The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 741: The American Western Mutual Protection Alliance
August 1862, 8, Denver.

In the meeting room of the Colorado Governor's Palace, the kerosene lamp of the "Meadows California" illuminated the whole room red. Xianfeng sat cross-legged on a leather sofa, holding a pipe in his hand, squinting at the battle map spread on the long table. The Virginia tobacco in the pipe was burning with a sizzling sound. He took a deep breath and exhaled a puff of thick smoke. In the smoke, his pockmarked face looked even gloomier.

"Master, Bishop Hong from San Francisco sent a letter to ask your opinion on the dispute between the North and the South in the United States?" The person asking the question was Archbishop Amurfo of Colorado. He was a True Covenant Archbishop and was subordinate to the True Covenant Archbishop of North America, Hong Daquan. Now he was in charge of the communication between Xianfeng and Hong Daquan.

"Davis and his group of southern gentlemen." Xianfeng frowned slightly when he heard this, and tapped the map with his pipe. "Although they listened to me and took Washington's reputation in one fell swoop, and hooked up with France and Russia, and even recruited black slaves to carry guns, they are quite impressive." He paused and curled his lips. "But when smoke comes out of the chimneys of the factories in the north, the cotton fields in the south will tremble! Not to mention that Lincoln has enough granaries in his hands to feed 8000 million people. With food and industry, he can provide the 'oppressed' poor in Europe with a good life of food and clothing. So the manpower advantage of the north is more than twice that of the south."

"But the South is rich!" Amur Buddha was still quite optimistic about the South. He had never been to the East Coast, and he didn't know what the industrialization of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom was like. Looking at his attire and the prayer wheel in his hand, you could tell that he was originally an aristocratic Buddha on the Khorchin grassland.

Xianfeng, on the other hand, shook his head and said, "Money is useful, but not much."

The advantages of the northern United States now are that there are many people, food, industry, and resources (coal, iron ore, and oil). It has a lot of everything, except that there are not enough pounds, gold, and silver, so it can only issue unsecured greenback banknotes.

The South has fewer people, less food, less industry, and fewer resources, except for pounds and gold! The South can export cotton for pounds, and a large gold mine has been discovered in Colorado, so it has to pay some mining taxes to the federal government every year. It is absolutely no problem to earn 40 to 50 million pounds of hard currency every year, and there is no need to print unsecured paper money for the time being.

Sushun leaned against the back of a carved chair, playing with a Smith & Wesson revolver, a small pistol produced in the northern United States that used metal shell bullets. It was a treasure that Sushun got from Hampton III. After hearing what Xianfeng said, he put down the pistol and sighed: "My master is right. Can you use foreign money to hit people on the battlefield? The advantage of the northern industry is not only in quantity, but also in quality. For example, this Smith & Wesson," he pointed to his small pistol, "although it is not powerful enough, it uses a metal shell and has a primer. The loading speed is not comparable to paper shell bullets. I heard that there is also a long rifle called Spencer Repeating Rifle in the north, which also uses this kind of bullets and can fire more than ten shots in a row."

Amur Buddha turned the gilded prayer wheel and said in a calm voice: "The decree of Wu Wang Luo Yaoguo has arrived. He is not optimistic about the South of the United States and believes that the North will win in the end. Therefore, he instructed the three states on the west coast to unite, with the Rocky Mountains as a barrier, and to carry out 'armed separatism'."

Xianfeng picked up a Dalton bone china coffee pot and sipped the bitter coffee, narrowing his eyes and saying, "Luo Yaoguo's idea is generally correct. But if we defend the mountain pass, the white guys' railway will sooner or later dig to Utah." He pointed in the direction of Salt Lake City, "Back then, the old Mormon Brigham Young took his followers to hide in the Salt Lake Valley, and the federal army almost overturned their nest. We must make them unable to move!"

Amur Buddha said: "Master, if it were you, we should gather all the Sioux and Cheyenne tribes on the northern prairie! Turn them all into Mongols, let the Mormons who grow wheat provide logistics, and add the arms provided by the three Chinese states on the west coast - we can twist the three strands of rope together to form a great American Western Mutual Protection Alliance!"

De Ling, who had come to the United States with Emperor Xianfeng and had experienced the San Francisco riots, suddenly interjected: "In the early years, the Josephs and Mormons fought for the territory of California, and there was bloodshed. We even killed a senator they supported."

Lin Shu sneered, "Money makes the world go round! Now that we have a gold mine in our hands, how can Yang Brigham, a farming leader, not be greedy for money? He has so many wives, so he must buy beautiful clothes and gold and silver jewelry for them, right?"

Xianfeng nodded and said, "Su Laoliu is right!" He took another puff of his cigarette, "But these three alliances must be dominated by our 'black, red and yellow' army. Brigham Young's white Mormons can only add a white stripe to our flag, and Hong Daquan's three states on the west coast, backed by the Pacific Ocean, can only add a blue border. Once the mutual protection alliance is formed, the American West will be ruled by the 'black, red, yellow, white and blue' five-color flag. But we must occupy three colors!"

