American King: Expanded Universe

[Napoleon53]

Excellent! This thread is getting better and better. I must ask, is the Albanian colonel real? And if not, who's picture is it, because man, he does look like Jesus. Very interesting portrait.

Oh, wait! Is it one of the Borgias?

 

[Rooster Cogburn]

Glas is quite the badass Can I get a written guarantee he'll follow the Royal Bill of Rights once in office?

 

[Inquisition]

Excellent! This thread is getting better and better. I must ask, is the Albanian colonel real? And if not, who's picture is it, because man, he does look like Jesus. Very interesting portrait.

Oh, wait! Is it one of the Borgias?

Thanks!

Actually e's a Greek revolutionary named Elias Mavromichalis.

Glas is quite the badass Can I get a written guarantee he'll follow the Royal Bill of Rights once in office?

That he is.

Probably, if the Bill dosen't include a clause regulating booze.

 

[Michael.D.Luffy]

The story of the King of Wales's Brother.


He clambered onto the horse as quickly as he could. The mad Despot's troops were near, he could feel it. The words Ringed though his head. The news had shook Wales to its core. The countryside was damp and hilly. Dark Clouds covered the sky, Water droplets littered down from the sky. Wales was Crying, littering its land with water. But it wasn't her land any more it was the commonwealth's. The Cardiff Laws took the soul out of Wales. He had to make it to the coast, escape the country of his birth escape to Europe and board a ship bound for the URAS. Escape with there lives. He galloped with all hast towards the little cove. They was a small crowd of of maybe 15 people? They were huddled around a small camp-fire. That was a mistake, the smoke might alert the enemy forces. He had a feeling they were being watched. He looked around , the sight worried him the small cove was the ideal spot for an ambush. It was surrounded by 3 high cliffs and the only way out was the small path which he had just descended. They needed to get out of here quickly. A hand was raised in recognition. A short man with a slight limp came over to him. "Ah Mr. Ap Hywel, may I call you Rhys?". Answered only with a stare he continued unhindered. "there's the small matter of the payment?". His eye's glistened when the sight of gold. The man sickened Rhys, people would always try to make money ,no matter the situation, that was the way of the world. It didn't stop him being disgusted by the small man. "Now the issue of you're brother? A Mr.Dafydd ap Hywel I believe? While the Sire be gracing us with our prescience? "No" Rhys replied "He on the next boat". Satisfied with the small man eyed up the next family who were making there way down the slope. He Limped towards them. Rhys eyes scanned the huddle. There they were. The reason he had to escape this country. He ran towards them. "Gwen! ,Gwen!" he cried. "Rhys we've been waiting for you!" She then realised that Dafydd wasn't by his side. "He didn't get out in time, he's still in Cardiff". "My God" she replied. "the poor bastard". "Don't worry he's coming on the next boat". He looked down to his small child still in blanket's. He let a small cry. "Don't worry darling". She begun to sing a nursery rhyme. Her beautiful voice made the bleak welsh landscape seem like the best place in the world. All his worries drifted away into the rear of his mind.

Cysga di fy mhlentyn tlws
Cysga di fy mhlentyn tlws
Cysga di fy mhlentyn tlws
Cei gysgu tan y bore
Cei gysgu tan y bore
Cysga di fy mhlentyn tlws
Wedi cau a chloi y drws
Cysga di fy mhlentyn tlws
Cei gysgu tan y bore
Cei gysgu tan y bore ​

The small child drifted into sleep, her voice was only exceeded by her comely beauty. She was not beautiful in the true sense of the word with her brown locks and pale contemplation. But to him she, they, were everything. "Even thought they've taken everything I'm still the richest man in the world" He whispered to her. "I love you so much Gwen" he had a tear in his eye. It was the combination of all of it. That they were almost free , that he still had the thing's he love d most in the world, the love for his family. The cloud's broke allowing the sun to shine. It seemed as a thought a new beginning had finally happened. "I'm so happy" he cried to his wife in tears. She smiled at him.

It was then the rifles begun firing. It was a weird feeling like being punched in the stomach. he looked down to see blood leaking from his stomach. The last sounds he heard where his world , his evrything , his family screaming.

When he woke sometime later he saw his wife on the ground still... was she sleeping? The truth dawned on him her face pale and ghostly her eyes shut. The child! were was the baby? He scrambled around. There was a huddle of blankets by the feet of his stone-cold wife but they were red not the white of his child's. Then he saw it the hand of a child over the blanket.

"Captain we got a live one!" shout one of Wellesley's Soldiers. With his head spinning the last thing he saw was the barrel of the pistol pointing down inbetween his eyes.

"Gwen!" He screamed!

BANG!

 

[Napoleon53]

A new story arc. It will be told in 3 parts, I expect.

The New Nottingham Trilogy
PART 1

Saint Joseph of Swanton/The Leader, by a German painter (the painting is known in German as "Sankt Josef von Swanton/Der Fuehrer")

New Nottingham, Green Mountain Republic (Vermont), August 1, 1830...
​

Clang! Clang! Clang! went Brigham's hammer. The young man beat the red-hot sword into shape over the black anvil. Sweat poured off his face in the hot summer heat. His brown hair hung over his black, beady eyes as he expertly dunked the flaming blade into a barrel of water and then took it out and placed it on a pile of other blades. He had been making weapons for the GMR military for his whole life, continuing his father John's legacy. John Young had been killed in the Second Seven Years' War, when Brigham was only eight. Now, Brigham was also studying to be a Methodist minister, and served as the pastor for his small hometown.

New Nottingham was about five miles south of Swanton, and both were nestled along Lake Champlain. Brigham's town was a neighborly place, and compared to the rest of the GMR was fairly wealthy; the libertarian Vermont government was hardly rich. Swantonians typically lorded it over their southern compatriots, and numerous bloody feuds had been ongoing. However, thanks to the GMR's enlargement of the army and the general "law-and-order" crackdown by the newly-equipped constable forces, rules were starting to end Vermont's internal "wars."

The ridiculous amount of freedom granted by the government was completely "Green Mountain Boys" written. For decades, murders, rapes, muggings, and all manner of crimes went unpunished... and ordinary citizens were vigilantes, killing and maiming the accused. When the GMR received a slice of the Canada Cake after the Second Seven Years' War, the lawlessness spread. One of the people accused of crimes was a young man named Joseph Smith II. The son of a failed farmer, and a failed businessman himself, Smith II had become a philosopher and what some would call a bum. Now, after being an impromptu outlaw to some of the population of the country, rumor had it he was coming back from his exile in Tenasee. Many were still out to kill him for his "bizarre" beliefs, and many said he would arrive in disguise. Some said he had already crossed the border from New York to the GMR, and was working his way back to Swanton, his hometown, the same hometown which had chased him out with a shotgun mob and pitchforks and torches, and that he had grown a goatee and a mustache in style of a Frenchman or Russian, which was a very common Vermont style, enabling him to blend in well.

Brigham thought of all these things as he set his hammer and tongs on a wooden table and wiped the grime off his sandpapery hands. He gazed out at the mountain road that loomed over the village. A small coach was trotting down the rough-hewn road and toward his shop. About two minutes later, the wagon came to a halt in front of his forge. Good, Brigham thought, A new customer. Wagon wheels, most likely.

A pudgy driver hopped down off the hard wooden seat. He looked about forty, had blond hair, and was wearing black riding boots, a red overcoat, cotton-colored workpants, and a top hat, with a pistol slung on his hip to deal with any of the infamous Vermont highwaymen who might try to cause trouble. The driver hustled over to the door facing the blacksmith shop and opened it for a tall, handsome, red-haired, bearded man. The passenger wore a dress suit and a civilian bicorne, and had a rapier tied to his belt, and a bulge around his waist which probably was a pepperbox pistol.

Brigham walked over and shook both men's hands. "Brigham Young, at your service, gentlemen!"

The dressed-up fellow smiled, "Nice meeting you, Mr. Young. This is my driver, Philip Durant, and I am William Payne Grant. We are in need of a new wagon wheel. We hit a nasty lot of those potholes and boulders in the mountains, by Cees," he said, using a popular expression (short for "Caesar").

"Yes, that happens quite often. Wagon wheels are one of my specialties! I have a lot of them in the barn. I'll let my brother Lorenzo put it on for you. While you're waiting, why don't you join me in a bowl of soup for lunch? My wife Miriam makes a tasty brew. We have some beer, too."

Grant and Durant whispered something to each other, and then Grant accepted. Lorenzo came out of the house, was given his instructions, and then went to the barn to get a wheel that fit the coach. The two visitors followed Brigham inside and they hung up their coats and hats and sat down at the sturdy supper table. Some bowls were set before them and they dug in.

"This is good, my good man! I say, quite tasty. Well done, Mrs. Young!" Grant said. Miriam smiled and curtsied and went to a back room to tend to some chores.

"So, if I ain't being too personal, what's your business round these parts, Mr. Grant?" Brigham said, curious.

"Uh, I'm on my way to Canada to take a position at a trade post there. St. Louis hired me," Grant answered, slightly off-sounding.

"The Generalissime de Saint-Louis always needs good men for trade posts. You Catholic?" Brigham queried, slurping the broth down from the bottom of his bowl.

"Um, no, Methodist, actually. Durant here is Catholic," Grant replied hastily.

"Well! I'm a Methodist preacher in this town so you're in good company, my Brother in Christ!" Brigham beamed.

Grant seemed to sigh a sigh of relief, as if he had answered correctly. "Seems like a decent town, Pastor."

"Oh, it's all right. Swanton, now, that's something else. It's like Sodom there. Lawlessness and murder. Hate that place. I hope the Lord wiped it clean," the blacksmith said, hate in his eyes.

Just then, another one of Brigham's brothers, Phineas, came in. The long-haired fellow wearing work clothes and boots held a paper in his right hand. "Hey, brother, they think that Smith II is around these parts, so says the paper! They even have a drawing of what they think he might look like!"

"Tarnation, Phineas! Let me see!" Brigham practically ripped the copy of the New Nottingham Gazette from Phineas' hands. Then, his eyes bulged. There, neatly printed on the cheap paper, was an exact likeness of Mr. Grant.

When the two brothers looked at the paper, Grant and Durant bolted to the door and sprinted down the cobblestone path to their wagon. Durant sprang into the driver's seat, but Grant fumbled with the lock on the door to the inside. Then, a female voice sounded behind him.

"Mr, Smith!"

He spun around, to immediately feel a pistol round smash into his left shoulder and he fell to the ground, bleeding profusely. The driver whipped out his own pistol and quickly fired a bullet right in the middle of the woman's corseted chest. She died instantly and fell into a pond beside the path, where she floated face up. Durant scrambled down to help his boss and saw Brigham, Phineas, and Lorenzo running down the path themselves, all with muskets. They pointed them at Durant and "Grant" and made them go inside the house. Phineas fished the woman's body out of the water a recognized her as Fanny Bishop, a local Smith-hater whose uncle had participated in running Smith out of Swanton years before. "Annoying bitch," muttered Phineas, who then carried the body to the barn.

Back in the house, Miriam was cleaning Smith's shoulder wound on the same table they had just been eating at. Brigham didn't want to kill him, and the police would consider it murder now that Young was supposedly as equal under the law of the GMR as anyone else. So, for the next two months, Smith and Durant were "new help," and Fanny had "mysteriously" disappeared, an all-too-common occurrence in Vermont, where women and children routinely were abducted.

During the two months, Smith explained his controversial ideology to Brigham and his brothers, usually while they sipped coffee at the fireplace after a hard day's work. He called his main ideals "The 10 Points of Smithism."

