As a foreigner, Cleburne was not fully aware of the depth of fear felt by Southern whites towards their Negroes. Arming them was and would always remain an impossibility, and, for suggesting it, Patrick Cleburne had been severely chastised by Bragg. Admittedly, he had not comprehended just how anyone held in bondage could be “loyal” to his keeper. As a result, Cleburne had become an untrustworthy pariah to the government at Richmond. The incident with Flynn had merely provided Bragg with the excuse needed to remove him.

“No man should be a slave,” Cleburne said angrily. “If the South is so outnumbered, she should free her slaves and have them protect her from the North. That would guarantee their loyalty.”

Flynn shook his head. For such a clever and intelligent man, in some ways Cleburne was so naive. What slave would fight for his master? Or for his ex-master? Or for someone who had flogged him or sold his family? When the war ended so, too, would any need for their freedom. They would be returned to bondage. “So now what will you do?”

“Hang and be damned to them all.” “Would you like to escape and go north?”

“I cannot fight for the Union.”

“Would you fight for Ireland?”

Cleburne paused. He was intrigued. “How?”

“Tonight you leave here with me. When you've gone_: some others may follow, particularly when they find out what you can offer them.”

“And that is?”

“A chance to form an Irish army and strike at England in Canada. Patrick, I promise you that neither you nor any other Irishman who comes over will ever have to fight against the Confederacy.”

Cleburne could not hide the fact that he was interested. If what Flynn said came to pass, he could lead an army again, and possibly a larger one then he^’d had before his arrest. Better, they'd all be Irishmen fighting England.

“There's no longer any place here for me in the South, is there?” Cleburne asked with a wry smile. “Might you have an idea where I'll live when this is all over?”

“Not one thought, lad. You'd be too Northern to ever return to Arkansas, and maybe too Southern to live in the North. However, you would still be alive and not hanged, which is what Bragg wishes to do.”

It was a good and compelling point. Then a thought struck Cleburne. “Flynn, what happened to the guard stationed outside my tent?”

“Let’s just say he's not guarding much right now. Hopefully he'll be up and about in a few days when the lump on his noggin heals. Now, if you're willing, let's get the hell out of here before anybody notices.”

Lord Cardigan was livid. He was not used to being scolded, and the lecture he'd received from the governor of Canada, Viscount Monck, had infuriated him.

What was worse. Viscount Monck was entirely justified in his anger. While Cardigan had assumed almost dictatorial powers as military commander, he had largely left the civil administration of the Province of Canada in the very capable hands of Viscount Monck. That the governor had many friends back in London was another reason for Cardigan to pay attention to the man.

“General, the fact that Americans have crossed onto Canadian soil is extremely upsetting to the loyal population of Canada, and that means just about everyone. My office is being bombarded with multitudes of sincere entreaties every day. I must know what you intend to do about it.”

Cardigan glared at him. “I will be the first to admit that the Americans surprised me by invading at Windsor. After that, the logic behind their move puzzles me. They are more than two hundred miles from Toronto as the crow flies, and I'm assured that the real distance they must travel is in excess of that. Therefore their move baffles me. It will take a major effort to march an army from Windsor to Toronto.”

“Not that much of an effort,” Monck responded. 'You are new here, so I'll forgive you your lack of knowledge of the area. A road called Dundas Street runs almost directly from Windsor to Hamilton, where it follows the lake to Toronto. It is a decent road, and there are no geographic problems that will delay the Union horde. I would also remind you that a railroad parallels Dundas Street and I presume that that, too, is still in excellent condition.”

Cardigan winced. “We have damaged the rail as best we can, but the Americans are even better at repairing it. They have indeed begun advancing, and there isn't much we can or will do about it until they draw closer to my army.”

Monck glared. “Which means you will be surrendering the richest and most heavily populated part of Canada to invaders from the United States.”

“Temporarily, I assure you. Whether we like them or not, Viscount Monck, I have my orders. I must defend Toronto and the Niagara peninsula, which means that I may not send my army too far afield to fight the Americans. I will not assist the militia mob that is forming near London, and I will not split my army to defend that city.” Cardigan chuckled as he thought he saw humor in the situation. “If it were the London on the Thames in England, I might feel different. However, this is the London on the Thames in Canada, which is far less important.”

“Except to the people who live there,” Monck snarled. “My London is approximately halfway between Windsor and Toronto. If the English government is going to hope to retain the loyalty of Canada's people, your army must do something more than just sit here on its arse. I have always pressed for more of a military presence in Canada to help keep the rapacious Americans at bay. What will you do if the Americans advance and then stop? What will you do if they choose not to attack where you wish, but, instead, are simply content with conquering the breadbasket of Canada?”

Cardigan sighed. Of course the man was right. But what was he to do? If he sent his army west towards London, then he'd run the risk of it being in the wrong place should the Americans thrust north with another force at Niagara. Damn this Grant. The Union army was indeed a couple hundred miles away, but after spending several days crossing the river and consolidating its base, it had begun to move east down Dundas Street, just like Monck had said.

Cardigan was determined not to leave Hamilton until and unless he was reasonably assured of victory over the Americans. There was too much to risk. If he was not careful, he could lose Canada in an afternoon. Palmerston had made that simple fact plainly obvious to him.

“Would a token suffice?” Cardigan asked. “Who commands this mob you have gathering at London?”

“A journalist named D'Arcy McGee.”

“God help us,” Cardigan said. “May I safely presume that McGee knows nothing about forming an army?”

“You may presume that he knows far less than nothing.”

“Then I will send him a general. I will send him no less than the recently promoted hero of the New York attack, Brigadier General Garnet Wolsey. Will that suffice?”

“Of course not but if you won't send an army with General Wolsey_: then it'll have to do. However, I doubt that the Canadian militia will obey him. McGee has formed this army, and he is hot tempered enough to throw out someone who tries to usurp his command.”

Cardigan groaned. Damn these Canadians. Do they want to be British or not? First they demand a degree of independence from Mother England, then, when threatened, they demand that Mother England rush to save them. What the devil did they truly want?

“Then I will send Wolsey as an adviser. Will that be acceptable to McGee and his militia?”

“I hope so.” Viscount Monck said fervently. “And God help those people gathering at London.”

Colonel John Rawlins handed the telescope to Nathan. “Here, would you tell me what those addled fools are up to?”

Nathan smiled and took the telescope. He didn't really need it to analyze the situation, but peered through it as a courtesy. Nathan had come to realize that John Rawlins was as bad an aide to Grant as he was a good friend. General Grant endured Rawlins's incompetence only because of that deep friendship. On several occasions, Nathan had seen Grant writing his own clear, lucid orders while Rawlins watched because Rawlins was such an abominable writer.