The Maple Leaf Forever: An Alternate History of Canada (2.0)

London, England, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland
December, 1st

Adalene Béringer walked the streets of the great capital of the Empire. She had been born and raised Montreal, the largest city in British North America. But now she understood just how small the city truly was. Montreal boasted a staggering population building towards one hundred thousand inhabitance. London, she did all she could not to gape in awe at what stood before her, London may have held all the population of all the world so far as she could tell. Everything about the city, about it's people, about the way they moved, dressed, hurried in the streets, seemed... more than she had known back home. She was from a "well to do" family, her clothing the latest fashion to reach the shores of the colony, her hair in the popular fashion back home. But here among the "well to do" of London, she felt as if she were the same poor farmer's wife her grandmother had been, dressed to work on the land, and covered in it's mud, dirt, and other unmentionable things.

Her husband, Lucien Béringer had been chosen to attend the Conference of London, that would be taking place come January. He too was from a good family, and had seen much more of the colonies than she had. Growing up in Montreal, living in Quebec City, working in Kingston and Toronto. Adalene smiled looking at her husband's face, like her, nothing he had seen in his years had readied him for London. At least, in this, she was not alone. She tightened her grip, her arm locked in his pulling him close. He looked down, his green eyes sparkling under his mop of black hair, some of his features hinting at a distant Canadian Indian ancestor, clashing greatly with her own porcelain skin, blue eyes, and nearly white hair. Her husband leaned in, gentally kissing her cheek, causing her to flush a deep red she knew would be seen by all the people in the streets.

That at least, was in one way the Canadiens, and many Canadians were "more" than their counterparts in London. She saw, with some pride English men and women scowling and the display of affection that was so readily shown on their streets. She did not, could not, bring herself to care for their opinions on the matter. As if it make the point to herself, and to her husband she spoke as if nothing were in anyway out of place.

"What is it, that the Conference shall be covering?" She asked in the French of Quebec. The language drew the attention of one man who heard it, an almost shocked look on his face, that made Adalene smile openly.

"From what I understand," Her husband responded also in his native language. "we will be discussing the nature of our nation with the English Colonial Administrators." He nearly spat at the thought. He, along with all the Parti Rouge, held no true hope that the "Republic" was achievable. So rather, they were simply to fight for the greatest freedom they could readily gain. "Compromise." Lucien spoke the word almost in confusion. It was not quite a curse, but nor was it anything else. Adalene, again holding her husband close to her smiled and spoke calmly.

"Compromise is not so bad, oui?" He slowly turned to face her, as if she had denied the existence of God. "What it is, I mean, Monsieur MacDonald, he has compromised with us has he not?" Her husband had done much to inform her of what had taken place in the first conference he had attended. He, and some of the party, had seen the "compromise" as a loss. But rather, Adalene had show him the light, of the victory it truly was. They had insure that Bytown, or Ottawa as it was now called, would not dominate all the nation. The battle they had fought had been won, with the power gained for the regions, the Parti Rouge had ensured the existence of the Canadien for the foreseeable future.

He had calmed after that, standing in that light.

Adalene watched as her husband thought over her statement on the Premier. He would get there, sooner or later. Before they had walked another block, he was nodding as if to himself. "Yes, yes, you are correct as you often are." He smiled again, looking back to his wife.

"Now," She took his hand in hers. "Tell me, again, for I have been confused and forgotten what it was you had said on the crossing of the Atlantic. What is it that the Parti is pushing for, if not a republic?" She lied between her teeth. She remembered well what her husband and Mr. Brown had been speaking of, but wished to review it and add in her own thoughts. Lucien would be far more likely to hear her words, and heed them when it was simply the two speaking in private.

"Monsieur Brown, he of course supports Confederation as a whole. He is English after all, I am sorry, no he is of course Scottish, but in this case there is very little difference." That, may have been true, but Adalene did not always find it so. The Scottish, both in Canada and in Europe had always been more kind to the French than their English counterparts. Her husband continued. "Monsieur MacDonald, Monsieurs Cartier and McGee wish to ask the Parliament in London for a Monarch of our own. It is whispered, that Queen Victoria and Prime Minister Temple support this measure." He ran a hand over his thick unruly hair.

"And the thoughts in your mind?" Adalene asked interested honestly.

"I... am not sure." He said openly. "It is true that a republic would be ideal. But, as that is not an option, I am left as the English say "Between the devil and the sea"." He spoke the last words in English.

