After outlining all the other preparations for extensive war, he produced clippings from the British press.

“The public is behind the government in this — all of the way if you can believe the newspapers. My people there assure me that this is true and no exaggeration. No voice is raised to speak of peace, not one newspaper even dares use the word. New regiments are being raised, yeomanry called to arms. Taxes raised as well, now up to thrupence in the pound. Be assured, gentlemen, that Britain is very serious about pursuing this war.”

“And so are we,” Davis said with firm assurance. “On this we are united.”

“If you are, may I be so bold as to suggest that you meet a gentleman who is waiting downstairs. His name is Louis Joseph Papineau.”

“That name is familiar,” Lincoln said.

“You will know why when I tell you more about him. But first I must ask you gentlemen — what do you plan to do with our British enemies?”

“Defeat them, of course,” Lincoln said; Davis nodded firm agreement.

“Then let me then outline what the future may hold for us,” Fox said. “We will defeat them at sea, where their wooden ships are no match for our iron ones. Then on land. Our massed attacks will drive them back into Canada from whence they came to invade this country. And then, gentlemen? What will happen next? Do we sit complacently as we face an armed enemy on our northern border, one that is free to grow in strength? An army that can be reinforced and bolstered by all the might of the British Empire. Do we watch quietly while they build an army that will surely attack this country again — if there is no treaty of peace?”

“It is an uneasy future you predict, Mr. Fox, and something that must surely be considered,” Lincoln said, running his fingers through his beard.

“One decision you might make would be to meet the gentleman now waiting outside. Mr. Papineau is a French Canadian — ”

“Of course!” Lincoln sat up suddenly. “He was the one who led the rebellion in Quebec in 1837. The British put it down and he fled.”

“Then you will remember as well that he wanted to establish a French republic on the St. Lawrence. Canada is not the placid, happily governed state that the English would have us believe. In that same year William Lyon Mackenzie led a similar revolt in Upper Canada against the ruling officialdom. This desire for freedom and independence is still strong despite the Act of Union joining Upper and Lower Canada. The French Canadians, with some justification, believe that the act was aimed at intimidating and controlling them. Mr. Papineau has been in Canada, talking with his countrymen. He assures me that the French Canadians are as eager as ever for their freedom. If they were aided…”

“You are indeed a devious man, Mr. Fox,” Davis said. “You have not spelled it out, but you have us now thinking on the future course of events. Not only in this country, but on this continent. These are serious matters. I don’t think the good folk of this country would sleep well at night with Canada brimming with armed British ready to invade again at any time.”

“Instead of those sleepless nights our countrymen might very well look in favor at the alternative,” Lincoln said. “Which is a democratic Canada, linked by fraternal ties to her sister republic to the south. It is something surely worth thinking about. Let us have your Messr Papineau in so we can hear what he has to say for himself.”

WORDS TO CHANGE THE WORLD

The blue-clad soldiers had fought hard this day. No longer satisfied with holding their lines, they had eagerly surged in attack when the bugle call sent them forward. Out of the shattered remains of the defenses at Saratoga they came, to fall upon the retreating British, already battered by the attacking Confederate Army. But it had not been an easy battle to win, because the invading soldiers were professionals and did not panic or run. They held their positions and kept up their fire. Only when their lines were threatened with being overrun did they make a fighting retreat. Nor could the attackers afford to make any mistakes. Any weaknesses in their own defenses would be instantly taken advantage of; the British troops were capable of turning and lashing out like wounded animals.

Though the outcome of the day’s battles should have been certain, the contest was still fierce and deadly. Through the fields and forests of New York State the fighting had raged, large conflicts and smaller, even more deadly ones. It was now late afternoon and the Union soldiers of the New York 60th lay in the shade of the stone wall and took what rest they could. A fresh regiment of Maine riflemen had passed through them and for the moment they were out of the battle. This did not mean they could afford to be unwary, since the front was now very fluid. There were bypassed British units still about, and new regiments arriving.

Private P.J. O’Mahony was one of the men placed outside the perimeter on guard duty. He cocked his gun when he heard the sound of horse hooves from the road on the other side of the wall; the jingle of harness as men dismounted. He rose up slowly and looked through a chink in the wall, then carefully uncocked his rifle before he stood and waved his hat at the gray-uniformed horsemen there.

“Hello, Reb,” he called out to the nearest trooper. The man reined up and smiled a gap-toothed grin.

“Hello yourself, Yank.” He dismounted and stretched wearily. “Got my canteen tore off riding through the scrub. I’ll be mighty grateful for a swaller or two of water if you can spare it.”

“Spare it I can, and have it you shall. Sure and you’ve come to the right place. In the spirit of generosity I must tell you that it is two canteens that I carry.”

“You never!”

“I do. One filled with water — the other with poitheen.”

“I can’t rightly say that I ever heard of no poy-cheen.”

“It is the national drink of all Irishmen across the ocean in that green and distant land. Though I do believe it is far superior to your normal beverage, you’ll have to judge for yourself. I’ve heard it compared to a drink you may know, name of moonshine…”

“Tarnation, but you are sure a nice feller! Furget what I said about the water and pass me the other one like a good soldier.”

The cavalryman drank deep, sighed and belched happily. “Now that is the sweetest shine that I have ever tasted, that’s for sure. And my daddy had one of the best stills in Tennessee.”

Private O’Mahony smiled proudly. “That’s because it’s Irish, boyo, none other. The secret of its making brought to this new world from the ould sod. And we should know. For this proud regiment that you see before you is the 69th New York — and every mother’s son of us Irish.”

“Irish you say? I heard of it. Never been there. Hell, I never been out of Tennessee until this war started. But as I do recollect it was my grand-pappy, on my mother’s side, they said that he come from Ireland. Guess that kind of makes us like kin.”

“As indeed I am sure that it does.”

“You-all eat ramrod bread?” the cavalryman asked, taking a darkish chunk from his saddlebag and holding it out. “It’s just plain old cornmeal plastered on a ramrod and cooked over the fire.”

O’Mahony munched happily and smiled. “Jaysus — if you lived on nothing but boiled potatoes and salt water for half of your lifetime you wouldn’t be asking questions like that. It’s a poor country, old Ireland, made ever poorer by the bastard English who occupy her. It is with the greatest pleasure that we have the chance to fight them now.”

“I shore do agree with that. Another little swaller OK? Thank you kindly. Guess you know more about the British than I do, being from over there and everything. But Willie Joe, he can read real good, he read to us from the newspaper. About what them British did down in Mississippi. Makes the blood right boil it does. I shore am glad we caught up with them today. Got ’em in the flank, hit them hard.”