Apologies for yet another long delay. I just thought you'd all like to know that I've started writing this again, and will have the next update ready no later than a week from today.

The next five updates will be: a resolution to the Caroline affair, the U.S. presidential election results, some news from Greece, a tidbit of news from Louisiana and the babies born in 1820.




Great to hear from you.

Well hopefully the kidney stone of the Caroline Affair will finally pass and Britain can get back to its national pass time of meddling in Continental affairs for great drama.
Dénouement (1)
On July 25, 1820, even as Londoners were rejoicing in Caroline’s triumph over George and his supporters, the people of Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool and a half-dozen other cities rose up in protest. They had only just heard of the supposed plot to disinherit the Princess of Wales, and they were understandably outraged.

In the case of Birmingham, the 50,000-strong demonstration turned to celebration shortly after noon when the crowd got word that the Bill of Pains and Penalties had been dropped. Farther north, things took a turn for the alarming. In Liverpool and Leeds, the regiments called upon by local magistrates to dispel smaller crowds refused to take action against them.

And at St. Peter’s Field in Manchester, where the Cheshire Yeomanry and the Manchester and Salford Yeomanry did choose to obey, things did not go according to plan. Henry Hunt and the other organizers, warned by Queenites in the employ of the local magistrates, had prepared for a possible cavalry attack. Inspired by a recently-released passage from Italy Reborn describing how Neapolitan revolutionaries had slowed down Ferdinand’s cavalry, men standing at the edge of the crowd began strewing Windmill Street with caltrops in the path of the approaching Cheshire Yeomanry. (This obviously posed something of a risk to pedestrians, but under the circumstances it was necessary.)

Observing from a distance that the Cheshire Yeomanry seemed to have been halted in its tracks, Deputy-Constable Joseph Nadin[1] ordered the Manchester and Salford Yeomanry to assist them. So began the “Charge of the Yeomanry,” which would be caricatured by Cruikshank and a dozen other artists over the course of the next month.

The Yeomanry caused more casualties on the way to the fight than they did when they arrived. They found a side street to approach by, where, as it happened, no one was ready with a bucket of caltrops. While charging the crowd, the cavalry trampled a child to death and collided with a pregnant woman hard enough to cause a fatal miscarriage.

The crowd retreated, but did not break and run. As they did so, they pelted the soldiers with horse dung, bricks, cobblestones and anything else that was convenient for throwing. At least two soldiers suffered fractured ribs as a result, and one lost the hearing in his right ear from a glancing blow to the head.

And the cavalry slowed to a halt — but not because of their own fear for their safety. The soldiers’ horses had not been trained for use in crowd control, and saw the crowd in their path as a large, potentially dangerous obstacle. Then, as the horses slowed and began rearing in confusion, the cry of “’Ware caltrops!” came up from the Cheshire Yeomanry.

While this was going on, Cartwright, Knight and the other leaders were quickly making up their minds. They were not truly ready for a civil war — not yet — and there were too many people here who were not combatants and never would be. They organized a retreat of the 75,000-strong crowd. “It was a near thing,” wrote Hunt years later in Sydney. “A dozen times or more, I thought the people ready to bolt and run, the strong and swift trampling the fallen. God be praised — they left the field, but they left as men, not as stampeding cattle.”

To Nadin, it appeared that the forces of Law and Order had carried the day — the Yeomanry were, after all, in possession of the ground. Other observers were less sure. The Radical leaders and orators had all escaped arrest. More importantly, as the Duke of Wellington put it: “The ‘mob’ at Manchester came prepared for a fight, maintained discipline and retreated in good order while in the presence of a mortal threat. There is a word for that sort of ‘mob.’ We call it an army.”[2]
Arthur Roundtree, A Political History of Pre-revolutionary Britain

Today, when you hear the phrase "the exception proves the rule," it's probably coming from somebody who doesn't want to admit that he or she has just been proven wrong. And if you were invited to a "solemn supper," you'd probably think of an excuse to stay home. These phrases make more sense if you know that "prove" once meant "test," with no implied guarantee of confirmation, and "solemn" once merely meant "formal." A wedding celebration, for example, could have been described as "solemn" or as a "solemnity," even if it was an occasion of great cheer.