"Is it possible, tell me, to limit the power of the crown?" Adalene asked, guiding his thoughts.

"Well, yes of course." Lucien said looking sideways towards his wife. "There is a long history in England of such things. From the Magna Carta until this day." He spoke as if she should have known at least something on the subject. Which of course she did. Adalene nodded, and smiled softly, then simply waited. "Unless..." Her husband said slowly.

"Hmm?" She asked resting her head on his shoulder.

"It maybe... non, non, they would not accept such a thing." He shook his head slowly holding his chin.

"What is it my love?" She asked rubbing his thumb with her own.

"Perhaps, using the history of England as a backbone, we could, both the Grits and the Parti Rouge, argue for yet a further weakening of the powers of the Monarch. So it maybe that Canada would have only a King in name, and name alone." Lucien was lost in thought suddenly. When he was in such away there was no force in Heaven or Earth that could draw him back until he was well ready. Adalene smiled deep within herself. Lucien was a brilliant man, a good politician, a good diplomat, and a good Canadien.

But like all men since the first rising of the sun, he sometimes needed to be shown a path before he knew to take it.
 
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Curious. I will admit to not being overly familiar with the period, especially in regards to Canadian politics, but this is a most enjoyable read. I quite liked the first version, and, as last time I look forward to seeing how the new kingdom develops and how it effects the other colonies. I also anticipate relations with other nations, particularly those in Latin America, to be rather interesting. I wonder if Brazil would treat Canada any differently for having its own monarch. Or if Canada might provide any supports for the Second Mexican Empire, or dissuade Washington from supporting Juarez. Not areas I know much about, but I was struggling to find anything substantive to say.
Actually, I wonder what relations with St. Petersburg will be like, if they exist directly at all, and if the other nations of Europe might interpret Canada's independence as a splintering of the British Empire.

I wonder if in this timeline Gaelic might become an official language in Canada. I recall vaguely that it nearly did OTL, and a trilingual Canada would be interesting. Might even be able to garner more highlander and Irish immigrants.
 
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Early days yet, Alaska has not been sold yet to the U.S.? Not likely to change but still looking forward to where this goes.:)
 
Who knows, maybe the Imperial Court would be more comfortable selling to a monarchy than to a republic.
 
Years ago, I heard the Russians "sold" Alaska as a way for the US to "pay" them back for their support during the Civil War. Something about the Baltic Fleets visit to NYC during the early days of the Union Blockade.
Early days yet, Alaska has not been sold yet to the U.S.? Not likely to change but still looking forward to where this goes.:)
 
I've never heard of that as well.

Gaelic was in decline in Canada since the 1840s or 50s I think in OTL.

Though.... could be interesting.
 
Not just Nova Scotia, but Anglo-phone Quebec and Ontario. Most settlers in these regions save the Irish, were Scots, highland Scots in NS, Montreal, and York/Niagra region of Ontario.

Gaelic was also spoken frequently in NS until the 20's when a program of moving people from the highlands and 'mountains'(we don't have mountains, just really high hills, but call them mountains anyways;)), down to towns and valleys did the language really see a decline in speakers.

I've often wondered what a trilingual province would do to the fabric of the french/english Canada blanket we get covered with.
 
Fort Fisher, North Carolina, Confederate States of America
January, 15h, 1865


Ian had been shipped south, twice, in less than three months. Firstly on leave, down towards south Virginia, then once more to Fort Fisher in North Carolina. His unit had not been at the fort for more than a day, perhaps a day and a half, and not slept in longer. His division had been placed under the command of Robert Hoke, charged with assisting in the defence of the Confederate Fort on the Atlantic. Or at least, what now remained of it. Guns roared like the bellowing of the trumpets calling judgement down upon the heads of mortal men and women.

It was the coming of death. That at least, he was sure of.

Men in grey were falling away from the walls. Not in retreat, but in death, or for the lucky, or less lucky, to the medical tents where arms, legs, or both would be amputated. Cannon from the sides of the Confederate Fort fired again, and again. Ian raised up, over the walls of the fort, the site he saw nearly knocked him back. The shore was covered in blue, as if a tidal wave were crashing onto the shores. A thin band of grey sea foam at it's head, and that grey band was thinning out yet still.

