Chapter 720: The Most Profitable Deal
"It seems I've come all this way for nothing," Lord Grenville said with a shrug. "So, shall we talk business instead?"
Hamilton straightened in his chair. "I'm listening."
To be honest, U.S.-British relations weren't great at the moment. Ever since Booker's rampage through Georgia, there had been increasing calls among Americans to strengthen the U.S.-French alliance.
And now, the British were requesting that the U.S. provide logistical support to their troops in Saint-Domingue?
Hamilton had already made up his mind: no matter what tricks the British envoy tried, he would flatly refuse.
Grenville cleared his throat and said, "Parliament has decided we're willing to sell all our Caribbean colonies to the United States."
"That's absolutely out of the que—" Hamilton froze mid-sentence, his eyes widening. "What did you say? The Caribbean colonies?"
Grenville smiled and nodded. "Yes, all of them. From Jamaica to the Lesser Antilles."
Hamilton's breath quickened.
The U.S. had long coveted the Caribbean, practically salivating at the prospect of controlling the region. But the islands had been divvied up among major powers like Britain, France, and Spain, leaving the U.S. to watch from the sidelines.
And now the British were offering to hand over their Caribbean colonies?
It was no small offer, either. Britain controlled the lion's share of the Caribbean territories—more than half of them, in fact.
Hamilton quickly calmed himself and asked, "You mentioned business. What's the price? I should remind you that the entire region is currently in the midst of violent slave revolts, making it nearly impossible to derive any profit."
"Revolts can be suppressed," Grenville replied lightly. "Given how close these islands are to you, I'm confident the U.S. will have the means to manage them."
Hamilton made no comment, though he silently agreed.
The cost for the U.S. to deploy troops to the Caribbean would be far lower than for Britain. Plus, proximity made administration much easier.
That said, if someone told him that even by the 21st century the U.S. wouldn't have fully managed to "control" Cuba, the Bahamas, or other nations in the region, he might have had second thoughts.
"Even so, I don't think Congress will allocate much funding for ungovernable territories," Hamilton said cautiously.
After some back-and-forth haggling, Grenville sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. You drive a hard bargain. I'll lay Parliament's terms on the table:
"First, in the event of a war in Europe, the United States must remain neutral—or at the very least, refrain from attacking Britain or its allies."
Hamilton made no comment, merely gesturing for him to continue.
"Second, the U.S. must recognize British property in the Caribbean—assuming it hasn't already been destroyed by the revolts. British plantation owners will, of course, pay taxes to the U.S. government."
"And?"
"Lastly, Britain must receive preferential treatment on Caribbean sugar exports—fixed at the lowest prices for a period of 30 years."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
Hamilton thought it over briefly and nodded. "I'll present this to Congress as a formal proposal."
"Excellent. I trust you won't keep me waiting too long."
Hamilton paused, then asked, "And what about the British expeditionary forces in Saint-Domingue?"
Grenville sighed. "The Marquess of Cunningham will be returning to London in early November. I suggest you make preparations before then."
The war in Saint-Domingue showed no signs of concluding. After sinking over £600,000 into the campaign, the British government had finally decided to cut its losses.
Still, Grenville had managed to secure several benefits for Britain—especially regarding the second condition he'd outlined.
If the Americans managed to suppress the slave revolts, many British-owned plantations could remain intact, effectively allowing the U.S. military to protect British interests.
Of course, that depended on whether the U.S. was up to the task.
The Next Day
By noon, the U.S. Congress had already passed a resolution to purchase all of Britain's Caribbean colonies for a mere $30,000. Both parties signed the Caribbean Agreement shortly thereafter.
A Little Over Two Weeks Later
The beleaguered British expeditionary forces finally withdrew from Saint-Domingue.
The Saint-Domingue Assembly immediately left Duarte Mountain, returned to Port-au-Prince, and triumphantly declared the day their National Independence Day.
When word reached Europe, major powers like Austria, Prussia, and Portugal swiftly recognized the Saint-Domingue Republic. With sugar prices soaring to levels rivaling gold, everyone was eager to establish trade ties with the fledgling nation.
What they didn't know was that the island's sugar export licenses were already securely in the hands of a certain European crown prince.
Southwestern Russia.
Kharkiv.
Kosciuszko reined in his horse and turned to gaze at the vast plain behind him. The once-mighty Kursk Fortress, now blackened by cannon fire, was barely visible on the horizon.
He crossed himself and whispered, his voice tinged with sorrow, "Brave warriors, may God bless you."
To capture that formidable fortress, the valiant soldiers of his Third Royal Regiment had fought relentlessly for three days and nights. They braved death and injury, using sacks of soil carried by hand to fill trenches and build a path over the first barrier—at the cost of their own lives.
In the end, they succeeded, storming Kursk Fortress at the heavy price of over 2,000 casualties.
To avoid slowing the army's advance, a thousand wounded soldiers volunteered to remain behind, despite having little to no provisions.
Dombrowski, watching his commander's somber expression as he stared into the distance, stepped closer. Placing a reassuring hand on Kosciuszko's back, he sighed and said, "The homeland will forever honor their sacrifice. But we must press on."
Kosciuszko nodded. Clenching his legs against his horse's flanks, he spurred it forward to rejoin the marching column.
Shaking off his reverie, he surveyed the endless oak forest surrounding them and turned to Dombrowski, lowering his voice.
"How much food do we have left?"
"Enough bread for three days," Dombrowski replied just as quietly. "But we're almost out of hay and oats."
During long-range raids, horses consumed far more supplies than soldiers.
Kosciuszko frowned deeply, then after a long silence said with difficulty, "If we have no other choice, we'll have to slaughter the horses."
Though cavalry was critical—especially on the Eastern European plains, where infantry without cavalry support could easily be harried to death by Cossacks—soon, the soldiers would have nothing to eat but their horses.
The journey to Crimea was still a month away. A deep despair crept into Kosciuszko's heart, but he suppressed it with sheer force of will.
He refused to let himself dwell on the grim reality: that after enduring such heavy losses and traveling hundreds of miles, his soldiers might vanish silently into the forests of Kharkiv.
More than that, his army had yet to tip the balance of the Polish war effort.
He would not accept such an end—not for himself, not for his men.
He could not let them perish like this.
Three Days Later.
The isolated Polish army continued trudging through the vast, shadowy forest.
A supply corps soldier gently stroked a frail, malnourished horse, murmuring sorrowfully, "I'm sorry, old friend. May you find peace in heaven."
That morning, none of the troops had breakfast. Following their commander's orders, over a hundred horses were to be slaughtered and used as rations.
The supply corps officer heaved a sigh and gave the grim command.
Silently, the soldiers drew their knives.
The horses, too weak to resist, merely stood quietly, gazing at their handlers with tired eyes.
As the first knife was about to plunge, the piercing sound of horns blared from the front of the column.
It was the alarm signal from the scouting cavalry—they had spotted the enemy.
Kosciuszko immediately ordered the troops to form ranks and galloped to a nearby clearing on higher ground. Raising his binoculars, he scanned the southern horizon.
Near the eastern bank of the Seim River, he spotted a convoy of carts and horses gleaming in the sunlight, their bright reflections almost dazzling.
The attire of the drivers caught his attention—they appeared to be Ottoman.
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