Between Albany and Saratoga, New York
December 1863
It had been a dizzying couple of days for John Lane.
Fetched by Major Packenham, he had gone to see General Burgoyne for the second time in as many days. Burgoyne had told him that Lord Palmerston and the crown had agreed to the Fenian proposal of Home Rule for Ireland, after the war, in exchange for Irish soldiers in the Union Army switching sides now.
“Is there a piece of paper to sign? Is there a date certain for Irish Home Rule, say sixty days following the end of the war?”
Burgoyne had brushed aside the questions. “Surely, Corporal Lane, you don’t expect that Her Majesty is going to sign an agreement with the Fenian Brotherhood? And as for a date certain, I should think that Her Majesty’s word would be sufficient.”
Lane had wondered, how far do I push him? “Surely, General, accustomed as we Irish are to accepting the word of a benevolent crown in all things, I’d prefer to have something to hang my hat on.”
Burgoyne paused, looking sharply at Lane. “I suggest you hang your hat on the following. That upon the successful conclusion of the war, assisted by the Fenian Brotherhood, the crown will grant Irish Home Rule as soon as political circumstances permit.”
“You’ll understand, General. I need more than that. We’ll be asking Irish soldiers to commit treason against their adopted country. We’ll need a guarantee that it’s worth the risk for them.”
Burgoyne had expected no less. He thought about his long career. The swamps of Louisiana. Chasing Boney through Spain. Long years away from his family, barely knowing his children. Crimea. And now this independent command, and so far from home. Lane was right, of course. He couldn’t ask men to commit treason for anything less than a guarantee.
“You have my word, Mr. Lane. Within ninety days of a successful termination of this war, in which your Irish soldiers have supported our cause, you will have your Home Rule.”
Lane knew he was out of his depth. What proof would he have that Burgoyne had given his word? And what weight would Burgoyne’s word carry in London? Burgoyne was rolling the dice. Lane decided that he would as well.
“Fair enough.” He reached out with his good hand.
Burgoyne looked puzzled, then seemed to suppress a smile. “Yes, of course.” He grasped Lane’s hand and shook it.
“I’ll inform Mr. O’Mahony and we’ll get cracking.”
“Please see that you do. I expect General McClellan to attack soon, and it would be convenient indeed if his Irish troops had other plans for the day.”
After meeting with Burgoyne, Lane had driven the wagon to Albany where he had wired O’Mahony. Knowing that he couldn’t be explicit, Lane puzzled over how to inform the Fenian. He finally wrote, Permission received to rouse the Fianna. Meet me in Albany today if possible. Lane smiled. O’Mahony the scholar would get the reference to the Fianna, the legendary Irish warriors from mythology.
O’Mahony hadn’t wasted any time, and he had arrived in the afternoon with General Thomas Francis Meagher in tow, the most famous Irish soldier in America.
In the wagon ride from Albany, Lane had tried to answer their questions about his meeting with Burgoyne.
“Palmerston gave his word then?”
“In a manner of speaking, sir. It was General Burgoyne who gave his word, based on his correspondence with Palmerston. I believe the term was something like ‘as soon as political circumstances permit.’”
O’Mahony and Meagher were silent.
“What do you make of that, lad?”
Lane had prepared for the question. “I believe it’s the best chance we’ve ever had or will ever have. I believe that if we deliver, General Burgoyne will ensure that the crown does as well.”
“We need to see Colonel Kelly, commander of the Irish Brigade. What’s left of it. The poor bastards. The fellas who weren’t slaughtered on Marye’s Heights . . . sorry John.”
“It’s fine, sir.”
“The rest were slaughtered at Chancellorsville. The brigade is more of a regiment now. But if we can convince Kelly and those lads, others will follow.”
O’Mahony looked at Lane. “Can you find Colonel Kelly and the Irish Brigade? Do you know where they are?”
“I do, sir. They’re camped in my front garden. Well, the garden of my, em, business associate. We’ll be there in two hours.”