"To the Land of Opportunity!"
"Leave potatoes and milk behind!"
"A new life in a new land!"
As the emigration policy moved into full force, pamphlets and posters flooded every corner of Ireland. The effect was immediate. Crowds began gathering at recruitment offices and ports, far more than anyone had anticipated.
Most of them were driven by a single, stubborn thought: they did not want to pass down a life of potatoes and milk to their children.
"I can live like this if I have to," one man muttered, "but I can't make my children live the same way."
"Potatoes would be a luxury soon enough. We'll be eating rutabaga for the next few years at this rate."
"I can endure it. But watching my children grow up eating nothing but that? I can't do it."
"Let's go to Canada. It has to be better than this place."
"We even got a letter from the Whelans—they left earlier this year. They say life isn't luxurious, but there's real hope there."
"Better to start fresh somewhere new than spend generations digging up potatoes."
Once the rumors caught fire, the movement spread faster than anyone had predicted. People began flocking to the ports, declaring their intention to cross the ocean and settle in Canada.
And yet the decision was not an easy one.
Leaving one's homeland—leaving the place where generations of family had lived—and sailing across the sea to an unknown continent was no small matter.
It wasn't merely poverty that made the choice so difficult.
Even the poor will cling to home if they believe life will improve someday.
But in Ireland, no one knew how long that would take.
The island was overcrowded. Everyone understood the simple arithmetic of it: if every Irishman were to enjoy a standard of living comparable to the English, it would take decades—perhaps longer.
So why wait?
Why spend a lifetime hoping for change when an entirely new land lay waiting across the ocean?
Of course, there were no guarantees.
Life in Canada might not be any better than life in Ireland.
But if the outcome was uncertain either way, wasn't it worth trying?
Better to gamble on a new land than remain rooted in a place where the future seemed permanently stunted.
There was another factor as well—one that weighed heavily on Irish hearts.
Their absolute faith in Killian Gore.
To many Irishmen, Killian had become something close to a myth.
A young man only twenty-one years old, yet one who had risen—through sheer ability—to the highest levels of the British Empire.
The Prime Minister listened to him.
Even Queen Victoria herself reportedly gave weight to his words.
There were even rumors that the young queen had fallen hopelessly in love with him. Most people treated that story as little more than wishful thinking.
But whatever the truth, one fact was undeniable:
Killian Gore wielded immense influence within the empire, and this migration policy was his creation from beginning to end.
And if it was Killian's plan, then surely it could not harm the Irish people.
That belief alone carried thousands across the sea.
The Daley family, boarding a ship bound for Canada, were no exception.
"Mary, they say we'll be arriving in Canada soon," Patrick Daley said quietly. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," his wife replied, though her voice wavered slightly. "My body's fine, at least. It's my heart that feels heavy. I try not to worry, but the uncertainty… it's hard to shake."
"That's only natural," Patrick said gently. "But remember the letter from Mr. Whelan. He said life over there is full of opportunity—far better than spending a lifetime as tenant farmers here."
"You think so?"
"I do. Though I've decided something."
"What's that?"
"I'm not going to farm."
Mary blinked in surprise.
"Not farm? Then what will you do?"
Patrick rubbed his chin.
"I've been thinking about it. If I only farm, life won't be much different from Ireland. But I've heard they're building factories all across Canada. They're desperate for workers. I'll take a job there and learn a trade."
"But factory work is hard," Mary said. "And the pay is poor."
That much everyone knew.
Factories existed in Britain too, and the grim conditions endured by their workers were hardly a secret.
But Patrick merely shrugged.
"It'll be rough for me, sure. But if I learn a skill, I can move up someday. And our son Marcus—he'll grow up with far better opportunities than I ever had."
Who knew?
Perhaps Marcus Daley might one day become a successful businessman in the New World.
(Marcus Daly (December 5, c. 1840s – November 12, 1900) was an Irish-born American businessman known as one of the four "Copper Kings" of Butte, Montana)
It was only a dream.
But it was a dream that could never have been imagined in Ireland.
"From what I've heard," Patrick continued, "the Minister intends to focus on developing Canada. If that's where his attention is going, then working in those industries will give us the best chance to succeed."