Ian's eyes, following the lines of Union solders as he fired and reloaded, saw the first ladders go up along the walls. In lower regions blue clad men threatened to overwhelm the walls with out ladders, but simply with their vast numbers. The Union ships rang out again, Ian took a step back. A Union man cam up over the wall, raising his rifle, but Ian's barked first. The man's eye vanished into a cloud of red mist as he tumbled back towards the earth. Two more took his place, Ian plunged his bayonet into one man's throat. But the other man had the time to fire, the shot ripping part of the Grey Uniform. Ian stepped back yet again, he made as if to lunge at the man who had tried to take his life, but other Yankees had now appeared on the wall. Some over it, fighting the Confederate forces back. Ian moved further, and further back. Plunging the metal again into another Union solder who grunted and made as if to pull the weapon from his chest before slumping. His weight hanging on the end of the weapon.

A trumpet sounded somewhere behind him. He couldn't quite hear it. He knocked one man in the head with the butt of his weapon, blood and teeth spewing from his mouth. He glanced back down over the wall, just as the CS battle flag on the shores faltered and fell into the tide of blue coats. "Damn." He spat. Another shot blew out the shoulder of his uniform, but was just high enough to leave the shoulder of his person unharmed. He fell back further, not in a single, or even double step. He turned his back to the wall and started to move. Then he saw it, the wave was breaking over all the walls of the fort. Men in Grey turned and ran, it was no a retreat, but a rout. Ian finally heard, and recognised the trumpet call he had heard.

"Spud!" One of the men in grey near him called out. "You move yer laz-eye Canadian ass boy!" He said tugging at Ian's arm. Jefferson Cunningham had been a friend since his first days in Grey. His advice had kept Ian alive more than once.

Why stop listening now?

Ian, to his shame, broke into a run. He was neck and neck with Jefferson, his left hand holding down his hat, his right refusing to drop his rifle. The stream of grey was thinner than it should have been, more men had died, or been captured, but that didn't matter. Ian was alive, they would regroup, counter attack, and the fort would fall, the Battle Flag flying over it again. The war was far from over.
 
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London, England, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland
January, 20th, 1865

The First Conference of London had gone far more smoothly than McGee had expected it to. The Parti Rouge interestingly enough had seemed to experience a small schism between the Republicans and a new faction of Moderates lead by one Lucien Béringer. He was young, impetuous, witty, and powerfully brilliant. Primer MacDonald had already, in a way, begun courting the young man at the instant the schism had become apparent. McGee sipped at his wine, looking across the long dinning table as the Premier talked restlessly with the young French-Canadian. But Thomas' eyes instead watched the man's wife. She was stunning, he would have enjoyed watching her had she been busy or not. Rather, she was holding a conversation with the British Home Secretary, judging by the look on the Englishman's face, she was doing well holding her own against the man.

"Interesting." McGree spoke into his wine glass.

"Indeed." Mary said in agreement, though she was not joining him in drink. The two smiled at one another knowingly. Then both McGee's eyes snapped towards the end of the long table. An ageing, round woman, dressed all in black, having finished eating and now supped at a tall goblet of water watch approvingly as her subjects made their way through the closing of dinner. The slightest ghost of a smile in her eyes. Queen Victoria, Empress of India, would in time, of course grant her approval to the Confederation of her North American colonies. His eyes then moved to the young man sitting to her right. A boy really, hardly yet old enough to shave, though already tall, broad and fair looking. His hair was long, and face solid, he looked more Scottish in nature than English, or his natural German. There was an air to the boy which McGee found interesting. Prince Arthur of the House Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, if all things went as MacDonald, Her Majesty the Queen, the Colonial Secretary, and the Prime Minister desired, would be King of Canada.

The young Prince looked around nervously at the assembled guests. There was reluctance in his face, and a glint of fear in his eyes. But like any true royal in his position he would do as was needed of him. For his Kingdom. Or rather the Kingdom of Canada.

Loud voices, both yelling in French suddenly caught McGee's attention. He turned to see Béringer and Laurendeau, standing both red of face, exchanging hard words. When at last Laurendeau and his republicans stood, turning to Béringer and a younger man, McGee believed to be named "Laurier". The three senior members of the Parti Rouge walked away, in a rage. Before storming out of the palace, Laurendeau hissed over his shoulder towards Béringer spitting the word. "Traître." His eyes moved from MacDonald, to the Queen, then back to Béringer. "Va au diable."
 
So Canada gets a seperate monarchy? Does this set a precedent for other colonies?

I should imagine that what Canada gets, the other colonies, Australia/Australasia particularly, would demand. If only to avoid the appearence of being somehow lesser.
 
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