Other words have also undergone shifts in implication and emotional weight, to the point where their very meaning has been altered. Today, "yeoman" is one of the worst names you can call a soldier. It refers to one who commits atrocities against civilians, or who allows himself to be used as a tool of political repression, and carries the (often false) implication that such a soldier is too cowardly to fight a real enemy. But as late as the early 19th century it was, if anything, a somewhat complimentary term for "independent farmer" — in the same way that "villain" originally meant "serf" and "miscreant" originally meant "heretic" — and certainly not an insult to anyone…

The change in meaning did not happen all at once. As late as 1833 some upper-class Englishmen were using it in correspondence: “He is a yeoman in the classic sense.” However, the influence of the London Times, the Manchester Champion and other papers using it as shorthand for the threat of government repression inevitably chipped away at its older definition in the anglophone mind.
Jackson, D.L., Literally Decimated: The English Language and the Struggle for Meaning

On the 26th, only a day after the events in Manchester, the radicals Andrew Hardie, James Wilson and John Baird led a band of weavers and ex-soldiers northeast from Glasgow and seized the Carron Ironworks, one of the largest ironworks in Europe at the time. Although the scheme had been suggested to them by government agents, the timing of it had been triggered by false reports that the queen and princess had been arrested. Sidmouth’s provocateurs had done their work a little too well.[3]

Hardie proclaimed to the people of Falkirk that he and his men constituted the “Provisional Royal Government of Scotland” which would govern “in the name of Queen Caroline and Princess Charlotte.” Not half an hour later, news reached Falkirk and the ironworks that Queen Caroline and Princess Charlotte were both quite safe in their positions. With this bit of news, the “Provisional Government” lost its fig leaf. By the time the Hussars arrived from Stirling Castle, most of the Radicals had already quietly decamped. Hardie, Wilson and Baird were taken into custody. By the end of the year they would all have danced on air, following trials as unfair and one-sided as could be made possible under British jurisprudence…

The three weeks that followed the incident in St. Peter’s Field were two of the longest, hottest weeks in the history of Manchester. The Yeomanry patrolled the streets and were not confronted with lethal force, but were spat at and subjected to catcalls and shouted insults from every direction. Those who brought up the rear were worst off — boys would pelt them from behind with horse dung or rotten eggs, then disappear into the crowd. As for Hunt, Knight and Cartwright, for whom they were searching, no one seemed to know where they were.

The Yeomanry were only too happy to be relieved on August 8, but the nature of their relief was no relief at all to the Crown. It was three regiments of infantry and one regiment of cavalry — all of them loyal to Queen Caroline… who was accompanying them personally. Riding atop a carriage driven by William Austin, she led them on parade through the streets of Manchester to the cheers of the crowd.

As the queen had to leave early due to an upset stomach, Sir Francis Burdett addressed the crowd. “The battle for the queen’s honour is over, and we have won the day,” he said, “but the war for the honour of all Englishmen — the long struggle for the rights of our nation — that has only begun. We are not alone in this fight. Our queen is with us, and our princess. If no one else will heed us, she will. Time is our friend.”

What sounded like a call to arms in fact served to persuade the labourers of Manchester to leave the streets and get back to work. The dismissal of Nadin as deputy-constable was seen as a promise of better times to come. The knowledge that Charlotte Augusta would one day be queen was practically a guarantee of better times…

The incidents in St. Peter’s Field and the Carron Ironworks were a faint echo of the civil war that might have been. To Henry Brougham, these events were proof that the voice of the people needed to be heard at every level of government, from Parliament down to city hall. To Robert Peel, they were yet more evidence that the Crown could no longer rely on the Home Secretary’s spiderweb of crooks and liars to keep the realm in order. Humiliating as it might be for Britons to borrow ideas from the French, it was necessary…
Arthur Roundtree, A Political History of Pre-revolutionary Britain

Would it have made any difference if Lord Liverpool’s government had simply been willing to state openly that they had been played for fools by the arch-schemer Talleyrand? Would it have dispelled the fears and suspicions of the Radicals — and ultimately many of the Whigs — that the Tories harbored a secret dream of bringing tyranny to Albion’s shores?

