Chapter 74
September 1808
Cork
Colonel Jose de San Martin smiled expansively as the city fathers of Cork nearly genuflected in gratitude as Marshal Ney indulgently accepted their praise. The dignified Frenchman discovered the conquest of the magnificent port of Cork to be far less perilous that he'd feared. The Franco-Spanish-Portuguese fleet had arrived without incident at the sprawling harbor a week prior. The winds were poor, making the journey north last a few days longer than the allies had hoped, but at least no storms arose to challenge Ney's invasion as General Hoche had faced six years earlier his own abortive conquest of Ireland. Better still, barely a British ensign was seen at sea. Only a handful of trading vessels and a Frigate or two noticed the massive fleet's passage past the tip of Bretagne towards southern Ireland.
Arriving in as orderly a fashion as any massive convoy of a hundred and sixty vessels could (and crewed by questionable French sailors), the fleet made anchor in Cork Harbor on the 2nd of September. Prior to the departure, great debates raged as to the strategy of taking the iconic Irish port. Some high-ranking admirals lamented the complexity of such an invasion and pleaded with the Emperor to allow a smaller force to seize the harbor first before sending for the cumbersome invasion fleet. Should a sizable British fleet defend the harbor, the entire convoy might be scattered and lost, they claimed. However, Emperor Napoleon I had no time for half-measure. They entire fleet would sail, and it would take Cork in the allotted time. As the armada entered Cork harbor, the Naval Commanders were shocked at the complete lack of defenses. Obviously stripped of any valuable warships to defend southern England, Cork's sole protectors included a pair of Frigates and a sloop. The Portuguese galleons and the French ships-of-the-line made short work of them and even rashly set fire to a trio British warship sitting empty and impotent awaiting repair.
A handful of British soldiers scrambled along the shoreline but not a single shot was fired from the obviously dilapidated and undermanned fortifications of Fort Camden, Fort Carlisle and Fort Westmorland guarding the Lower Cork Harbor. That evening, several fires erupted within the city as Irish rioters violently turned upon the few British troops daring to remain. Per the Emperor's orders, the disembarkation process was to take two days despite the objections of every sailor in the fleet such a timetable was impossible. It took a full five to even get the French and Spanish soldiers and horses ashore. Had hundreds of Irish longshoremen and sailors not turned out in numbers to assist, half the men and provisions would still rot aboard ship. The allied naval vessels promptly took defensive positions along the mouth of the harbor after pummeling the British fortifications into silence but days stretched into a week without the slightest hint of British retaliation.
Thousands of Irish farmers arrived from the countryside, most unarmed and pitifully thin and some bearing only makeshift spears and daggers, demanding to join Ney's army. Immediately, the French Marshal ordered a full accounting of the men and segregated out those of use. Enough arms were discovered in the untouched Cork armory to outfit two Regiments from the stronger men. Sadly, the garrison's powder store had been destroyed by the retreating British force. Apparently, the city held only one hundred able-bodied British regulars. Twice that many were captured in the squalid military hospital emitting a particularly foul stench throughout the town. Reportedly, the military hospital cared for the majority of the British Army's lame and afflicted in Ireland. So great was the locals' ire, San Martin was forced to post guards upon the dismal building to keep the natives from torching the helpless victims of African Death, cholera and Bleeding Death. Judging by the hundreds of fresh graves hastily dug into the local cemetery, the plagues had taken their toll of Irishmen of late.
"Marshal Ney," stuttered an aging Irishman through an interpreter, "we warmly receive you to the Emerald Isle. The Irish people have dreamt for years of a liberator to help us throw off the yoke of British oppression. Many a season, we rose in rebellion only to be crushed by a merciless foreign power. You shall have the whole of Ireland at your side, sir, as you eject the British into the sea!"
Seated in a tall-backed chair in a courtyard before an ancient stone building which San Martin assumed was a custom house or town hall, Ney received the praise and adamant words of gratitude with aplomb. So enraptured by the prospect of freedom from their protestant landlords, the Irish uttered not a word of objection when Ney confiscated entire storehouses of beef, grain and butter as well as commandeered virtually every usable horse and mule to properly outfit his command. Only later did San Martin learn that virtually everything seized had belonged to Protestant merchants or landholders. The impoverished Irish Catholic rarely had anything worth sequestering. Thought it had been a long week of toil since disembarking upon the Cork docks, the Army of Bordeaux, rechristened by the locals as the Army of Liberation, was finally prepared to more east towards the heart of British domination in Ireland. Fifteen thousand French and Spanish regulars, augmented by five thousand hastily assembled Irish auxilleries, would march on the morrow.
Presently, Ney stood and addressed the throng of officers and local civic leaders in his native French, "My friends, your day of liberation has arrived. I have received word that your brethren have revolted throughout the length of Ireland. As England herself collapses before Emperor Napoleon's might, so shall the pitiful remnants of her hold on Ireland. On to Dublin!"
Though San Martin doubted one in ten of the Irish onlookers comprehended a word the Frenchman said beyond "British" and "Dublin", his tone brooked no ambiguity. Albion would fall. San Martin gazed throughout the wildly cheering audience and spied both Bernardo O'Higgins, long an exile to his native land, and the youthful adjutant, Lieutenant Wolf Tone, weeping in joy. O'Higgins proved himself worthy of his rank while the latter exercised his duties with the remarkable energy of the young.
The Spaniard nodded silently to himself as the surrounding crowd raised their voices in cheer.
Yes, we may actually prevail yet.
