Who should become the first president of new england?


  • Total voters
    64
  • Poll closed .
Dear God that's a small electorate. OTL! Florida was home to 15 million people, and 2.1 mil is an 85% turnout?! It really says something about TTL America when I'm HOPING that the small numbers are because of intense disenfranchisement, and not a wee bit of ethnic cleansing.
it's mainly because the 1930s population boom in florida doesn't happen ittl.
 
So there is an independent Florida in TTL 2021, I assume majority of the population will be Latino?
Also I have some questions to ask regarding modern day North America, though you probably won't answer directly:
1. Are we gonna see countries in Cascadia/ great plains/ Rocky Mountain region?
2. Which countries will be the closest OTL analogue to modern day US/UAU?
3. Which countries will be the Major power on the continent?
 
So there is an independent Florida in TTL 2021, I assume majority of the population will be Latino?
yes. Though a large black and Anglo plurality as well.
1. Are we gonna see countries in Cascadia/ great plains/ Rocky Mountain region?
No.
2. Which countries will be the closest OTL analogue to modern day US/UAU?
No.
3. Which countries will be the Major power on the continent?
Mexico and Borealia. Mexico by its sheer size and population, Borealia with the amount of natural resources they have.
 
AlternateHistoryHub made a video on the War of 1812
He makes a small mistake in the Britain wins scenario. Britain was intent on locking the Americans out of the Great lakes except Erie. Britain would certainly annex those lands. Also a revaunchist America is the single most cliche thing ever.
 
He makes a small mistake in the Britain wins scenario. Britain was intent on locking the Americans out of the Great lakes except Erie. Britain would certainly annex those lands. Also a revaunchist America is the single most cliche thing ever.
now, it's been a while since I read that part of ttl, but wasn't that a bit of a thing in the 1820s here as well?
 
now, it's been a while since I read that part of ttl, but wasn't that a bit of a thing in the 1820s here as well?
Nah. They didn't like Britain unlike to USA with the era of good feelings of otl but they didn't want to start a conflict with Britain either. Sanford, Clay and Calhoun's early tenure all made sure to remain neutral in regards to Britain.
 
Vignette #2
And now a Vignette created with permission by the Author:

THE BUSINESS OF EXPANSION:

If you took care of your shop your shop would take care of you, that was a saying Gontran Desmarsis had from his father who had it from his and so on back to France herself. It had seen his family's store thrive in New Orleans through many changes in flags, and it had served him well here in Harperville(1) with his general store.

The store was empty of customers at the moment, typical for the time ad day, but that let him observe it with a critical eye. The shelves were properly stocked, the rows were orderly, the jars of sweets and other delicacies upon and behind the counter were shined to a polish and the barrels stood firm as they ought too. He even admitted the announcements written on the chalk board by the door were acceptable.

His assistant of two years now, Thomas Flynn, had improved in writing French if not speaking the refined tongue. Even now the young man was diligently sweeping the far end of the store.

Gontran clicked his tongue recalling how other businessmen on the street had sneered at him employing an Anglo, even a Catholic whose family had escaped Bloody Andy's tyranny. He was old enough to remember when Louisiana was part of the USA, and while he did not miss the USA he knew full well it had been better than the Union of today. He could not blame decent folks wanting to escape that mess; and feeling that way refusing a man who just wanted honest work to feed himself and his family seemed unreasonable in both being a Christian and a businessman.

"Its a lovely day Tommy, I'm stepping out," Monsieur Desmarsis said.

He was not worried as he went on to the boardwalk of Tommy slacking. A good man with a decent wage will work hard to keep it. Slave owners might harp on but as far as this man was concerned business told, as well as morality, that it was better for a boss and worker to shake hands on a contract as men rather than stare in mutual unease with shackle and lash between them.

After all looking around the street starting to bustle wasn't this city proof? Harperville had fewer slaves than New Orleans or Saint Louis yet the city grew more with each year. When he had pulled up stakes from New Orleans his father and everyone had bemoaned him setting out for a savage frontier. He had not found a savage land, but as he had thought a place of growth and opportunity on the Arkansas River.

He couldn't have afforded to set up shop in such a fine neighborhood as this had become back down in the delta, or upriver for that matter.

