American King: Expanded Universe

Most people don't get my jokes, so you're not alone. :p

Toppers yes. I will be writing that again. Rooster is rebooting Smithism on the Wiki, and then I might write something based on it. :)

Strange, I seem to get your other jokes. :p

Excellent news. I have seen the Smith reboot on the wiki. One question, should I write a story based on the Laurel and Hardy thing you posted, or should I wait until its officially canon?
 
Strange, I seem to get your other jokes. :p

Excellent news. I have seen the Smith reboot on the wiki. One question, should I write a story based on the Laurel and Hardy thing you posted, or should I wait until its officially canon?

I'll do L&H. I've been waiting forever to do that. :D Still a good ways off, though.
 
Sounds good to me! I.m interested to see where you take it. A little unrelated but when are coming back to the main TL?

Eventually. I'll let Rooster do at least the entire War. Possibly up to 1900. Then I'll make my return. Rooster is doing an awesome job, so I'm quite content with how things are going. :cool:
 
Eventually. I'll let Rooster do at least the entire War. Possibly up to 1900. Then I'll make my return. Rooster is doing an awesome job, so I'm quite content with how things are going. :cool:

I agree Rooster is doing excellent, what with all the detail he puts in, and the overall excellent writing. Amy questions/recommendations about the future I might PM you about.

Oh, just a heads up, hope to have an update to the Zombie version in a few days. More OTL people will appear soon, like David Farragut, Thomas William Allies, Sam Houston, Robert E. Lee etc. :D
 
I agree Rooster is doing excellent, what with all the detail he puts in, and the overall excellent writing. Amy questions/recommendations about the future I might PM you about.

Oh, just a heads up, hope to have an update to the Zombie version in a few days. More OTL people will appear soon, like David Farragut, Thomas William Allies, Sam Houston, Robert E. Lee etc. :D

Sure! Feel free.

All right! Looking forward! I was wondering when the next part was coming out.
 
Sorry guys, I always forget to check the Expanded Universe TL :p

Eventually. I'll let Rooster do at least the entire War. Possibly up to 1900. Then I'll make my return. Rooster is doing an awesome job, so I'm quite content with how things are going. :cool:

This is wonderful news! Sorry for the lack of an update lately, been busy. I have fleshed out a lot of the later 1800s though, so I'm not entirely lazy :rolleyes:

I agree Rooster is doing excellent, what with all the detail he puts in, and the overall excellent writing. Amy questions/recommendations about the future I might PM you about.

Thanks for the compliments Zoidberg, they are greatly appreciated! :D And nicely done with the Richards story :cool:
 
Thanks for the compliments guys. Can't wait for the new updates Rooster. Read parts 2 and 3 of the South Carolina campaign last night. Excellent stuff! :D

