1862 (28 page)

“Damn Bragg,’: Cleburne muttered. He was not the first man to utter such a curse. Braxton Bragg now commanded the renamed Army of Tennessee and was heartily disliked by virtually all under his command. Bragg’s prickly temper and ability to find insult where none existed or was intended was making him the source of ridicule, a fact that made matters worse. Virtually none of Bragg’s general officers had any respect for him, which was causing the morale of the Army of Tennessee to deteriorate rapidly.

“And damn Flynn,” Cleburne again muttered. His assessment was correct. Cleburne was under arrest for consorting with a known Irish radical who supported the Union, one Attila Flynn. Two of Cleburne’s sergeants, fellow Irish immigrants Red Coughlin and Gus O’Hara, had seen Attila Flynn come and leave and, having recognized him, had run to Bragg’s headquarters with the information that General Cleburne was consorting with the enemy. Worse, there was the strong possibility that the charge would stick since it had the virtue of being true. Cleburne cursed himself for not having arrested Flynn instead of talking with him. But no, he had honored the implicit truce and this was his reward.

“Penny for your thoughts, Patrick.” Attila Flynn stood in the entrance to the tent.

Cleburne did not rise, although his anger did. “For some reason I expected you, and I do not want a penny for my thoughts, as it would be a bad penny coming from you.”

Flynn sat on a camp stool across from Cleburne. They were so close in the small tent that their knees almost touched. “But I’ve done you a favor, lad. Now you know what their mighty Confederate lordships think of you and what your real future is with them. They don’t like or trust you, Patrick. You’re Irish, and they don’t like the Irish. I’ve heard that some think you’re a Catholic despite your professed Anglicanism.”

Cleburne almost complained about the injustice of it. But Flynn was fairly correct. Cleburne was an Irishman and an immigrant and, while Anglican instead of Catholic, was looked upon as being almost Catholic in a land where Catholics were far from universally loved. At times he’d thought that he’d become an Anglican because it was the closest one could get to Catholicism and still be a Protestant.

“After all was said and done. Patrick, it was the Negro thing that brought you to the attention of Braxton Bragg and Jefferson Davis. Without the Negro thing you might have gotten away with meeting with me. But with it, your goose is cooked.”

Cleburne had always been against slavery and. as the war had dragged on without any signs of a future letup, he had authored a report that suggested that an army of Southern colored troops be formed to protect the Confederacy. His report was logical and concise. The Southern white man was outnumbered by the Northern white, and the North was already arming Negroes for service against the South, which would further improve the North’s dominance in manpower. Cleburne simply wished to augment Southern manpower by utilizing “loyal” Negroes in the military. His suggestions had gone to Bragg, who had forwarded them to Jefferson Davis.

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.

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?’: