"Do you know Mister Ayab?"
Cincinnati, Ohio, August 17th, 1859
Cato Jackson arrived in Cincinnati at dusk. He had only a pack slung over his back, the unassuming if fairly new clothes he was wearing, and a wad of cash he had hidden in the safest place he could think of - his boots.
He surveyed the scene along the Ohio river, witnessing a large American city for the first time. Kentucky was across the river - the first time he'd been this close to a slave state. This run would be the most difficult yet. But the situation was getting dire, and it remained unclear how the Americans would deal with the "institution", as they called it, in the coming years. Cato had pledged his life to give all the assistance he could to the cause. If that meant putting himself in spitting distance of slaveholders, so be it.
He walked curiously along the streets until he spied the address he was looking for. He promptly walked across the road to a park, and sat down by a tree. He slung his pack over his shoulder, and pulled the brim of his hat down over his face, in a such a manner that a familiar hole allowed him to retain his vision. It had been a long day however, and he let himself fall asleep against his better judgment.
He was brusquely awoken.
Startled, he spun around and backed away as he got up - and readied himself in defensive position. He stared at his adversary, dressed in a smart brown three-piece suit.
The man in the suit was African, too, Cato noticed as his eyes adjusted. This could be it.
The man in the suit spoke.
"Do you know Mister Ayab?"
Cato slowly nodded, maintaining his positioning.
"I do. And I also know mister Abai."
"Excellent!" The man in the suit stretched out his hand. "Ha Iwe".
Cato grasped his hand. "Ha Iwe".
They embraced with hands still held.
"I'm called Django." Said the man in the suit.
"I'm Cudjoe." Cato responded.
"Come, Cudjoe, I'll take you to meet the family. The children are excited to meet you. They've never met a black Canadian before."
"I hope I dont disappoint."
They laughed as they turned and headed toward town.
Cato Jackson arrived in Cincinnati at dusk. He had only a pack slung over his back, the unassuming if fairly new clothes he was wearing, and a wad of cash he had hidden in the safest place he could think of - his boots.
He surveyed the scene along the Ohio river, witnessing a large American city for the first time. Kentucky was across the river - the first time he'd been this close to a slave state. This run would be the most difficult yet. But the situation was getting dire, and it remained unclear how the Americans would deal with the "institution", as they called it, in the coming years. Cato had pledged his life to give all the assistance he could to the cause. If that meant putting himself in spitting distance of slaveholders, so be it.
He walked curiously along the streets until he spied the address he was looking for. He promptly walked across the road to a park, and sat down by a tree. He slung his pack over his shoulder, and pulled the brim of his hat down over his face, in a such a manner that a familiar hole allowed him to retain his vision. It had been a long day however, and he let himself fall asleep against his better judgment.
He was brusquely awoken.
Startled, he spun around and backed away as he got up - and readied himself in defensive position. He stared at his adversary, dressed in a smart brown three-piece suit.
The man in the suit was African, too, Cato noticed as his eyes adjusted. This could be it.
The man in the suit spoke.
"Do you know Mister Ayab?"
Cato slowly nodded, maintaining his positioning.
"I do. And I also know mister Abai."
"Excellent!" The man in the suit stretched out his hand. "Ha Iwe".
Cato grasped his hand. "Ha Iwe".
They embraced with hands still held.
"I'm called Django." Said the man in the suit.
"I'm Cudjoe." Cato responded.
"Come, Cudjoe, I'll take you to meet the family. The children are excited to meet you. They've never met a black Canadian before."
"I hope I dont disappoint."
They laughed as they turned and headed toward town.
The IBSC
October 7th, 2018, London, Huron.
Alex was in a dark room, blindfolded and handcuffed, and shoeless. His "kidnappers" had gone through great lengths to ensure he didnt know his present location, although, in fact, he had anticipated ending up here for years.
He was in the basement of the United African Zionist Church, a building he had often been to in his childhood. He had never been in the basement before, but he had heard rumours that that's where his father went on the first Tuesday of every month.
The lights turned on.