Anyway, I was going to finish my snippets on Richards, but this novel snippet idea popped into my head last night while reading Napoleon's novel snippets "The Coming Storm" and "The Conflict Widens", and I couldn't resist.

~~~~~~

375px-OlderPittThe_Younger.jpg

The Right Honorable William Pitt the Younger starred out of the window of his office in 10 Downing Street. There was a stern, serious expression on his face, and he was silent, as if something troubling had been constantly on his mind, as if he was expecting someone, something, or perhaps even both. He looked out and saw London, the bustling, prosperous capital city of the grandiose British Empire. He felt proud looking at the capital city; it reminded him of how strong the British Empire still was, even after losing the Revolution.

Just then, he heard footsteps, it was the men he expected to see no doubt. It was the twenty eighth of February of the year of our lord eighteen hundred and one. That was the date he expected to see him, and he was glad he came. The man then opened the door. He was a tall, lean man, in his late 20's, and quite handsome as well. The man was Joseph Edmund Bellamy, a Tory PM from the Ipswich Constituency, and a pupil of the Prime Minister. He tipped his hat and said, “Good day Prime Minister, wonderful afternoon.”

“Yes indeed.” Pitt replied. “Care for some Tea? Its strait from Bengal.”

“Of course.” Pitt and Bellamy were then given said tea by a servant. “Now……what is it we were going to discuss?” Bellamy asked.

“This is what we were going to discuss Mr. Bellamy.” Pitt paused as he sat down in his desk. “I have come to the conclusion that another war between Great Britain and America is all but inevitable at this point. It is not just inevitable good sir, it is necessary to ensure the Freedom of both the Americas and Europe. It is also in Britain’s best interest to see Chancellor Jackson knocked down a peg, as I shall put to you bluntly”.

“You are serious then, are you not?”

“If I were kidding Mr. Bellamy would I have called you here, to walk in the freezing cold? I would most certainly not have.”

“I see. I for one am not sure if a war is even necessary. What do we care about those Tin-Pot Republic’s over in the New World anyway? Let them live under there dictators. If anything we should worry about the Empire. With the…”

“Listen…” Pitt cut him off. “If we allow America’s power to grow unchecked, the consequences could be disastrous.”

“Go on….”

“It is clear to me that Jackson is an aggressive, overly opportunistic dictator. He embodies everything I despise about America, and Americans. For example, you remember when the Second Great Turkish War ended five months ago, do you not?”

“Of course. As a Christian, It gave me great pleasure to see those blasted Mohammedans kicked out of Europe once and for all.”

“I agree, it gives me pleasure as well.” Pitt then sipped some of his Tea. “However the end of the War is but a paradox. As glad as I am to see the Turks and Barbary pirates pacified once and for all, I am greatly distressed by the American acquisition of the Barbary States, as well as the Empire’s integration of the Balkans, but we shall discuss that later. This only proves everything I have already said about Jackson. He was unabashed when he said the main reason for acquisition of the Barbary States was for prestige and the respect of European Powers. What European Power in their right mind would respect this madman, this tyrant, this bloodthirsty warmonger, this threat to the peace of the world? Who would? The Russians and the Empire, that’s who. Our relations with said nations have been strained ever since the Revolution, and now it so even more.”

“I see what you mean. But you realize sir, that America controls the Barbary States in name only. They fortify the capitals sure, but that's it, the rest of it a dessert wasteland, full of bandits, cannibals, devil worshipers and other such horrors.”

Pitt looked oddly at Bellamy. “Bandits yes, as for that other stuff, you may have exaggerated that. Anyway, that is the point. America controls so little off their new “Colonies”. If we wage war in America, there is no way Jackson would be able to hold onto those lands. Men will be needed for the front. They will easily be lost old chap.”

“Rather.” Bellamy replied as he sipped some more Tea.

“As for America itself, more evidence can be found of Jackson’s monstrousness in his own country. He was massacred countless natives, started a coup allegedly approved by the even more villainous Paine, and had purged almost all of those in his government who do not share his beliefs. Give him credit for one thing though, he is an excellent general. But that is not my point. My second point is Panama, more proof of Jackson’s aggression and overwhelming opportunism. If Jackson ever gets around to building his canal, the consequences are dire. He had already stated he plans to use such a canal in case another war with Britain recommences. He said it all himself, and he also said, that he would use Panama as a launching for naval forces against India. This would be a calamity for our Empire. As if the French building up their Navy in the same area was bad enough. However if we attack America sooner, Jackson will need his men, and ships, at home, and not on some distant colony. If we wait too late, several generations later our descendants will have much greater problems, as Jackson will be more than prepared to attack India, and no doubt he will Ally with a much stronger France by then. Not to mention, with control of a canal that provides a quick and easy passage between Atlantic and Pacific, Jackson would become one of the most powerful dictators on earth. He would have the whole world at his knees! I very much doubt that he would keep such a canal open and free to anyone but himself!"

“Indeed”.

“Now for my third point, which proves everything I have already stated about Jackson, and more. This truly shows how much of a warmonger he truly is.” Pitt went into his desk drawer and pulled out a map.

“What’s that sir?” Bellamy asked.

“This is a Map of North America, but not just any map. This a map was made by a cartographer from Upper Canada named Arnold Erlenmeyer.”

“Is he related to that man who was lynched while trying to flee to Canada during the first days of the Reign of Horror?” Asked Bellamy out of curiosity. “What was his name; Jonathan I believe.”

“Yes I do believe he is a relation of the unfortunate Mr. Jonathan Erlenmeyer. But that is not important.” He showed Bellamy the map.

“Why, this map shows the Americans in control of most of the damned continent.”

“Exactly!” Pitt responded as he sipped the last of his Tea. “There is a vile doctrine in the Republic known as “Manifest Destiny”. It states, according to Jackson, the creator of this doctrine, that America was destined to spread her borders across the continent to spread liberty and Republicanism.”

Bellamy shrugged. “Feh. Liberty, Liberty to them is brutally killing off anyone who doesn't agree with their own political views.”

“Yes that is true.” Pitt responded. “Jackson claims he will set up an organized and free government when the time comes and after the storm is weathered, but he is merely biding his time.”

“I can agree with that.”

“Yes.” Pitt paused. “Anyway, Jackson will see this plan through, and he does not care if he is the aggressor or not, he will do it anyway “for the glory of the Republic”. Pitt cringed as he uttered those words. "He even plans to annex Canada and our holdings in the Caribbean. Can you believe such a thing?!?!"

"No, but then again this is Jackson of all people where talking about."

“Now you see Bellamy, why we must and shall, when the time is right, go to war against this tyrannical, belligerent and gluttonous madman?”

“Yes I do sir.” Bellamy answered. “Imagine if we wait twenty or forty years. Jackson will have enough power to see his goals through. The Barbary Sates will be strong Americanized colonies with armies posing a great threat to Europe, Panama will have a grand navy ready to strike at India, and by then, no one will be able to stop him!!!”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Old boy you get it!” Pitt exclaimed. “Do you want a man like this to dominate North America, possibly the world?”

“No sir!”

“Which is why I myself, and many of my trusted colleagues in Parliament, see it as necessary to ally ourselves with the Southron Alliance, the archenemies of the American Republic and their western American and Mexican allies. If we win this war, America will fall apart into a variety of different nations, much like it was in danger of doing so back in 1783. Not to mention, Britain and her Southron Allies will most certainly make territorial gains. It sounds like a great plan, doesn't it?”

“I guess. I know it will be necessary, but the Southrons? I almost feel as if it is…..well….how could our civilized British Empire ally ourselves to those Tin-Pot dictatorships? Are they no better then Jackson himself?”

“You make a good point old chap.” Pitt replied bluntly. “May I make it more than clear that I have little love for the Americas. Their people are little more than un-cultured, rowdy, loud, and violent country folk, and their “culture” suffers accordingly. This is more than proved by their ideas of “liberty” and “freedom”; and this is no different in the Southron Republics.”

“I do agree.”

“You should. Yes, it is ironic in a sense. You must have known that our county has been negotiating with some of these nations only last year. I went to the negotiations in Augusta and meet both Bulloch of Georgia and Marion of South Carolina. I cannot say I liked both men; In fact I almost despised them. Bulloch I found to be quite arrogant, overbearing and unpleasant an individual. He is just as much a tyrant as Jackson, dare I say. As for Marion the Second, I found him even more insufferable. He is an arrogant, loud and obnoxious chain smoker. He kept puffing those things in my bloody face. God how I hated it. From what I can tell he is no better than Jackson as well, if not worse. From what I hear he is a ruthless power monger, and I can believe it. These two men, like Jackson, bring about everything I despise about America. Nevertheless, we must ally with these men. They do not even come close to the level danger that Jackson could impose upon the world. They are Tin-Pot dictators sure, but they rule over small backwaters, not large nations which also happen to be up and coming empires.”

“I more than understand. But what do you think about Monsieur de Bounparte.”

“I never meet him, so I cannot say. I have heard so much of him thought. Simply put he is a paradox old boy. He is European by birth, American by pure circumstance. I see him as intelligent, a lover of the arts, and an excellent general, yet I still do not trust him. He seems to be a Francophone Jackson. He is too much of an opportunist, too ambitious in that sense, not to mention he’s an Indian-killer, just like Jackson”. I may think that he and Jackson would have been best of friends if circumstances would have been different, or if they become different for that matter. Thank god Louisiana is in the Southron Alliance! Could you imagine the horror those two would unleash together!?!?”

“I don’t even know if I can think about it.” Bellamy said. “I guess our Alliance with the Southrons is necessary then, and I’m fine with that. I don’t care about those insignificant and arrogant despots, but I do care about the arrogant despot trying to take over the world from his honeycomb hideout in Philly. Anyway, remind me whats the American Alliance System like so far?”

“Well, the Southron Alliance is consisted of Georgia, South Carolina, Louisiana, Tejas and the Confederate States of Mexico. Meanwhile there is the American Republic, with their allies in the American west, Kaintuck, Watuaga, and Tenasse, and their allies in the greater Mexican region, Rio Grande, the Yucatan and Chihuahua. Do you understand?”

“I do, and its a sure thing we would win this so-called war. Right?”

“It's not a sure thing, but the odds are in our favor. This is strictly an American War, and hopefully no European Powers will intervene as they did during the Revolution. Besides, our German mercenaries will fight in America, and why would the rest of Europe have a problem with that? Exactly old chap. Before you say a thing, I believe they will not. It is not like during the Revolution, there will be nothing for European powers to gain from such a war.”

“But what if they do intervene? What if Britain is on the losing side, with no way out?”

"If we were to be losing old chap, and if the war becomes so desperate to the point were we have no escape, we would hopefully negotiate an honorable peace for Great Britain. We may loose a couple of minor colonies, maybe one important one, but we will come out a Great Power in the long run."

"Well there's a number of Tories in Parliament who feel that they should fight to the finish. What do you say about that Mr. Pitt? I feel that what they claim is all wishful thinking, and nothing else."

"I agree, their all a bunch of damned fools if you ask me. They would ruin is country if they came into power during war time. Luckily I'll live to see the end of such a conflict".

"Well, I fully agree with what should be done. Goodbye Mr. Pitt."

"Goodbye old chap." Pitt then politely showed him the door, and rested back into his chair. "I'll live to see an end to such a conflict......", these words were ringing in Pitt's head. For all his life, Pitt had always suffered from his poor health. What if he did not live to see his plans come to pass? "Oh well." he thought. He then opened his draw and look out a small stack of papers. "Now to get some work done." he muttered.
 
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Back to the Richard's story, or should I saw Wellington and Richards story. :D

~~~~~

It was a cloudy afternoon in London town, and if you asked any of the town’s residents on that day, they’d say it was liable that the heavens would pour down on them. On the outskirts of the capital city, a carriage, escorted by a rather large number of redcoats, some surprisingly on horseback, were riding out of the main city. The carriage contained a man, dressed in a secretive looking cloak, reading some sort of a book, and a soldier seated next to him. The man was none other than a mister Alexander Richards.

During his trip, about a half an hour long already, Richards was looking at his eldest son’s journal. By reading it, he felt it was the best way for him to get caught up with what exactly his son had been going through over the past decade and a half. The diary, surprisingly, went all the way back to 1808, the first entry about his son’s disillusionments with the failure of the Hanoverian campaign. He flipped the pages, as the carriage rocked as it went over a stone in the road, which annoyed Richards immensely. “Third time on this bloody trip…” he thought. The entry he flipped to was dated 18 October 1810, and was a proverbial rant about his own son’s frustration with the corruption of the British government. The he skimmed another entry, dated 26 February 1813, about the death of “Mama”. Richards, already shell shocked about said event, quickly turned to another page, dated 18 July 1817, and was a brief poem of all things. As Richards was about to read it he felt another bump in the road. “Damn it!!!” he screamed. “How much longer to the old mansion?!?!” He asked the soldier next to him while he threw his top hot to the floor in frustration.

“Uhbout’ an ‘our an’ eh half govnuh!” replied the solider.

