As a result, Nathan had begun to do some of the things that would normally have been done by a man who proclaimed himself Grant's chief of staff, a title that did not exist in the U.S. Army. Rawlins didn't seem to mind and Grant seemed grateful. Nathan sometimes wondered if Grant's extreme loyalty to his friends might not someday cause trouble. Right now it was a nuisance, but might it contain the seeds of tragedy?

Nathan returned the telescope. “I see a mob forming on the other bank of the river.”

Rawlins chuckled. “But not an army, is it?”

This fact had been reported by Union scouts as they advanced towards the Canadian city of London. Riding forward to confirm the sightings had been Rawlins^’s idea.

“No, John. It is not an army.”

Rawlins shook his head sadly. “If they mean to fight us, they will be slaughtered.”

Nathan shuddered at the thought. All through their slow advance through the Ontario peninsula, he'd been pleasantly surprised at the prosperity of the area and the size of the population. If he hadn't known that he'd crossed the border into a foreign country, the land would have seemed just like Indiana or Ohio, with gently rolling hills and numerous prosperous farms, homesteads, and small towns. It saddened him to think that his was a conquering army marching across this pleasant country.

It saddened him more to think that the mob just across the Thames was willing to die for it. Rawlins had used the word slaughter, and that was accurate. Union scouts reported the Canadian force at between eight and ten thousand men. Most had rifles or shotguns, but not all. The odd pitchfork or scythe was present as a weapon. There were few uniforms, and most wore red sashes to identify themselves as an army, and even the sashes were of varying shades of red.

Nathan saw no signs of military competence. No entrenchments had been dug and no barricades thrown up. There was no cavalry in sight, and there were only a handful of pitifully obsolete cannon to confront Ulysses Grant and three corps of battle-hardened Union soldiers.

A courier rode up and informed them that General Grant wished to see them. When they arrived, Grant was sitting alone on a stool in front of his tent. The stub of a cigar was clenched in his teeth, and he chewed it angrily.

“You saw them, didn't you? Lambs to the slaughter, aren't they?”

Rawlins and Nathan nodded. There was nothing to add. Grant removed the cigar, examined it. and flung it away. “I will not be associated with a massacre. At least.” he amended, “if I can avoid it.”

The previous victories won by Grant had all been against determined and equivalently armed and skilled foes. While Grant did not seem to fight for glory's sake, neither did he shy from it. There would be no glory in massacring the Canadians gathered a few miles away from them.

“We're camping here,” Grant said. “Tomorrow, l^:m sending a man across under a flag of truce. That man will try to talk them out of fighting. He will give them every opportunity to disband and go home. Nathan_: will you try it?”

Nathan hid his surprise. “Yes_: General. And what will happen if I fail?'^:

“If they will not see reason_:'^: Grant said, “then it will be their failure, not yours. We will be spending the night preparing for battle tomorrow. If they do not see reason, I will be forced to destroy them. And rest assured I will do that with a heavy heart but without any compunction whatsoever.”

Nathan rode slowly out from the security of the massive Union lines. He had a large white flag, made from a sheet, attached to a flagpole. A corporal carried it and rode just behind Nathan. The morning sun was bright and he felt the warmth on his back as he rode toward the Canadian lines. It was a fine day to die, and an even better one to live.

There was no immediate response from the Canadians who were drawn up in plain sight on the far side of the sluggish and shallow Thames. As he kept his horse at a steady, methodical pace, he hoped the Canadians understood a flag of truce and that no one was hotheaded enough to take a shot at him. Grimly, he understood his own selection. Rawlins, along with being incompetent, was Grant's friend and the general didn't want to lose him, while all the others on Grant's staff had needed skills and were busy preparing for the battle. Nathan was the only one who was both unnecessary for the staff to function, and reasonably likely to pull off the task of getting the Canadians, many of whom now stood in plain sight, to abandon their foolish venture.

Nathan reached the bank of the Thames and rode into it. The water was low, swirling around the horse's knees. It wasn't much of a river and nothing of an obstacle, and there was no high ground covering it. Militarily, it was useless. It could be waded by a child. He paused and waited. In a few minutes a pair of riders under a white flag broke from the Canadian mass and rode slowly towards him. He was somewhat surprised to see that one wore the scarlet tunic of a British army officer.

Nathan signaled the corporal to stay behind and urged his horse forward. The three men met in the middle of the shallow river. “I am Colonel Nathan Hunter of General Grant's staff,” he announced.

The civilian was short, dark-haired, and in his mid-thirties. He glared angrily at Nathan. “I am D'Arcy McGee and I lead this army of Canadians against you American invaders. And this,” he said as he gestured abruptly to the man in uniform, “is Brigadier General Garnet Wolsey. He has been sent to advise me in military matters.”

The snappish tone of McGee^’s statement told Nathan that the Canadian didn't think he needed advice from the British army. The brigadier ignored the slight.

They did not shake hands. Nathan recognized Wolsey's name from the reports of the New York debacle that had appeared in Canadian newspapers. He was surprised that Wolsey was so young, although the obviously wounded eye spoke volumes as to his military experience.

“Gentlemen,” Nathan began, “General Grant has sent me forward to see if we can prevent unnecessary loss of life.” “It would help if you and your army would get the hell back where you came from,” said McGee.

Nathan saw Wolsey wince. Apparently, the two men did not see eye to eye on this. “Mr. McGee, the United States is at war with Great Britain, a nation that has sunk our ships and burned our cities. Since England is so far away and since Britannia rules the waves, the only way we can reach Great Britain is through Canada. We have no quarrel with Canada or Canadians. There is no need for you to stand and protect your land, as we have no desire to take it. We only wish to march through to where the British lie. We wish no harm to Canada.”

“You burned Windsor,” McGee snapped.

“Someone very foolishly built artillery emplacements in the middle of the town,” Nathan retorted. “The fires we started we put out, and our men have helped in rebuilding the homes that were damaged.” Nathan had no idea if that had actually occurred, but it sounded nice and McGee looked surprised. McGee also had no way to check on it.

“Further,” Nathan continued, “my army is paying in gold for all the goods and services it needs. There has been no plundering, no rape, no rapine. To the best of our abilities, we are harming no one and nothing.”

This part was true. Grant had been adamant that no terrorizing of the civilian population would take place and that everything would be paid for. They would even reimburse for that which was not offered for sale and had to be commandeered. Thus, Grant's rear area was remarkably tranquil if not content.

McGee seemed hesitant, while Wolsey looked over Nathan's shoulder. The British officer was examining what he could see of the Union army's positions. Thousands of men and scores of cannon were plainly visible in an attempt to overawe the Canadians.