Probably not. The Crown had shown that its willingness to use the army as a weapon against peaceful protest was limited only by the willingness of the regiments themselves to be so used. And although no connection could be found between Brougham and The Plot Against Our Princess, the existence of the pamphlet proved that there were those among the Radicals who were only too happy to repeat slanders against the government even when those slanders came from the French. In such an environment, fear and suspicion were rational responses.

Bertrand Martineau and P.G. Sherman, The Great Scheme

[1] Nadin started out as a “thief-taker” — basically, a bounty hunter hired to catch criminals, or people who could be passed off as criminals in front of a judge. Thief-takers tended to be criminals themselves — that’s where the saying “set a thief to catch a thief” came from. He ended up virtually running the city on behalf of the local magistrates, while collecting bribes from the city brothels. “Local government reform” is one of the many, many things the Princess and Henry Brougham would like to see happen, if the Tories weren’t in the way.
[2] Differences between this and the OTL Peterloo Massacre:
• ITTL, the only troops present at the time and deemed trustworthy were the two regiments of yeomanry.
• The crowd was slightly larger. (Possibly.)
• The organizers of the rally had a little more warning.
• William Hulton was in Parliament at the time, and left Nadin (a useful fall guy if things went pear-shaped) in charge.
• Obviously, the Battle of Waterloo never happened, so the word “Peterloo” wouldn’t mean anything to anyone.
[3] Something like this happened IOTL, except that they never got anywhere near the ironworks.


[3] Something like this happened IOTL, except that they never got anywhere near the ironworks.
I knew that already; Percy Shelley wrote a pamphlet unfavorably comparing the public reaction to those very OTL events -- ironically, considering this TL -- to the reaction to the death of Princess Charlotte which happened almost simultaneously.

Arthur Roundtree, A Political History of Pre-revolutionary Britain
...no. NO. NO!!! :eek:

Dénouement (2)
What hindered the Tertium Quids in the Deep South was, once again, their own commitment to principle at the expense of common sense and human necessity. At a time when virtually everyone in Mississippi, Alabama and Georgia was dreaming of the day when the T&T and the Grand Southern would be completed, the Quid presidential candidate was denouncing these projects as a dangerous precedent. “If Congress can make canals,” warned Nathaniel Macon, “they can with more propriety emancipate.” Even Calhoun considered this bit of doomsaying ridiculous…

The election of 1820 carried only one surprise — that the DRP did not carry every state. Both North and South Carolina, along with two Virginia electors, went for the Macon-Horsey ticket.

Henry Clay, a born politician, saw this as a problem. “The Quids are not yet powerful enough to constitute a threat to our plans for the nation,” he wrote, “but they may yet become one. We must address the dissatisfaction shown in these results.” William Crawford went further: “Many of our most prominent and loyal citizens are afraid for their property. Let us take steps to assure them of their security.”

But Adams disagreed. “Three out of five is as good a majority as four out of five,” he said, adding that “the unanimity which prevailed among the American people in the years after the late war was an unnatural and temporary state of affairs, and we should not be surprised to see it go.” The unsociable Adams, who had once described himself as “a man of reserved, cold, austere and forbidding manners,” had never expected to be half as beloved as he found himself, and was more than willing to risk a little loss of popularity.
Andrea Fessler, Rise of the Dead Rose

Note: Gold isn't actually the official color of the Quids. They don't have an official color, and won't as long as Randolph is in charge. I just used it because it's easy to distinguish from Republican Purple.

DS election 1820.png
In Moldavia and Wallachia, the rebellion was as much a war against the landowning class as it was against the Empire — and, like most peasant uprisings, it suffered from a lack of professionalism and heavy weaponry. Only the arms and ammunition flowing in from Russia, and the fact that the Sultan was concentrating on the Adriatic front, kept the rebels in the field.

Meanwhile, in Vienna, Metternich and the rest of the court debated what to do. The Ottoman Empire was one of Austria’s oldest enemies — but, as Metternich pointed out, that was precisely the point. “We have lived beside the Turk for centuries,” he said. “We can live beside him a little longer. What sort of neighbors would these rebels make? Or a Serbia allied to Russia?” He believed that it might become necessary for Austria and the other Südzollverein states to intervene on behalf of the Sultan.

