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 happened, Wolsey?”

Wolsey liked the veteran general, whom he had known from India. “The devil's name is Grant and he has beaten us. Now it is time to save what we might.”

Gough nodded. Again, the Canadian and British lines were being forced back. Not enough could be brought to bear on the Union flank attack to do more than delay it, while other Union forces were moving into the positions vacated by Gough's men. A gap was appearing between the British and Scottish divisions. Union troops would soon find it and pour through if Campbell didn't withdraw immediately.

Now there were signs of panic. Men were running past with terror in their eyes. Many had thrown away their rifles and only wanted to get away from this awful place. It came as a shock that a goodly number of the fleeing host wore the scarlet tunic of the British regular. They had fought the battle of their lives and now had no more to give. If the army didn't retreat soon, the entire British force would be destroyed.

Then the first line of Scottish soldiers appeared, half stumbling and half running. They were exhausted, hollow-eyed, and beaten. If the rest of Campbell's division was like this, they would be of no use in fending off the Union assault, which continued to grow in intensity. Gough's division and Wolsey's one remaining brigade were being destroyed.

“Governor Monck,” Wolsey said, “I strongly urge you to get back to Toronto as quickly as you can before we are cut off.” “That can't happen, can it?” Monck said in disbelief.

“Sir, it can and will happen. We will be forced backward by Union infantry while their cavalry harasses our rear. If you are lucky, they will not be concerned with you and your civilian entourage. If you are not lucky, I suggest you surrender and identify yourself immediately so that you are not hanged for a spy. If you should make it safely, please tell Her Majesty's government what you have seen.”

The clamor of battle had receded to a numbed silence when Nathan rode through the carnage that had once been cornfields and grazing land. The dead of both sides lay where they had fallen, and, as there were far more red coats than blue, gave testimony as to who had won.

Nathan had never seen a battlefield up close. At Culpeper, he had been behind the lines, which had then retreated. This day he was treated to the full scale of horror. The dead had begun to blacken and bloat in the summer heat, while pieces of bodies lay as if from dolls or toys that had been flung about by a destructive child. He found a stack of dismembered corpses and understood the effect of an exploding shell on soft flesh. Flies had begun to accumulate in swarming black clouds, and the stench of blood, bile, and flesh that was beginning to rot was almost overwhelming.

The extent of the carnage made him realize just how trivial his bout with the Apaches had been. It also made him wonder just how a man like Grant, or any other general for that matter, could send men out to die by the hundreds or thousands, and still sleep at night.

At least the wounded had been gathered up, although how much good it would do them was debatable. Once again, the hospitals were overwhelmed with wounded, many of whom were terribly mangled, and a high percentage of the others would develop infections and die. Truth was, many wounded never returned to the war and might as well have been dead.

The retreating British had left their supplies, and many of their guns. A number of British and Canadian wounded had also been left and these were being treated by both their own and the overwhelmed American medical personnel. A few hours earlier they had been enemies; now they lay side by side, silent and broken, waiting for someone to make it better.

The victory had been overwhelming and complete. What saddened Nathan in particular was the number of Canadians whose blood had been spilled. He wondered how many had been at London and had decided to join up again despite promising not to. It would be churlish to feel that they deserved their fate. Nobody deserved to die chewed up by war.

Because of total cavalry domination, General Grant had been able to hide Major General William Tecumseh Sherman's reinforced corps and send it around the Union left flank. Grierson's screening cavalry had kept the British in the dark until it was too late. Now Grierson was headed towards Toronto in an attempt to get there first and block the British retreat.

“Marvelous, isn't it?” Rawlins said. “Tell it to the dead,” Nathan muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. Yes_: it is a marvelous victory. Do we have any numbers yet?”

“Our casualties will be about eighteen hundred, two thousand at the most. Not many_: all things considered. As to theirs, we've just begun counting, and it appears that there are at least twice that many dead and wounded, with at least two thousand taken as prisoners. We should gather many more as we press them in the morning.”

Night had begun to fall. Even though victorious, the Union soldiers were exhausted and drained by the daylong ordeal. They needed food, water, ammunition, and sleep, and not necessarily in that order. Grant had ordered that they get their rest. There was no point in anyone blundering around in the dark. They would begin again in the morning. If Grierson did his job, the British would be blocked from retreating past Hamilton to Toronto. The British had a head start and_: ironically, could travel quickly since they had left so much of their supplies and equipment behind. However, without that equipment, it was questionable as to whether they could punch through Grierson's dismounted cavalry before Grant's main body caught them. Two regiments of mounted infantry under the diminutive Philip Sheridan were racing to reinforce Grierson.