“Botheration.” Richards grumbled to himself.

~~~~~~

"Where the Hell is that man?" Wellington, dressed in civilian attire, thought to himself, rather annoyed. The Iron Duke was pacing in the living room of Richards Manner. The room was a cozy, inviting, and decorative environment. The walls were plastered with Red and Gold wallpaper and portraits of Britain's finest generals from the Black Prince to the Duke of Marlborough. The Chairs and Couches were upholstered with soft Red cushion, the table in the center had an elaborate French Clock, a small game of chess, and a platter of snacks. The fire-place to the left of Wellington was light, on the wall above said fire-place hung a portrait of Sir Robert Walpole, Britain's first Prime Minister. In the back of the room a Dog, one Wellington's, was chewing on a doll once owned by the sons of Alexander Richards the Elder, the very man he continued, almost in vain to wait for. Wellington starred out of the window. It was raining heavily outside. Wellington was getting increasingly impatient. "The old chap should have been here by now." He thought. "Wait. I... What if the King, the people, they found ou....."

Just then he saw a carriage roll up from the distance, to his right to be exact.

Wellington was relieved. "By George he's finally here!” Wellington thought to himself in joy as he ran over to the door.

"Alex old Bean!!!" Wellington exclaimed.

"Artie you haven't changed a bit!!!" Richards replied; glad to get out of London's constant rain. The two then walked in the mansion, laughing.

"By Ceaser's ghost Arthur, this place looks almost like it did back in '02! Let me kno..."

"I restored it a year and a half ago, as a private retreat for myself old chap. It looks splendid I know."

"It sure does old friend." The two walked into the living room.

"It does, doesn't it?" Richards replied, chuckling, as Wellington closed the shades.

"I see you shaved. I have heard you grew quite the beard during your exile away from the country."

"I have but I shaved this morning."

Wellington then composed himself. He was more than happy for his old friends arrival, but more important work had to get done. He then looked sternly at Richard's, and Richards could tell he was now more serious. "Now let us get down to business. We will have time for sentiment later, but now we must be serious, for what we will plan today is no laughing matter, it is a matter of life or death for Great Britain and what remains of her Empire."

"Yes, about your plans, God willing may they succeed."

"Trust me my friend, It will. However we must plan right now. Into the..."

"One thing I must say Arthur." Richards gathered his thoughts, and we licked his lips. "I approve of what you’re doing. When I read that letter earlier in the month, it was a bit of a shock, but I knew it was the right thing to do. I've read so many papers back in America, I've heard of Britain's misery, and all along I wish something would be done. I'm glad to see you're taking matters into your own hands Arthur."

"Thank You. God knows this is the right thing to do. We can both agree that our King, our politicians, are all corrupt beyond belief. I mean listed old boy, there are people are in the streets, rioting against our state. I could pass measures to end all this, but in the tangled web of the bureaucracy there is no possible way to accomplish anything, I mean anything old chap. It all goes back to our un-Godly politicians and Kings. If a government under my control, under the control of men, men with a scene of God, morality and patriotism, then all would be solved!"

"I agree. I was thinking much the same thing this past decade, and off all people I trust you to see things through. I will stand by you all the way old chap."

"Thanks, I trust you will. I had a feeling deep in my heart you would go along with this. I've have been good friends with you for almost three decades, and I knew you would me just the man for the job. Not to mention, I have seen your pro-Republican pamphlets as mentioned in my letter."

"Yes, I wrote quite allot of those."

"And I own most of them....most of them."

"Anyway, when does this planning begin? I more than agree that we cannot be...."

"Say no more old chap!" Wellington replied. "Come downstairs. There’s something I need to show you."

Wellington opened a nearby door, and the two men preceded to walk down a long flight of stairs. Within seconds, they reached a large underground room, almost a bunker.

"What the hell is this?" Richards exclaimed. "This never was..."

Wellington cut him off. "This little, bunker shall we say, was built during my renovation of the place. It was in case of secret business, such as this."

"I see...." Richards looked around. He saw the long table in the center, a fireplace on the back wall, and a small room in the corner on Richard's right.

"I see you're looking at your new bedroom old chap. At least your bedroom for the time being."

Richards looked inside the room. It was a small room, a cot in the center, and next to it a small drawer with a candle.

"What about my flat Artie?!?!? I can't expect to live, albeit temporarily in this..."

"I'm afraid it's necessary for the time being. It is too much of a risk to transport you back to London back and fourth, in case of further planning. Where as the other conspirators, for the most part, have nothing to hide, or are staying at inns in the area, they are in no danger. You on the othe..."

"Fine. But my bags."

"I already sent a gent to go and get them. You're taken care off old bean."

Richards sighed, as Wellington moved over the fire place.

"Who are these conspirators anyway?" Richards asked as he moved closer to Wellington and out of the room.

"Blast why wont this light?" Wellington muttered in annoyance. "What was that? Oh yes. We are expecting a number of men. Members of the New Cromwellians, members of several pro-Republican groups, a number of former Tories, and even some buggers from a variety of defunct groups." Wellington then breathed a sigh, still trying to light the fire place.

"Defunct groups? Like who?"

"Just a bunch of random chaps, formerly associated with Liberal agitators like the Birmingham Political Union."

"Those were many of the same men who almost tour this nation apart with their incessant radicalism. Why would you want them to join our cuase?"

"They may be agitators, they believe in Liberal principals which will weaken the state and eventually dismantle law and order. But they despise the King, and that is what matters most. Besides, they will support us, and when the time is right we force them to comply with our majority consensus of who this country is going to run. For example, our new government would give in to demands for universal male suffrage. An excess of uneducated, imbecilic voters would only plunge this great nation even more into darkness."

"Exactly. Where both men of religion, but also men of order. If old order has worked for so long. It still can work, we just need to change it a little bit by getting rid of that King."

"Exactly old chap, just what I wanted to get across. Now come upstairs again. I'm expecting another man about now." Wellington looked at his watch, a nervous expression on his face.

"Before we go old friend, what is that over there." Richards pointed to a stack of about sixty papers on a back desk.

"Oh." Wellington now remembered what he was going to say exactly to his old comrade in arms. "That is my speech for when the revolution commences. A little something to rile the people up. It should be finished in about a few more days. Now come already, we must wait any longer."

They got upstairs, and Wellington opened the door immediately.

"Hello Mr. Wellington. A fine day to you." The gentleman, in his late 60's, wearing a wig and a trench coat shacked Wellington's hand. "Hello Mr. Richards, my name is Spencer Lowell, founder of the New Cromwellians!"

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I've been an admirer ever since the war."

Lowell walked in. "Care for some snacks?" Wellington asked.

"Yes I would good sir."

Wellington then spoke to Richards. "Trust me, this is only the begging. I expect at least fifty men here when it is all done with."

"That's good and all, but you never offered me any snacks."

"Sorry, I'll get them in a second."

"Fine." Richards responded. "You know..." we said only a few seconds later. "I am very much excited to meet this men, and join them in our noble cause."

"You see old chap...." Wellington paused, a grin on his face. "This... is where life gets interesting....."
 
Here is it, the moment you've all been waiting for, the first October Revolution novel snippet! :D Credit goes to Napo for the Wellington's bad-ass evil speech, everything else is written by yours truly.

~~~~~~

Wellington was sitting at his office desk in 10 Downing Street looking at a number of random documents. He was not even paying any mind to what they said. He only though; “This is it, today is the today when this madness ends.” Wellington looked at the calendar on the wall to his right. The date October 24, 1817; and so far the day started off with a cool morning. “We finally agreed on a date. Nothing more can be postponed.” Wellington with an almost nervous expression on his face, searched for his watch. Within a few seconds he found it.

“Eleven o’ clock.” He thought. “Now to wait for what will inevitably happen. The people will play into my plan, and they do not even know it.”

Wellington then returned to his paper-work, stacking them up and throwing them into a draw as if they were garbage. “I have no use for them”. Wellington muttered. “After this little event such documents will be a thing of the past.” Wellington, dressed in full military attire, as he almost always dressed, walked up from his desk to get some tea.

Another hour passed. He finished his tea, and sat back comfortably in his chair. “Refreshing.” He thought to himself. Just then a messenger-boy ran into his office without warning. “Perhaps the moment has come?” Wellington thought once again to himself.

“Suh, Suh!” The young man panted as he said those words. “There’s more protestors outside of Parliament again! What are your orders your Grace?” He asked rather hurriedly.