"Alexander Cato Jackson the Third" a voice boomed.
A whisper came from beside Alex.
"Say 'Aye'"
"Aye"
"How is it that you came to know of this Brotherhood, which is to be kept an utter secret?"
"Tell him" came the whisper.
"My...my father."
"Alexander Cato Jackson the second. Let the record state that the inquiring one is the son of a longstanding member of unblemished record."
That had to be good news.
"Alexander Cato Jackson the third, do you pledge to do everything in your power to help the helpless, give voice to the voiceless, and lift up those who cannot lift themselves?"
"Say 'Aye'"
"Aye"
"And do you also pledge to uphold the secrets of this Brotherhood, and to protect your Brothers' lives and secrets as your own?"
The voice didnt prompt Cato this time.
"Aye" he said.
"Then remove his shackles, and let him see, and step forward."
They undid the handcuffs and removed the blindfold. He was in a large hall, stood in front of a seated suited man, who continued to bellow instructions. Alex could see little else because of the placement of the lights.
He stepped forward.
"I hear by induct you into the International Brotherhood of Subterranean Conductors. Welcome, Brother. Ha Iwe."
A chorus of "Ha Iwe" echoed throughout the room.
The whisper beside him came back.
"Take the pen and sign there, Alex..."
Alex was in a dark room, blindfolded and handcuffed, and shoeless. His "kidnappers" had gone through great lengths to ensure he didnt know his present location, although, in fact, he had anticipated ending up here for years.
He was in the basement of the United African Zionist Church, a building he had often been to in his childhood. He had never been in the basement before, but he had heard rumours that that's where his father went on the first Tuesday of every month.
The lights turned on.
"Alexander Cato Jackson the Third" a voice boomed.
A whisper came from beside Alex.
"Say 'Aye'"
"Aye"
"How is it that you came to know of this Brotherhood, which is to be kept an utter secret?"
"Tell him" came the whisper.
"My...my father."
"Alexander Cato Jackson the second. Let the record state that the inquiring one is the son of a longstanding member of unblemished record."
That had to be good news.
"Alexander Cato Jackson the third, do you pledge to do everything in your power to help the helpless, give voice to the voiceless, and lift up those who cannot lift themselves?"
"Say 'Aye'"
"Aye"
"And do you also pledge to uphold the secrets of this Brotherhood, and to protect your Brothers' lives and secrets as your own?"
The voice didnt prompt Cato this time.
"Aye" he said.
"Then remove his shackles, and let him see, and step forward."
They undid the handcuffs and removed the blindfold. He was in a large hall, stood in front of a seated suited man, who continued to bellow instructions. Alex could see little else because of the placement of the lights.
He stepped forward.
"I hear by induct you into the International Brotherhood of Subterranean Conductors. Welcome, Brother. Ha Iwe."
A chorus of "Ha Iwe" echoed throughout the room.
The whisper beside him came back.
"Take the pen and sign there, Alex..."
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So many mentions of a secretive order, even their name includes "brotherhood", but not even one Assassin's Creed reference?
Ok, that makes sense. An obligatory Venerable Hermetic Order Of Vague Mysteriousness(TM), which somehow persists even to this day.
Honestly I love the concept of Assassins Creed but wasnt much of a gamer so I couldn't make a reference if I tried!
And yeah, ok so my thinking is, at the risk of besmirching the memory of the Underground Railway, that what starts as a very practical system of secretiveness devolves after abolition into a pretty run of the mill fraternity.
And yeah, ok so my thinking is, at the risk of besmirching the memory of the Underground Railway, that what starts as a very practical system of secretiveness devolves after abolition into a pretty run of the mill fraternity.
Yeah a "Not-so-Secret" Society by the modern day...I will eventually explain how and why they persist.
It's easy tbh, just throw in a couple of "eagle beaked" hoods, I'm not sure if parkour can be done.
I take it this society's got something to do with Africans? Maybe throw in a guy called Adéwalé as it's founder, if so?
Consider it done. I intend to go into the mythology of the Subterranean Conductors, which is a typical amalgam of different philosophies but with a veneer of Vodun overlayed...
