Across much of the northern United States, slavery had already been abolished—or was in the process of being dismantled—for a variety of reasons.
The port city of Boston was no exception.
Samuel, a carpenter since childhood, had once believed that skill alone was enough to survive anywhere.
His mother, Eliza, had been born a slave. But by the time Samuel entered the world, she had already gained her freedom.
Black people could live freely.
They could enjoy the same rights as white citizens and shape their own destinies.
Oh, great America—the land of liberty!
It did not take long for Samuel to realize that dream was an illusion.
"Hey, you black bastard. This chair leg broke. Fix it."
"Yes, sir. Just leave it here. The fee will be—"
"Here."
Samuel extended his hand politely, but the middle-aged white man didn't even glance at him. Instead, he tossed a coin carelessly onto the floor and walked away.
"Damn bastard," Samuel muttered under his breath. "If you're going to throw it, at least throw it properly."
At first the humiliation had been unbearable.
But people were adaptable creatures.
After enduring this treatment for years, Samuel no longer felt anger.
Retrieving the coin from the floor was simply tedious.
In truth, he no longer had the strength to feel angry.
"Hey! You black idiot!"
Another man stormed into the shop.
"The table you fixed last week is already wobbling again. What are you going to do about that?"
"I'm terribly sorry," Samuel said quickly. "Shall I come take a look?"
"You'd better come fix it right now! I've got guests coming today, and if this ruins things, you'll regret it. Honestly—what else could I expect from a useless black fool?"
"I'm sorry, sir. I'll go immediately."
It was strange.
According to the laws of the state where he lived, Samuel was not a slave.
So why did his life feel like this?
Other Black members of his church spoke of similar experiences, which suggested he was not uniquely unfortunate.
But the Black residents of Boston remained something less than citizens.
Something unfinished.
White people treated them accordingly.
Black worshippers could not realistically attend the same churches as whites.
And no matter what insults or abuse they suffered, they dared not resist.
Once, while Samuel was walking down the street, a drunken man had attacked him simply because he felt like it.
The great laws of the United States had declared that the white man had committed no crime.
Instead, Samuel had been forced to apologize.
He had been required to bow his head and say he was terribly sorry for standing in the way when the white gentleman was in a bad mood.
Even so, people told him he was lucky.
Boston was a city.
In rural areas, Black men were sometimes beaten to death with no consequences at all.
Slavery still existed in the Southern states, they said.
Did the slaves there suffer even worse treatment than this?
Samuel honestly didn't know.
Suspicion, frustration, anger, and resentment piled up in his heart.
Then one day, he experienced something close to a miracle.
The only place where he found peace in his miserable life was the small Black church in his community.
That evening, the atmosphere inside the church was unusually tense.
A man named Stewart had come to give testimony.
A Black man who had escaped slavery in Virginia, risking his life to flee north.
He had reached Canada—and now he had returned, hoping to guide others to freedom.
"Brothers and sisters," Stewart began, his voice trembling with emotion. "Some of you may remember me. I lived as a slave in Virginia before escaping. I spent two years here in Boston. At first, I felt nothing but relief. I thought I was finally free."
He paused.
"But that feeling lasted only a moment. Reality soon caught up with me. Look around. Here in Boston, we are nothing. Slavery may be abolished in the North, but we still cannot even sing hymns beside white people in church."
If even a man who had escaped slavery in the South said such things…
Then perhaps there truly was no hope here.
In fact, those who had risked their lives for freedom likely felt the injustice even more deeply.
Stewart suddenly raised his voice.
"But today, my friends—I bring you good news!"
His eyes shone with excitement.
"News so wonderful that my heart feels ready to burst!"
Someone in the congregation called out.
"Is Canada really that good?"
"It is," Stewart replied firmly. "To be honest, the place I live now is a poor rural settlement—far rougher than Boston. We spend our days clearing land and building a new town from nothing."
He smiled.
"And do you know who my neighbors are? Many of them are white immigrants from Ireland, newly arrived in the British Empire."
Murmurs spread through the church.
"White people?" someone asked skeptically. "Working alongside us? Not forcing us to do all the labor while they sit back?"
"I thought the same at first," Stewart admitted. "The white settlers in Canada did not see us as equals right away. But they never called us 'black bastard.' Every Sunday, we attend church together. We sing hymns side by side."
His smile widened.
"And after a hard day's work, we sit together drinking beer and talking late into the night. At first things were awkward—but now they're my friends."
The congregation fell silent.
White men sitting and drinking beer together with Black men?
It sounded like a fairy tale.
Seeing the disbelief on their faces, Stewart laughed bitterly.
"I understand why you don't believe me. You've lived too long in this place. You might think my town is some rare exception."
He shook his head.
"But it isn't. This policy is being pushed across Canada by Minister Killian Gore, the British plenipotentiary. He wants every race working together to build a stronger country."
Someone raised a hand.
"Minister? Isn't the president the most powerful man in a country?"
"The British Empire still has a monarch," Stewart explained. "Their system is different from ours. But from what I've heard, Minister Killian Gore holds power in Canada greater than even a president."
He lowered his voice.
"I also heard something else. He's from Ireland himself. The Irish have long suffered discrimination too. That's why he sympathizes with people like us."
A man near the front asked eagerly:
"If we went to Canada… could we live like you?"
Stewart nodded without hesitation.
"Of course. Canada is full of jobs right now. There's more land than anyone knows what to do with. Settling there won't be difficult."
Samuel raised his hand quickly.