Mary nodded slowly.
"That does make sense."
"See? Just wait. In this new land, we'll make something of ourselves. I swear it."
Human beings, after all, can endure almost anything if they believe there is hope at the end of it.
Not long after arriving in Canada, the Daley family realized that their decision had not been a mistake.
The land stretched endlessly toward the horizon.
Great lakes—so vast they seemed like seas—glimmered beneath the sky.
And around those waters, new cities were rising.
The future was here.
Patrick gazed across the growing settlement and smiled.
"Looks like trusting the Minister was the right choice."
What must Killian himself feel, seeing such a vision unfold?
Perhaps, somewhere in London, he was leaning back in a chair, wine glass in hand, watching his grand design come to life.
One day—if not Patrick, then his son—someone in the Daley family would rise high enough to stand before the man himself.
And when that day came, they would thank him.
So it was that Irish settlement in Canada progressed far more smoothly than anyone had expected.
Among the Irish people, there was one man many admired above all others.
The man guiding the empire's enormous migration policy.
The prodigy responsible for making the seemingly impossible look effortless.
One of those admirers was Charles Bagot, the newly appointed Governor General of Canada.
And at this moment, the sixty-year-old diplomat felt his heart pounding with anticipation.
Killian Gore was admired by countless people across the empire, not just the Irish.
Bagot was one of them.
It might seem strange for a man of his age to admire someone barely in his twenties.
Perhaps admiration wasn't quite the right word.
Awe.
Yes—that was closer.
Bagot had spent his entire life in diplomacy. Few people understood better than he did how extraordinary Killian's achievements were.
The negotiations with the Qing Empire.
The war that followed.
And the brilliant diplomatic settlement that concluded it.
To Bagot, it was a masterpiece.
Anyone who studied that sequence of events and felt nothing, he believed, had no business working in diplomacy at all.
There was even a small personal connection between them.
Bagot's wife, Anna Wellesley, was a niece of the Duke of Wellington, and Killian was known to be a close political ally of Anna's cousin—Prime Minister Charles Wellesley.
Indeed, the Prime Minister himself had recently written to Bagot, urging him to cooperate fully with Killian's policies in Canada.
Not that Bagot needed convincing.
More than anything else, he simply wanted to meet the prodigy who had become the youngest minister in the history of the British Empire.
Which was precisely why he had come to the harbor personally.
He wanted to see Killian Gore even one second sooner.
At last, the steamship carrying the minister pulled into port, releasing clouds of white steam as it docked.
The gangway lowered.
Bagot's anticipation surged.
What kind of man would he be?
A fiery genius?
Or a cool and calculating strategist?
Moments later, a tall young man stepped down from the ship, escorted by soldiers.
Bagot hurried forward and bowed politely.
"Minister Gore! Welcome to Canada. My name is Charles Bagot, recently appointed Governor General."
Killian returned the greeting with a courteous nod.
"I'm honored that you came to greet me personally, Governor. It's my first time in Canada, so there will be many things I still need to learn. I look forward to working with you."
"The honor is mine," Bagot replied warmly.
But as he studied Killian's face more closely, something caught his attention.
The young man looked exhausted.
Dark circles lingered beneath his eyes, as if he had barely slept.
Bagot frowned slightly.
"Forgive me for asking, Minister, but are you feeling unwell?"
Killian shook his head.
"Nothing serious. I spent the journey organizing documents and preparing work for Canada. I suppose I've been sleeping less than four hours a night."
"My goodness," Bagot exclaimed. "In that case, you should rest immediately. I've prepared a comfortable residence for you."
"I appreciate the thought," Killian replied calmly. "But there is too much work waiting. The sooner we begin, the sooner we can finish. I would be grateful for your assistance."
Only then did Bagot notice the man standing behind Killian—a secretary carrying a mountain of documents.
Surely…
Surely he hadn't spent the entire voyage reviewing them?
For a moment, Bagot felt a sharp stab of embarrassment.
As a governor.As a diplomat.As a servant of the British Empire.
Of course Killian was brilliant.
But brilliance alone could not elevate a man to such heights at twenty-one.
That position had been earned through relentless effort.
And Bagot had almost dismissed it as mere natural talent.