"Colonies to Provinces" (Pt I)
The years after the rebellions were a different kind of revolution in the British colonies. Contrary to the aims of the rebels, by the 1860s the colonies would be more firmly tied to the Empire than ever before, with technology transforming transportation and communications within a generation. And of course, with so many immigrants having arrived from Britain, the family connections were literally closer.
Part of Durham's legacy, aside from his failed attempt to amalgamate the colonies, was to provide each district with limited autonomy, their own assemblies, and provisions for English civil law to be carried out in other languages where possible and necessary.
This led to distinctive cultures crystallizing in each province as they moved into responsible government, although the pressing issues of the 1850s were tariffs and railways.
The colonies became more or less self-sufficient, but the repeal of the Corn Laws in 1846 and Navigation Laws in 1849 had shifted the focus of investment from agriculture to industry. The great railway boom of this time was as much for British investors to tap into the American market as to serve the interests of the colonies.
Absence of slavery in the colonies meant escaping slaves from the United States directed themselves there, using a network of helpers called the "Underground Railway". Once in BNA, the former slaves were free, and safe from extradition.
In spite of the popularity of Abolitionist movements, however, the escaped slaves did not find a warm welcome outside of the existing black communities.
Indeed, the existence of different ethnic districts indicated Canadians' somewhat reluctance to live amongst 'others' at the time, and although colonial authorities took pride in their supposedly superior treatment of the black Canadians, they also showed no qualms in directing an entire village to move location because the British investors in Grand Trunk Railway desired them to.
The Village of New Zion lay 15 miles east of the St Clair river, directly west of London. It had been settled by Black Loyalists in the wake of the revolution. Generations had lived and built farms, houses, and churches. But they were in the way of the planned route of the Grand Trunk, and so they would be "compensated" with land a few miles further south, in the ominously named Black Creek area.
The pastor of the New Zion Church, who served as an educator, community leader, and clandestine "Conductor" in the underground railway, had passionately pleaded with authorities on humanitarian grounds to allow the settlement to stay. The authorities were adamant. There were plenty of escaped slaves arriving, and they intended to use the railway was an unofficial border to new African settlement. New Zion was in the wrong place - at the right time.
After being displaced early in 1856, the community begrudgingly trekked the few miles to the new location, where they discovered the reason for the name.
The local river was black with a thick sludge which smelled foul. The local indigenous tribes had used it for water-proofing canoes, but it meant the river was unpalatable.
It was determined, again to the consternation of the pastor, that before even a cornerstone of a Church was built, they would need to dig a well for fresh water.
The pastor relentingly agreed, seeing the necessity in the situation, but as he had prepared a special speech for the laying of the cornerstone, which he imagined would be the first soil dug for their new community, he insisted on leading the group in prayer before digging the well commenced.
They prayed for the Lord to lead them finally to prosperity, and security, and to help them redeem all those still suffering from slavery.
They began to the dig for water by noon.
By the evening, hundreds of gallons of "black gold" was gushing into the air.
-Gzowksi, "Our Cultural Mosaic"
Part of Durham's legacy, aside from his failed attempt to amalgamate the colonies, was to provide each district with limited autonomy, their own assemblies, and provisions for English civil law to be carried out in other languages where possible and necessary.
This led to distinctive cultures crystallizing in each province as they moved into responsible government, although the pressing issues of the 1850s were tariffs and railways.
The colonies became more or less self-sufficient, but the repeal of the Corn Laws in 1846 and Navigation Laws in 1849 had shifted the focus of investment from agriculture to industry. The great railway boom of this time was as much for British investors to tap into the American market as to serve the interests of the colonies.
Absence of slavery in the colonies meant escaping slaves from the United States directed themselves there, using a network of helpers called the "Underground Railway". Once in BNA, the former slaves were free, and safe from extradition.
In spite of the popularity of Abolitionist movements, however, the escaped slaves did not find a warm welcome outside of the existing black communities.
