Chapter 1 :: The Renaissance
Chapter 1 :: The Renaissance
Louisiana, United States :: February 1st, 1804
Russ Platt -- Slave - Property of William Platt
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“If I told you once, I told you a thousand times Russ…”, cried William as he cracked a bull whip on Russ’ back. [/FONT]
“Don’t … *Crack* … Disobey … * Crack* … Me! ... *Crack*. You are my property, and you will do as I say!”
Russ Platt, a 20 year old decedent of 2 generations of slavery, collapsed under the weight of the pain.
This was a pain he knew often, but a pain that was impossible to get use too.
"It could be worse," thought Russ.
Crumbling to the dirt ground, Russ remembered this father being beaten to death for trying to escape this life of enslavement.
His brother and sister being sold off at auction.
His mother dying from grief over the destruction of their family.
But as Russ’ bloodied face lay damaged on the hot Louisiana soil, suddenly, a sound, similar to a whisper, cried out in his head.
“Never again…”
Russ began to slowly turn over.
“Never again…” the voice again whispered.
Russ slowly got to his feet.
“Never again…” the voice loudly cried.
Russ willfully stood tall.
“Never Again!" Russ suddenly shouted. "You will never break me!”
Right fist clenched, Russ lunged at his master, violently striking him across the jaw.
Hearing the satisfying crack of his master’s bone, Russ, over come with righteous rage, then violently gripped William’s throat.
Wrestling him down to ground, Russ’ grip grew tighter and tighter, crushing the life out of the man who had done everything to destroy him.
And his master, after hearing the sound of his own larynx crunch, painfully drew his last breath.
After a few seconds of satisfaction,a deep fear began to set in.
Russ knew, at that moment, he had to run and run fast.
Staying around meant certain death.
So with nothing but the clothes on his back, Russ immediately ran off in the swampy woods of the bayou.
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London, Great Britain :: February 1st, 1804
Margaret Lynch -- Single mother of two
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Yes governess, right away,” said Margaret. “I promise to not make this mistake again.”
“Let’s hope not,” extolled Victoria. “Less we find a more efficient maid for the house, and we both know unemployment won’t be good for your children.”
Margaret, a descendent of slaves brought to England, yet born free in the in the city of London, knew she knew must do everything she could to keep this job.
After hastily walking into the kitchen to fetch another cup of tea, Margaret broke down.
She reminisced about her young life in London, and the sacrifices her mother made to work her way toward freedom from enslavement.
“Never let someone control who you are, Margaret,” she remembered her mother saying.
“Always remember, you don’t deserve any less because of the color of your skin.”
“I guess I made you proud mom,” Margaret sarcastically thought to herself.
“Margaret!”, Miss Victoria yelled. “Where is my tea!”
Startled, Margaret dropped a collection of fine china she had to picked up while preparing her employer's tea.
*Crash*
“What have you’ve done!” cried Miss Victoria as she ran into kitchen.
“Do you know that you have single handily ruined over £10,000 worth of fine dishware!?”
“I’m so sorry Miss Victoria,” cried Margaret. “Take it from my salary, just please don’t fire me!”
Slightly smirking, Miss Victoria took a deep breath and spoke.
“I’m sorry Margaret but this is the last straw. I can no longer accept your poor levels or service so you will be let go from this moment forward. And due to your indebtedness to me, I must unfortunately refer this to the debtor’s prison authorities. Now please leave.”
Margaret's anguish then immediately turned to fear.
She had heard the stories of debtor’s prison.
She knew, in many cases, it was a fate worse than death.
And her children, who would have immediately faced the same peril, maybe stripped from her.
"Leaving the country is our only option", she thought. "And it must be tonight."
Rushing out of Miss Victoria's flat, while grabbing her belongings on the way, Margaret sped away into the night.
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Luanda, Portuguese Angola :: Februrary 1st, 1804
Sabion -- An Angolan Orphan
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“Move boy!" yelled the red faced Portuguese merchant.
