He did not add that victory was never assured in war. Quite the opposite in fact. Well what was done was done. He did not speak aloud his reservations or fears, not wanting to destroy this moment of happiness. But he saw Lincoln looking at him — the same dark look of deep concern on his face.
The deed was done. All that they could do now was pray that success would be theirs.
SUNDAY, 8 OCTOBER 1863 — MIDNIGHT
It was a cool and clear night in most of Ireland. But to the west there were rain squalls over Mayo and Galway, down as far south as The Burren. But there is always rain in the west and no one took any particular notice. The country slept. Only the military were awake, the nightwatch on guard at the many British military establishments that marked out the occupation of the land. Soldiers stamped outside the brick barracks in the Curragh, just south of Dublin. Stood guard as well in front of Dublin Castle, walked the battlements of Belvelly Tower, one of the five towers that defended Cork Harbor. Peered down from the gunports of the Martello towers that guarded Galway Bay. Only the military marked the darkness of the midnight hour.
Or did they? To the east of Belfast, where Belfast Lough entered the Irish Sea, was the small fishing village of Groomsport. Little different from any other village on the shores of Ireland, except, perhaps for the signs on the seafront east of the harbor. DO NOT ANCHOR HERE they read in large letters: the two men who appeared out of the darkness knew them very well.
“Further on, Seamus, just a bit.”
“It’s right here I tell you, I was pulling on the nippers right up this bit of shore—”
His words broke off with a pained grunt as he tripped and stretched himself on the sand.
“Right you are, Seamus, and I’ll never doubt you again.”
“Tripped over the bloody thing.” He reached down and with an effort he lifted the six-inch telegraph cable a few inches into the air.
“That’s it! I’ll never forget the day we dragged her ashore. Cut it here?”
“No. Get a sling on it. We’ll cut it in the water, then drag the seaward end out as far as we can.”
They passed a rope around the cable and each took an end. Gasping with the effort they lifted the cable, slid the rope along it as they stumbled into the sea, until the chill water was above their knees.
“Enough — jaysus, I’m knackered already.”
“Can you hold it there? Let the weight rest over your knee.”
“Just — about. Cut it before I’m banjaxed.”
Seamus took the hacksaw from the bag that hung from his belt. Sawed industriously at the outer casing, then the insulation and the copper wires. Cutting the steel cable in the center was something else again and his companion groaned in agony.
“That does it!” he said as the last strand parted and the severed ends of the cable disappeared into the dark water.
“Find it — find the end…”
Soaked through, their teeth chattering with the cold, they finally found the severed end of the cable that went out into the sea. Once more they managed to tie the rope around it. Not lifting now, but dragging it along the shore until they could move it no more, their mouths just above the surface of the waves.
“Leave it before we drown ourselves. They’ll not be patching this too readily.”
They stumbled and splashed their way ashore and vanished in the darkness towards the boat to cross the lough. Fearful all the way that they might be seen, identified. Not until they were in the familiar streets of the Catholic Pound area did they feel any relief. They separated there and Seamus slipped through the unlocked door of his house and bolted it behind him. Nuala was still awake, sitting by the fire in the kitchen.
“You’re a fair sight, you are, dripping from head to toe. You’ll get a chill…”
“Some warm clothes, woman,” he said, pulling off the soaked garments. “And put these in that hole in the back garden I dug between the potatoes. God save anyone in Belfast who is found with sea-wet clothing this morning. Did Sean come by?”
“He did. He said to tell you one word. Done. Said you would know.”
“I do.”
“I thought that he was living with his sister in Oldpark, after he had to leave the telegraph company, the consumption and all.”
“He never left Oldpark this night — and you never saw him. A single word about him — or the clothes — and we’re all dead.”
“Don’t speak like that, it’s like a curse.”
He patted her arm, sorry he had frightened her. “Make us a pot of tea, there’s a good love. Just forget everything about tonight and everything will be fine.” He breathed a silent prayer. Please God, may that be true.