Wellington got back in an upright position at this desk. He then put his arms onto the desk, his fists clenched up to his nose. A stoic expression appeared over his face. “Fine then.” He paused. “Fine then. Tell the King, that after such much corruption, so much instability, so much wasted, so much lost and so much misery, that it will all end today.” Another pause. “Send in the Troops, I will lead them.”

“Yes Suh!” The solider than ran off, with a puzzled look on his face. He found Wellington’s opening statement a tad to dramatic. These protests were almost a common place in British life, how could Wellington suddenly end it all?

“Everything is coming into place.” The Iron Duke muttered. He then left his office, walking hardly across the floor as he left the office.

Twenty minutes later; and the protests continued, right in front of Parliament, for every politician too see in disgust. All around, in every direction, one could hear shouts of “Death to the King!”, “We want Bread”, “We want Change!”, “To ‘ell with the Politics!”, and other such slogans which become popular among the impoverished and disillusioned populace of London, and Britain in general. Curses, screaming and yelling, could also be heard quite noticeably.

Just then out of almost nowhere, a cavalry regiment rode out in the protestors. The protesters screamed and yelled in total fear, some trying to make a run for it. It was not totally out of nowhere, it happened all the time. Protests began, men rode out to quell the rebellious, and the protesters ran for their lives. However today was noticeably different.

Peterloo-Massacre-Kevin-M-008.jpg

The cavalry stopped quickly when it came to parliament. “Stop my countrymen! We mean no harm to you!” shouted a number of the Cavalrymen. Many of the protesters; be they men, women or children, stopped right then and there, in utter amazement. Many of the fleeing protesters returned out of pure curiosity.

“Listen my countrymen!!!!” A young cavalry man by the name of Lachlan Bellamy screamed from the top of his lungs. “Do you seek work? Do you seek food? DO you seek change? Do you seek salvation? Do you seek all of these things and more?”

“YES!!! YES!!! YES!!!” The people screamed.

“Continue listening!” Bellamy went on. “We are here to give you this and more, to overthrow our corrupt government and too begin Britain anew!”

Shouts and cheers came from the protesters immeadetly. It was clear they were in a state of utter ecstasy. Just then Alexander Richards rode in, in full military uniform. “Now to make an impression upon these rebel rousers.” he thought to himself. “Listen my fellow Britishers, I have returned to this glorious country!!!”

A mixed reaction of boos and hurrahs came from the audience. “Many are confused, angered or exciting by mine appearance here. I am here because during the war, I betrayed not this country, but their wretched Monarchy. I could not fight for such a corrupt, godless government anymore. I had to fight for a Republic. But that was then and this is now. I am here to save you all!!!”

Then, all those you had booed before now cheered, shouting hurrah for the old general. “Ol’ Alex Richards” was now one of their own. “I am not the only one to save you!!! Our own Prime Minister feels your immeasurable pain!!! Here he comes, cheer is forthcoming!!!”

With that, Wellington rode triumphantly into the crowd. Most men cheered as they believed he would help them, while some others booed, as they believed he was one the politicians who’s incompetence owed so much to their miserable lives.

“Finally, I have it all memorized perfectly.” Wellington thought confidently, as he held his cutlass high in the air. He began to shout at the top of his lungs his long practiced and long anticipated speech, whipping the crowd into even more of off a frenzy then before. His speech sounded almost as a spur of the moment, but it was practiced by the Prime Minister for hours upon hours previously.

"The situation is critical in the extreme, Britishers. In fact it is now absolutely clear that to delay the Revolution would be fatal. With all my might I urge you all, my comrades, to realize that everything now hangs by a thread; that we are confronted by problems which are not to be solved by conferences or parliamentary debates, but exclusively by the people, by the masses, by the struggle of the armed people, and by the strength of the Glorious Army, which has fought and bled for these, these, Hun, kings which rule over us like we are so many darkie slaves. The bourgeois onslaught of the Hannoverians show that we must not wait. We must at all costs, this very evening, this very night, arrest the government, the king, the parliament, and so on. We must not wait! We may lose everything!"

Even more cheers came from the crowd, and they were becoming louder and louder. Many others others asked, "But who will take control?" Then, several other protesters repeated this question.

Wellington knew such a question would be asked, and went on. "Who must take power? That is not important at present. Let the Revolutionary Military Committee do it, or 'some other institution' which will declare that it will relinquish power only to the true representatives of the interests of the people, the interests of the Glorious Army, the interests of the shoemaker on 5th Street, the barber on Richard Lane, the interests of the starving, disheveled masses, of the orphan street urchins eating rats and cats while that damnable George sits stuffing his face like a fat, ugly, sweaty pig, guzzling laudanum. All districts, all regiments, all forces must be mobilized at once and must immediately send their delegations to the Revolutionary Military Committee and to the Central Committee of the New Cromwellians with the insistent demand that under no circumstances should power be left in the hands of George and the Huns. The matter must be decided without fail this very evening, or this very night. History will not forgive revolutionaries for procrastinating when they could be victorious today (and they certainly will be victorious today), while they risk losing much tomorrow, in fact, they risk losing everything."

The crowd continued cheering, and Wellington continued.

"If we seize power today, we seize it not in opposition to freedom but on its behalf. The seizure of power is the business of the uprising; its political purpose will become clear after the seizure. It would be an infinite crime on the part of the revolutionaries were they to let the chance slip, knowing that the salvation of the Revolution, the offer of peace, the salvation of London, salvation from famine, the transfer of the land to the people from our feudalistic overlords, depends upon them. The government is tottering. It must be given the death-blow at all costs. Hip-hip, huzzah! In Cromwell's Name, Onward!"

dhm1080.jpg

The cheering continued. Then the cavalrymen began handing weapons, weapons long banned for use by the general populace, to the excited and enraged protesters. "Quick men, attack the accursed Parliament!!!" Wellington screamed out. The October Revolution had begun.
 
Hunter & Agostino's Greatest Adventure

After too much time, here's another story picked up from the waters of the Illinois River. A true story that sounds like a fable, or a fable that sounds like a true story. To the reader the hard job of discerning. :eek:

This tale was born from a collaboration between me and Rooster Cogburn, so it guest-stars his alter-ego, Hunter DeRensis, here during his tour in the Western States to gather support for the Whig candidate (the appointment of 1848 is getting closer). It's also my longest contribution to this topic.

