Stars And Stripes In Peril

by Harry Harrison

  "We know about those and they will be taken care of. I am charged with seizing these towers and that I will do to the best of my ability."

  Of the three towers, the one on Cashula Bay proved by far the easiest to take. The marines had made their way from the landing beach to the tower and were concealed in a small copse beside the massive stone wall before dawn. At first light the single wooden door in the base opened and a soldier, in shirtsleeves, braces hanging, came out to relieve himself. The sergeant waved his men forward and a quick rush seized the man. The others were still asleep: the gun was taken.

  The solid granite walls of the other two towers proved more difficult to breach. The attacking Irish troops found places of concealment around them in the dark. They lay there, rifles ready, as the light grew. First Lieutenant James Byrnes carried the charge himself in the attack on the Finvarra Point tower. Making his way in the darkness to the recessed door. As soon as there was light enough to see what he was doing, he packed the charge of blackpowder against the steel door and heaped rocks over it. He had cut the fuse himself; it should burn for two minutes. He lit it and waited until he was sure it was burning steadily. Then moved out of the doorwell, staying tight against the wall, moving around its circular form until he was well away from the explosives.

  The thunderous bang and cloud of black smoke signaled the attack.

  The sharpshooters in the brush poured their fire into the embrasures above. The attacking squads pushed aside the wreckage of the door and charged inside, bayonets fixed.

  There were screams and shots fired. Within three minutes the tower was taken from the completely unprepared soldiers inside. The British had three wounded, one dead. Private Cassidy had a flesh wound in his arm, a pistol bullet lodged there that had been fired by the officer commanding, who slept with the weapon by his bed.

  Lieutenant Byrnes climbed to the top of the tower, stepping aside as the manacled prisoners were led down to the ground. The excited soldiers of the Irish Brigade called to one another, exulting in the quick and successful action. Byrnes came out onto the firing platform, resting his hand on the silent black form of the 400-pounder cannon.

  Dawn was breaking on Galway Bay, golden clouds against the pure, pale blue of the sky. And before him, clear and sharp, were the black and deadly forms of the ironclads coming straight down the center of the bay. Behind them the white-sailed transports with the American troops. Both blue and gray.

  Boldly they came. Ready, by force of arms, to free Ireland. He could not contain himself.

  "Oh, but 'tis a glorious day for the Irish!" he shouted aloud.

  The cheers of his men proved that he had struck a common chord in their breasts.

  The invasion of Ireland had begun.

  Tied up to the wharves of Galway City were a few fishing craft as well as a Customs and Excise steamer. The bane of smugglers, she carried a single swivel gun in the bow. This was powerless against the ironclad Defender that pushed up close to her. Nor were her newly awakened crew able to make a stand against the hardened American marines that slid down the ropes to her decks.

  It was just after dawn. The Customs vessel was now moving clear of the wharves, out into the harbor, as were the fishing vessels hastily manned by their cheering crews. Then the transports arrived and tied up at the wharves: the American soldiers streamed ashore. The few defended British strongpoints were already under attack by the infiltrating Irish troops who had landed near the harbor under cover of darkness. Their job was to hold, not win, until reinforcements arrived. This they did very well, joining the attack when the fresh troops streamed through their positions.

  There were stongpoints that stoutly resisted the infantry attack. Lives were not wasted in suicide attacks; the Irish-American troops simply went to ground. Sniping at the enemy to keep their heads down.

  Because from the newly arrived ships in the harbor wheeled guns were being swung up from the holds, let down on shore. They might have been small cannon—but they were not.

  These were the weapons of the 23rd Mississippi Gatling regiment.

  General William Tecumseh Sherman and his staff had landed behind the first wave of attackers. As reports came in he apportioned the rest of his troops. As the Gatling guns were unloaded he had them rushed to the few places where the enemy was putting up any resistance.

  There were no horses to pull them, not yet. But the fighting front was only yards from the harbor. Sweating, shouting soldiers tied ropes to the guns, and their ammunition limbers, and at a run rushed into battle. Positioned them, put on the ammunition hoppers. And produced a withering fire of lead that chewed up the British positions. Tore into them, sent them reeling back, easy prey for the attacking infantry.

  By nine in the morning the battle of Galway City was over. All of the enemy were dead or taken prisoner. As the captured British were taken back to the now-empty ships, the soldiers were pushing and towing the Gatling guns to the marshaling yard of the railroad. Where almost every passenger car and goods wagon of the entire railroad seemed to have been assembled. The engine drivers were in their cabs, the firemen shoveling in coal.