1. The Proletariat Class is abused by the Rich.

2. The Most Sacred Right of the Proletariat is to overthrow the corrupt Rich Overlords.

3. When the Proletariat is in control, they should eliminate the old order. Execution, Exile, and Expatriation.

4. To Each according to his needs, from Each according to his abilities.

5. When the Proletarian Government has maximum power, the People of the Republic will be taken care of. Food should be given to the neediest first, as laid down by Jesus Christ in Smith's bizarre self-translated version of the Christian Bible. Those who grow the food should do so on state-sponsored "Ponderosas," and, like all other jobs, should be paid for their work in standardized government prices given to them by a "Board of Agriculture and Industry," that would also control textiles, metalworking, and all other manual labor.

6. The "New Jerusalem of the Workers," as Smith called it, might not come immediately. It would take a very long time to bring about the "Perfect Government of the Proletariat," and patriots would need to be in it for the long haul, "The Building Days."

7. STACOIN V - State Commission for the Industrialization of Vermont. A lengthy writing in which Smith laid out a path for the recovery of the GMR's economy following the days of "Bourgeoisie Libertarianism" and "Worker Exploitation.

8. Men and women are to forgo elaborate dress and "foppishness." Men and women would wear pants, hairstyles would be simple, and the "Body Temple" should be kept clean and neat (no piercings for either sex, neat beards, minimum alcohol).

9. Spreading the Revolution is necessary to relieve the oppressed in other countries, particularly Canada, where the "Corrupt Catholic Bourgeoisie abuses the Lord's Children." Also, more workers were needed, and polygamy, already a common practice in the libertarian Green Mountain Republic, was to be promoted.

10. The new Republic would need a strong leader to keep the country on the straight and narrow. He would be called The Leader. Smith, of course.

After being pestered about them by Smith for so long, Young actually started to see the "truth" in them. Smith was a magnificent speaker, and he had a way about him that made Young fall under his influence, even if he was four years older than him. Young was particularly interested in the "Joseph Smith II Bible," in which Smith "filled in lost episodes" of Jesus' life, reportedly given to him in the form of visions while he slept. For instance, Christ using a whip on the desecrating salesmen in the temple was not the "whole story." Christ then chased them down and gave all their belongings to the Proletariat. This sparked a spontaneous outbreak of Christ-condoned looting and stealing form the wealthy Jewish and Roman citizens. When Christ was Crucified, it was partly over these "Proletarian Worker Revolts." Pontius Pilate was a living allegory for the Oppressive Bourgeoisie that stamped out freedom and equality for the Righteous Poor. Other, even more bizarre, tales were woven in by Smith, who also added an entire additional "lost book" of the Bible, the Book of Saint Joseph bar Mathea, which detailed a truly strange trip by the owner of Christ's tomb to the Americas, where he preached to the Micmac tribe and hid the Holy Grail, a Proletarian brass cup, somewhere on Oak Island, in Nova Scotia. Smith had charts and all manner of "documented proof" detailing the Adventures of Saint Joseph. Brigham, by this point, was so fully under Smith's sway that he believed it. Soon, the entire Young family were firm Smithites. Brigham became Smith's Right Hand, and "Smith' Blade of the Farmer" and the "Young's Blacksmith Hammer" were joined with the Christian Cross into the main symbol of Smithism.
​

New Nottingham. "Take from the rich, give to the poor?" Believe it or not, I chose the name by accident before realizing it was perfect. Plus, STACOIN V? What could that be a reference to, I wonder...
​

​

 

[TheBerlinguer]

I like what that Smith says (for the most part...)

Between Smithism and future Jugashvillism (if it's still canon), I think that the concept of "one Kingdom under the True God" so dear to ol' King Andy will be badly shaken... Or not! Otherwise, there are so many places where these "prophets" can be deported.

And now, are you ready for some gambling, allohistorical figures and violence against the animals?

[FONT=&quot]"Hey, officer! Got children?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"No."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Do you want them?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot](conversation between Ambra Savini and Alben (later Anne) Bloomberg, clerk at the immigration bureau of New York City, after the latter's sixth comment about her country of origin and her English accent)[/FONT]


[FONT=&quot]June 1, 1827[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]About 7:30 p.m.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Basement of Clinton's Pike Tavern, New York City[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]"Turn your cards!" the croupier announced.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]When the five Americans saw that the card they had staked everything on was the winning one, a King, they exploded in shouts in joy. The eyes of the Spanish player on the left of the croupier, who also was a Spaniard, and those of Agostino, who had compelled the Yankees to go for that card, met. The former was almost shocked, while the latter was clearly amused.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Another deal! One, two, three, four, five, six." At every number, the croupier laid down a turned card on the green table, then he leveled the stack. Just before announcing "Make your bets!", he briefly held up three fingers below the table, outside of everyone's line of sight except for those who knew where to look. Like Agostino.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Another Spanish player was about to put his hand on the third card, but Savini was quicker. "Put everything here!" he told the Americans, who obediently complied. Meanwhile, the man who had the task to oversee the gambling room/additional restaurant space's activities left his place on the stairs and got closer to the table.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The Americans counted "400,600..." but their mysterious helper insisted "Everything, everything!" There seemed to be no space for objections "1000."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"2000 to call." the croupier said.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Come on!" Agostino encouraged.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The Spanish who couldn't reach his chosen card because of the man with an English accent complied "1000 from me to call."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The strange man then turned to the Spaniard on the left of the croupier. He was six inches shorter and clearly overweight. "Oh!" Agostino exclaimed. It didn't take him long to start putting money on the table. "500... 1000!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Eh-Eh! Perfect!" Savini showed his largest smile.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Turn your cards."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Another King for the Americans, who had no trouble showing their excitement.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Then, a harsh voice resounded in the room, quieting down everyone. The overseer spoke. "Listen good, Englishman! If you wanna play fortune-teller, go play elsewhere!" [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Ah! But I'm just lucky!" Agostino innocently said while taking the stack off the table "Look!" He then proceeded to show every card to the crowd and announce it without having seen it "King - nothing - nothing - nothing - King - nothing - nothing - nothing - King - nothing - nothing - nothing - King." He stopped. Now his expression was deadly serious. "This system to mark cards was invented in Genoa in '83: everyone who has ever visited a Mediterranean port knows it. Only some poultry from Andy the rooster's hen house could fall for it. E me a'n'soi inglès, for your information."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Silence had fallen across the whole basement during the Italian's reveal of the sailors' trick, but after he put the stack back on the table and turned his back to walk towards his dinner and his wife, a collective scream escaped from the throats of everyone in the large room, players and restaurant clients alike: "SWINDLERS!" But while the hurricane of lynching fury was being unleashed against the three Spaniards and their patron, one of the American players, a middle-aged and very well-dressed man, got out of the confusion and walked to the now lonely couple.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"I'm sorry to interrupt your meal, Mr...?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Forget the Mister. The name's Agostino and this here's my wife Ambra" The dark-haired lady nodded, smiled politely and picked up a chair that had just been thrown on the floor next to her to offer a seat to the American. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Well, Agostino, Ambra, as a lawmaker of this proud country, I'm concerned about your future in a land so distant from the fields of Romagna."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The sound of cutlery suddenly stopped. Now the couple was staring at the elegant man, with a gaze that betrayed both suspect and disbelief. Ambra was the first to speak "Now, Sir, how can you possibly know that?" [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"From the 's'. No one breathes it like a Romuh-nyo-lo. I was part of a very tedious diplomatic mission to Vienna ten years ago, when my colleagues in Philadelphia still trusted me to occupy any position other than my safe seat in the House." Something resembling nostalgia was clearly heard in his voice. "As I was saying, the job was so tedious I spent my last four weeks in the Old Continent sightseeing Northern Italy and I learnt something about Italian dialects. And not even pronouncing the 'r' like a native of Lancashire could disguise you birthplace."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Lancashire? Oh, you mean Lancashrrr!" The three of them burst out in laughter: apparently accent-mocking was a way to start hilarity even on the other side of the ocean. "All right - he continued - you're a well-educated man, Sir. I think I like you, but I still don't know why a Congressional mugwump is so interested in the future of a couple of immigrants like us. I mean, hell, we've never met before and I don't even know your name!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"My name is Robert Owen, Welsh by birth but American by choice." He bent forward and putting his elbows on the table and crossed his arms. "Let's keep it simple: have you ever heard of a land called Illinoia?"

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]June 2, 1827[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]About 8:15 a.m.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Somewhere in southern Orange County, Royal State of New York[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]The carter who had given them a lift in New York drew rein and the vehicle stopped. "Here we are, people! Louise is just over there." he pointed at a slightly plump woman dressed in male travel clothes. "I'd wish you good luck... but with Louise leading you I'd say you don't need it."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"She must be quite a celebrity here." Ambra commented while helping her husband unloading their luggage.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Well... She's not a person to go unnoticed, I'll concede that. Good-bye!" He then continued his trip to upstate New York.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The couple got up to the woman, who was tending to her horses, and when they were at a distance of two yards from her she noticed their arrival and she turned to them. "Are you the settlers bound for Harrisontown?" they asked. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Heh, ya rask findin' sum'a them around here." she answered sardonically. "English, Welsh, Scots from those not-so-merry-anymore lends, Bavarians, Hessians and Swabians from the Germanies, a cart ov'rloaded with Wall-oons, a family of Serbians always shoutin' words made only of consuhnants, a few Polish and Ruthenians who din't laik the pruhspect of settlin' in Kaliforniya and even sum Aljeerians from North Africa. A Swede... An' then there's me, Louise Verney from Kaintuck, their guide."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]As soon as she finished listing the components of the caravan, Ambra gave a gentle tug to her husband's arm and he instinctively brought his ear closer to her mouth. She whispered "This Kaintuck... Is it in America?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"It probably is, dear. But definitely not in the English-speaking part." Agostino whispered back. Then, more loudly, he presented the two of them "We are Agostino and Ambra Savini, from Romagna, Italy. Last evening in New York we met Congressman Owen, who..."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Aaaah, Italians! Wond'rful! No caravan has ev'r been complete without sum lazy-asses who coulda only steal and get drunk! An' ta show ya my sincere appreshaytion, Ah'll make up for yer lack of a cart invitin' ya ta travel on my conestoga." Since the moment the guide had interrupted Agostino, her genuinely happy grin had never left her round face.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Slightly embarrassed, the Italian man couldn't find the right words. "Well... I don't know how to thank..."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Oh, Ah've already found a way. Ya both'll halp me take care of the other man who'll trav'l with us... THUNBERG!" she shouted.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]A surprised sound was heard behind the tissue covering of the cart and a light-haired, square-shouldered man immediately fell on the ground from its back, scattering papers everywhere. Louise commented "Ladies an' gentlemen, Curt Thunberg. He'd manage ta lose his baluhnce ev'n if he was layin' on the grass."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Agostino jumped to help him. "Did you get hurt, pal?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"No, no..." the man mumbled in a foreign accent "But my notes will need to be put in proper order... again!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"What's all this heap of papers for?" the Italian asked while picking up a sheet completely covered with crammed writing, the latter full of strange letters.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"I told you: they're my notes. I've written down all of my experiments with iron back in Sweden and here in America. They're the only really valuable thing I own."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Iron? Are you a smith?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Thunberg took the paper Agostino was handing him. "I am. My father too before me. Grandpa was a well-off man, he even studied at the Uppsala university under Linnaeus. He could have been a great botanist, but during a journey to the Netherlands some bloke had the idea of cleaning his new American hunting rifle while it was loaded and grandpa got a busted kneecap. Crippled for life he went back to Sweden, to pass the rest of his days squandering all his money in alcohol and women, my grandma in particular. Yeah, the only thing Carl Peter Thunberg left to his grandson was a scientific mind and no means to do anything with it." Now that he had finished picking up, his face was almost hidden by the heap he was holding up.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Your notes tell a different story."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Performing experiments on small scale is one thing; trying to get funds to performing them on a higher level is another. I'm not economically self-sufficient to make that step and considerable economic interests are involved against me."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Really!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Who would want to fund a project aimed at producing large amounts of cheap steel in the country of wrought iron? And even here in the URAS..."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]But the voice of Louise suddenly filled the air. "All right, guys! Stop chattin' an' get ready ta leave. Ah want thar caravan in moshun in ten minutes!"