[FONT=&quot]The record rains that had plagued the Mississippi basin from the Daquotah and Minnesquotah provinces to the Gulf of Mexico had greatly concerned the IWA officials during the summer and early autumn months of 1843 and they had diligently provided regular reports to the central government in New Orleans. Now that the Great Muddy had reached dangerous levels nearly everywhere along its course and the meteorological situation had failed to improve, nobody with a voice in the administration of the Republic doubted that decisive action had to be taken as quickly as possible. What this action should have amounted to was an entirely different matter. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The only thing that was sure in such a tense atmosphere was that, whatever the solution to the approaching crisis, the key players would have been Messieurs Marcel Dutronc, Daniele Manin and Jacques Formentin, respectively Military Chief of Staff, Minister of the Interior and Director of the Internal Waterways Agency of the Louisiana Republic. This meant that, when they were assembled by the President in his personal office for a meeting behind closed doors, everyone in the Louisianan upper spheres knew something was moving. These three men knew very well that the age of their leader, Napoleon Bonaparte, had not put down the fire that had made that son of Corsican expatriates the second most successful man in the North American continent during the Age of Revolutions. He had spent his forty-one years in power either acting as the General he was or thinking as the General he wished he could be again for one last time. They had seen or been taught about him demanding the impossible and managing to actually get it. So the surprise the three gentlemen experienced when the old, only apparently senile man asked them to accomplish something that, at first impression, could not be done was not as great as one could expect.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot][...] A coordinated action along the whole Mississippi Valley would have been unfeasible due to obvious logistical problems: principally a lack of manpower, then the inadequate telegraph network in the rural (and sometimes still very much wild) Louisianan Northern provinces, which at the time numbered less than ten centers with a population of more than one thousand people, and finally the very short time this effort needed to be condensed in. In the end, a harsh solution had to be taken: leaving the population in the Upper Valley to their own devices while concentrating every resource in the evacuation of the Lower Valley. The IWA and the Army would have assisted the citizens residing in the former when the situation in the latter would have stabilized. [...] President Bonaparte hoped help could reach the Free City (and so, his brother's family) in time, but the ever-worsening rains in the end made the Louisianan efforts futile. Cape Girardeau was the northernmost city to be orderly evacuated before November 12, the Day of Mud and Salt.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot][...] The Trails of Sweat and the Great Flood changed forever the lives of at least one million Louisianans, be they métis trappers, New Orleans aristocrats and bourgeois or Negroes from the urban sub-proletariat. Countless memories and biographies were written about those hard times when poor and rich lived shoulder-against-shoulder in sprawling and almost lawless communities erected from nothing, while in the North the rule of law completely collapsed and settlers had to revert to a prehistoric, tribal social organization to defend themselves against the fury of the elements and the chacals, bands of desperate people who reduced themselves to a lifestyle much more savage and animalistic than their zoological counterparts. In these chronicles of hopeless days the reader can get a better understanding of the reasons that produced such an eventful period in Louisiana from the Great Flood to the presidential election of 1858. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]From Louisianan Odyssey, 1893[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot](John A. Quitman, President) Cut the long story short, Arthur. Are the banks guaranteed to hold?[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot](Arthur P. Bagby, Minister of Public Works) There are no reasons to suspect otherwise, Mr. President. Your predecessor made a definitely wise move when he approved a project that had multiple redundancies as its strong point. We'll come out of this crisis completely unscathed, in terms of lost lives and damaged lands.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] (President) Ah! Mr. Troup's legacy still manages to surprise: luckily in a good way, this time. What's the situation for our neighbors?[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot](Charles N. Mathews, Georgian Civilian Intelligence Official) Surprisingly good in Kaintuck, so far. Those Whigs of theirs have made miracles for the nation's protection system against floods. A few victims in the Paducah region and nothing more. The same thing can't be said for Louisiana, but President Bonaparte has accomplished the unthinkable: apparently the population residing in the Lower Valley is by now safe in a colossal network of refugee camps well afar from the flooded areas. Their Southernmost province, the Capitol district, is now by all means Gulf of Mexico, though.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot](President) That old bastard! I knew he could lead an army, but this... I wonder if he knows what to do with masses of civilians once a long march has ended. Now, what about the Free City?[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot](Mathews) Nothing good coming out of it... Yesterday the flood was nine feet tall and still growing, according to a message from my agents there I received via pigeon.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot](President) We can say good-bye to it, then. Situation in the Union?[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot](Mathews) Much trouble in Illinoisa, apparently. The Illinois River chose a bad time to join the Mississippi and the Missouri in their show of strength. Mostly because nobody had made provisions for this thing happening.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]From the minutes of the November 14, 1843 meeting of the Georgian Cabinet[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]"Send a message to King Andrew: write him that St. Louis is no more." [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]The Generalissimo of St. Louis to his aide, November 15, 1843[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]THE UNION DOESN'T FORGET[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Congress unanimously votes for the $5,000,000 St. Louis Relief Act[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]The heart of trans-American commerce will live again[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]THE FORGOTTEN AMERICA?[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]The Warren-Moore Illinois Valley Relief Act falls ten votes short of majority[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Cross-party appeal loses against regional factionalism[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Frontlines of the Miami Evening Gazette, November 16-17, 1843[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]NEW CREVECOEUR UNDER SIX FEET OF WATER STOP ASSEMBLY OF NOBILITY DIRECTED ALL STATE FUNDS TO PUT THINGS IN ORDER HERE STOP NEWS FROM MY FRIENDS IN OTHER STATES NOT ENCOURAGING STOP SON I AM SORRY [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Telegram from Joseph Burnett, Governor of Illinoia, to his son Walter, Lord Mayor of Harrisontown, November 20, 1843 [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot](Ambra Savini, Chairwoman) "My friends and colleagues, I cannot stress enough how important this vote is. The possible repercussions an affirmative response will have on the finances of our co-operative have already been explained to you and know that if you felt concerned about your future, and the future you can guarantee to your family, so did I. I wish I could tell you that there is another way for all those now-homeless families - for us - to carry on, to survive until the river and the city won't have returned to normalcy, but I can't. Nobody's going to help us in the immediate and the river has taken away from us the only homes we have. The original partners and I started this undertaking because we knew that in the time of troubles, when we would have had nothing but ourselves, the strength to overcome those troubles could come from ourselves, thanks to the sense of community born from knowing that everyone was in the same endeavor of his neighbors, without distinctions of status, means or ends. Now is the time to check whether that very sense of community we envisioned eight years ago has grown and flourished or withered away to the point we don't even have the will to save our neighbors jointly with ourselves."[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]MOTION FOR THE EXTRAORDINARY USE OF THE AMSIDER SOCIAL CAPITAL TO FUND THE RELIEF OF HARRISONTOWN - RESULTS:[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]AYES - 935[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]NAYS - 0[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot](Walter Burnett, Lord Mayor and guest spokesman) "May your actions be held in honor as long as our city will be on this world. I promise you not a single cent will be spent without all of you being informed of its use." [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]From the minutes of the AMSIDER Extraordinary General Assembly of November 25, 1843[/FONT]


***


[FONT=&quot]It was only in mid-spring that the crisis looming on Harrisontown was officially recognized by everyone, both administration and citizenry. The construction of the new river banks had given many people a job but the demographic explosion the city had experienced in the preceding eight years implied that there was nothing to offer to many more, who had lost everything during the Great Flood and currently had only a roof over their heads and nothing else. When Walter Burnett finally resolved to find a solution to their woes, he announced that on May 11th he and his Council would have met those great landowners who were left mostly untouched by the catastrophe to discuss special provisions. These men, informally led by the old Hiram Phillips, came to the City Hall fearing the worst, since they all knew the city's precarious economical situation, and the fact that the owners of the county's most damaged farmlands weren't part of the convocation didn't escape their notice. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Withdrawing behind the law - since it couldn't be said that the current bad times were their own fault - the landowners spent the first two hours of the assembly reprimanding the Lord Mayor for wasting the time of honest gentlemen instead of actually working to find a way out of the stagnation Harrisontown had fallen into. Every attempt of the Council to move the conversation to the proprietors' «social and economical responsibility towards the community» fell on deaf ears or was returned to the sender. In the end, it was the Lord Mayor himself to put an end to the inconclusiveness of the assembly, angrily expounding with his characteristic (if surprising, considering his lean figure) thundering voice the conclusions he and his affiliates had already come to. "What about Talltree Bridge, that needs to be rebuilt? What about the ten miles of irrigation canal to renovate? There would be jobs for everyone... but not enough money in the city coffers. So here's what the City Council and I have decided: una tantum tax on agricultural land, 10 dollars per acre. If you agree, then all is right. Otherwise you'll have to take your responsibilities with the hungry citizens."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]10 dollars per acre. A substantial figure. That would have meant nearly twenty thousand dollars from Phillips alone. The refusal of the latter made the other landowners even more eager to protest the measure, to the point that the atmosphere in the Hall became even more tense and the angry shouting that filled the air turned into outright insults against the authority of the Lord Mayor. In this collapsing situation, Burnett struggled to reinstate silence and when he managed it, the anger in his voice had been substituted by a solemnity that sounded as the worst kind of menace.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"If this is your answer, I'll order the agricultural laborers to go on strike. Let's see who'll take care of your farmlands." He didn't even deign to expose the specific City Charter article that gave the Lord Mayor the power to issue such a declaration: exercising his power in such a matter-of-factly way would have made the consequences of his order be felt by the landowners in all of their gravity since that very moment.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]While no one, neither councilor nor landowner, dared to be the first to break the ominous silence that had come after the Mayor's announcement, in the area reserved to the public a confused young man, not even sixteen years old, whispered a question to his father's ear. "Why is he doing that?" And his father could only tell him "Because he's desperate. And I'm afraid he's going to be in good company before everything is over."[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]From Filippo Savini, Leaders of men, servants of Justice, 1887[/FONT]