The Arkansas River was still a rougher country than the Father of the Waters, but it grew more civilized by the year both as settlements grew along its length and settlement further west grew and the river was their link to the Kingdom proper. Even the tragic death of the dauphin, the Lord keep his soul, had not stopped civilization's advance along the rivers course.

Of course it was not without flaws, Harperville; yes there were not as many proper Frenchmen as he would like. Many Catholic Anglos like Thomas found themselves more welcome the further they were from the border, and Harperville was the finest city to be far from the great river in the kingdom. Freedmen had also taken to the city as a destination for new beginnings. There were still more slaves than Freedmen but overall the institution was thinner on the ground here, and it was less an odd sight than elsewhere for a prosperous man to be "dark enough to match his suit" as the saying had sprung up.

And there were the Comanche as well. Though very few had taken the city as home their presence was often felt. While many tribes preferred trade outside even towns, more and more came like proper customers.

In fact turning his head to a minor hubbub he smiled to see rumors of the morning were true, with a band of Comanche coming down the street. You could tell locals from outsiders with how they reacted. Typical Delta dwellers, can hardly see a native, much less a group of them, without making a fuss of it.

Recognizing the young Comanche man leading the group he put on his best business smile and stepped further into the street giving a greeting in the customers' own tongue before returning to the Cajun French so many of them knew well, to welcome them back and commence with business.

Money was money, and anyone with money they were willing to spend was a customer. His father had not taught him that lesson, but he took his prosperous income from regular customers of all colors as proof of concept.

Now if only the government wasn't stealing his sons off to the army, he thought as he ushered the Comanche men into his store and snapped for Tommy be at the ready.



1). OTL Little Rock.
 
And now a Vignette created with permission by the Author:

THE BUSINESS OF EXPANSION:

If you took care of your shop your shop would take care of you, that was a saying Gontran Desmarsis had from his father who had it from his and so on back to France herself. It had seen his family's store thrive in New Orleans through many changes in flags, and it had served him well here in Harperville(1) with his general store.

The store was empty of customers at the moment, typical for the time ad day, but that let him observe it with a critical eye. The shelves were properly stocked, the rows were orderly, the jars of sweets and other delicacies upon and behind the counter were shined to a polish and the barrels stood firm as they ought too. He even admitted the announcements written on the chalk board by the door were acceptable.

His assistant of two years now, Thomas Flynn, had improved in writing French if not speaking the refined tongue. Even now the young man was diligently sweeping the far end of the store.

Gontran clicked his tongue recalling how other businessmen on the street had sneered at him employing an Anglo, even a Catholic whose family had escaped Bloody Andy's tyranny. He was old enough to remember when Louisiana was part of the USA, and while he did not miss the USA he knew full well it had been better than the Union of today. He could not blame decent folks wanting to escape that mess; and feeling that way refusing a man who just wanted honest work to feed himself and his family seemed unreasonable in both being a Christian and a businessman.

"Its a lovely day Tommy, I'm stepping out," Monsieur Desmarsis said.

He was not worried as he went on to the boardwalk of Tommy slacking. A good man with a decent wage will work hard to keep it. Slave owners might harp on but as far as this man was concerned business told, as well as morality, that it was better for a boss and worker to shake hands on a contract as men rather than stare in mutual unease with shackle and lash between them.

After all looking around the street starting to bustle wasn't this city proof? Harperville had fewer slaves than New Orleans or Saint Louis yet the city grew more with each year. When he had pulled up stakes from New Orleans his father and everyone had bemoaned him setting out for a savage frontier. He had not found a savage land, but as he had thought a place of growth and opportunity on the Arkansas River.

He couldn't have afforded to set up shop in such a fine neighborhood as this had become back down in the delta, or upriver for that matter.

The Arkansas River was still a rougher country than the Father of the Waters, but it grew more civilized by the year both as settlements grew along its length and settlement further west grew and the river was their link to the Kingdom proper. Even the tragic death of the dauphin, the Lord keep his soul, had not stopped civilization's advance along the rivers course.