Xianfeng paused and said: "In the future, I will be Zhao Sangui, let Hong Daquan be Hong Kexi, and Yang Baihan be Yang Jingzhong!"

He turned and stared at Amur Buddha, and said in a deep voice: "Amur, are the two brigades of Black Bear Khan and Red Cloud Khan ready? When can they go north to the Montana grasslands?"

Amur Buddha clasped his hands together and said, "My lord, everything is ready. Black Bear Khan's Cheyenne riders have found the Sioux. We only need 300 carts of salt to pickle their bison meat, and then we can lead them south for the winter. By then, we will have another Red Flag Ten Thousand Households!"

Xianfeng nodded: "The three brigades of blacks and reds, 24,000 to 25,000 elite soldiers, are no weaker than Wu Sangui back then."

Before he finished speaking, the oak door was slammed loudly. Then O'Hara came in with a pungent cigar smell. The Irishman held an opened envelope in his hand: "Governor, an urgent letter from President Davis - he wants us to send troops to retake Kansas!" Xianfeng unfolded the letter and glanced at it, sneering: "Davis, this old fox, wants to use me as a gun?" He thought about it, nodded and said: "Order! The first and second black brigades will leave for Kansas tomorrow. Sushun, you will take the third brigade to stay in Denver. Amur, you will take the two red brigades to Montana as planned this winter, and bring me 10,000 Indian and Mongolian troops!"

He turned to O'Hara and said, "Gerald, take twenty boxes of gold dust and go to Salt Lake City to find Brigham Young. Tell him that the gold in Colorado can buy his wheat and his life!"

On the Mississippi River, the morning mist was torn apart by the continuous whistles of steam tugboats. Grant stood on the deck of the Iron Python, his military boots making a dull echo on the iron deck. He squinted his eyes and looked at the fleet stretching for miles behind him - flat barges connected end to end, like a giant steel python lying on the river.

Some of the barges were stacked with rails, on others the locomotives had been dismantled into boilers, axles and steel frames and wrapped tightly in tarpaulins, and on yet more barges were piled all kinds of supplies.

In addition to this huge transport fleet consisting of 18 tugboats and more than 200 barges, Illinois railways are also working at full capacity these days to transport countless ammunition, food, weapons, clothing, tents and soldiers to St. Louis, Missouri.

The industrial strength of the American North is now finally beginning to show.

Grant tapped the side of the ship with his fingers, his knuckles thick and covered with calluses. He turned to look at his adjutant and said in a low but unquestionable voice: "Lay a mile of track in three days, and it must reach Topeka within three months!"

The adjutant swallowed his saliva, holding a pen and a notebook in his hand. He quickly calculated the consumption of rails, sleepers and nails, and beads of sweat oozed from his forehead. "General, three months is too tight..."

"Tell the Irish engineers," Grant interrupted him, his eyes hard as iron, "as long as they complete their mission, they will immediately get the land west of the Mississippi River!"

On the dirt roads on both sides of the river bank, large columns of Northern Army officers and soldiers were marching southward in a mighty force. The bayonets on their rifles were connected together, forming two sweeping galaxies!
Suddenly, a gunshot was heard in the reeds, and the bullet flew by Grant's hat. He didn't even blink, but just raised his hand and waved. The 64-pound rifled cannon on the bow roared, and the shells tore through the air, blasting the reed marsh into scorched earth. After the smoke cleared, only a few body parts were left hanging on the treetops, and blood dripped into the river, which was soon swallowed up by the muddy waves.

"Keep moving forward." Grant said lightly, as if the previous attack was just a trivial episode.

The wind from the Montana prairie swept across the wilderness, carrying grass seeds and dust. Amur Buddha sat cross-legged on a weathered rock, the prayer wheel in his hand humming, the copper bell swaying in the wind, making an ethereal sound. His cassock rustled in the wind, revealing the rusty chain mail underneath.

In the distance, the Cheyenne riders of Red Cloud Khan drove a herd of bison, their horses' hooves crushing the dry grass and raising clouds of dust. Black Bear Khan led Sioux warriors to hunt a lone bison, their spears piercing the thick fur, blood splattering on the yellow earth. They expertly cut open the cow's belly, sprinkled handfuls of green salt into the flesh and blood, and pickled the meat for the winter.

On the horizon, a group of Sioux warriors wearing feather crowns, simple cowhide coats, and old-fashioned smoothbore muskets on their shoulders are following a group of "Indian Mongolian" cavalry.
In the Salt Lake City Temple, the candlelight flickered, casting Brigham Young's shadow on the stone wall, making him look particularly tall. He stroked the gold ingot sent by O'Hara, feeling the coolness and smoothness of the metal with his fingertips. The gold ingot was engraved with the emblem of the Governor's Palace of Colorado, and it shone with an attractive luster under the candlelight.

"Tell Zhao Si," Brigham Young said with a smile to his twelve apostles, "Utah has plenty of wheat—" His smile suddenly turned cold, his eyes sharp as a knife, "but the baptismal pools of Mormonism are not stained with the blood of black people!"

The apostles murmured in agreement, and the temple echoed with suppressed whispers.

(End of this chapter)