King William of Württemberg and the Bavarian Montgelas had a different suggestion. “If the Sultan cannot tame the rebels on his own, we should not do it for him,” said the king. “Rather, we should salvage what we can from the wreck of his empire. Vladimirescu and the Greeks would be as grateful for our assistance as for that of the tsar or the Terni government.” For the moment, Austria and her allies would continue to watch and wait…

The Phanar and the Greek communities in Anatolia, by and large, did not participate in the rebellion during its first year. They were too small, and too vulnerable to reprisals. Likewise, the people of the smaller islands of the Aegean (not wishing to suffer the ancient fate of Melos) also tried to stay out of the war. Nonetheless, many of their sons found their way to western Greece to join the rebels, either alone or in bands of klephts. One such band was headed by the mysterious adventurer who appeared in Athens in November, calling himself “ξίφος του Νέμεση.”

Kemal Demirci, The Cardboard Lion: The Last Years of the Ottoman Empire


The unsociable Adams, who had once described himself as “a man of reserved, cold, austere and forbidding manners,” had never expected to be half as beloved as he found himself, and was more than willing to risk a little loss of popularity.
I love you.

...wait. Why is there a giant chunk of Maine missing? :eek:

And who is this "Sword of Nemesis"?


Part of the Clay-Castlereagh Treaty. The border with Canada was in dispute.
Ah. Shame; I rather liked OTL Maine. :(

Someone who recently helped two of his fellow poets complete a great epic work.
So... does that mean his daughter Allegra survives ITTL? If, indeed, she has been born at all?

Also... why do you want a violent monarchial-overthrowing revolution in Britain? That never ends well... :(
Ah. Shame; I rather liked OTL Maine. :(

So... does that mean his daughter Allegra survives ITTL? If, indeed, she has been born at all?

Also... why do you want a violent monarchial-overthrowing revolution in Britain? That never ends well... :(

Who says it has to be violent on the French model...Why can't it just be "glorious".
Dénouement (3)
This is actually the first step in the process mentioned here.

William Huskisson was recalled to London in December of 1820, where greater duties awaited him. His replacement as British ambassador to New Orleans was Edward Law, the thirty-year-old Earl of Ellenborough. The Prime Minister judged that an important but friendly ambassadorial posting would be just the thing to season the young Tory’s ability with experience. The earl was accompanied by a man twenty years his senior and of much wider experience — George Canning. Although Canning was not going to Louisiana in any official capacity, Lord Liverpool wrote a letter to President Marigny commending his “expertise in many fields.”

And well he might. Canning had served twice on the Board of Control for India, once as its president. He had also served as ambassador to Lisbon, Treasurer of the Navy and Foreign Secretary, and had performed well in all these offices. He was generally seen as one of the most brilliant minds of a party that, up against such men as Henry Brougham, needed all the brilliant minds it could get — but, like Brougham, he was not widely trusted by his allies and was often at odds with them.

This would make all the difference in the middle of 1820, when certain elements within the French government attempted to instigate civil war in Great Britain by means of a pseudologue[1] campaign too complex to describe here. One of the more audacious lies put forward in this campaign was the claim that George Canning was the biological father of Charlotte Augusta Princess of Wales. Fortunately for Canning, few believed this calumny. Unfortunately for him, one of those few happened to be his king. (It may be that, as Sherman and others have suggested, the king was using the allegation as an excuse for his own inchoate hostility toward the man. However, the effect was the same.)

Although the circumstances of Canning’s arrival were a source of great amusement to Marigny — and to almost everyone else in New Orleans — Liverpool was not simply banishing Canning or putting him beyond the reach of George IV. He was also establishing a second line of communication with the government of Louisiana, and one with greater secrecy. This was important, because although the tiny state was dependent on the Crown for its security, it was also a republic. No one ever won an election in any republic by promising to heed the wishes of a foreign power. Marigny had to be allowed to maintain the appearance of independence…
Michel Beauregard, A History of the Republic of Louisiana

[1] A catchall term for what IOTL we’d call “disinformation,” “black propaganda” or “ratf***ing.”