Indeed, the existence of different ethnic districts indicated Canadians' somewhat reluctance to live amongst 'others' at the time, and although colonial authorities took pride in their supposedly superior treatment of the black Canadians, they also showed no qualms in directing an entire village to move location because the British investors in Grand Trunk Railway desired them to.
The Village of New Zion lay 15 miles east of the St Clair river, directly west of London. It had been settled by Black Loyalists in the wake of the revolution. Generations had lived and built farms, houses, and churches. But they were in the way of the planned route of the Grand Trunk, and so they would be "compensated" with land a few miles further south, in the ominously named Black Creek area.
The pastor of the New Zion Church, who served as an educator, community leader, and clandestine "Conductor" in the underground railway, had passionately pleaded with authorities on humanitarian grounds to allow the settlement to stay. The authorities were adamant. There were plenty of escaped slaves arriving, and they intended to use the railway was an unofficial border to new African settlement. New Zion was in the wrong place - at the right time.
After being displaced early in 1856, the community begrudgingly trekked the few miles to the new location, where they discovered the reason for the name.
The local river was black with a thick sludge which smelled foul. The local indigenous tribes had used it for water-proofing canoes, but it meant the river was unpalatable.
It was determined, again to the consternation of the pastor, that before even a cornerstone of a Church was built, they would need to dig a well for fresh water.
The pastor relentingly agreed, seeing the necessity in the situation, but as he had prepared a special speech for the laying of the cornerstone, which he imagined would be the first soil dug for their new community, he insisted on leading the group in prayer before digging the well commenced.
They prayed for the Lord to lead them finally to prosperity, and security, and to help them redeem all those still suffering from slavery.
They began to the dig for water by noon.
By the evening, hundreds of gallons of "black gold" was gushing into the air.
-Gzowksi, "Our Cultural Mosaic"
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Well...that was certainly serendipitous.
Coincidentally, 1856 is also the year the first petroleum refinery was built, by Ignacy Łukasiewicz.
en.wikipedia.org
There's probably going to be a significant kerosene industry in New Zion in due course.
Coincidentally, 1856 is also the year the first petroleum refinery was built, by Ignacy Łukasiewicz.
Petroleum - Wikipedia
There's probably going to be a significant kerosene industry in New Zion in due course.
Yeah.....almost a little too serendipitous, I agree. Maybe it's a widely believed myth in this TL.Well...that was certainly serendipitous.
Coincidentally, 1856 is also the year the first petroleum refinery was built, by Ignacy Łukasiewicz.
Petroleum - Wikipedia
There's probably going to be a significant kerosene industry in New Zion in due course.
The location for this New Zion is OTL "Oil Springs" and "Petrolia", and the discovery is only one year up from OTL.
I'll look into Lukasiewicz, thanks! I was already thinking about the interplay of Galician and African-Canadian oilmen!
They say, because of the vastness of Lake Huron to west, and the delicate interplay of the colours from the chemical flares of the refineries, that Sarnia has the "prettiest sunsets on earth".Well...that was certainly serendipitous.
Coincidentally, 1856 is also the year the first petroleum refinery was built, by Ignacy Łukasiewicz.
Petroleum - Wikipedia
There's probably going to be a significant kerosene industry in New Zion in due course.
People from Sarnia say this.
Nothing much atm, but I hope you get over it soon!
Although come to think of it, I think seeing some sort of Breton society would be nice, but I'm not sure how achievable that is.
If you mean Breton language speakers, they are in!
Its supremely not fleshed out ATM but St Pierre and Miquelon are predominately Breton speaking in this TL and De Gaulle's anti-regionalism pushes them into Canada. Vive le Saint Pierre et Miquelon Libre!
Thanks. It's not so much not being able to wrote as wanting to have a better direction of where I'm headed. As much as it is a TL, I'm a sucker for adding plot.
One thing I'm thinking is with greater population and diversity much earlier, Canada develops more independently than the US. Still friendly, but one of the main differences being this Canada spends more of a UK or Australia % of GDP on their military, rather than a NZ % as IOTL.
So this Canada is more progressive, but also more aggressive and has more of a hawkish reputation on the international scene.