Cork
Colonel Jose de San Martin smiled expansively as the city fathers of Cork nearly genuflected in gratitude as Marshal Ney indulgently accepted their praise. The dignified Frenchman discovered the conquest of the magnificent port of Cork to be far less perilous that he'd feared. The Franco-Spanish-Portuguese fleet had arrived without incident at the sprawling harbor a week prior. The winds were poor, making the journey north last a few days longer than the allies had hoped, but at least no storms arose to challenge Ney's invasion as General Hoche had faced six years earlier his own abortive conquest of Ireland. Better still, barely a British ensign was seen at sea. Only a handful of trading vessels and a Frigate or two noticed the massive fleet's passage past the tip of Bretagne towards southern Ireland.
Arriving in as orderly a fashion as any massive convoy of a hundred and sixty vessels could (and crewed by questionable French sailors), the fleet made anchor in Cork Harbor on the 2nd of September. Prior to the departure, great debates raged as to the strategy of taking the iconic Irish port. Some high-ranking admirals lamented the complexity of such an invasion and pleaded with the Emperor to allow a smaller force to seize the harbor first before sending for the cumbersome invasion fleet. Should a sizable British fleet defend the harbor, the entire convoy might be scattered and lost, they claimed. However, Emperor Napoleon I had no time for half-measure. They entire fleet would sail, and it would take Cork in the allotted time. As the armada entered Cork harbor, the Naval Commanders were shocked at the complete lack of defenses. Obviously stripped of any valuable warships to defend southern England, Cork's sole protectors included a pair of Frigates and a sloop. The Portuguese galleons and the French ships-of-the-line made short work of them and even rashly set fire to a trio British warship sitting empty and impotent awaiting repair.
A handful of British soldiers scrambled along the shoreline but not a single shot was fired from the obviously dilapidated and undermanned fortifications of Fort Camden, Fort Carlisle and Fort Westmorland guarding the Lower Cork Harbor. That evening, several fires erupted within the city as Irish rioters violently turned upon the few British troops daring to remain. Per the Emperor's orders, the disembarkation process was to take two days despite the objections of every sailor in the fleet such a timetable was impossible. It took a full five to even get the French and Spanish soldiers and horses ashore. Had hundreds of Irish longshoremen and sailors not turned out in numbers to assist, half the men and provisions would still rot aboard ship. The allied naval vessels promptly took defensive positions along the mouth of the harbor after pummeling the British fortifications into silence but days stretched into a week without the slightest hint of British retaliation.
Thousands of Irish farmers arrived from the countryside, most unarmed and pitifully thin and some bearing only makeshift spears and daggers, demanding to join Ney's army. Immediately, the French Marshal ordered a full accounting of the men and segregated out those of use. Enough arms were discovered in the untouched Cork armory to outfit two Regiments from the stronger men. Sadly, the garrison's powder store had been destroyed by the retreating British force. Apparently, the city held only one hundred able-bodied British regulars. Twice that many were captured in the squalid military hospital emitting a particularly foul stench throughout the town. Reportedly, the military hospital cared for the majority of the British Army's lame and afflicted in Ireland. So great was the locals' ire, San Martin was forced to post guards upon the dismal building to keep the natives from torching the helpless victims of African Death, cholera and Bleeding Death. Judging by the hundreds of fresh graves hastily dug into the local cemetery, the plagues had taken their toll of Irishmen of late.
"Marshal Ney," stuttered an aging Irishman through an interpreter, "we warmly receive you to the Emerald Isle. The Irish people have dreamt for years of a liberator to help us throw off the yoke of British oppression. Many a season, we rose in rebellion only to be crushed by a merciless foreign power. You shall have the whole of Ireland at your side, sir, as you eject the British into the sea!"
Seated in a tall-backed chair in a courtyard before an ancient stone building which San Martin assumed was a custom house or town hall, Ney received the praise and adamant words of gratitude with aplomb. So enraptured by the prospect of freedom from their protestant landlords, the Irish uttered not a word of objection when Ney confiscated entire storehouses of beef, grain and butter as well as commandeered virtually every usable horse and mule to properly outfit his command. Only later did San Martin learn that virtually everything seized had belonged to Protestant merchants or landholders. The impoverished Irish Catholic rarely had anything worth sequestering. Thought it had been a long week of toil since disembarking upon the Cork docks, the Army of Bordeaux, rechristened by the locals as the Army of Liberation, was finally prepared to more east towards the heart of British domination in Ireland. Fifteen thousand French and Spanish regulars, augmented by five thousand hastily assembled Irish auxilleries, would march on the morrow.
Presently, Ney stood and addressed the throng of officers and local civic leaders in his native French, "My friends, your day of liberation has arrived. I have received word that your brethren have revolted throughout the length of Ireland. As England herself collapses before Emperor Napoleon's might, so shall the pitiful remnants of her hold on Ireland. On to Dublin!"
Though San Martin doubted one in ten of the Irish onlookers comprehended a word the Frenchman said beyond "British" and "Dublin", his tone brooked no ambiguity. Albion would fall. San Martin gazed throughout the wildly cheering audience and spied both Bernardo O'Higgins, long an exile to his native land, and the youthful adjutant, Lieutenant Wolf Tone, weeping in joy. O'Higgins proved himself worthy of his rank while the latter exercised his duties with the remarkable energy of the young.
The Spaniard nodded silently to himself as the surrounding crowd raised their voices in cheer.
Yes, we may actually prevail yet.