  General Sherman nodded with approval: it had been almost a textbook operation. The enemy completely surprised and disorganized, overwhelmed and defeated. A staff officer appeared and saluted. "First train loaded. And just about ready to go."

  Behind them the citizens of Galway, now emerging from their homes after the fighting had ended, were almost numb with shock.

  "Go on with youse," a sweating sergeant shouted at them, pushing at the wheel of a Gatling gun that was being pulled aboard a flat car. "Give us a cheer. It's Brits out, don't you see. We're here to set old Ireland free!"

  With that they cheered, oh how they cheered, cheered themselves hoarse with hope and faith that a new day had dawned.

  Now all of the activity was concentrated on the railway terminal. With the fighting ended the streets filled with the ecstatic populace. Many were too stunned to understand what had happened—but to the rest it was Christmas and St. Patrick's Day rolled into one. Of greatest importance now were the secret workers that had been drafted by the Fenian Circle. They were the ones who had made maps of the British positions and counted their troops. Others worked on the railroad and had made both subtle and major changes to the passenger and freight train schedules. The result was that almost all of the rolling stock of the railroad was now in the Galway yards. Working in secret cells, they now emerged into the light of day, green ribbons tied about their arms for identification. Acting as guides they led the soldiers to their selected carriages. One of them, a gray-haired and well dressed man, approached the group of officers, halted, snapped to attention—and gave a very passable salute. Palm facing out.

  "Richard Moore, formerly of Her Majesty's Irish Rifles, sir." He dropped the salute and stood at ease. "Now the station manager here. Welcome to Ireland and to Galway, General."

  "Reports tell me that you have done a most excellent job, Mr. Moore."

  "Thank you, sir. Steam is up in the first train and it is ready to leave. I have coupled on the State Saloon Car for your comfort. And they'll have breakfast ready as soon as you board."

  "Excellent. What is the state of your telegraph?"

  "Out of service. As is I believe every other telegraph system in Ireland. But I have engineers on the first train who will reconnect the wires at each station. You will have communication at all times."

  "I am sincerely grateful, Mr. Moore."

  A train whistle sounded. "Platform one," Moore said. "All aboard. Have a safe journey."

  They boarded the train, welcomed by the cheering soldiers of the 69th New York. Breakfast was indeed waiting and after the morning's activities they were famished. Only later, when they had finished the tea, eggs, sausages, rashers, black pudding and soda bread, did they get to work. The waiters whisked away the breakfast dishes and Colonel Roberts, Sherman's aide, spread out the map and Sherman leaned over it.

  "We should make
good time," he said, tapping on the map. "We'll not stop until we get to Athlone. There's a barracks there of the Royal Irish Constabulary. A company will get off there and neutralize them. The same thing will happen in Mullingar where there is a cavalry camp. After that it is straight into Dublin."

  "Which should be in a state of shock by that time," Roberts said. "Our navy will have been offshore at dawn."

  "They will indeed. At first light they will bombard the harbor defenses. As well as the Martello towers at Kingstown, Dalkey Island here, all these others along the coast. This will concentrate the British forces' attention on the sea. Without telegraph communication they will be out of touch with the rest of the country, so will know of no other military action. All of the defensive positions that face the sea will be taken from the rear when our troops arrive."

  "Good. And our guides?"

  "Will be waiting at Kingsbridge Station which is here, close to the River Liffey. They are all Dubliners and each of them will have a single site assigned to him. There will be British troops in strength at Dublin Castle, as well as in the constabulary barracks here."

  They went over the familiar plans just one last time, then Sherman pushed the maps away and took out a cigar. The waiter appeared at his side to light. "More tea, sir? Or perhaps a wee glass of whisky for your health's sake."

  Sherman puffed on his cigar and sipped at the strong, black tea. Outside the window the green and lovely Irish countryside streamed by.

  "You know, gentlemen," he said. "This about the finest way I have ever seen of going to war."

  To the south, General Stonewall Jackson's ships had also approached the shore at dawn. The defenses along the Shannon estuary had their guns pointed towards the river, and the Doonaha and Kilcredaun Point Batteries had long been abandoned. The most westerly of them was now the Kilkerin Point Battery, a full twenty-five miles from Limerick. It could give no warning of the invasion for the telegraph wire to it had been severed during the night. It had fallen to attack from the rear soon after the American troops had landed. The local Irish volunteers welcomed the soldiers of the Irish Brigade with cries of happiness, were equally receptive to the Mississippi troops who followed close behind them.

  Stonewall Jackson was generally known for his fierce and unexpected attacks, his flanking movements that hit where the enemy least expected. Now, with the element of surprise aiding him, his soldiers attacked with a grim ruthlessness. There was some fierce fighting in the city of Limerick, but the last pockets of resistance had been eliminated as soon as the Gatling guns had been deployed. It was a bloody but fast victory, and by ten that morning the city was Jackson's.