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]August 25th, 1827[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]About 4:00 p.m.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Main street of Harrisontown, Royal State of Illinoia[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]"Aaaand... Ah thank our journey's over, pals!" Louise announced to the three persons napping inside the conestoga, still tired after the adventures of the preceding night. Agostino was the first to wake up.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Hmmn... What? Over, you say?" After realizing what Louise had said, he jumped rather than stood up and started shaking his wife and their fellow traveler. "Ah, ah! I can't believe it!" he cried out while hopping on the driver's box. "After the battle against those giant, hairy creatures that smelled like a two-week old pig carcass last night I had lost any hope of reaching Harrisontown in a single piece!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Ah've already told ya, Teeno! Those creatures was Russians. They sometimes wanders inta Louisiana and Illinoia when their colonies on the West Coast becomes too turbulent or they's irreparably drunk!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Whatever those things were, I'm glad now there's less of them in the world!" He patted the M1815 Spaulding he kept in the holster on his right. The best purchase since his arrival in the URAS.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Curt's head appeared between the front curtains of the carriage. Peering intently forward, he managed to see a crowd assembled in the city's central square. "How many people! Were we awaited?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Louise proudly answered "Abso-lootly! Mr. Owen nev'r fails ta send a Pony Express ta inform his Illinoian friends about me leavin' the East and ev'ry soul in the Kingdom knows they can trust my punkchooality."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Will there be Robert's fellow Congressman? I should like to meet him. If he's anything like his Polypotamian friend, he's sure good company." Now the crowd could be clearly seen by the three of them.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"He'll probably be in Philly, Ah can't see him in the first row an' Congressmen ain'ta guys ta stand anywhere else. Ah must admit Ah hain't seen him for ten years. Maybe he's changed a lot."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Ah! So, what about the one with the dog?" Agostino asked, thinking Louise could have missed Mr. Warren [1].[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"No, thet's Harrisontown Lord Mayor, Joseph Burnett. Sum Crownie, thet Joe, but he respects Josiah. Aft'r all, Warren halped foundin' thar city while Joe came here only aft'r receivin' th' title."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"The one with the cane, then?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Timothy Law, owner of this town's gazette, Ah thank."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"That one on the right of the mayor, then?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Jus' told ya, Timothy Law."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"No, the other one! That man between the Mayor and the publisher..."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Thet's the publisher! The other on his right's Thaddeus Bayer, the banker."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"But you told me Law was the one with the cane![/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Cane? Ah thought ya said "chain" an' thet ya were speakin' about Mr. Lehrer, the saloon-keeper!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Who's that?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"The one with the chain! Don't ya see? To the left of Law?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Who? The Mayor?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"No, the one with the dog!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Right, that! The Mayor!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"No, the mayor has the milit'ry hat! He's standin' jus' at the right of Law."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Wasn't that Bayer?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Well, actually, Ah ain'ta so shore thet was really Bayer..."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"So, who's the one with the dog?" This inconclusive exchange was kind of getting on Agostino's nerves.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Then Curt intervened, a little confused "Agostino... Which dog?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The Italian couldn't stand it anymore "Oooohhh... Mo' svégiat! THAT DOG!" And he punctuated his outburst by drawing his pistol out and shooting the animal.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The caravan came to a halt one second later, by now well into the town's central square. Twenty feet separated the assembled authorities from the Kaintuckian guide, the Italian shooter (smoking weapon still in his hand, completely paralyzed by the realization of what he had just done) and the Swedish smith, still hidden behind the curtains except for his head.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The central figure of the assembled crowd, Lord Mayor Joseph Burnett, putting up his most inexpressive face and keeping his Great Dane on a lead, even if it wouldn't have ever had any more chances of running anywhere, spoke to the travelers.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"We, the authorities and citizens of this city, joyfully greet you fellow colonists that, like many of us in the last decade, took the road to the West of this great nation under God and King Andrew to bring civilization to these wild lands and to show the world how true Americans can create wealth for themselves and for the whole country even in places where nothing existed before the arrival of the White man except dangerous wildlife and untilled soil. All the people present and the other inhabitants you can't see assembled here only hope for you to prosper and to have a bright future ahead... INSTEAD OF BEING SHOT OUT OF NOWHERE BY SOME RANDOM IMBECILE! A SAD FATE SHARED BY MY LATE DOG, BUCK!" He then angrily threw down the useless leash, his face almost purple. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Another voice was heard. It was Ambra's, who appeared alongside Curt behind the box. "Astounding what strange effects America has on people. Isn't it true, honey?" she whispered and then proceeded to snatch the pistol from her husband's hand, without meeting any opposition.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][1] Not OTL Josiah Warren but an ATL older "brother" (b. 1791 instead of 1798). He was one of the founders of Harrisontown (OTL Springfield, Illinois) after leaving New York in 1817 and managed to be elected Congressman in 1823, thanks to his great personal prestige in his district and his effective oratory. Great friend with Robert Owen, his political ideas are less anarchist than his historical counterpart but radical enough for him to be branded in Philadelphia with a big red "SOCIALIST!" mark.[/FONT]

 

[Napoleon53]

Bloody awesome, Berlin. I love how it focuses on migration and new Americans. I loved the "inconclusive exchange." That was funny.

And you like what Smith says? Congratulations, you've become a Believer in the Saint. Here're your 99 Concubines.

 

[Nevermore]

Jeez, there's quite a few entries here! I can't believe I forgot to review Mike's earlier. I saw it weeks ago and just never got around to it. So first thing's first...

Interesting stuff, though there were spelling and grammatical errors. I guess the death of Rhys is what will push Dafydd into trying to free Wales from Wellington's soldiers? A noble goal, but it's going to be anything but easy. I'd imagine that even if some of the old guard (i.e. loyalists to the Crown) were purged, he controls most of the military of the former U.K., yes? Pity that Rhys' wife and child had to die as well, but that's war for you...

If you don't mind me asking, what's the translation for the Welsh lullaby? I tried using Google Translate, but as you probably guessed, it didn't exactly give me the most accurate answer.

One of the more surreal things I think I've seen in AH, Napoleon, is probably your cross, sickle and hammer there. Is it actually a real image or was that edited by you? If it's real, might I ask where it came from? I keep doing a double take every time I look at it.

Joseph Smith as the founder of *Communism? I wonder where this is going, especially with the religious bent that it has now. Since the butterfly effect seems to have flapped its wings pretty heavily in regards to Smith's theology, I do wonder what this means for race relations, especially considering Mormonism in OTL's...er, controversial stances regarding blacks.

Either way, Vermont is in for a very nasty time in the years ahead. This will clash with pretty much everything it stands for. Heads will roll, I'm sure.

I appreciate small snippets like the one you've posted, Berlinguer. It gives a more personal touch to AH than simple, sweeping parts of history books. You've hinted, at least if I read you right, that Agostino becomes something of an infamous figure in Wellington's Britain. Curious that he got his start over in the URAS. I'm sure you've got a reason for sending him to Illinoia. I also agree with Napoleon: it was a fun look to see some of the immigrant communities getting a nod here as well. I think one of the more interesting questions in AK is going to be how these communities form different cultural patterns in the country, especially with it being much smaller than OTL's USA.

And Ambra is a bad ass.

 

[Napoleon53]

One of the more surreal things I think I've seen in AH, Napoleon, is probably your cross, sickle and hammer there. Is it actually a real image or was that edited by you? If it's real, might I ask where it came from? I keep doing a double take every time I look at it.

Joseph Smith as the founder of *Communism? I wonder where this is going, especially with the religious bent that it has now. Since the butterfly effect seems to have flapped its wings pretty heavily in regards to Smith's theology, I do wonder what this means for race relations, especially considering Mormonism in OTL's...er, controversial stances regarding blacks.

Either way, Vermont is in for a very nasty time in the years ahead. This will clash with pretty much everything it stands for. Heads will roll, I'm sure.

Real symbol of "Christian Communism." Disturbing, I know. Two more:

Remember to read this, guys: http://americankingseries.wikia.com/wiki/Joseph_Smith_II

The New Nottingham Trilogy
Part 2

Painting of Joseph Smith in Uniform as "Commandant of the Revolution"

When Smith's wound had finally healed, he, Young, Durant, and their followers in the Young household began making plans for how to carry their ideology forward. Smith wished to foment revolt among the lower classes in Burlington, the GMR capital and largest city, and storm the State Parliament and Capitol Courthouse, and kill President Abraham Westwood, thereby forcing a Government of the Proletariat over the country, the institution of STACOIN V, and the destruction of the rich landowners and the redistributing of their wealth to the poor.

Young, however, could see that was simply not going to work. The terrible reputation Smith had would prevent any widespread adoption of his beliefs. Instead, Young proposed that instead the workers must be turned against the rich through sneaky means. Religion must not be brought into it at first, and instead the workers and poor must be shown all the ways the rich abused them. In Swanton, the local Robertson family dynasty would be shown to be exploitative of the workers...

***

October 9, 1830, Robertson Family Farm one mile outside Swanton, Green Mountain Republic of Vermont...

Violet Banner, a servant at the Robertson Family Farm, lived an ordinary life for a lower-class 17 year-old orphan maid, and lived quietly in a small cabin behind the Robertson Mansion, an imposing brick-and-mortar, whitewashed, plantation house. She was pretty, did what she was told, and minded her own business. She lifted the hem of her black skirt so she could wade through the early snow and fished for the key in her pocket, and then unlocked her cabin door. When she was inside, she threw off her coat and servant's dress and was about to go to sleep when the blaze in her fireplace died out. She sighed as she realized she was out of wood and would have to get some from the pile outside. The servant put on a coat and shoes and opened the door.

All was quiet outside, the only people still up anywhere on the plantation were Mr. Robertson's two sons, who were inside the mansion. Still, wild animals sometimes came around, so she grabbed a small pepperbox pistol from the desk beside the door. She walked out to the woodpile, which black servants had cut up earlier, and stooped over to grab a few pieces. As she did so, suddenly a shadow appeared behind her. She whirled around, raised the pistol, and then felt her wrist being grabbed like a vice. She screamed and dropped the gun in pain, but as it landed on the ground, it went off and shot her in the chest. She tried to scream, but couldn't, and suddenly felt herself blacking out. As she breathed her last, she looked up and saw the moonlight hit the face... of Joseph Smith II. As she lay dead in the snow, Smith deliberately used a small leafy branch to conceal his prints in the snow. He had only wanted to kidnap her and blame it on the Robertson brothers, but now she was killed. He sniffed, his nose feeling like it was frozen off. Violet's nose, and the rest of her body, felt nothing.


October 10, 1830, Swanton, Green Mountain Republic of Vermont...

Brigham's one-man buggy came to a halt in front of Swanton's only tavern. The minister-blacksmith stepped out, wearing typical working man's clothes and a ratty old tricorne. He flapped his arms against his body to flip off all the snow from his winter coat, stomped his boots, and then walked inside the warm tavern. Inside, instead of ordering a drink or some poor-quality food, he fired a gun off toward the ceiling. Everyone in the bar immediately stopped what they were doing and looked to him.