[FONT=&quot]***[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]May 15th, 1844[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]About 4:15 p.m.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Home of the Savini family, Harrisontown, Illinoisa[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Three days after the proclamation of the general strike the bellowing of Phillips's cows could be heard by people living more than half a mile from their shed, because of the strikers' pickets that didn't allow anyone in to forage and milk the beasts. Quite away from that area, the living room of the Savini family was filled with noise too, produced by human beings in this case. Several wives or mothers of AMSIDER partners had assembled in the living room of the Italian family, an almost sacred place in many Harrisontown citizens' minds due to the many important figures that kept frequenting it, resulting in Ambra and Agostino having to patiently listen to report after report of the disastrous situation the countryside was in, without anything to reply since their hands were as much tied as the ones of their guests.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Giselle's son told me that in Gibson's fields beans are rotting!" said Mrs. Whitbread, gesticulating and almost in tears. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"My husband, who knew it from Blunt Al, told me that Burnett has asked for reinforcements from the Capitol to double the pickets! They'll come with Howitzers!" said Mrs. Brandl, a seventy-three year old grandma who had the habit of inflating her gossip a little too much.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"This is the end of the world! They didn't let him in! Mariusz almost shot him with his rifle." was the report of Mrs. Roche, who had run into the living room almost out of breath just few minutes before.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Who?" Agostino asked, concerned about the poor fellow.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Jim! Phillips's old cowhand! Every animal is going to die: their udders are this swollen - and she tightened her fists while pronouncing the last two words - and their stomachs are empty!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Those bandits!" cursed Mrs. Whitbread.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"May the Lord punish them!" agreed Mrs. Brandl.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"May they burn in hell!" concluded Mrs. Roche. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Ambra couldn't stand it anymore. "Now shut up, you silly old women! - the Italian lady had always had little sympathy for people who whined and then remained inactive, especially if they shared her gender - The landowners are as responsible as the Lord Mayor and his men because of their selfishness and stubbornness! And if there is a God, He'll throw them in the flames they deserve!" she finished, a chorus of disbelieving faces staring at her.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Agostino decided he had enough of this sterile complaining and he quietly left the room while the ladies in the room and his wife started railing against one another. Anyway, it was also the perfect time for a little snack, so he walked down the hall towards the kitchen, but while he was going for the door-handle, he heard voices coming from inside, three known and another one unknown. He froze, intently listening for almost a minute, and then made his entrance. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The unknown man, sixty-something years old, short and messy grey hairs, traveling clothes who had apparently been confronting with every possible atmospheric agent for a decade, was eating a triangle of piadina with a familiar substance spread on it, and he was definitely enjoying his meal. "Hmm... Boys, your stracchino is delicious." [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Filippo, unlike his younger brothers, hadn't noticed his father coming in and replied to their guest. "Thanks! It's our own production. Let's hope this agricultural strike is over soon, otherwise - Dad?" It was Manuel's repeated tapping on his shoulder that finally made him alert of their father's presence, and now embarrassment started to color his face.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Filippo! What did I tell you about bringing strangers home?" While not pleased because of past experiences he was trying to forget, he was at least relieved when he noticed that this one didn't look like a traveling salesman.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]In the end, it was Hermes the one who answered. "Actually it was me, Dad. And don't worry, in my book, a man who tells off Busted Butt the way he did at least deserves hospitality." Hermes always spoke in a way that put him as the supreme authority and never shied away from any kind of cheap insult, whoever the listeners were. His father would have liked to tell him that such a behavior wasn't often the most appropriate, but the son rarely lacked a good point. This situation was no exception.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Heh... I'm sorry! For my son's language and for the way I reacted to your presence, Mister...?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The stranger dismissively waved his right hand. "Ah, no offense taken Mr. Savini! It is I who should apologize for being in your home without even presenting myself. My name's Matt, by the way. Just Matt. I am a man of modest pleasures and simple tastes, so I prefer leaving formalisms to other men. I’m in town looking for work." He then took another bite from his snack.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] The housemaster took the chance to sit down in the corner of the crowded table that was closest to the man (and the food). "Well, Matt, pleased to meet you. My name's Agostino. And believe me when I say that I share my son Hermes's point of view. People who can't stand the Lord Mayor's younger brother are definitely my kind of people. By the way, what took you to Harrisontown? Not many jobs here right now, I'm afraid." He then proceeded to spread some stracchino on a piadina slice.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]After a short pause, the man called Matt answered: "News don’t travel as fast I wished they would, unfortunately. I didn’t know anything about this strike of yours until I had only four miles to walk before I reached town. And by then I had no intention of changing my direction. I was hoping there would at least be some kind of work available. All I’m looking for is some bread upon the table and some pennies in the bag. But from what I understand, you have a very messy situation indeed."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Manuel, who was already at his third piadina slice since his father had entered the kitchen, didn't wait for his father or his brothers to answer and took the floor, his usual jovial tone completely missing. "An apocalypse, if nothing changes as soon as possible. Other three days like these and people will stop waiting for a resolution and start making their own with their guns." For a moment it looked like the thought of his city being in such dire straits had spoiled his appetite. It didn't last.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Probably nonplussed by hearing an eleven-year-old talking with such gravitas, something like shock flashed on Matt's face. "My, my, my. Citizens are already thinking about resorting to such violent means?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Filippo spoke again. "Not yet. But if pieces of garbage like Sebastian Burnett keep pouring petrol on the fire, Manu's prediction could be an optimistic one. Just an hour ago, he was outside Jones's saloon ranting against Coleman." The last sentence was addressed to his father.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]There was no sign of astonishment in Agostino's expression. "Weber's attendant, you mean? Typical Sebastian, then. Pissing off the cooler heads is just in his style." Frowning, he took another bite from his slice,[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]By this time Matt had composed himself. His demeanor seemed to imply he had dealt with bigger problems in years past. "I - I didn't realize the situation were that tragic. I mean, I heard the desperate bellowing and I thought that such a desperate sound would compel the landowners and the local government to work out a compromise."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]But reality, however illogical, was a harsh mistress and his host had to remind him. "You don't know them. Traditional frontiersman mentality: they think to be God Almighty because they have been able to build their own success in a savage, inhospitable country. Not that the other side is much better, beware! Who cares about lowly animals when pride is on the line..." He finished his piadina and put his chin to rest on his joint palms, like he always did when he was thoughtful. "But letting them starve is foolish!" [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] May 15th, 1844[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]About 9:00 p.m.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Inside Hiram Phillips's cowshed, outskirts of Harrisontown[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]The two parallel rows of cows went on for more than two hundred yards, losing themselves in the darkness that covered the opposite end of the building. Between the terrible stench and the continuous lamentations, it looked like Dante's depictions of Hell in his masterpiece had found a way to become true in this large cowshed in the western portion of Illinoisa, though the countless bovine behinds kind of ruined the atmosphere. "This... will be a lo-ooong night!" Agostino sighed. He wondered if he would have been able to keep his back in one piece at the end of this endeavor.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Matt looked anxious too, but for different reasons. "Tell me the truth, Agostino: are you absolutely sure there's no night patrol inside the complex?"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Ah, no worries there! Believe me, if they didn't spot us while we were getting in, no major bothering awaits us for the time of our stay. And you noticed them, didn't you? A deaf-mute-blind quadriplegic would have posed a more serious threat as a picket!" The Italian dismissed him.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"You should never underestimate the handicapped, Mr. Savini. Nevermind fully functional human beings." There he was, Lord Mayor Walter Burnett, dressed in working clothes, a hunting in his hands. He had apparently sneaked into the shed just a moment before the heavy doors closed behind the two older men.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]After a moment of pure bafflement, expressed only by his fingers clawing the air, Agostino turned around and managed to smile. "Oh... Our young leader... Not minding to get his hands dirty on the front line! You're winning points in my book, lad!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The «young leader» lifted his rifle and aimed in Savini's direction. "Funny... You've always liked making funny comments, often at the expense of my family, while we've always preferred a more direct approach, like: Now leave this building or both of you will enjoy a new set of navels." He tried to sound determined, but he couldn't hide the red shade his ears had acquired while he was talking, even in the dim light inside the building.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"My young man, acts of violence are never the answer in civil matters. We merely wish to repair the situation and avoid possible bloodshed. We are here to help." Matt said while pushing Agostino aside and putting himself right in front of Burnett.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Now the rifle was pointed at the aging fellow's chest. "I'm not used at accepting help from complete strangers, sir. Especially if they enjoy the company of such people." Walter said while making a gesture in Agostino's direction with his weapon.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Absolutely unfazed by the barrel at three inches from his sternum, the man in farmer's clothes grabbed the former with his left hand and delicately pulled it downwards and away from his person. "My name is Matt, and it is a pleasure to meet someone of your fine stature and background. See Walter, we’re no longer strangers. And we are still here to help. Your decision to strike, as well-intentioned as it I’m sure it was, has turned ary like most well-meaning government action. Don’t you hear these poor beasts? Before the landowners are forced to bow down to such coercion as your strike, the cows will have long been dead, and who will be the winner in such a situation?" As soon as he stopped talking, sweat started to appear on the Lord Mayor's forehead as he looked into the old man's hardened gaze. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]It was Agostino's time to make his move and break the stalemate. "He's right! The state's finest cowshed... and you wish it to become a cemetery?! Matt's going to milk the animals, get a pitchfork and help me feeding them in the meantime." The old man turned on his heels and started looking for a bucket, while the Italian took Walter by his elbow and tried to drag him towards the tools they needed.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"No! I..." he started. But the leader of Harrisontown couldn't even formulate a refusal that made sense. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]«We worked like madmen all night long. Agostino, as I discovered later that day, had never worked with animals before, but his ability to adapt to every situation and the tough skin he had gained through innumerable hours of manual labor came to his help in that exhausting endeavor. Walter, a son of privilege, had blood on his hands when he finally put down his pitchfork, but I'll be damned if I ever heard any complaining by him. On my part, I tried to recollect my memories of the years of my youth, that I spent in my family's farm, many and many years before, so that I could deceive myself by thinking I was still a ten-year-old who was merrily milking his father's cows.[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]But my old bones wouldn’t allow it, and it wasn’t long before I was brought back to the reality of my age. Milking a cow is a dirty work; milking a cow that has been neglected for three days is a noxious work. I swear I risked throwing up three times in the first ten minutes because of the stench of the nearly-fermented liquid I was helping the beasts to get rid of. It went better with time, though, and when my chores ended the fetid smell coming from the dozens of buckets I had filled had become only a mild, if persisting, annoyance. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]We spent the following day playing cards, quenching our thirst with milk (fresh, of course), regularly tending to the animals and sometimes eavesdropping on the picket guards when they came too close to the shed - the end of the heart-rending lamentations was often commented along these lines: "Are they all dead?" " They are or they're going to be soon." - but most importantly discussing what would have been our next step after leaving the building, that is, as soon as the sun went down again.[...][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Mr. Thunberg had kindly let me rest for a few hours in his home, and clean the filth from my body. When I exited the room I was wearing my old military uniform which I had packed in my lone suitcase, every medal carefully shined to perfection. It has been my experience that men respect a man in uniform much faster than a man in rich cloth. I walked downstairs into the general living quarters where Agostino and Walter were talking. My two ‘partners-in-crime’ had two very different reactions to seeing me in such a manner. The Lord Mayor stumbled some on the verge of a stroke. This was probably caused by the realization of having first pointed a rifle at my chest, followed by working side by side as a farmer laughing, swearing, and pissing in front of, what some called, a ‘national institution.’ The moment where he threatened to break my nose if I kept calling him (who would have turned thirty-two the following July) the ‘Boy Mayor’ was no doubt in the forefront of his mind. At the same time the Italian mason turned industrialist just looked at me for a split second and then, apparently, went back to his conversation with the now-distracted Walter: "As I was saying, my wife and I were in this nice New Crevecoeur restaurant when suddenly a weirdly-dressed waiter comes at our table and stands right there with a face like he's waiting for something from us; I look at him and I think 'Oh dear... This loser just looks like old Joe!' Then I start ordering for our meal just to be interrupted by him... Guess what? That loser actually was your illustrious father, wearing a suit whose tailor would have deserved to have his hands cut off for grave crimes against good taste, but he nonetheless.» [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]From My Thoughts: An Autobiography of Hunter DeRensis, Duke of Winterfell, 1869[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]May 17th, 1844[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]About 9:45 a.m.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Central Square of Harrisontown[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]"... and while I know most of you in this crowd do trust me, I won't be the one who tells you how to behave. Neither I want someone else to do it. I only want you to listen to the wordsof a true leader of men who has something to say about the conditions our community is currently in. - The cart driver suddenly stood up from his seat and stepped into the loading bed next to Agostino - Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the one and only... Minister... Hunter... DeRensis!" And while the Italian was pronouncing his name, the mysterious figure took off his light cloak and wide-brimmed hat, revealing a face that every citizen of the Union of Royal American States had seen at least once in his lifetime. OK, Matt. I made them hot for you, now show you can still do your magic, Agostino thought, and he stood there, less than three feet away from the man who had helped forge a nation while he was delivering the speech that some would call his most heart-felt. While most of DeRensis’ speeches were given with a loud, passionate voice that reached the highest raptors and had people chanting by the end, the speech he gave in Harrisontown was different. It was calmly and slowly spoken, without great strength behind his voice, almost as if he was having a personal conversation with each person in the crowd. But his words remained deliberate, with a hardness to them that showed they were the truth from his heart.