"I've worked as a carpenter my whole life. Would someone like me be welcome?"
"A skilled carpenter?" Stewart said with a grin. "You'd be in high demand."
"And will you be going back with us?" Samuel asked.
Stewart shook his head.
"No. I'm returning to Virginia. I plan to help the people I once lived with escape. Even if it costs my life, I want them to experience true freedom."
True freedom.
The words struck Samuel like a hammer.
His chest tightened, and his eyes burned.
Before that feeling faded, he made a decision.
Tomorrow morning, he would pack his belongings and leave Boston.
Looking around the church, he noticed the same determined expression on nearly every face.
It seemed they had all reached the same conclusion.
Among the Black communities of the North, whispers began spreading quietly.
Stories of a new world where they might finally live as human beings.
Just as Webster had promised, officials in Washington, D.C. had clearly spared no effort preparing an elaborate reception.
The fact that so many spectacular events were unfolding beneath the surface—while the Americans remained blissfully unaware—was oddly satisfying.
After the welcoming ceremony concluded, Webster escorted me to the White House.
In a spacious room lined with portraits of former presidents, John Tyler rose from his chair as I entered.
His smile was dazzlingly bright.
"You must be exhausted after traveling from Britain to Canada, and then from Canada to Washington. It's an honor to meet the youngest minister in the British Empire."
"The honor is mine, Mr. President," I replied. "On behalf of Her Majesty Queen Victoria and the British people, I hope our two nations will continue to enjoy friendly relations."
"I've heard you maintain close ties with both the prime minister and the queen," Tyler said casually. "Would it be fair to interpret your words here as the official position of the British Empire?"
"Certainly," I replied. "At least regarding Canada. Parliament and the government have granted me full authority there. I require no further approval."
"Excellent," Tyler said, visibly pleased. "Then perhaps we can resolve the minor dispute between Maine and New Brunswick during this visit."
The United States and Canada shared an enormous border—one that stretched across the entire North American continent.
Naturally, small disputes arose constantly.
Even in modern times, such issues still appeared from time to time.
Tyler, a politically weakened president, clearly hoped that resolving one of them would restore his reputation.
Unfortunately for him…
I had no intention of negotiating anything substantial right now.
In a few years, the balance of power would shift in our favor.
Why rush?
Of course, postponing a decision required a convincing excuse.
This visit was largely about laying groundwork—creating the appearance of progress without committing to anything.
"I would certainly welcome a peaceful agreement," I said. "However, there are still several uncertainties."
"Uncertainties?" Tyler asked.
"Canada's population is growing rapidly. To accommodate it, expansion westward is inevitable. The United States is also pushing westward through frontier settlement. Which means the length of our shared border will continue to grow."
"That's true," Tyler admitted. "But if problems arise, surely we can resolve them through dialogue."
"If it were only between our two countries, perhaps. But Canada and the United States are not the only powers in the West."
The United States was already embroiled in tension with Mexico over Texas.
Within four or five years, that conflict would erupt into war.
Of course, if history followed its usual course, the United States would crush Mexico with overwhelming force.
Tyler frowned slightly.
"I do not wish to sound dismissive of Mexico," he said, "but if Britain and the United States share the same position, I doubt Mexico could challenge us."
"I agree," I replied. "But they could certainly complicate matters."
Tyler sipped his tea in silence.
He was trying to determine my meaning.
Was I suggesting cooperation against Mexico?
Or caution?
The ambiguity was intentional.
"I see," Tyler said at last. "In that case, perhaps we should observe developments before discussing the matter further."
"Indeed. And there is another issue we must address if we wish to prevent discussions of slavery from dominating Congress."
Tyler stiffened slightly.
"The Royal Navy has been working tirelessly to intercept illegal slave ships in the Atlantic," I continued calmly. "Yet the United States has shown little enthusiasm for cooperation. Voices in both our countries are growing louder, demanding a clear position."
Tyler frowned.
"I intended to discuss that later. But tell me—did Congressman Adams mention this matter to you?"
"As I said, I must remain neutral regarding American domestic affairs," I replied. "However, Your Excellency did warn me that some members of Congress might attempt to use my views."
I paused.
"If I may speak frankly—many northern politicians and British abolitionists already believe that slavery in the United States is destined to disappear."
Tyler blinked.
"…What do you mean?"
It was a simple reality.
The more industrialized the North became, the more powerful it would grow relative to the slave-dependent South.
By the time the Civil War eventually arrived in the original timeline, the South's chances of victory had already dwindled to almost nothing.
Northern and southern intellectuals both understood this.
The South simply underestimated how quickly the balance would shift.
But ignorance could always be corrected.
"Industries in the North have little need for slave labor," I explained. "Economic logic naturally leads toward abolition. Britain experienced the same process. Which means the northern United States may one day achieve technological development comparable to our own."
The idea that America might rival Britain should have been flattering.
But Tyler, who sympathized strongly with southern interests, could not smile.
He understood the implication.
If time passed without intervention, the South would fall further behind.
Time was not on their side.
I had already decided to support Adams and Lincoln generously.
But southern leaders also needed to see this truth clearly.
External tension with Mexico.
Internal ideological conflict between North and South.
A crippled administration abandoned by both its own party and the opposition.
Such a government could never respond effectively to crises.
So while the United States struggled to hold its own house together…
Friendly Canada would continue marching steadily toward the Pacific Ocean.
After all—
Time no longer belonged to the North.
Or the South.
Now that I had arrived…
Time in North America flowed for British Canada.