Brigham motioned for them all to sit down, and they did so. He walked for a few moments, boots squeaking, in between the aisles of tables. He looked in the eyes of the Proletarian workers, lumberjacks, and hunters. He saw in their eyes the look of the hard work, of sweat, of tears and sorrow. Of poverty and abuse. It was time to end it. Young suddenly flipped himself onto an unoccupied table, took his hat off, and shouted: "Men of Swanton! I come here to report a most grave crime and injustice! Yesterday night, poor, pretty little Violet Banner, the servant girl up at the Robertson plantation, was murdered in cold blood by the Bobby and Joshua Robertson, who were found intoxicated in the cellar of the mansion! Now, as you all know, Old Mr. Robertson controls these here parts, and he is protecting his rapscallions from justice! He is an abusive overlord who treats his workers like slaves, white or black! It's time to end this! I am a Man of the Cloth, and I command you to do the Lord's work and march armed with weapons and righteousness to the Robertson plantation! We shall avenge poor Violet and exterminate the brutal taskmaster, that modern Ramses, and all his household!"

"Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!" shouted the enraged taver-goers in unison. They immediately ran for their houses and friends and neighbors to gather all the men and weapons they could. Then, they all reported to the Swanton town square, where Brigham was now carrying a huge red flag.

"This flag," addressed Young as the mob fell into a column formation, "Is red for the blood of Violet Banner, which we shall be avenging, and for the Blood of Christ, who is about to deliver his righteous judgement upon the Robertsons! Forward! March!" He waved his short sword and goosestepped out in front of the others, serving as militia commander. Some of Swanton's constable force even joined in with civilians, following him with guns, pitchforks, and torches raised over their heads.

​

After the short march, they reached the plantation, where the Robertsons had several servants chopping wood outside. These blacks also joined in, having suspected the drunken sons of Mr. Robertson of the murder of their coworker.

Maybe Smith's mistake will actually help the cause, thought Young. It was rather convenient that the sons were drunk and had no recollection of the night Violet was killed. For all Bobby and Joshua knew, they had killed her. Everything was falling into place.

After speechifying and chanting till about 10:00 that night outside the besieged mansion, the mob made their move. Whooping and hollering, they smashed down the mansion doors and unleashed Hell. The Robertson brothers were dragged out of their bedroom and brutally beaten, and Mr. Robertson was tied up on a chair. The other members of the family had their wrists tied and thrown in the cellar. Eventually, they moved all the "proceedings" to the dining hall. A mahogany desk was brought in and Young took his place as "judge" behind it.

"Unhand me! Let me go! I didn't do anything!" bellowed the portly Mr. Robertson as he was, chair and all, slammed down in front of the Judgement Desk. A rough-looking lumberjack punched him in the throat and told him to shut up.

Brigham used a carpenter's hammer as a gavel to call the mob to shut up themselves. Then, he addressed Mr. Robertson. "Aaron Moses Robertson, you have been accused of sheltering fugitives from justice, fugitives who murdered your servant Violet Banner. How do you plead?"

"This is outrageous! President Westwood announced vigilante justice is not legal ages ago! And my boys did not murder poor Violet!"

"In the Name of the Lord's justice and the People of Vermont, I find you guilty of your crimes! You are to be executed at dawn! Take him away!" boomed Brigham, banging his hammer against the luxurious Bourgeois desk.

Next came the Robertson brothers, who were also found guilty and were to be executed at dawn. The four youngest sons and daughters of Mr. Robertson were to be given to "appropriate" families to learn the way of "the Lord and hard work." The 19 year-old daughter, Amber, was also found guilty, and was to be shot at dawn, and the same for her mother Mrs. Robertson.

When dawn came, the family was taken down into the basement, lined up against the wall, and shot at point-blank range by rifles. Blood covered the stone floor and the bodies were piled in the corner of the room.

Their work done, the mob piled the bodies outside and set them on fire, some singing hymns. A huge makeshift flag, made of sewed-together bedsheets painted with red paint, was unfurled from the roof over the veranda. The house was looted and the belongings of the deceased wer divided up "fairly." Young was very pleased.

The next day, a message came saying the GMR Army was coming to arrest the vigilantes. Apparently, the "Swanton Slayings" had really shaken up nearby property owners. As the army was on its way, the mob became a revolt, falling more and more under Brigham's sway. They believed they were right. There was no turning back. They would stand for what they believed in. The mob became a revolt. They linked up with other nearby farms and riots took hold, particularly at Josiah Wilkins farm, who was brother-in-law of Mr. Robertson. And when word came of new taxes and liquor laws (all passed before any civil disobedience or massacres were known about by the government), the mob became a revolt. Without even realizing it, the rebels were becoming Smithites.

When the confrontation did come, on November 1, the soldiers proved to be positively great at losing. They either didn't have the heart to fire on their countrymen, or they just weren't trained well. After only a few shots and a couple casualties, the army marched back to Burlington to "devise a new plan."

***

Young, over the next few weeks, carefully sneaked in Smithism to the rebels. And finally, Smith himself announced his formal return. Now willing to follow him than give up and go to prison, they suddenly started embracing his ideology. His old supporters came out of hiding, Young's forge provided much-needed bayonets and other goods, and the Red Flag soon became adorned with the Smithite Hammer-Sickle-Cross. The Revolution of the Proletariat had arrived.

Reverend Bishop, Smith's old enemy who's niece Fanny had tried to assassinate Smith, was placed on the top of Smith's "Enemies of the People." Bishop's house was stormed, and he was discovered to have hidden himself in a sub-basement. Several men found the entrance to the hidden room and went down to finish him off. They shot him in the chest from very close range with a musket, which seemed to have no effect on the bone-faced Methodist. He lunged at them with a large cleaver, severing the hand of one of the assailants and then slammed the cleaver into the chest of another. He pulled out a cooking knife and continued attacking, even as more bullets, pistol bullets, struck him. Hit six times, he finally crumpled to the floor, only to rise again, "foaming at the mouth, eyes bulging," and attempted to strangle a rebel. Finally, another man drove a pitchfork through his skull, killing him once and for all and splattering his blood across the room.

With the propagator of the Allentown Massacre killed, Smith's morale soared. On Christmas, his birthday, he planned to overthrow the government once and for all and launch his glorious new "Green Mountain Christian People's Republic of Vermont." Whether it would succeed was the question.

​

 

[TheBerlinguer]

Bloody awesome, Berlin. I love how it focuses on migration and new Americans. I loved the "inconclusive exchange." That was funny.

And you like what Smith says? Congratulations, you've become a Believer in the Saint. Here're your 99 Concubines.

So few of them? (cit.)
If you don't mind, I'd like to include a brief encounter between Smith Jr. and Agostino's family in a post I'm working on. Please?

The "inconclusive exchange" was an adaptation of a scene of one of my favorite movies of all time: la leggenda di Al, John e Jack.

I appreciate small snippets like the one you've posted, Berlinguer. It gives a more personal touch to AH than simple, sweeping parts of history books. You've hinted, at least if I read you right, that Agostino becomes something of an infamous figure in Wellington's Britain. Curious that he got his start over in the URAS. I'm sure you've got a reason for sending him to Illinoia. I also agree with Napoleon: it was a fun look to see some of the immigrant communities getting a nod here as well. I think one of the more interesting questions in AK is going to be how these communities form different cultural patterns in the country, especially with it being much smaller than OTL's USA.

And Ambra is a bad ass.

Becoming infamous means being anyway famous and that's not the case of Agostino: troublemakers are a constant in oppressive regimes and since no kind of revolutionary talk ever got out of the mouth of the Italian the state-controlled building companies found it a better option to transfer him from a city to another instead of losing a qualified craftsman (invited into the Commonwealth by the government itself, let's not forget!).

Illinoia has vast coal deposits and that helps my plans for the future of the Savinis. Much industrialisation ahead for Harrisontown and the whole State of Illinoia, let's say.
Robert Owen, a good friend of Josiah Warren, saw a lot of potential in the man who saved him from having his pockets cleaned out by those swindlers and so he thought that Agostino could very well be the ideal person to "send West". All those people Louise led to Harrisontown were probably contacted by Owen himself or one of his associates.

And Ambra must be a badass, since I have a lot of pregnancies in store for her. Can you imagine being mother while personally directing the development of... but I don't want to spoil the surprise. Let's just say the example of Gwen Sinclair won't be lost on her.

 

[Napoleon53]

So few of them? (cit.)
If you don't mind, I'd like to include a brief encounter between Smith Jr. and Agostino's family in a post I'm working on. Please?

The "inconclusive exchange" was an adaptation of a scene of one of my favorite movies of all time: la leggenda di Al, John e Jack.

Sure! Have at it!

Ah, Italian movie. Spaghetti western?

 

[Rooster Cogburn]

Much industrialisation ahead for Harrisontown and the whole State of Illinoia, let's say.

I always figured Illinoisa would be more of a Whig-leaning state, and this seems to suppose it. Yay

And Napoleon, can't wait to see if the revolution succeeds! Especially because it's 1830, and I'm PM! If the GMR can't handle itself against Socialist Revolution, its guaranteed I'll crush it myself if it's necessary.

 

[TheBerlinguer]

The other Italian job

While Napoleon54 is busy getting out of his artificial womb (please Nappy, I'm joking! Don't get angry at me!) I thought I could post another piece of narrative. Harrisontown, Illinoia needs some love! And so Thunberg and Savini's mysterious project finally found his funder.

