As McCracken listened to the Crown Prince of France's account, his eyes grew brighter and brighter.
He could already imagine countless Irish farmers, desperate to sell their wheat for a little more, charging at the English like madmen with hoes in hand.
Before this, when they had gone into the countryside to give speeches, almost no one had responded aside from a few minor nobles.
He suddenly felt that their previous revolutionary strategy might indeed have had some problems...
Joseph continued laying out the "blueprint" for him. "Once you have widespread popular support, you can begin training an army. To withstand the English Army's suppression, you will need at least one hundred thousand troops."
This was not a number he had pulled out of thin air. Given the social mobilization capacity of this era, four million Irish people could absolutely conscript one hundred thousand soldiers under extreme circumstances.
But McCracken lacked confidence. "I'm afraid that won't be easy, Your Highness.
"You know, England's Secret Police are watching us very closely. Forget one hundred thousand—even if our training force exceeds three thousand men, it will immediately arouse their suspicion."
Joseph shook his head helplessly. "Do you know the difference between rural Patrols, Anti-Smuggling Police, Shooting Clubs, and an army?"
The Irishman replied instinctively, "They're completely different..."
"No, only their names are different," Joseph said. "As long as they know how to use guns, understand commands, and can maintain formation, they can be an army.
"You have considerable influence over local administration in Ireland. You can establish all kinds of similar organizations under different names. England's Secret Police would never care if the Irish Anti-Smuggling Police suddenly gained a few hundred men.
"On that foundation, adopt a rotational training system.
"Every time, recruit more people than the official establishment allows for training,