“Good morning ladies and gentleman. It is a fine pleasure to be a guest in your fair city. It’s beauty beholds the eye, and its industriousness is a marvel of modern civilization. Only people with genuine American spirit could have constructed such a place out of the wilderness. I have been here for a full week, in secret, observing and quietly listening to the troubles at hand. And troubles they are. Nature is a cruel and unforgiving mistress, and unfortunately there is nothing we can do about her actions or the tragedy that has transpired along the whole of the Mississippi River. But what we can do is influence and discuss the actions of men, which is in our power. My friend Agostino is correct, I do have something to say about this city’s current condition. Whether or not you accept my advice is entirely up to you, although I think it’d be best for all involved to heed my words.”

“While there are several erroneous issues involved, I would like to address the heart of the matter: the nature of government in a free society. Does the government, whether local or national, have the right to direct workers into striking? Isn’t it the responsibility of the rich to care for the community in times of need? And what of taxes? These questions and several more I wish to speak briefly on, if for no other reason than old men like to talk.”

“First, I would like to state the fact that Lord Mayor Burnett’s call for a general strike was entirely legal. It was endowed in the city charter, and agreed upon in by the first settlers of this town. Whether this article should be revised in any way is up to all of you, as it is your town and your destiny. Now, on to strikes in general. Each person should have the right to do as he chooses, and work where he wants. If he feels his employer is doing him wrong, he must make the issue known, and confront the employer about the problem. Perhaps the problem can be solved, and perhaps it can’t. Just as the worker has the right to work where he wants, the employer had the right to acquiesce, refuse, or better yet compromise on the worker’s demands. The worker can accept the employer’s decision, quit his job, or if he wishes, to strike: to hold his labor hostage until the employer presents a deal that is more in his interest. If several workers wish to willingly join him in hopes of receiving similar benefits, they may also strike. And if someone doesn’t wish to strike, it is entirely his choice to remain working and not join the strike. But it remains the right of the employer to fire whoever he chooses, for whatever reason he chooses. These men then go on to work for other employers, who unlike their competitor is probably more willing to compromise with the interests of labor. Their original employer is then at a economic disadvantage, and must either change his practices or go out of business. Or better yet, he will have originally compromised after the start of the strike. In the process I just described, solutions were found without using force, coercion, or infringing on individual rights. But unfortunately, what I have viewed in the last week did not accomplish that. I saw armed men patrolling properties, pickets that kept innocent men from working. Where are their rights in this? How is it right for a government to call a general strike against a business, to strongarm someone into an agreement? That is not freedom, that is tyranny. Now as I have said the Lord Mayor was entirely within the law with his actions, and it is indisputable that he has done no legal wrongs. While I disagree with his measure, I will not oppose him. It is up to the local citizenry, all of you, to decide for yourselves whether the power of the general strike is up to the government.”