[FONT=&quot]April 7th, 1834[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]About 3:30 p.m.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Home of the Savini family, Harrisontown, Illinoia[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]The heavy tread coming from the lane were enough for Ambra to guess that the answer of the bank had been a 'no'. Agostino was such an open book to his wife that she could already hear suicidal intentions coming out of his mouth.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Indeed, as soon as he stepped over the house threshold, while he was throwing his hat and jacket on the coat rack with an expert gesture, he uttered "Ambra! Go and get my rifle! I want to commit suici... Are you preparing pièda for dinner?" The ingredients placed on the table left no room for any doubt.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Hm-hm... If you don't mind, you could help me pressing the salt." She told her husband while tipping flour on the bread board.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Agostino didn't need to be told twice. He picked up the rolling pin and started to grind the coarse salt.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"I've got the feeling something went wrong with your request for a loan."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Something? Someone, you mean! Someone named Joseph Burnett, sure as death, let me tell you! I recognize people who are trying to hide the fact they've been ordered to tell you 'no'. They start pouring a giant pot of honey in front of you 'Curt and you are pillars for this community', 'Nobody in Harrisontown would ever insinuate your word is untrustworthy', 'You're the best smiths this side of the Appalachians'. THEN, that word comes, 'but', and everything they've just said is suddenly worth as much as a tin nickel."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Let me guess... 'I am not an expert blah-blah I can't check your results blah-blah this kind of experiments belong in some factory of the East Coast'."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Yeah, more or less. Like I've ever seen a smith coming out of Miskatonic University, or I've ever needed a Harvard egghead to teach me how steel is tempered! As if Bayer doesn't know this as well."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Ambra knew that words of comfort were useless when his husband was in such a mood. She used her favorite tactic: going to the offensive and waiting for him to assert his merits. "But Mr. Bayer isn't completely wrong. Neither you nor Curt are proper scientists, are you?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"No... Or at least, there are no doubts I am not. I'm a craftsman and I've always been, but Curt's different! As impossible as it may sound, that man has iron in his blood! He knows more about metallurgy than a fish about the sea. He spent all of his adult life and most part of his childhood - however short it was - between anvils, hammers and forges. In these last seven years I've seen him working metal into forms I didn't think possible and believe me, if there's one person on this world I trust when he says that we can reach a particular result, that person is Curt Thunberg..." The glance his wife cast at him could have pierced a brick wall. "And obviously you too, Ambra!" Agostino hurried to add.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Obviously, honey." She was completely deadpan, but the way that last word was pronounced carried a lot of significance. "Are you thinking about trying to ask for the loan somewhere else?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Where could I? Fifteen thousand dollars are too much money for everyone in Harrisontown except Bayer and the Lord Mayor, and the latter has conspired with the former against me. Why Burnett has to despise me so much, I don't know."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Because about seven years ago you shot his dog out of the blue and he found no way to make us pay for it."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Ok... You're right... Maybe he still feels a tad sour about that." Agostino really found it difficult to immediately associate the antipathy the Mayor felt for him with that event. It was like he had been trying to remove his dog-killing stunt for the last seven years.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Perhaps Josiah could help you. He arrived from Philly for a visit to his family just yesterday. You could ask him to present your request for a loan to another bank in this state; a Representative can exert much influence even outside of his constituency. Or he could go to Bayer's office and out-lobby the Mayor." Ambra proposed.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Hmm... Wouldn't it look like we're begging for charity? Or that no one in our town dared to trust us? And trying to out-lobby Burnett would be counter-productive. Bayer's brother-in-law was the Whig candidate during last elections and he lost by a whiff. He could come back on the assault in a few years and paint Josiah's actions as coercion. I can already figure the slogans: 'Vote Edward Nash! No one will touch your cash!'" It was the cheesiest thing Agostino could invent in two seconds. Therefore, absolutely perfect for the character. Husband and wife allowed themselves a releasing laugh.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"A man who didn't even finish his studies puts a large roadblock on the way of progress. How appropriate!" she concluded. Since the bad mood had dissipated, the mission was accomplished.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]But those final words had an unintended effect on Agostino. A louder grinding sound was produced when too much force was applied to the rolling pin. She looked away from the dough and saw her husband frozen in his movement, eyes wide-open. "Could you repeat, please?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"I said that it's appropriate."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Before that."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Large roadblock?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Before that, too."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Didn't finish his studies?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"That! How can you possibly know it?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Remember my friend Theresa, the one I beat at the autumn festival drinking contest last year?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"That Bavarian lady one and a half time your size?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Right. Large frame but delicate hands. Believe it or not, she teaches embroidery to Lucy Burnett, Joe's daughter. Last week she confided me one thing she noticed while looking closely at one of the Mayor's trophies: his Pittsburgh Academy diploma was dated June the 16th, 1807."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"So?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Oh, come on! Don't tell me you've never heard him boring his audiences to tears about his service in the «Harry Lee Volunteer Company of Pennsylvania» during the Second Seven Years War."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"That war was nothing compared to our seven-year struggle to avoidbeing part of those audiences."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Ambra couldn't say he was wrong. "I know. But the point is another: his service, according to his own words, ended only when the Company was disbanded on October the 1st, 1807. Now, if Burnett valiantly fought the kingdom's enemies until that day, how could he have graduated in a city so far from the battlefields three and a half months before?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Well..." Everything was by that time clear in Agostino's mind, but the implications of that situation were overwhelming him to the point he was at a loss for words.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Thinking ill of something is a kind of sin, but you often guess right. And I suspect that degree is as genuine as a three-dollar banknote." she concluded. Then something happened.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The shocked expression had rapidly disappeared from his face after they had started talking about the Lord Mayor's diploma, but now another had taken its place and Ambra, who knew best, recognized it as his orgasmic face. All of a sudden, he quitted the rolling pin and rushed to his jacket and hat. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Ambra! Tell the children I'll be late for dinner!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Agostino... What's the matter with you?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"I've got to speak privately to Josiah as soon as possible. It's a matter of life or total disaster!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"For us?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"For Burnett!" Then he dashed out of their home without even closing the door.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]April 20th, 1834[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]About 4:00 p.m.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Burnett manor, 4 miles north of Harrisontown, Illinoia[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Burnett couldn't believe to his ears. "I beg your pardon?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Well... Let me reformulate. You can't be a Lord Mayor if you falsified your diploma." The sentence was uttered in a calm but definitive tone.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The master of the house decided to resort to the usual strategy: making clear where his authority came from. "Mr. Armstrong... That title was awarded to me by King Andrew himself for my service in both the Potawatomi and Winnebago Indian Wars, where I valiantly led the two hundred men under my command in scrublands very few Whites had ever dared to venture in and none had ever gotten out of! The charges, the losses, the nights spent protecting our gunpowder from the fury of the elements knowing that one moment of distraction would have meant death at dawn... Those were the reason I became the head of this community, not my studies! Only a man who has put countless times the honor of his country before his safety can comprehend such concepts and you, Mr. Bureaucrat..."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Can." Mr. Armstrong interjected.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]That one word was enough to make all of Burnett's defiance disappear. "You... can?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Maybe I didn't introduce myself properly: Captain Magnus Armstrong, New Hampshire I Cavalry, the first American regiment to enter Québec City in 1807. Not all veterans get to be a Duke, a Governor or a Lord Mayor after they stop serving the Fatherland on the battlefield: someone even goes on with serving it as a humble Mr. Bureaucrat, like you have just called me. In fact, I think at least half of the State Bureaucracy is made by war veterans like you and me. If honorable military service were sufficient condition to attain a title, the whole North American continent wouldn't be enough to contain all the newly-invested nobles."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"I... I couldn't know..." Sweat was starting to form on the skin of the Mayor's neck and temples. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"I didn't expect you to know. What I, on behalf of King and Congress, expected from you is a level of education suitable to your office, which, I'm sorry to inform you, should require something more than the elementary license."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"What do you suggest me to do?" Burnett humbly asked.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Suggest? I have nothing to suggest. I have something for you to do."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Another question from the Mayor, who in his heart knew that whatever that «something» were it wouldn't have been pleasant for him. "What do you mean?" [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"I managed to recover Pittsburgh Academy's final examinations for the year 1807 from the institute's archives. I was very lucky, those papers were the only extant copies! If you are able to get through them with full marks like it's attested in the diploma hung on that wall, I'll simply forget the whole thing and nobody will ever bother you again for this matter."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"When is it going to take place?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Tomorrow morning. I've already made contact with your local school principal - Mrs. Thompson, I think her name is - and she's allowed me to use one of the classrooms of the elementary school for our purpose." [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Wh-what if I'm not able?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Why should that make you anxious? After all, you've already gotten through your exams, haven't you?" Armstrong said, every single word dripping with sadistic pleasure.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]For a brief instant, the Lord Mayor's mind was catapulted back to his school years, so reminiscent of his old teachers that man was. In that infinitesimal span of time, a conscious thought worked his way in: perhaps some knowledge has survived, perhaps my stay in that Academy didn't consist only in sleeping during classes and monkeying around at any other time. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]When absolutely nothing reemerged, Joseph P. Burnett knew he was in deep trouble. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Three hours later[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]In twelve years of marriage, Rebecca Younger had never seen her beloved in such a state. Since that official from the Capitol had left the study on the second floor and Joseph hadn't led him to the hall, she knew that something was wrong. The problem was she couldn't imagine what. She had peeked inside the room from the half-closed door but all she managed to see was her husband sitting on his armchair and staring at the wall where all his certificates were hung, barely blinking. At first she hadn't had the heart to interrupt his thoughts, but three hours later she couldn't stand that situation anymore and set herself the task to rouse Joseph from that catalepsy.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Joe... Dinner has been served half a hour ago and the children and I are starting to get worried..."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]No answer.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]She got closer to the armchair and went for her husband's hand, softly calling his name again "Joe..."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Burnett's fingertips sank into the wood of the arm-rests' heads. The whole house resounded with the man's voice, its tone betraying both long-restrained anger and utter despair. "REBECCA! FETCH ME A SHOVEL! I NEED TO BREAK SOMETHING REFINED AS LONG AS I STILL CAN!"[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]April 22nd, 1834[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]About 10:00 a.m.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]State elementary school, Harrisontown, Illinoia[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]In the hour Burnett spent staring alternatively the list of questions written on the blackboard and the dozen white sheets he had on the desk in front of him, not even one line had been jotted down by the soon-to-be-former Lord Mayor, who on the other hand had created a really artistic maze of ink-blots all over his face by dint of absent-mindedly scratching his head with the pen-nib. He was just starting to wonder if he should just spend the time he had left pondering what to do with his life after the unavoidable fail instead of keep trying deciphering the writing on the blackboard (which, weirdly enough, after an hour had become to his eyes just as readable as Egyptian hieroglyphs), when the voice of one of the school janitors took his mind off those gloomy thoughts. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Lord Mayor... A sick man must be hospitalized. Your signature is urgently needed."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Huh? Oh... I'll be right over!" Everything but this torture chamber, he thought. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]But no official from the city hospital was found in the corridor. Not even the janitor. The only human being in the school, besides him, was a tanned, dark-haired man leaning against one windowsill. An unfortunately very familiar face. "Good morning, Mr. Lord Mayor!" Agostino Savini said, eyeing Joseph like an ancient pagan priest would have done with his sacrificial victims.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Well? Why are you here? Where's the sick man?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"You're the sick man! Asinine flu: worst case I've ever seen."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"If you came here to mock me I..."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Mock you? Oh, no! Quite the opposite: I've got the right medication for your disease." He took something out of his pocket, it looked like a large piece of paper which had been folded many times.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"What's that?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Yesterday I fortuitously laid my hands on the papers of your exam. I made a copy of their content and with some help from my son Filippo - he'll be six this July, did you know? - I solved everyone of those problems during the night. This is your way to get those full marks you'd give your soul to get. Or wouldn't you?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Joseph wasn't convinced at all. "I don't think you have any interest in my soul, however devilish you are. So, what do you want from me?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The Italian conjured another piece of paper. This time however he pulled it out of his jacket and it looked more like parchment. He handed it to his Mayor. "Here, read." [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"I the undersigned Joseph Prospero Burnett agree to lend Agostino Savini the sum of... fifteen thousand dollars?!?!?!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"That I'll return you, adjusted to inflation, by and not beyond the 1st of January 1839. Sign the paper and the answers are yours. It seems a reasonable request to me." At every word, Burnett's face was going redder and redder.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Request? This is blackmail! And if you were a man, this action would have just made you the most despicable one to have ever existed!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Agostino got his face closer to Joseph's. There was almost no difference in height between the two men. "Why? What am I?" He inquisitively asked, his features hardened.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"You aren't a man, you're an Italian."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Burnett's left foot never knew what had struck it.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Doubled up with pain, stifling a wail of pain, he managed to say "If you really are a man, I'm waiting for you outside of this school as soon as I get out of it!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Agostino didn't even flinch at the challenge, quite the opposite. He lifted a finger at his rival's face and told him "All right, but remember there are two of us! First, you're getting a lesson from the man, and then a beating from the Italian!" Then, in a less antagonistic tone, "Does this mean you accept my request?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Do I have any other choice? No, seriously, do I? Just give me a damn pen and some ink!"
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
If this vignettes about the life in a Mid-West that is ITTL more or less a Far West are boring you, know that something big will be revealed in my next update! Hoping that an excerpt from what is essentially a treaty on economic history won't bore you even more!

For Napoleon53: La leggenda di Al,John e Jack is a mafioso-comedy with a twist ending worthy of the first M. Night Shamalamadingdong (is that the right spelling?). Very recommended to people who want to laugh and then feel bad for it!

 

[Michael.D.Luffy]

Interesting stuff, though there were spelling and grammatical errors. I guess the death of Rhys is what will push Dafydd into trying to free Wales from Wellington's soldiers?

Yes before that and the Cardiff laws (caused by the riots) he was content to live in peace but this drives him to greater things. If I ever get around too writing any more then it will be of Dafydd's founding of the rebellion.
Speling mis8akes u wot m8?

A noble goal, but it's going to be anything but easy. I'd imagine that even if some of the old guard (i.e. loyalists to the Crown) were purged, he controls most of the military of the former U.K., yes?

