The orders that Avenger had brought went out swiftly to the waiting ships, while an army colonel, with an armed guard, took the fast train to Dublin with orders for General Meagher and General Robert E. Lee.

There was nothing precipitous or hurried about the preparations. They moved with stately finality so that, at dawn on the fifteenth of May, 1866, the ships, one by one, hauled up their anchors and steamed out to sea. Past the Aran Islands they sailed, coasting northwest off the coast of Connemara, then turned north, their course set for the North Channel between Ireland and Scotland. Long before they reached the channel, off Donegal Bay, clouds of smoke on the horizon revealed the presence of the waiting American ironclads.

A war fleet this size had never been seen before, not even during the earlier invasion of Ireland. No British fleet, no matter how strong, would dare face up to this mighty armada.

But there was no enemy in sight; the American fleet movement had caught the British by surprise. South the ships moved, through the North Channel, where they could easily be seen from Scotland. They were indeed observed as they passed the Mull of Kintyre, and the telegraph from Campbeltown quickly spread the news south. But by the time that there could be any reaction, the cargo vessels were safe in Dublin Harbor and Dun Laoghaire.

The ironclads were stationed out to sea to intercept any vessels rash enough to approach the Irish shore. The few that did come close were seen off quite quickly. Ashore, the troops filed aboard the waiting ships while the gun batteries approached the novel transports built specially for the coming invasion. Iron-hulled ships that, after they docked, opened up great ports in their sides from which, propelled by steam cylinders, slid out metal ramps. They were ridged with wooden crosspieces so that horses could easily pull the guns and limbers into the ships. Cavalry boarded the same way, as well as grooms with the officers’ mounts. Embarkation was completed just after dusk on the night of May 19.

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.”