“Now, to Mr. Phillips and his cohorts. Like Lord Mayor Burnett, they have committed no crimes and violated no laws. It is a man’s right to decide what to do with his money, whether to give it away or keep it for himself. To tell someone what to do with the money they rightfully worked for is tyranny, and the worst sort of it as well. But while that may be, we do in fact live in a moral society. We are here to support each other, to be good neighbors and lend support in times of strife. I ask Mr. Phillips, are the townspeople not your neighbors, your friends, your compatriots? Why would you scurry them away when they asked for support from someone who they thought had the tender heart to help them? Private charity is a miracle of human nature. It is more efficient than government support, and it is a miracle because it is voluntary. People willingly giving up part of their money to support others. As I said, we are a moral society, and must remain one if our country is to succeed in its mission to bring peace and prosperity to the world. Private charity must be promoted and those who give it must be blessed as living saints. I will restate that no one has a legal duty to help anyone else, and to force him to do so is tyranny and oppression. Support and charity must be voluntarily for it to be right. While I would never dare tell Mr. Phillips and their friends what to do with their own money, I’m safe in the position of knowing what I would do if I were in their position.”

“Taxes are a necessary evil in a civilized society. It is wrong for a government to confiscate anything from anyone against his will, but it is done and it will continue to be done. With this in mind, I will say I am in favor of having as little taxes as possible on as few people as possible. The reasons for increasing taxes are few and far between in my eyes. With that in mind, it is legal for a government to levy a tax, whether or not it is right or justified. Once again, Lord Mayor Burnett was entirely within his legal right as the administrator of the city to propose a property tax. Whether he was correct is once again left to all of you, for I am merely an outsider looking in and have no right to say what shall be done in your community. While we are on this certain subject, I feel I must explain myself. As I’m sure you all know, in my respect as a Congressman, I voted in favor of the St. Louis Relief Act, and against the Warren-Moore Illinois Valley Relief Act. I supported the relief for St. Louis for entirely foreign policy reasons. St. Louis is a critical port which supports us, and their government has always been friendly. While it is wrong for us to use our own money to help other governments, it does gain us important influence and support. On the other hand, the Warren-Moore bill was for entirely domestic purposes. It is unnecessary for government to get involved in such issues, except under explicit circumstances. It is wrong for a government to take from some to give to others, just like it is wrong for those others to take money from the pockets of their neighbors. And I know all of you are better than that. You are hardy folks made of blood and iron, and you will rebuild! Better and stronger before, from the hard work and perseverance of your own sweat and tears. And you will look back with the satisfaction that you don’t need some far off government to support you, for the strength of government already rests within all of you.”

“Violence and coercion is a nasty and despotic thing. Violence is used by weak men to accomplish wrong means. It should never be used in a civilized community such as this one, except in self-defense or protect the rights of others. When I came to this town, I was shocked by the threats I heard from both sides. Open and armed insurrection against the mayor? Theft of wealth and the destruction of Mr. Phillips and company’s property? Absurdity and folly to both. There are peaceful ways to solve problems such as this. Most, if not all, problems can be solved through compromise and simply speaking to another’s side. What does violence bring us except death and destruction? Is this disagreement worth the desolation of the town you’ve all worked so hard to build and spilling the blood of the innocent? Lord Mayor Burnett, is all that worth your property tax and pride? Mr. Phillips, is it all that worth your wealth and influence?”

“I’m sure most of you could agree there was fault on both sides of the isle, government and business. But as I have shown, both sides worked with the law, and neither committed any crimes or legal wrongdoings. But we all remain at an impasse, and neither Mr. Phillips or Lord Mayor Burnett seem to be interested in moving. That is why I propose a compromise. A new meeting between the wealthy and the city’s counsel to work out the problems at hand to figure out a solution to satisfy both sides. It would be a great honor if I could act as moderator between the two groups. While I might be a foreigner and a stranger here, I am a civil servant, and it is my duty to serve the people when they need me. If my offer is accepted by both sides, I am prepared to meet as soon as is possible.”

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[FONT=&quot]“I would ask all of you to look back and think carefully of what I’ve said here today. To take my advice is up to you as American citizens and the deciders of your own destiny and that of this fine community. I would like to thank all of you for your kind hospitality and welcoming nature. To Lord Mayor Burnett, I wish him luck on all of his future political ventures, and if he ever decides to take his career nationally, he’ll find at least one friend in Philadelphia. And to Agostino, I would like to personally thank you for offering your hand in friendship to a stranger, and giving me the opportunity to speak to this fine town of yours. May a thousand like it spring up all along the frontier. And long live King Andrew I, who makes all of this possible for us! [/FONT][FONT=&quot]Thankyou!”[/FONT]


[FONT=&quot]***[/FONT]




[FONT=&quot]Shame for their deeds, a newfound sense of community or a combination of both? It's hard to tell what the former Prime Minister's speech inspired in both parties that fateful 17th of May. What's sure is that a new meeting behind closed doors of the city authorities and the landowners was held that same morning, with the Duke of Winterfell acting as the mediator as promised. My father, for reasons that remained unknown to everyone but DeRensis and Burnett, was invited too and he helped supplying the gallons of coffee that the assembled needed to endure the 18-hour-long talks.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]It was only one hour before dawn that the doors of the City Hall were opened and all the gentlemen (not to mention a cloud of cigar smoke that could have intoxicated a swift flock) could go back to their homes, more or less happy of the compromise they had reached. According to that:[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]a. the landowners themselves would have looked after the completion of the public works Harrisontown so desperately needed, turning into the employers of the city's many jobless inhabitants. This would have guaranteed at least two years of stability for the proletarian population, that is until the West's economical situation would have improved and investments could come back to the frontier city (time confirmed the validity of this estimation);[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]b. these ad hoc societies were exempted by any taxes, but their conduct was supervised by a delegate of the Lord Mayor, who had to check the quality of every product step-by-step and nothing else. The costs that fell on the proprietors' pockets would have been written off by a ten-year 20% tax cut on income from agricultural profit, a measure that was quickly confirmed by the state authorities in New Crevecoeur, thanks to the efforts of a father trying to make amend with his son.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot][...] By the time Hunter "Matt" DeRensis left Harrisontown on the 20th, social peace was mostly re-established in the county (except for a minor commotion when a day later a column of fifty young men and four Howitzers asked to a cowboy why he wasn't on strike, were answered that it was called off and immediately went to the nearest saloon to get drunk), with the landowners starting to hire the unemployed and construction sites appearing all over the countryside. Alas, those halcyon days were, one more time, the dead calm before the incoming storm. A storm that proved a lot different from the one the community had just endured and that would have started a long chain of criminal events, ending only on a fateful day almost five years later[/FONT][FONT=&quot] and that would have destroyed the world of eight innocents.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]From Filippo Savini, Leaders of men, servants of Justice, 1887[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]" ϑ We've got to be ready. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]צ[/FONT][FONT=&quot] " [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]From the Spotted Setter to the Milkman, May 18, 1844[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

That's all, folks! And Rooster, congratulations for your fast-speechwriting skills!
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revealing a face that no citizen of the Union of Royal American States had seen at least once in his lifetime.

That's all, folks! And Rooster, congratulations for your fast-speechwriting skills!

That "no" should be an "every."

And I'm so happy it's finally finished! :D The update looks fantastic Berlinguer! And I'm very proud to have had a part in making it :cool:
 
That "no" should be an "every."

And I'm so happy it's finally finished! :D The update looks fantastic Berlinguer! And I'm very proud to have had a part in making it :cool:

Fixed! :)

Re next update: on the 14th I'm leaving Italy for a sixteen-day transoceanic trip. If there are no news from me by March 3rd, please light a few candles for your fallen comrade. :eek: :p
 
Fixed! :)

Re next update: on the 14th I'm leaving Italy for a sixteen-day transoceanic trip. If there are no news from me by March 3rd, please light a few candles for your fallen comrade. :eek: :p

Have an excellent trip my friend! :D I love your Agostino Savini story and I plan to read the new chapter tonight of tomorrow. :)
 
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