“What do you think?” asked Rawlins as they rode briskly back to headquarters. There might not be much for them to do once the battle was joined, but Grant's headquarters was where they were supposed to be.
“I think,” Nathan answered, “that the British are going to attack our right. And now we shall find out whether our planning was good.”
Neither man mentioned that the next few hours would go a long ways towards determining whether or not the United States would be accepted as a major power by the other nations of the world. A victory would be a major step forward, while a defeat and a subsequent retreat towards Detroit would make the Union a laughingstock among nations, perhaps even end the war in favor of Great Britain and the Confederacy.
The battle had been raging for several hours when a courier from Lord Cardigan ordered Wolsey to send one of his Canadian brigades forward to the center of the British line. As he gave the orders to comply, Viscount Monck rode up. He was clearly distressed on finding that his untrained and extremely nervous Canadians were going into battle.
“General, what is Cardigan up to?”
“I got precious little information from the courier, but it does appear that General Campbell has either found or turned the Union flank. His men are moving in that direction, which would leave a gap in our lines if something wasn't done to plug it.”
“Too many are dying today.” Monck said.
A steady stream of wounded had been winding its way back to the field hospitals. The sight of the gore had shaken the inexperienced Canadians. Many of the wounded had lost limbs or been blinded, or even castrated, by shell fragments. It was a sight to disturb even the most experienced soldier, and few of the Canadians had been in battle before.
Wolsey wondered if the governor had somehow hoped to fight a bloodless war, frightening the Americans back across their border without losing any men. If so, he was being sadly brought back to reality.
A second courier arrived and another brigade was sent marching towards the smoke and the thunderous gunfire. This left one brigade and only about three thousand men in the total reserve.
“You look uncomfortable,” Monck commented.
“I am, sir. I wonder if the Union flank is truly being turned or if they are simply refusing it.”
“What do you mean?”
“If we have actually turned their flank, then we are threatening their rear. This would compel them to retreat and the day would be ours. However, if they are simply maneuvering and have turned their flank inward, they are denying their rear to us and have created a situation where they can maneuver more freely with the advantage of interior lines. If it is the latter, we are horribly vulnerable to a counterattack since we have extended our lines so much to swallow theirs that we have precious few men to resist such an attack.”
“Did you know the telegraph line to Toronto isn't working?” Monck said.
Wolsey paled. He hadn't known. The line had originally run from Toronto to Windsor and had been functioning, at least from Toronto to Cardigan's headquarters, a short while before.
“Perhaps it was a natural break,” Monck said hopefully.
“More likely Union cavalry,” Wolsey said. The lack of British cavalry angered him. Cardigan had gone into battle with only one squadron of British dragoons, and a few hundred Canadians who were so bad that they referred to themselves as “farmers on horseback” and thought it a compliment.
“What are you going to do?” Monck asked.
Wolsey signalled for pen and paper. “I will note my concerns with Lord Cardigan. Then I shall inform General Gough that I am moving my one remaining brigade towards the north and will deploy it facing that direction. If there is to be a Union counterattack, I believe it will come from that direction.”
“I note that you are not telling Cardigan that you are moving.”
Wolsey grinned wolfishly. “If I were to tell him, he would tell me to stand still and not worry. What he doesn't know, he can't change.”
About an hour later, Canadian skirmishers picked up motion in the woodlands to the north. Within moments, a line of Union skirmishers appeared, opened fire, and, after a brief duel, drove the outnumbered Canadians back to their main lines.
“How many?” Wolsey asked as he rode to the sounds of fighting. The best answer he got was thousands. Was it possible? Then came the report of Union cavalry attacking in their rear. Was it a nuisance raid that could be ignored, or an attack in force? Either way, with two of his three brigades already committed, he had nothing to stop it with.
“Jesus Christ! Look at that!” someone yelled. It wasn't very military but it drew everyone's attention. Long ranks of blue-coated soldiers were moving into sight, with dozens of horse-drawn cannon moving forward to be unlimbered.
“God.” said Wolsey.
“How many?” Monck looked stunned.
“At least a brigade, with more coming. I would estimate at least two thousand, with possibly many more behind them.”
Wolsey grabbed couriers and sent them forward with verbal messages. To Cardigan he sent the news that he was under attack by an overwhelming Union force. He did not suggest that Campbell's attack on the Union flank be broken off. That was not his decision to make, although he strongly implied it.
To General Gough went the news of the Union attack and a request that the British Division pull back to help secure the northern flank. Within a few minutes, a reply from Gough said he could hear the sounds of battle behind him and concurred with Wolsey. He would break off and withdraw to support Wolsey's Canadians as quickly as possible; however, it did appear that the Americans were going to attack and press him as he did so.
The Union force swept forward. It was as inexorable as a strong tide. Massed cannon tore bloody chunks out of the Canadian lines, while the rifles of the Union infantry chewed into the remaining Canadians. A shell exploded and a dozen men went down screaming and pulped. Wolsey ordered a withdrawal to a new position several hundred yards in their rear, and was pleased that they did it in fairly good order. There was no panic. Yet.
The field, however, was littered with the bodies of dead and wounded Canadians. There would be no lives saved today, he thought ruefully. Today the damned piper wanted his due. A British battalion arrived at a run from Gough and it was placed in the Canadian center. American cannon found it immediately and began to pound it to pieces while still more Union infantry came into view. Wolsey angrily revised his estimate of their strength upward. He now thought that maybe twenty thousand opposed him.
A messenger from Lord Cardigan arrived and informed Wolsey that, in Cardigan's opinion, he was overreacting to an American patrol, and that the situation was well in hand.
“You stupid bastard,” Wolsey snarled at the absent Cardigan.
Wolsey grabbed the messenger, a very young ensign, and turned the boy's head towards the advancing Union host.
“Tell me, Ensign, what do you see? Is that a patrol or an army?”
“An army, sir,” the boy stammered.
“What will you tell Lord Cardigan? That I am correct or that Governor Monck and I are hallucinating? Will you tell him that General Gough is already withdrawing, or that Gough is also fantasizing?”
The ensign's eyes were wide with fright and surprise. “I'll tell him it's an army, sir, a bloody great Union army coming right towards us.”
Wolsey grinned despite himself. “Good lad. Now tell his lordship what you have seen. Tell him I'm about to be overwhelmed and that General Gough won't be able to hold them either. Tell them that Grant has tricked us. We don't outnumber them at all. They outnumber us and by a great many. Tell his lordship that if he wishes to save anything of his army, he had better pull it back now and begin retreating to Hamilton. Now, Ensign, can you remember all that?”
The ensign assured Wolsey that he would and rode off in a desperate gallop. It was only a mile or two at most to Cardigan's headquarters, but it would take an eternity to get there. He wondered why Cardigan couldn't hear the sound of fighting behind him. Probably because he wasn't listening.
Moments later, General Gough arrived on a nearly spent horse. He was angry and flushed red. A few months earlier, he had been planning to retire; now the old fighter was in another battle. “What the devil has