Of course it was not without flaws, Harperville; yes there were not as many proper Frenchmen as he would like. Many Catholic Anglos like Thomas found themselves more welcome the further they were from the border, and Harperville was the finest city to be far from the great river in the kingdom. Freedmen had also taken to the city as a destination for new beginnings. There were still more slaves than Freedmen but overall the institution was thinner on the ground here, and it was less an odd sight than elsewhere for a prosperous man to be "dark enough to match his suit" as the saying had sprung up.

And there were the Comanche as well. Though very few had taken the city as home their presence was often felt. While many tribes preferred trade outside even towns, more and more came like proper customers.

In fact turning his head to a minor hubbub he smiled to see rumors of the morning were true, with a band of Comanche coming down the street. You could tell locals from outsiders with how they reacted. Typical Delta dwellers, can hardly see a native, much less a group of them, without making a fuss of it.

Recognizing the young Comanche man leading the group he put on his best business smile and stepped further into the street giving a greeting in the customers' own tongue before returning to the Cajun French so many of them knew well, to welcome them back and commence with business.

Money was money, and anyone with money they were willing to spend was a customer. His father had not taught him that lesson, but he took his prosperous income from regular customers of all colors as proof of concept.

Now if only the government wasn't stealing his sons off to the army, he thought as he ushered the Comanche men into his store and snapped for Tommy be at the ready.



1). OTL Little Rock.
very good :)
 
Hiatus update
So like my graduate finals are coming up in 2 weeks and i am already pretty far behind. Because of that i will be taking a 2 month hiatus from all of my TLs on this site. Don't worry though this TL is not going to be abandoned! Please just do have patience.
 
And now a Vignette created with permission by the Author:

THE BUSINESS OF EXPANSION:

If you took care of your shop your shop would take care of you, that was a saying Gontran Desmarsis had from his father who had it from his and so on back to France herself. It had seen his family's store thrive in New Orleans through many changes in flags, and it had served him well here in Harperville(1) with his general store.

The store was empty of customers at the moment, typical for the time ad day, but that let him observe it with a critical eye. The shelves were properly stocked, the rows were orderly, the jars of sweets and other delicacies upon and behind the counter were shined to a polish and the barrels stood firm as they ought too. He even admitted the announcements written on the chalk board by the door were acceptable.

His assistant of two years now, Thomas Flynn, had improved in writing French if not speaking the refined tongue. Even now the young man was diligently sweeping the far end of the store.

Gontran clicked his tongue recalling how other businessmen on the street had sneered at him employing an Anglo, even a Catholic whose family had escaped Bloody Andy's tyranny. He was old enough to remember when Louisiana was part of the USA, and while he did not miss the USA he knew full well it had been better than the Union of today. He could not blame decent folks wanting to escape that mess; and feeling that way refusing a man who just wanted honest work to feed himself and his family seemed unreasonable in both being a Christian and a businessman.

"Its a lovely day Tommy, I'm stepping out," Monsieur Desmarsis said.

He was not worried as he went on to the boardwalk of Tommy slacking. A good man with a decent wage will work hard to keep it. Slave owners might harp on but as far as this man was concerned business told, as well as morality, that it was better for a boss and worker to shake hands on a contract as men rather than stare in mutual unease with shackle and lash between them.

After all looking around the street starting to bustle wasn't this city proof? Harperville had fewer slaves than New Orleans or Saint Louis yet the city grew more with each year. When he had pulled up stakes from New Orleans his father and everyone had bemoaned him setting out for a savage frontier. He had not found a savage land, but as he had thought a place of growth and opportunity on the Arkansas River.

He couldn't have afforded to set up shop in such a fine neighborhood as this had become back down in the delta, or upriver for that matter.

The Arkansas River was still a rougher country than the Father of the Waters, but it grew more civilized by the year both as settlements grew along its length and settlement further west grew and the river was their link to the Kingdom proper. Even the tragic death of the dauphin, the Lord keep his soul, had not stopped civilization's advance along the rivers course.

Of course it was not without flaws, Harperville; yes there were not as many proper Frenchmen as he would like. Many Catholic Anglos like Thomas found themselves more welcome the further they were from the border, and Harperville was the finest city to be far from the great river in the kingdom. Freedmen had also taken to the city as a destination for new beginnings. There were still more slaves than Freedmen but overall the institution was thinner on the ground here, and it was less an odd sight than elsewhere for a prosperous man to be "dark enough to match his suit" as the saying had sprung up.