  The reception of the troops in the city had been of the warmest. So warm that General Jackson had to have his sergeants collect all the strong drink that had been pressed upon his soldiers, lest they be rendered unfit for action. His regiments entrained for the short journey to Cork where, if all had gone according to plan, the navy was now bombarding the shore positions. The defenses against invasion from the sea there were strong, probably the strongest of any port in Ireland. Landings under fire were out of the question and they had to be taken from the rear. That was what he had to do—and the sooner the better.

  Here, as in Galway, the loyal Irish trainmen had assembled most of the Limerick-to-Cork trains in the marshaling yard at Colbert Station. The troops were swiftly boarded and as the first train was ready to leave a soldier ran up waving a sheet of paper.

  "Message, General. Just came through."

  There were no British troops or constabulary north of Limerick, nor between Ennis and Galway. The broken telegraph connections between the two west coast ports had been quickly reestablished, so now at least two of the invading armies were now in contact.

  "Galway is taken," he read out to his officers. "Sherman is proceeding to Dublin." He lowered the telegram. "I pray that General Lee in the north is also enjoying the same fruits of his endeavors. Now—the next battle will be ours. With God's grace, and His sure leadership, we must attack and seize the last bastion of the enemy.

  "Cork."

  ONWARD TO BELFAST!

  "It is almost dawn," General Lee said, his white beard bristling, his face grim in the light of the binnacle.

  "I am afraid that it is," Captain Weeks said.

  His ironclad Dictator led the convoy of vessels that followed behind him, unseen in the darkness. His ship carried no riding lights—just a single lamp at her stern. Each of the following ships had such a light, each of them following the lead of the ship before. Only the coming of daylight would reveal if this arrangement had succeeded. It had been a dark night, with occasional rain squalls, and only occasionally had the next ship in line been seen.

  "Should we not be much closer to our destination by this time?" Lee's voice was hard and unforgiving.

  Weeks's shrug was unseen in the darkness. "Perhaps. But you must remember that we were heading into a northerly wind for most of the night. But look—there is the light on Inishowen Head almost directly behind us now. Also to starboard is the Magilligan Point light that marks the mouth of Lough Foyle."

  "Yes—but our destination is not there, but in Portrush. How far is that?"

  "No more than ten miles. Almost due east."

  "Yes," Lee said, talking a sight from the compass. "And I can see it for the sky is growing light."

  The dark coast of Londonderry grew sharper and clearer as dawn approached. A low mist concealed the details—but it was already lifting. Lee turned and squinted into the darkness behind them, at the white froth of their wake now visible in the waning night. The stars were fading in the growing light and, one by one, the ships of the convoy came into view. He counted them as they emerged out of the darkness—and they were all there!

  Eight troop-carrying steamships and, taking station to their rear, the ironclad USS Stalwart.

  "Portstewart hard to starboard," the lookout said. "Those two lights, together there. They're the beacons at the mouth of the River Bann."

  Lee raised his glasses and sought the lights. "Then the beach, what is it called, Portstewart Strand, it will be between beacons and the town?"

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  "Raise the signal lights," Lee ordered. The two yellow lanterns were already lit and swung instantly up to the rear crosstree. Short moments later the signal was seen, passed on, as one by one the following ships made the same signal. Wanker turned to port when she saw the lights and, one by one, the four last transports changed course and followed her towards shore.

  General Robert E. Lee had split his force in the past, when a two-pronged attack was deemed necessary. He had faith in his lieutenants, and General James Longstreet was the best. He would make a successful landing on the beach. While Lee led the other half of his divided force.

  Dictator was now entering Portrush Harbor, the ironclad, carrying him and his staff, coasting in between the granite jaws of the harbor walls. A single fishing boat was raising sail, otherwise the harbor was empty. BB turned away from the harbor entrance, to let the four transports by, then dropped anchor; her turrets rumbled about so the guns faced land. Within minutes the troop ships were tied up at the harborside, the first soldiers tumbling ashore. There was no sign of any resistance at all. Only the astonished fishermen seemed aware of the invasion.

  Longstreet would be landing his troops on Portstewart Strand, ferrying them ashore in the boats. There was no sound of gunfire; the beach was undefended as well. This would take somewhat longer than the harbor landing, but they were also closer to the junction point at Coleraine. When Lee saw that the landing in the harbor was going according to plan he followed his staff into the waiting boat. A signalman from the ship was in the bow, ready to relay any orders to the ironclad if cannonfire was needed in support.

  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.