Yes it's a difficult one, He controls a clear minority. At the start he has maybe 5,000 troops from welsh conscript regiments fighting a guerilla war in north-west wales. Similar to Vietnam or Spain(NW) However he has already completed the first stage of guerilla warfare and won the trust of the people. Wales needs a strong leader and now comes booby traps and hit & run tactics.

Pity that Rhys' wife and child had to die as well, but that's war for you...

Just me trying to be dramatic and emotional, nice to see that it worked to a certain extent.

If you don't mind me asking, what's the translation for the Welsh lullaby? I tried using Google Translate, but as you probably guessed, it didn't exactly give me the most accurate answer.

Cysga Di
Cysga di fy mhlentyn tlws (x 3)
Cei gysgu tan y bore (x 2)
Cysga di fy mhlentyn tlws
Wedi cau a chloi y drws
Cysga di fy mhlentyn tlws
Cei gysgu tan y bore (x 2).

Go to Sleep
Go to sleep my pretty baby (x 3)
You can sleep until the morning (x 2)
Go to sleep my pretty baby
Having closed and locked the door,
Go to sleep my pretty baby
You can sleep until the morning (x 2)

Google translate does my French homework!

 

[Nevermore]

Napoleon, Berlinguer, Michael: Thanks for answering my questions. Lots of cool things to be looking foward to (indeed, some of that has been posted!). Definitely looking forward to seeing where all of this goes. Collaborative stories make universes that much more fun, IMO. Here's to hoping others decide to contribute.

@Napoleon: So the first moves to establish the 'New Order' is in full swing by Smith, hm? Seems like a recipe for trouble, though I'm having a hard time right now determining if he'll come out on top or not. Phrasings suggest that he will (it'd certainly make Vermont zany ITTL) but I do wonder. Regardless, Smith's brand of Christianity will have an appeal to it and I imagine a lot of poor people would like it. Especially, oh I dunno, slaves, perhaps? Sure, I'd imagine South Carolina and Georgia attempt to keep them illiterate, but you can't very well squash ideas out...

Also: 'the Green Mountain Christian People's Republic of Vermont.' Ugh. Guess would-be Marxist states still have to settle for annoyingly long (and false) titles, even in alternate universes, huh?

@Berlinguer: I'm not sure if English is your first language, Berlinguer (and if it is, I'm really sorry), but regardless, I think that makes your work that much better if it isn't. You write humor well. "You're not a man, you're an Italian!" had me chuckling pretty hard.

So now Agostino's got his hands on $15,000 (and, sadly, a coward escapes away with his ill-gotten title; but you can't win 'em all), and Ambra suggests that he's an amateur scientist. Strange. Clearly he's going to be doing something with metallurgy considering his feud with Burnett (that poor dog). Appalachians are filled with coal...hrm, can't think of a particular innovation right now that might fit the bill. Regardless, it sounds like he's going to be onto something big. If it'll be used for good or evil, though, is an interesting question indeed...

 

[TheBerlinguer]

@Berlinguer: I'm not sure if English is your first language, Berlinguer (and if it is, I'm really sorry), but regardless, I think that makes your work that much better if it isn't. You write humor well. "You're not a man, you're an Italian!" had me chuckling pretty hard.

So now Agostino's got his hands on $15,000 (and, sadly, a coward escapes away with his ill-gotten title; but you can't win 'em all), and Ambra suggests that he's an amateur scientist. Strange. Clearly he's going to be doing something with metallurgy considering his feud with Burnett (that poor dog). Appalachians are filled with coal...hrm, can't think of a particular innovation right now that might fit the bill. Regardless, it sounds like he's going to be onto something big. If it'll be used for good or evil, though, is an interesting question indeed...

Guilty as charged! My first language is the lingua del sì (Italian) or at least the version spoken in the sunny lands of Romagna. All the italicised sentences or words Agostino sometimes utters are in my dialect. I also thank you for appreciating my humor-filled vignettes: I think it helps giving the reader the impression all of this is happening in a small frontier community where everybody knows each other and so a good amount of naturalness is preseved.

I wouldn't be so harsh towards Burnett. His military prowess is completely genuine and he really fought in all those wars. Alas, being completely book-dumb he chose to pay someone to counterfeit his diploma rather than try to actually pass his final exam. Ironically, had his title been revoked, he could very well have had another brilliant career in the Army, with the American intervention in Portugal coming soon afterwards.
Agostino isn't a scientist by any means and Ambra wasn't suggesting it. He's only a smith(/woodworker/mason) who's very good with his work, at surviving in our weird world and at nothing else. Curt Thunberg, his colleague, is the scientist, the genius and we'll see in my next update how his project is decades ahead of his time. Agostino's contribute was finding the funds for his ingenuous friend, who otherwise would have become another footnote in the great book of science, between the men who got no chance to see their works realised because nobody trusted them enough to economically sustain their efforts.

 

[TheBerlinguer]

The Thunberg/Savini revolution

[FONT=&quot]While still waiting for Napoleon53, I proudly give you...[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]REVOLUTION TIME!!![/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]But don't worry! It'll be purely an industrial one!
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]«It's the nitrogen in the air!!!»[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]«Bless you!»[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot](Alleged exchange between Curt Thunberg and Agostino Savini, after the former's discovery of the reason for the poor quality of steel produced in the first experiments with the Thunberg converter, April 6th, 1835) [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Excerpts from Oswald Cruickshank-Fortescue, "The second industrial revolution compendium", Spyglass Books, Raleigh 1960[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]The Thunberg process was the first inexpensive industrial process for the mass-production of steel from molten pig-iron. The process is named after its inventor, Curt Thunberg, who took out a patent on the process in 1835. Proof that a less sophisticated version of the process had been first implemented, though not on industrial scale, in 11th century China has been found by Pennsylvanian historian and Sinologist William Kelly. [1] The key principle is removal of impurities from the iron by oxidation with air being blown out the molten iron. The oxidation also raises the temperature of the iron mass and keeps it molten. [...][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Before the Thunberg process the industrialized nations of the world had no practical method for the decarburization of pig-iron. Steel was manufactured by the reverse process of adding carbon to carbon-free wrought iron, usually imported from Sweden. The manufacturing process, called cementation process, consisted of heating bars of wrought iron together with charcoal for periods of up to a week in a long stone box. This produced blister steel. Up to 3 tons of expensive coke were burnt for each ton of steel produced. [...] The most difficult and work-intensive part of the process, however, was the production of wrought iron done in finery forges in Sweden. [...][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]A true turning point for the weapon industry and every related activity was the circulation in all European countries of a pamphlet penned by the Danish admiral Steen Andersen Bille in 1821, who stated that a key barrier to the use of the larger, heavier spinning projectiles would be the strength of the gun and in particular "... I do not consider it safe in practice to fire a 30-lb. shot from a 12-pounder cast-iron gun. The real question is; Can any guns be made to stand such heavy projectiles?" This is what started Thunberg thinking about steel. At the time steel was difficult and expensive to make and was consequently used in only small items like cutlery and tools. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]According to his autobiography Thunberg was working in his father's forgery with an ordinary reverbatory furnace but during a test, some pieces of pig-iron were jostled off the side of the ladle, and were left above the ladle in the furnace's heat. When Thunberg went to push them into the ladle, he found that they were steel shells: the hot air alone had converted the outsides of the iron pieces to steel. This crucial discovery led him to completely redesign his furnace so that it would force high-pressure air through the molten iron using special air pumps. Intuitively, this would seem to be folly because it would cool the iron. Instead, the oxygen in the forced air ignited silicon and carbon impurities in the iron, starting a positive feedback loop. As the iron became hotter, more impurities burnt off, making the iron even hotter and burning off more impurities, producing a batch of hotter, purer, molten iron, which converts to steel more easily. [2][...][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]In the New World, the first experiments in the forgery-laboratory he owned with his colleague and sponsor Agostino Savini failed to produce the quality of steel he aimed to - it was "rotten hot and rotten cold" according to one of his co-workers, the Walloon emigré Albert Degand. [...][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]It was only after these extensive chemical researches that the solution was discovered. The new method was to first burn off, as far as possible, all the impurities and carbon, then reintroducing carbon and manganese by adding an exact amount of ferspetch. [3] This had the effect of improving the quality of the finished product, increasing its malleability - its ability to withstand rolling and forging at high temperatures and making it more suitable for a vast array of uses.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The transformation of the S&T blacksmiths (Savini and Thunberg's commercial activity) into the Harrisontown Steelworkers Co-operative, with every employee of the former becoming a partner of the latter, was instrumental for the licensing of the process on November 20th, 1835. [...][/FONT]


[FONT=&quot]«But which kind of man could we light-heartedly entrust with such a position of power and responsibility?»[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]«Try a woman.»[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot](Exchange between Rep. Robert Owen [4] and Ambra Savini during the Harrisontown Steelworkers Co-operative 1st General Assembly on November 8th, 1835)[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Valentin Lunacharsky, "Parallelisms and divergences between evolution of society and industrial development", 6 voll., Mitrokhin Publications, Petrograd 1910[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]The future industrial giant, known until 1837 as "Harrisontown Steelworkers Co-operative", represented the realization of a dream for a handful of good-willed blacksmiths, a broken amateur scientist and two Congressional pariahs, collaborating to create not only an industrial center that could compete with the ones arising around the East Coast harbors and the Appalachian mining sites, but a new kind of management system too. They succeeded in both intents, instituting what would have later been recognized as a milestone in the industrial development of the entire Western World and the first internally-horizontal business in the URAS, i.e. a structure where all partners equally participated in its social capital and thus in its administration. The managerial framework was superseded by a collegial one: a general convocation of all the co-operative partners would have been called every three months to define the economical position of the institution, set the objectives for the following trimester and elect a Supervising Committee, headed by a Chairman, to monitor the everyday activity and to manage the company's affairs as proxy for all the partners. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The position of Chairman had been a sore point during the drafting of the Co-operative Charter. Agostino Savini and a few of his colleagues at the S&T blacksmiths wanted this charge not to be subject to the short terms of the Supervising Committee, arguing that a more permanent figure in that position would have helped business guaranteeing an aura of stability for what at the time was little more than a bold economic experiment, while on the other hand Representative Robert Owen (the spiritual patron of the whole enterprise) countered with his fears that, by a combination of the powers attributed by the Charter and the identification of the office with a single person, a drift towards the traditional employer-employee vertical structure would have been scarily plausible. In part because those fears were somewhat shared by Agostino himself, the point remained unresolved until the First General Assembly, which took place on the evening of November 8th, 1835 in the back yard of Savini House, when a surprise candidate managed to gain access to the ballot. Ambra Savini, née Maraldi, had been an unfailing company to the "founding four" (her husband, Curt Thunberg, Josiah Warren and Robert Owen) during the long nights they spent in her home's little dining room devising the Charter and her knowledge of the company's internal workings was on par with her husband's, who was going to be elected to the Supervising Committee as Business Relations Executive. While the assembled partners were discussing the acceptance of the Charter she proposed (and got it passed unanimously) to the Assembly an amendment to Article XV (About the election of members of the Supervising Committee), effectively ending any doubts about the opportunity of such a position. New elections for the office of Chairman/Chairwoman would be held only if 30% of the partners presented at the General Assembly a signed motion of no-confidence against the incumbent, and his/her name could be removed from the ballot if 50%+1 of the convened had affixed their signatures. Then, when the convened started electing the Supervising Commitee, she put forward her candidacy to Chairwoman. While Agostino was concerned with the well-being of their by-then five children, two of them just one-year-old to boot, he did not stop her. Ambra's wisdom, resolution and sense of responsibility persuaded the majority of the people present, even Rep. Owen, that she was the right person for the job. She was elected with seventeen out of twenty-one votes. In her nearly nine years in charge, no motion against her was ever presented. [5] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]After having sold the old S&T property, deemed unsuitable for the needs of the new productive plant, the co-operative bought a cheap one hundred and twenty acre building site in an area in the present-day Eastern outskirts of Harrisontown, but at the time very far from the city limits. By 1844 the whole site was covered by an imposing and very vast complex of red-brick buildings, housing a dozen of steel production lines, world's forefront metallurgic laboratory (run by the usual Curt Thunberg), its own telegraphic station and a branch line of the Columbus-St. Louis railway going straight through it. The company, now counting more than one thousand partners, was no more the "Harrisontown Steelworkers Co-operative". It had been renamed in 1837 in an effort to show its scope was much wider than the small (but even then rapidly growing) Illinoian frontier town and the new, catchy name had soon become a synonym of quality in every North American country: the long, successful and sometimes tragic story of the AMSIDER had begun.[/FONT]


