Stars and Stripes in Peril (38 page)

"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.

For the moment.

A DREADFUL ENCOUNTER

Captain Eveshaw had one of the ship's marines stationed in the telegraph office at the Larne pier. As soon as the message from Belfast was transcribed by the army operator, he ran to the ship, up the gangplank, and then to the bridge. Eveshaw took in the brief command in a single glance.

"Raise steam," the captain ordered. "Prepare to cast off the lines."

As soon as they had captured the Larne-Stranraer ferry his engineers had taken the precaution of removing the safety valve, as well as the reversing gear, from the ship. It would still be there when the USS
Stalwart
returned. Black smoke billowed up from the warship's funnel as it moved away from the pier.

No one could say that she was a handsome ship. One of the first modified Monitor class that had been built after the success of the original
Monitor
itself, she was far more seaworthy than her predecessor. The original, with such a low freeboard, had been notably unseaworthy. Truly a cheesebox on a raft. Now, with more armored hull above the waterline,
Stalwart
was more of a cheesebox on a thick plank.

But, ugly or not, she had two great guns in her rotating turret that could take on almost any ship afloat. Billowing out clouds of smoke, a froth of foam at her bow, she headed north up the coast. On the bridge Captain Eveshaw had his glasses pointed at the shore.

"If there are enemy troops coming from the north and attacking our positions, they must have been landed there by ship. They could have come from Scotland during the night and we would never have seen them, not while we were tied up in the harbor, and they never came this far south."

They had passed Balleygalley Head and were running along the rugged coast when the lookout saw the smoke ahead.

"There sir—a passenger vessel—just clearing that headland! On a northerly course."

The captain looked at the chart and nodded. "Glenarm Bay, west of the point. There is a harbor marked here."

"What about that ship, sir?" the first lieutenant asked. "Shall we go after her, stop her?"

"Bit of locking the barn door after the horse has been stolen. I think, since she is not a military vessel, that we let her go peacefully on her way. Now let us see where she has been."

When they cleared Park Head the small harbor came into view. There was another passenger ship tied up there and, through their glasses, they could see troops marching up the hill.

"There's your answer," Captain Eveshaw said. "Make a course back to Larne so we can report this."

The passenger ship they had seen earlier was now hull down on the horizon, almost out of sight. The lookout then began to slowly scan the rest of the horizon. There—another ship, dead ahead. He waited until he could see her clearly before he called down to the bridge.

"Vessel approaching from the south," he said. "Under sail, a three-master with an engine it looks like, since she is making smoke." Eveshaw swung his glasses in that direction.

"This is a very different matter indeed," he said. "Possibly bringing reinforcements. And not from Scotland—but from England. Probably Liverpool on that course. Let us now find out."

"If she is carrying troops," the lieutenant said, sounding worried, "do we, well, fire into her?"

"That we will have to decide when we find out what her cargo is," the captain said, grim authority in his voice. "If they are reinforcements we certainly cannot permit them to be used against our troops."

The
Stalwart's
bow pointed directly towards the oncoming vessel as they picked up speed. They were surely seen by the other ship because a moment later her image widened and her single sail became three as she came about.

"She's turning away from us," the captain said. "Gone about."

"She'll not get away," the lieutenant said happily. "Rigged like that she'll never match our speed."

Even though the fleeing ship had a following wind on this course, even aided by her engine, there was no way that she could escape. With every turn of her screw USS
Stalwart
closed the distance between the two ships. All eyes were upon her until the lookout called out.

"Smoke on the horizon. Ten points off the starboard bow."

The silence stretched as the other vessel steamed towards them, hull up now.

"An ironclad!" the lieutenant said. "One of ours."

"Hardly," Eveshaw said as the vessel grew in his glasses. "We've had reports on her. Ten inches of armor. Fourteen guns. HMS
Conqueror.
British. Change course for Larne. We must report her presence to our forces in Belfast. Order the gun-crews to load with explosive shells and run the guns out."

"We're outgunned, sir..."

"Indeed we are, lieutenant, indeed we are. Nevertheless—we will fight."

On the bridge of
Conqueror
all eyes were on the strange black vessel with the single stack that was cutting across their course.

"She's turning, sir," the first lieutenant said. "Setting a course towards Larne."

"We can't have that," Captain Durnford said. "She's an American warship, by Jove. Single turret, two guns. Tally ho!"

It was a close-run thing.
Stalwart
entered Larne Harbor with her gigantic opponent no more than a thousand yards behind her. The American ironclad backwatered at full throttle, yet still smashed hard into the dock. The waiting marine clutching the captain's message, who was standing at the rail, jumped as the ship collided with the dock, rolled and fell onto the splintered wood. Picked himself up and ran towards the telegraph station. Behind him the armored ports were battened tight as the ship cleared for action.

Stalwart
fired first as the hull of her opponent filled her gunsights as
Conqueror
entered the mouth of Larne Lough. Both shells exploded full on the British ship's hull. When the smoke blew away two great indentations were visible on her armor. But despite the impact and explosions the shells had not penetrated the layers of iron and wood.

Then, almost as one, the seven port guns of
Conqueror
fired their broadside.

Stalwart's
turret had been rotated as soon as she had fired, so the single shell that struck it only bounced off the armored rear of the turret. Four of the enemy's guns were trained too high and their shells passed over the low hull and wreaked havoc in the ferry station beyond.

The other two shells hit
Stalwart's
deck. One of them bounced screaming from her armor. The other hit where armor and hull joined and tore a brutal gash in her side.

It was a bitter, pounding, one-sided battle. People, and soldiers, ashore fled from the burning ferry terminal. While
Stalwart's
guns were being reloaded,
Conqueror
went about and her starboard battery roared fire and shell. The Americans' return fire once again had no visible effect on the larger ship.

The next broadside opened the gap deeper in the American ship's hull. She appeared to be settling lower in the water. Her guns fired one last time—and then her turret vanished beneath the waters of the harbor. Air bubbled up and whipped the surface into a froth. When the bubbles ceased the ocean calmed. Empty.