And there were the Comanche as well. Though very few had taken the city as home their presence was often felt. While many tribes preferred trade outside even towns, more and more came like proper customers.

In fact turning his head to a minor hubbub he smiled to see rumors of the morning were true, with a band of Comanche coming down the street. You could tell locals from outsiders with how they reacted. Typical Delta dwellers, can hardly see a native, much less a group of them, without making a fuss of it.

Recognizing the young Comanche man leading the group he put on his best business smile and stepped further into the street giving a greeting in the customers' own tongue before returning to the Cajun French so many of them knew well, to welcome them back and commence with business.

Money was money, and anyone with money they were willing to spend was a customer. His father had not taught him that lesson, but he took his prosperous income from regular customers of all colors as proof of concept.

Now if only the government wasn't stealing his sons off to the army, he thought as he ushered the Comanche men into his store and snapped for Tommy be at the ready.



1). OTL Little Rock.

Nice work!

So like my graduate finals are coming up in 2 weeks and i am already pretty far behind. Because of that i will be taking a 2 month hiatus from all of my TLs on this site. Don't worry though this TL is not going to be abandoned! Please just do have patience.

Good luck!

Northstar
 

Hoyahoo9

Donor
So like my graduate finals are coming up in 2 weeks
Thank you for everything you've done here thus far; and best of luck on your finals. It may be hard to believe right now, but I can assure you that you'll look back on this time with fondness and accomplished satisfaction. You've got this.
 
Vignette #3 - A Thesis of American Literature under the Destitute Era
Vignette #3

***

A Thesis of American Literature under the Destitute Era

***

Author

Perhaps the most prolific writer of the American Destitute Era would be Edgar Allan Poe. He was an American short story writer, poet and critic. As the son of a poor New English Unionist Immigrant, he was spat down upon, and his chances for work were always poor. In 1826 amidst the American Civil War he joined the American Army and became a colonel in the army before being discharged in 1829 after a small slave rebellion in Alabama left him unable to shoot a rifle properly with his right hand. He failed to earn a living by writing and much of his works were further exacerbated by the fact that the government censored them. In 1849, he lost his life by siding with the Democratic Union of American Youths when the Secret Police of the Destitute Era barged into his home and put the poor writer to the sword. His wife managed to escape with their children all the way to New England, taking up refuge there in what became a precursor to the 1st American People’s Movement.

His fiction and poetry are gothic in nature, his style characterized by his fascination with the grotesque and macabre. He uses this style with cunning and good use to describe the Destitute Era with his multiple books and poems.

***

Case Study Story – The Heart that Tattled.

Note: The Heart of the Bloodied was written by Edgar Allan Poe in 1844 during his tenure as a special lieutenant engineer in the American Army during the invasion of Florida. In it, he describes the horrible realities of war, slavery and the Destitute Era.



Story:-

True! – Nervous, very nervous I had been and am. But would you say I am mad? For I am not I can assure you on that. My arm was weakened, but I was gifted in other ways after the strength of my arm was taken from me. God had sharpened my senses. My smell and my acute hearing. I heard all things above in heaven, here in earth and down along the ridges of hell. How, then am I mad? Hearken! Ad observe how healthily and calmly I can tell you this story.

It is impossible to say when the idea first entered my mind but once it was conceived it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old Colonel of our regiment. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold, I had no desire. For his luxurious and beautiful daughter, I had no love or lust! I think it was his eye! Yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture, reckon that’s how he climbed the ranks in the army during the war, a pair of pale blue eyes, whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees-very gradually-I made up my mind to take the life of the Colonel and thus get rid of the eye once and for all forever!

On the first day we encountered Spanish troopers defending a ridge with all they had. The colonel told our regiment to hunker down and start a small siege of the defensive positions that the Spaniards and their Seminole allies had taken up, in a nearby old fort as well. The Colonel asked me take command of the explosion corps and to destroy the fortifications with my prowess in explosions. Now this is the point!