[FONT=&quot]The population of Harrisontown year by year (estimated data; source: Harrisontown Immigration Office)[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]1827[/FONT][FONT=&quot]: 1,320[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot][...][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]1835[/FONT][FONT=&quot]: 2,150[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]1836[/FONT][FONT=&quot]: 2,300[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]1837[/FONT][FONT=&quot]: 2,640[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]1838[/FONT][FONT=&quot]: 3,180[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]1839[/FONT][FONT=&quot]: 4,070[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]1840[/FONT][FONT=&quot]: 6,400[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]1841[/FONT][FONT=&quot]: 9,600[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]1842[/FONT][FONT=&quot]: 13,900[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]1843[/FONT][FONT=&quot]: 18,500[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]1844[/FONT][FONT=&quot]: 26,700[/FONT]


[FONT=&quot][1] With French China an unexplored element of TTL, I didn't think it'd have been much of a stretch including a developing interest in Sinology, and since the URAS is France's best ally...[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot][2] The process was discovered IOTL in the same way by the Englishman Henry Bessemer.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot][3] Known IOTL as spiegeleisen, German for «mirror-iron», a mineral obtainable from hematite which is an essential component for the improved version of the Bessemer process. It was rechristened fêr-specc («mirror-iron» translated in Romagnolo) by Agostino Savini, who apparently couldn't say the original word with a straight face, and the term stuck (at least in the non-German speaking nations).[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot][4] Rep. Josiah Warren is a welcome guest in Savini House and long trips don't bother Rep. Robert Owen if the company is interesting. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot][5] Author note: Filippo Savini, firstborn of Agostino and Ambra, wrote in his memories that this amendment was roughly sketched in a last spot of lucidity by Rep. Warren during one evening when the founding four (but not Ambra) had bent their elbows a tad too much. The following morning, no one would have remembered it except for his mother, who developed it to its final form to have an ace up her sleeve at the 1st General Assembly. She thought that proposing it before announcing her candidacy (apparently an act she had planned months before the 8th of November) would have been the key for the latter to be taken seriously.[/FONT]

 

[TheBerlinguer]

With enemies like these...

The feud of the century (at least in a relatively small area of the URAS westernmost state ) comes to an end! In other news: sports, art, economics, espionage and politics.

[FONT=&quot]1836[/FONT][FONT=&quot]: [/FONT][FONT=&quot]News of the revolutionary Thunberg process reaches the ears of His Majesty Andrew I of the House of Jackson while he's touring the Western States, and since a speech to praise the ingenuity and initiative of the American people is always a welcome thing for the frontiersmen, he decides to put an appearance in Harrisontown in his schedule. The telegram informing the partners of the HSC of the royal visit is received with enthusiasm: while the number of Andy-huggers working for the co-operative can be counted on the fingers of a missing hand, a royal visit is always a sure way to get free publicity. On the other hand, the copy sent to inform the city authorities spells catastrophe for them: the Lord Mayor has spent the better part of the last two months lobbying members of the royal convoy to have them bringing to the sovereign's notice his new Cultural Halls [1] (which by now only lack an inauguration ceremony) and hopefully convincing him to cut the ribbon to open them to the townspeople, but without any success. And now, His Majesty coming to Harrisontown to praise the work of Agostino Savini between all people, the man who's been biting away from Burnett's authority - and mental health - since his arrival nine years ago, would simply be too much of a PR disaster for him (and, indirectly, all the other important families that are close to him) to stand.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The plan isn't complicated: a large crater "suddenly" appearing on the country road that, branching off from the New Crevecoeur-Harrisontown track, brings to the HSC factory, the Mayor with the City Council and his most trusted men waiting for the royal convoy on the above-mentioned track, the King coming with them to take the other road to the factory that starts from the city centre, the new, shiny Cultural Halls by chance finding themselves just on the way to Andrew's previous commitment. But few plans survive after contact with reality. Indeed, when the Harrisontown authorities meet with His Majesty, their explanation of the impossibility for their carriages to take the most direct route to the HSC factory has a completely unexpected effect. King Andrew, while ageing, is far from being an old invalid and he takes the chance to stretch his legs by walking to his appointment. And if the King decides to go somewhere, his subjects must follow him, much to Burnett's scorn.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]But another dramatic turn of events is bound to happen. When Agostino sees the convoy getting closer on foot, just after he was told by Filippo and Hermes, his two eldest sons, about old Joe's dirty trick, he goes to meet them halfway. He absolutely can't wait to add insult to injury for his dear Lord Mayor, who, the Italian imagines, will be furious by now. Unfortunately, while the two men are busy in one of their usual sessions of sarcasm-fu, Agostino lets the matter of the unused-because-not-yet-inaugurated Cultural Halls slip and King Andrew I innocently asks Burnett what the Italian is referring to. The Lord Mayor seizes the opportunity and in two minutes the King has become very interested in the experimentation of the war veteran he himself chose as head of the Harrisontown community. Excusing himself from Mr. Savini, His Majesty declares to the convoy that their trip will get longer because he's willing to personally inaugurate a new building in the city proper, but reassures Agostino that he'll come to the HSC seat as soon as he'll find some time for it. The King, the Mayor and all the others leave while Savini goes back to the factory, fuming.
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]1838[/FONT][FONT=&quot]: [/FONT][FONT=&quot]The Lord Mayor has two important commissions for the new Harrisontown printing office: with the General Election getting closer and Josiah Warren seemingly unbeatable he decides to give the citizenship a taste of the stature of both the Crown and the Whig congressional candidates with two 25 feet tall posters depicting their faces. But when the two blow-ups are revealed in the Central Square, the gigantic features of Aaron Bond and Edward Nash are definitely more "satanic" than the actual ones. Before the crowd has even finished gasping, Joseph Burnett already knows who's to blame for the defacing and storms off the rally towards the Savinis'.[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Seeing the homicidal glint in old Joe's eyes, Agostino knows he won't forget the prank until he gets some form of gratification. So, while the Italian is busy dodging the Mayor around the living room, he proposes to settle the dispute through pacific means. And since it's early May, the best season for sports, the best way would be a match between their respective rugby teams [2], the AMSIDER Dynamo vs. the Town Hall Gaillard. A proposal the Mayor accepts.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]A few days later, in a "stadium" created with impromptu tiers, the two teams have the match of their lives, at least according to their respective managers, who encourage the players by menacing them to remove their own intestines and arranging them as a slipknot (Burnett) or pulverizing their collective butts by dint of kicks (Savini) if they lose. The match is hard-fought, but at the end, an unexplainable decision of the referee makes things smooth for the Gaillard to score the decisive touchdown and to win the match. The Dynamo fans are definitely not happy with this outcome and the poor referee finds himself chased by over 700 angry men and women, while the Savinis have to concede defeat and go back home. Some hours later, however, a man wearing extremely ripped and dirty clothes bursts into their house: he's the referee, who has barely managed to distance the Dynamo supporters by a few seconds, and he begs the master of the house (who's currently the only person in it) to shield him from those obsessed. The latter are there almost immediately, but they have to stop when confronted with the Italian wielding a heavy wooden chair, protecting the exhausted referee. But, after the pursuers have been sent away from the house, the unlucky man has no chance of relief, since Agostino is now free to grill him. It's revealed that the decision that cost the AMSIDER team the match isn't so unexplainable: the referee was paid 250 dollars to make the Gaillard win (but only after he had refused 200 dollars from Mr. Savini to make HIS team win!). [/FONT][FONT=&quot]