"You are blocking the side-street!”
Sabion remained motionless.
Growing impatient, the corporal raised his right leg and delivered a swift kick to the young African’s chest.
“I said move!”
Sabion fell over.
“That’ll teach ya!” laughed the old trader as he walked away.
Rising up slowly, Sabion coughed up several drops of blood.
A twelve year old in the settlement of Luanda was no place to be for young boy hoping to avoid the shackles of slavery but he was starving.
Emaciated, sickly, Sabion rightly believed he was under no threat of meeting the same fate.
Though, as his stomach growled, he remembered he had no options but to beg for scraps of food.
“A new shipment has arrived!”, Sabion suddenly heard the town crier yell. “Down by the Docks!”
After living as an orphan in Luanda for years after his village was burned to ground by rival tribesmen, Sabion, understanding a little Portuguese, knew exactly what that announcement meant.
“Food!”, Sabion thought to himself as he jumped up, still injured from his assault. “I hope there’s a lot.”
Making is way down to the dock he spotted a number of ships stationed at port. Not sure which one had the shipments of food, he choose the one with the most sailors around it as they looked to be busy unloading cargo.
After sneaking through several naval guards posts as well as the sailors he swiftly made it aboard the ship.
Quietly making his way down to the lower levels, he saw a few barrels of salted beef lying open for the taking.
“This must be my lucky day!” thought Sabion as he dived into the meat.
However, just as he began to stuff his pockets, several loud bells began to ring out.
“ALL ABOARD!”, he heard someone yell. “
All ABOARD TO THE CARRIBEAN!”
At that moment, Sabion heard what sounded like hundreds of men rushing and stomping across the floorboards above him.
And as he felt the ship itself starting to sway and turn toward a no another direction, a rush of fear overcame him.
He knew he must hide, and hide quickly.
Sabion looked around, and saw the only place he could hide.
Looking into the same barrel of salted beef that moments ago had been has saving grace, he jumped in, horrified at the fate that had befallen him.
“Living in Luanda as child was a hard life,” Sabion thought to himself.
“What
new world am I headed too now?”
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Haiti :: February 1st, 1804
The Renaissance
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By January 1804 , Haiti was a virgin nation on the edge of crisis.
During the previous month, Jean-Jacques Dessalines, the leader of a new Haitian Slave/Freedman militia, had defeated French attempts to reestablish slavery on the island.
The destiny of the island had firmly been place in Dessalines'.
Declaring himself president for life under the 1801 constitution, he sought to remake and re-shape the ethno-political atmosphere of Hispanola, setting his vengeful eye on thewhites, mullatos, and Spanish who still resided in his borders.
“For our declaration of independence, we should have the skin of a white for parchment,” Boisrond-Tonnere, the secretary to Dessalines, exclaimed
“His skull for an inkwell, his blood for ink, and bayonet for a pen!”
Haiti, a nation originally founded upon the principles of equality and freedom only a decade ago, was about to fall into the deluge of ethnic cleansing and permenant autocracy.
Meeting in secret a few days before the bloodletting, a small cabal of elite military offices met.
“Toussaint L’Ouveture wouldn’t have stood for this!” yelled one the most senior of them.
“This betrays everything we fought, bled and died for in 1791!” yelled another.
Toussaint L’Ouverture, the true father of the Haitian nation, and leader of the original Slave Rebellion of 1791 had been betrayed by those closest to him only two years ago.
Dessalines along with Jean Baptiste Brunet, jealous subordinates who sought his position, deceived and captured L’Ouverture as means to appease the France, who in turn promised amnesty for their complicit participation in the original insurrection.
And while awaiting deportation and certain doom, L’Ouverture warned his betrayers,
“In overthrowing me you have cut down in Saint Dominque only the trunk of the tree of liberty; it will spring up again from the roots, for they are numerous and they are deep.”
It is now 1804, and this group, naming themselves after this legendary quote as the “New Tree of Liberty Committe (NTL)”, knew they must act fast if they are to prevent annihilation of L’Ouveture’s vision.