"I will assist you in any way I can, Minister!" Bagot said firmly.
Killian blinked in mild surprise.
"…Thank you. I didn't expect such enthusiasm."
"How could I do otherwise? When the Minister himself works day and night for the empire, how could I sit idle simply because I hold the title of governor?"
Watching the young minister devote himself so completely to imperial affairs, Bagot felt deeply moved.
It was not Killian's talent he needed to emulate.
It was his passion.
Right then and there, Charles Bagot made a silent vow.
He would help Killian Gore transform Canada into the greatest strategic stronghold of the British Empire.
There were moments when a man realized he had brought disaster upon himself.
This was one of them.
Killian suppressed a sigh.
In hindsight, he should have negotiated for two years instead of one.
He had hoped—perhaps foolishly—that he could complete everything within a single year.
Even before leaving London, he had reviewed endless reports. During the voyage he had sacrificed sleep to plan every detail.
And yet, despite all that preparation…
He had barely begun.
At least there was one consolation.
The Governor General was far more cooperative than expected.
Killian had assumed Bagot would be friendly—given his ties to the Wellesley family—but the man seemed genuinely passionate about his duties.
During the welcoming ceremony he had repeated the word "patriot" so many times Killian almost laughed.
Perhaps the governor truly wanted to contribute to the empire's success.
Whatever the reason, Killian wasn't about to complain.
The faster the work here was completed, the faster he could return to London.
And if he stayed away too long, Victoria might very well tear him apart like an overripe strawberry.
"Minister," Bagot said, presenting a report, "here is the progress on the tasks you assigned. You should be able to review the general situation before departing for the United States."
"Thank you."
Killian skimmed through the papers.
"The development projects are progressing nicely."
"Yes," Bagot replied eagerly. "Large factory complexes are planned around Toronto. We may even accelerate construction of the canal and the railway network. In fact, numerous companies are competing for the contracts."
Killian suppressed a faint smile.
Bagot had no idea that many of those "companies" were secretly his own enterprises.
After purchasing several advanced firms during the American financial panic, Killian had more than enough capable contractors ready to take on the work.
With government backing, infrastructure across the Great Lakes region could appear almost overnight.
"And the other matter I asked you to investigate?" Killian asked.
"Ah, yes," Bagot said. "You were correct. Black fugitives from the United States are quietly crossing the border."
"Accept them all," Killian said calmly. "Slavery has already been abolished in the British Empire. We cannot persecute people who risk their lives for freedom. Of course, they must receive proper education so they can integrate into society without causing trouble."
"Will there be friction with the existing population?"
"Possibly with the English settlers or the French Canadians," Killian admitted. "But we can assign them to new frontier settlements alongside Irish migrants. The Irish are already being educated to live among different peoples."
Even now, ships full of Irish immigrants continued arriving.
But Killian needed more than settlers.
He needed loyal settlers.
And few people would be more loyal than escaped American slaves.
At this rate, Canada's largest populations would soon become Irish immigrants and Black refugees.
If both groups supported him unconditionally…
Then Canada would effectively become not just a British colony—
but his kingdom.
Irish migrants, after all, had spent generations suffering as tenant farmers. Compared to many other Europeans, they were less inclined to despise Black people outright.
Of course, they still believed themselves superior.
But that was unavoidable in this era.
Gradual improvement would suffice.
For that reason, Irish migrants were already being taught that people who had endured hardship should work together to build a better life in this new land.
For Black refugees, that alone would feel like a paradise compared to the United States.
Bagot nodded thoughtfully.
"The land is vast, so accommodating more settlers shouldn't be a problem. Should we also proceed with the plan you suggested—sending trusted Black agents back into the United States?"
"Yes," Killian replied. "But ensure escape routes are prepared for their families and relatives. And absolutely no evidence must link the operation to us."
Perfect.
With James and Pinkerton's National Detective Agency already expanding across the United States, coordinating such operations would become far easier.
Grateful refugees would volunteer in droves.
All they needed to do was spread the story.
Let the world hear it.
Let every Black man in America learn how the British Empire welcomed them—how it gave them land, dignity, and a future.
Then those who wished to become citizens of Killian's kingdom…
would come of their own accord.