1839[/FONT][FONT=&quot]: [/FONT][FONT=&quot]Agostino Savini, by now at his fifth experience as Business Relations Executive in the AMSIDER Supervising Committee, travels to the St. Louis for important talks with the Generalissimo Giuseppe Bonaparte. The official reason is a round of bargaining for a sale of the Thunberg Process patent to the Free City authorities, which in the last two years have been aiming to establishing their own steel plant, but the true goal is convincing those who control the considerable economical resources of the Free City to join the association that has been handling the making of the railway between the Polypotamian and Illinoian capital cities (respectively Columbus and New Crevecoeur[3]) and now aims to extend it to St. Louis via Harrisontown, gaining the AMSIDER (which is part of the joint venture as the official steel supplier) access to the Mississippi waterway and all the connected markets. But an unwelcome surprise awaits the Italian in the river city: apparently, the whole Burnett clan, Joseph, his first-born Walter, his (second) wife Rebecca and their two children, Lucy and Sebastian, is enjoying a holiday there and they're even personal guests of Generalissimo Bonaparte himself. Actually, the Lord Mayor (who is more than willing to have his family taking part) has his own secret mission too: the Illinoian and Polypotamian Crown Parties have next to no intention to see Agostino's not-so-secret talks succeed, since those would bring immense revenues and political capital to companies affiliated to both Robert Owen and Josiah Warren (two of the most vocal proponents of the current railway project). Burnett's mission is spying anything that involves both Savini and the St. Louis magnates and, if necessary, making the project fall through.[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Luckily for Agostino, the bargaining succeeds in very short time, and unluckily for the Burnetts, he's wise enough not to lose sight of his adversaries and not to expose himself to dirty tricks. In the end, on July 7th, Generalissimo Bonaparte and the Free City's wealthiest agree to the terms and announce that the signing of the contract will take place on the evening of the day after, so Agostino chooses to spend the morning and afternoon of the 8th sightseeing the city and its surrounding country, longing to have some free time unbothered by having to constantly look over his shoulder. But that's a really hot day.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]While strolling along the banks of the great river, outside the city boundaries, Agostino, tempted by the fresh waters he finds in an inlet of the Mississippi surrounded by a black poplar thicket, opts to freshen himself up with a bath, but when he's back on the dry ground he can't find his clothes anymore. The reason is that Sebastian, the youngest of the Burnetts, in a last attempt of helping his father's cause, had been tailing him as stealthily as possible and struck as soon as he saw an opportunity of holding him up far away from the City Hall. He then quietly goes back to his family, greeted by his father's absolute joy after he tells his story.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Meanwhile, a return to St. Louis in just his underwear being a most inconvenient occurrence, Agostino spends a couple of hours between the wooded banks and the Mississippi waters thinking of a way to end his current unfortunate conditions. Looking hard, he finally sees on the opposite bank of the great river what could help him: a fishing lodge apparently occupied by a lone fisherman. If he manages to cross the huge, muddy waterway, he's almost sure to find some clothes to provisionally solve his problem. Now, like everyone coming from a fishing port, Agostino learnt how to swim more or less at the age most people learn how to walk, but twelve years of life in the inland have made him a little rusty, so he slowly and unhurriedly making his way across the Mississippi. At thirty yards from the bank, a young woman, holding a bundle in her hands, comes running to the inlet and starts yelling him to come back: she's Lucy Burnett with Agostino's clothes. Disgusted by her brother's action and by her father welcoming it, she has decided to be the only Burnett to play fairly in all this matter. The Italian, at first suspicious, says he has no intention to get back and, when she confesses that all that situation is due to her family's actions to stop the signing of the contract, he starts to swim again towards the other bank and then, apparently, disappears under the surface.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]An hour later, a panting figure bursts into the Burnetts' apartments, gasping that she saw Mr. Savini drowning or at least sinking in the waters of the Mississippi. Sebastian can't see a reason to be so upset: this way, the problem with the Italian is definitively solved. But his parents' and brother's reaction really surprises him. The three of them, plus Lucy, immediately rush out of the living room to take contact with the Generalissimo, the Riverguard, the boat captains... everyone who can help finding Agostino. At the time the night has fallen, almost three thousand Free City inhabitants have been mobilized to search the missing man. With the Harrisontown Lord Mayor leading them, hundreds upon hundreds of men, women and boys with torches fill long, improvised wharfs extending on both sides of the muddy giant, calling his name, while tens of boats criss-cross the center of the river doing the same thing. Just after yelling at the other searchers to keep the torches closer to the water, since it's so cloudy, a familiar voice asks Joseph what kind of fish can be caught at night. It's Agostino, who only faked his sinking and has already met the aging Giuseppe Bonaparte, probably the only man left in the emptied City Hall. Between the most colorful cursing the Mayor manages to produce, the Italian announces that the contract has been signed half an hour before.
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]1842[/FONT][FONT=&quot]: [/FONT][FONT=&quot]Great celebrations in Harrisontown! After two years of talks, the city with the highest growth rate, both economical and population-wise, in the Western part of the URAS and the first industrial centre of Russian America, Tysiachisekvoiy [4], have finally completed the innovative "twinning" process. Now ideas, qualified labor and investments will be able to freely flow between these two bastions of the Industrial Revolution... and someone is a little too eager to start. The morning after the farewell party to celebrate the departure of the Kaliforniyan authorities, Curt Thunberg finds the lock of his private office's door picked and two notebooks of his missing. Since those books hold his records on a new way to improve his namesake process, the AMSIDER Restricted Assembly has no doubts about this being a case of industrial espionage and suspects fall on a member of the Tysiachisekvoiyan delegation, a Vladimir Morchenko, employed in the local steelmaking factory but without any actual status inside the firm, at least according to the whispers during the formal dinners. Without any kind of substantial evidence to frame the Slavic, Agostino Savini volunteers for an undeclared counter-espionage expedition on the Pacific Coast, with the mission of retrieving the notes or finding out whom they were sold to. Since Kaliforniya isn't exactly just round the corner, the only chance for Agostino to get there will be the trip organized by the Lord Mayor to complete the twinning ceremony, a trip the Italian has obviously not been invited to. But after the usual round of blackmail (Joseph Burnett had always been a paragon of conjugal faithfulness, but, since the arrival of a gipsy column in Harrisontown during the celebrations, he had been seen going into the caravan of a young Romani woman known only as "Mariana Longthigh" too many times not to arouse suspicion) he's ready to embark on the long journey to Russian America, with an exceptional fellow traveler: Vilmer, his fifth-born son, just seven years old but absolutely determined not to see his father just disappearing for weeks or months another time.[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]The travel itself is surprisingly uneventful (at least if you are more than eighteen, otherwise it can make you long for more of it for the rest of your life) but the stay in Tysiachisekvoiy is a true race against time, a secret manhunt unraveling among very suspiciously-timed social events and drum-shattering silences from just anyone that mattered in the developing industrial centre. Some months later, Agostino would recount «It can very well have been only a case of exaggerated local pride since the Russian people are masters in banding together against the foreign invaders, both the real ones and the perceived ones. Or who knows? Maybe all the bigwigs in that city were actually connected to each other by a net of underground economic interests I can't even picture, and damaging one of them would have had repercussions on the rest. What I know is that I've never seen, in my whole life, a community where none of its authorities, neither magnates nor aristocrats nor politicians, even seems to have any sort of rivalry with another one of his same kind. It's not a matter of not finding people willing to reveal compromising details against their enemies, it's a matter of finding a wall of silence surrounding these people's opinions towards one another. By the way they talked, one could have never guessed that was a prosperous industrial city, because amassing fortunes creates competition, be it fierce or frivolous. And competition was a thing I didn't find in those men. They all huddled together like a pack of wolves, leaving out the nosey stranger. It was a sick atmosphere. It felt like being in Ferrara.[5]»[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Help would come from the most unexpected sources. Firstly, Vilmer, while playing with the local children (whom he learned his first bits of Russian from), accidentally discovers Mr. Morchenko's location. The kids, excluded from the games of the adults and with no reason to cover up anything, are apparently the true masters of Tysiachisekvoiy: no building, from the noblemen's dachas to the underground depots, has any secrets for them and no man can enter or leave the city without them knowing. As soon as their new playmate mentions his father's troubles, they have no problem with sharing what info they have on the wanted man. Overjoyed by the discover that Morchenko hasn't left the city nor met any strangers since his arrival, the man's address is for Agostino more than enough to be sure the notebooks are virtually in his hands. Actually, he's so overjoyed that he forgets any kind of caution and rushes to end his hunt, thoroughly forgetting that is the Americans' last night in Tysiachisekvoiy, so making that evening's farewell party an event where Mr. Savini's absence would be inevitably noticed. And then comes a second unexpected person to give help: having learnt from Vilmer that Agostino won't attend the party, Mayor Burnett manages to catalyze everyone's attention by turning the reception in a vodka-drinking contest between him and Count Vorobyov, a local nobleman (actually a rematch of a similar contest held two days before, where the American had chivalrously admitted defeat at the third bottle).[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Agostino's mission is successfully accomplished in a few hours. Vladimir's a thief, not a fighter, and soon agrees to take the Italian to the steel plant office where Thunberg's notebooks are. Agostino lets Morchenko go and, for safety purposes, burns every other document he finds in the factory. When he's back to the hotel where the Harrisontown delegation resides, he finds quite a commotion: apparently, the Mayor has won the drinking contest with Vorobyov. The former's been laboriously taken to his bedroom, unconscious, so Agostino dashes upstairs to check his condition. When Joseph finally opens his eyes, he has only a few words in his best Romagnolo imitation for the men surrounding him (actually, for one man in particular): «Ch'u t'vègna un chèncar.» [6] To which Agostino can only reply «He recognized me! Good sign!»[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Burnett's health has mostly recovered the next morning, so that the Americans can leave Tysiachisekvoiy on schedule and before anyone notices Mr. Savini's deeds in the steel plant, but nobody notices that past night's experience left a mark on their Lord Mayor. Upon their return to Harrisontown, the latter starts making many trips to New Crevecoeur, the state capitol, and one month later he announces to the assembled citizenship that the State Governor, the Whig Samuel Mc Roberts, is severely debilitated by a stomach cancer and that the King has accepted his retirement by revoking his title, as the former Governor is willing to spend his last few months of life far from public life. But the most important thing is that the Illinoia Crown Party has won Andrew Jackson's favor and that he himself has been chosen by the Sovereign as the next State Governor. In his speech, a masterpiece of kung-fu mannerisms, he drops the hint that twenty-four years as head of the Harrisontown community have not tired him, but on the other hand having had an Italian stuck in his throat for fifteen years has psychically destroyed him and, even worse, he surprised himself actually enjoying his never-ending, unwinnable battle. While, paradoxically, being a Lord Mayor means administering a smaller territory than a Governor but having much more power on it, such a switch is much more preferable to an indefinite number of years of unexplainable masochism. The speech ends with Burnett saluted by thunderous applause, coming especially from the AMSIDER partners and the Savinis in particular.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Joseph leaves Harrisontown for his new home in New Crevecoeur with his wife Rebecca and his daughter Lucy. Walter Burnett becomes the new Lord Mayor, while Sebastian... Well, that's another story.

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]
1838 General Election[/FONT][FONT=&quot] - Illinoia 3rd (Harrisontown and hinterland)[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Josiah Warren (Independent/Socialist) - 58%[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Aaron Bond (Crown) - 23%[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Edward Nash (Whig)[/FONT][FONT=&quot]- 19%[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]1844 General Election[/FONT][FONT=&quot] - Illinoia 3rd (Harrisontown and hinterland)[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Josiah Warren (Independent/Socialist) - 71%[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Aaron Bond (Crown) - 19%[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Stephen Coles (Whig) - 10%[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]
[1] After Burnett's unpleasant experience with the Education Ministry, this is his way to make amend for his book-dumbness. By 1836 the extensive and complex project by the Saxon émigré Leo von Klenze (who ITTL has picked up the legacy of Rationalist architecture by J.N.L. Durand) is still incomplete, with only the Library, Hemerotheque, Music Hall and Common Dining Pavilions actually built. The Mayor deliberately left the main part of the Halls, the so-called Rational Museum, till last, waiting to see what would be the response of the citizenry. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][2] [/FONT][FONT=&quot][FONT=&quot]The popularity of rugby football in Harrisontown started when a disaffected Rugby School student left Wellingtonian Britain and set up house in the frontier town in 1824, exporting a new, improved set of rules for the ball game. They aren't perfectly refined yet and it's played by 19-men teams, but it's anyway a considerable improvement from the enormous rolling maul of primitive rugby.[/FONT][/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][3] [/FONT][FONT=&quot]OTL Peoria, founded in the place of the old French Fort Crevecoeur.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][4] OTL Oakland, the name can be translated in "Thousand sequoias".[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][5] Since the XVI century, never losing an election for the title of "Italy's less hospitable city".[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][6] Literally, «May you get a cancer!». In Romagna, a very common wish between people who don't love each other much.[/FONT]

 

[Rooster Cogburn]

Great Story! You've really made your own little paradise out west, haven't you? So Illinoisa becomes the foundation for the steel industry; awesome! Now I'm really glad I had the King's Road constructed.

Just two things: There were no congressional elections in 1836 or 1840. Congressional terms are six years, with some election years around this time being 1832, 1838, and 1844. Also, Governors aren't elected; they are appointed by the King himself to govern the state. Sorry to break the news Still a fantastic story though!

Also, what does Robert Owen's constituency think of him spending so much time and effort to benefit a different state?

 

[TheBerlinguer]

Great Story! You've really made your own little paradise out west, haven't you? So Illinoisa becomes the foundation for the steel industry; awesome! Now I'm really glad I had the King's Road constructed.

Just two things: There were no congressional elections in 1836 or 1840. Congressional terms are six years, with some election years around this time being 1832, 1838, and 1844. Also, Governors aren't elected; they are appointed by the King himself to govern the state. Sorry to break the news Still a fantastic story though!

Also, what does Robert Owen's constituency think of him spending so much time and effort to benefit a different state?

I honestly thought Governors were elected by popular vote! When I read that they had actually very little power compared to OTL governors I figured: "Heh... Why would someone be glad to be appointed Governor if he's surrounded by Dukes and his most important responsibility is guaranteeing the efficiency of the postal service?" But I concede defeat and I'll see what I can do.

Robert Owen is by 1839 at the end of his polical career. His OTL death was in 1845, so I thought it made sense for him to retire in 1844. And I think I don't have to tell you that railways work in two directions right? While Illinoia and Harrisontown in particular will greatly benefit from the Columbus-St. Louis line it's not like the State of Polypotamia doesn't need steel and I don't see much opposition against a railway that will guarantee a steady supply of the magical metal. If you're talking about his commitment to the development of the HSC/AMSIDER, let's just say that his ideas didn't find as much fertile ground in his home state as they did in Josiah Warren's constituency, and since the latter is universally recognised as Owen's heir he just wants him to have enough political capital to stand on his own legs once Robert will be out of Congress. And then you must remember that the AMSIDER could very well expand to other locations in a short amount of time.

Any thoughts about the "twinning" process Joseph Burnett came up with ITTL? IOTL it is common procedure, but I still have some doubts about its feasibility in the XIX century, with a radically different world political environment as well.