An election was held during the meeting which saw a senior infantry officer, Jean Maximilien, gain nominal leadership of group.
“What course of action should we take Maximilien?”, asked one of the junior officers after the voting concluded. “How do we avenge L’Ouverture?”
“If we must act,” announced Jean, “we must act swiftly and decisively to save our republic!”
It was decided.
In the dead of night on February 1st, 1804 a military coup was launched against Dessalines and his racist clique with Dessalines himself being seize while sleeping in his bed.
While transporting him to a safe location inside Port-Au-Prince, some within the New Tree of Liberty Committee believed Dessalines should immediately be shot, while others sought to hand him over to the French.
Jean, understanding the power that public trial could have exposing Dessalines subterfuge, opted for open-air tribunal.
The next morning, a judicial platform, built in the public square of Port-Au-Prince was set up, with the various key New Tree of Liberty Committee members serving as judges.
At 10 am, the trial against Dessalines began.
However, a massive crowd, which had grown around the spectacle, was initially hostile to the proceedings.
“Free Dessalines!” they shouted. “Free Dessalines!”
Yet, as the trial commenced, they then began to turn.
Evidence exposing Dellalines betrayal of L'Ouverture, coupled with testamony by his associates regarding a plan to enact a race war against the whites and mullatos and plans to re-institute black slavery enraged the populace.
“L’Ouverture!” they started to yell. “L’Ouverture!”
Then, when asked to say something in his defense, Dessalines attempted to plead with with crowd with all of his words landing on deaf ears.
His sentence was then rendered.
“For the high crime of treason against L’Ouverture, the father of our nation, and for treason against Article 3 of the Haitian constitution, you are hereby sentenced to death!” yelled a tribunal judge.
The crowd cheered.
“But I am and the father of this nation!”, yelled Dessalines as he was dragged to the guillotine.
“I am the one who freed you from the white slave master! I am the one who broke your chains!”
But as he was brought closer and closer to the executioner’s platform, his cries slowly became drowned by the chants of the crowd.
“L’Ouverture! … L’Ouverture! … L’Ouverture!” they chanted.
“L’Ouverture! … L’Ouverture! … L’Ouverture!”
With his head held firmly in the guillotine's grasp, Dessalines began to sob loudly.
Suddenly, Jean Maximilien triumphantly marched towards the platform with the cheers of the crowd behind him.
Taking his place upon the center of the executioner's platform, a copy of the Haitian constitution in hand, he shouted aloud Article 3:
"There cannot exist slaves in Haiti, servitude is therein forever abolished. All men are born, live and die free and French!"
Signaling to the executioner, the blade fell upon Dessalines, ending his rule permanently.
Grabbing the head of the now deceased Dessalines, Jean held it up, yelling to the crowd:
“Viva La Haiti! Viva La Revolution!”
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Footnotes:
- Jean Maximilien is a character I created to sort of embody internal dissent against the excess of Dessalines regime. Unfortunately, I couldnt find one in OTL that would fit where I’m taking the narrative of this timeline though I'm open to suggestions
- Though Dessalines wasn’t as complicit in Toussaint’s betrayal as say Brunet was, given his status in history as a racist genocidal autocrat I thought he would make a great and satisfying sacrifice for the liberal revolution.
- Each narrative, though very expositional this time around will indeed intertwine in the overall history of this ATL Haitian state. I also promise to cut down on amount of writing for each character if you guys would like me too.
- Sabion is an Angolan name which means Wise Man, in case your were curious. Will have implications later on.
- Once the Geo-Political stuff starts picking up, I will indeed give mention to the changes are going on outside of Haiti with the focus being on nations with a black slave population. (United States, European Nations, Colonies, Some South American Nations)
Note: I’m going to try my best to be reactive to you guys on which narrative you think is the most interesting. Then, in future chapters, I will shift focus (the best of my abilities) around to whatever the consensus is.