.”
The two officers smiled together at the thought. Lieutenant Lathers traced his finger down the Atlantic coast of South America, to Tierra del Fuego, and through the Drake Passage and past Cape Horn.
“Damned long way to go,” he said. “All the way south, then back up the Pacific coast.”
“But we can do it,” Green said. “We will steam as far as Montevideo. Then we fill our coal bunkers there, then full sail to the Cape. Get through the Drake Passage under steam so we won’t have to beat about for weeks. We’ll be a good deal slower than usual, but we’ll make it. Then once we reach Mexico—” He slammed his fist down on the chart.
“The cat will be among the pigeons!” He turned to Fox. “Do we have any idea what is waiting for us there?”
Fox smiled happily. “The last report said that there were transports only. Some of them armed I am sure. But no ships of the line were reported. Certainly no ironclads. With a little bit of luck…”
He did not need to finish the sentence. They all knew what the firepower of this ship could do.
“You are to sink any and all ships in the port. If you can fire on any of the shore positions without endangering your ship, why you are to do that as well. When you are done you will sail to San Francisco where orders will be awaiting you. Any questions?”
“None, sir. But I do want to thank you for the assignment. It will be done — just as you said.”
Two days later, in a pelting rainstorm, they took in their lines and under a full head of steam headed south. After coaling in Argentina, they would not touch land again until they reached the Pacific coast.
They encountered the usual storms at the Cape, and westerly winds greeted them when they reached Tierra del Fuego. Instead of beating about waiting for favorable winds, they lit the fires in the boilers and steamed through the Drake Passage and around the Cape. Then, with their fires damped, they sailed north until they reached El Salvador and went ashore at Acajutla. There they emptied out the foul green water from their barrels and filled them with sweet spring water, while the cook bought fresh fruit and vegetables. When they left it was on a west-north-west heading that would take them into the Gulf of Tehuantepec.
Dawn revealed a narrow stretch of jungle off their starboard bow, backed by the jagged mountains of the Sierra Madre. The westerly trade winds moved them along briskly and there was no need now to dip into their irreplaceable store of coal. The engine was silent, the boiler cold since they had not used it since they had forced themselves west against the headwinds while rounding the Cape. Only when the Oaxaca mountains were visible ahead, with the tiny white specks of a village rising above the shore, did the captain order the engine room to raise steam. He did not know what he would find ahead — and he was on a lee shore. Not for the first time did he bless the steam engine that could get a sailing ship out of trouble.
“Sails ho!” the lookout called out: Captain Green trained his glass at the coast ahead. “Three, four — maybe five,” he said. “What a gorgeous sight.”
Black smoke puffed from the stack as the sails were lowered and Hartford aimed for the enemy ships. They had surely been seen because white sails suddenly blossomed along the bare masts of the British ships. But they were late, far too late, for the warship was bearing down upon them at a good eleven knots. They were fat Indiamen, all of them, and not very used to setting sail with such little notice. The first two ships were anchored no more than a hundred feet apart.
“Helmsman,” Green ordered. “Sail between them. Guns, fire as soon as you bear on your target.” He signaled the engine room to reduce speed. Hartford slid through the green, transparent water. On the gun decks the cannon were rolled out, the gun captains gripping the lanyards of their igniters.
The first cannon fired and the ship’s frame shivered. Then the others, one after another, as the Hartford passed between the two ships.
There was a yellow puff of smoke from the Indiaman to port, the only resistance, but the cannonball screamed over the Hartford’s deck, missing completely.
Not so the well-laid guns of the American warship. At point blank range the cannon roared out. The solid shot crashing through the hulls of the British ships. Tearing down bulkheads, dismasting the port ship, the blast from the guns starting numberless fires. When Hartford steamed on, the two shattered hulls lay low in the water behind her, on fire, drifting towards the shore. Their attacker raised more steam again and turned towards the other ships.
Within a half an hour the scene at the peaceful anchorage had changed completely. One battered ship was beached and burning. Three others were in hopeless condition, holed, burning, sinking. One desperate captain had run his ship ashore — but this was no escape. Hartford stood in as close as she could, almost in the surf, and battered her into wreckage.
“Cannon on shore, sir,” the first mate said. The captain, for the first time, realized that they were under fire. There were at least six guns ashore firing at them. But their fire was wildly inaccurate, with only a few shells sending up waterspouts close to them.
“All right, we’ve done what we can,” the captain said with great satisfaction. “Raise sail. We’ll stop the engine as soon as we are on a west-south-west heading to clear that headland. Then north to California. There will hopefully be some coal for us there.”
He looked back at the ruined ships an
d smiled. “At least we will be able to telegraph some good news to Washington. A fine day’s work, lads, fine indeed.”
General William Tecumseh Sherman and General Robert E. Lee had Room 313 to themselves, with strict orders that they were not to be disturbed. Sherman now had his own key to the map cabinet. After bolting the room’s door from the inside he unlocked the cabinet and opened its door wide.
“There it is, Robert. The country that we must free.”
The two generals had become more than just allies working in a common cause, they had formed a close bond of friendship. Both men were of the same mind, tacticians who had a ruthless and determined drive to win. Neither enjoyed defending, both relished the attack. Now they were working to a common purpose.
“Do you have an invasion plan in mind?” Lee asked.
“A probable structure. Which is why I called you here today. First, let us look to the enemy defenses. The British have long worried about a French invasion of this island and have been building forts and coastal defenses for years. Most of them along the eastern coast where the centers of population are. They run from Londonderry here on the north coast — then go right around to Belfast and down to Newry. Past Dublin, to Waterford and Cork. There are forts and Martello towers all along the way, making this a very inhospitable coast. I can see no reason to charge headfirst against these obstacles.”
“I am in complete agreement, Cumph. And for another important reason as well. The people.”
“Agreed. We have friends in the south. But all of our reports assure us that the Northern Protestants will side with the English. I am assured by those who know that the population might very well rise against any invasion.”
“I sincerely believe that they will. The north will be a tough nut to crack.” Sherman looked up at the wall clock. “I asked General Meagher to bring Surgeon Reynolds here at three o’clock. He is a northern Catholic who can tell us what we need to know about the situation in Ulster. I am seriously considering taking him into our confidence about the invasion. That may be the only way to get the information that we must have.”
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