You fancy me mad! Madmen know nothing! But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely made up my cunning plan with which I would kill the Colonel and defeat the Spaniards simultaneously! Every night for the two week long siege, the Colonel went out on the siegelines of the battle, and inspected our artillery and explosives. And every night, I followed him. Oh you would have laughed to see how cunningly I followed the Colonel, not making a noise at all, and remaining ahead of him at every step! I would remain quiet and observe his inspections for hours on the end, and moved very very slowly, so as to not disturb the man’s inspection. Ha! Would a madman be as wise as this? No they would not!

After the small inspections, the Colonel would retreat back to his tent, and sleep. Every night for the rest of the week, I followed him into his tent, and remained there, until the old man finally fell asleep in his makeshift bed. Then, I would undo the lantern I held in my arms so cautiously – oh so cautiously – so that a single ray of light fell upon his vulture eye. And I did this for eight long nights – every night it was at around midnight - but I always found the vulture eye to be closed, and so it was impossible to kill him. For it was not the Colonel that had wronged or vexed me, but it was his vulture eye. And every morning, when dawn broke out, I would shove past his unwitting guards, and greet the Colonel boisterously, calling him by name and speaking in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the night.

Finally on the ninth night, I struck gold. A letter had arrived from the War ministry. Something about reinforcements from Cuba for the Spaniards. The old colonel was unsettled by the news. He hid himself inside his tent and settled down onto the bed unsteadily. I shrugged past the sleeping guards quietly, and applied Tricholoromethane [1] onto my handkerchief and knocked the sleeping guards unconscious and pushed them towards the wayside. I then entered the tent quietly. However the old colonel may had noticed something and he spreang out of his bed and cried out – “Who’s there?”

I kept still in my hiding space and said nothing and did nothing. For an entire hour I hid in my hiding place, sitting still, and breathing slowly so as to make the noise of my breath simmer down! Would madmen be as wise as this? No I think not!

Presently, I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of grief or even pain – oh no! – it was the groan of fear and terror, it was the low stifled sound that arises from when the soul knows that it is being hunted upon. The Colonel had been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions: It’s the night guards making the noise, its those bloody Spaniards and Seminoles making these dastardly noises, etc etc…….but found them all to be in vain! All in vain! Death was approaching the colonel and stalked his black shadow and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel – although he neither saw nor heard – to feel the presence of body in the tent.

After the old man fell asleep –finally! – I slowly lit my lantern again. And finally! Finally! The ray of light fell upon his eye, which was wide open, his mouth hanging agape as he looked at me – I was still recognizable in the dark due to the lantern after all – With a silent yell I threw open the lantern and leaped onto his bed. He shrieked once for nary a second before I dragged him to the floor and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But for many minutes, the heart beat went on with a muffled sound. This did not vex me. Not at all. I slowly dragged the body to the small cabin next to the now deceased Colonel’s tent, which was being used as the Engineer’s camp, my camp and buried the body by dismembering it and hiding it beneath the planks.

It was the perfect crime! I cleaned the tent and my cabin for hours before I settled down for a nap at around 4 in the morning. The camp woke up like it did everyday when the artillery corps began to shell the Spanish positions. The disappearance of the Colonel was of course known and felt and that afternoon the Ordnance sent the High Commissioner of Discipline, an extension of Jackson’s secret service in the army to investigate the disappearance. By the evening it was my turn. I invited the Commissioners into my temporary cabin and laughed heartily with them, debating the disappearance.

I bade them to search and search well. In my enthusiasm, I brought chairs into the room and desired for them to rest in my Head Engineer cabin, while I myself sat down and chatted with them amiably. The Commissioners were sure of my innocence, I was singularly at ease, and my manners had convinced them. They decided to take me on my offer, and sat down drinking cold water and discussing how to divide the old Colonel’s slaves back in Atlanta. I am proud to say I managed to bid myself 8 slaves! And one of them according to a picture, was as beautiful as a European princess, her black texture aside. I was proud of the fact and the Commissioners bemoaned at me in slight jest that I was too lucky with the slave draw.

But ere long, I felt myself getting more and paler, and wished the commissioners gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: But the commissioners still sat and smiled and chatted. The ringing became more distinct as time went on! No doubt I had become very pale. I tried to deflect it by speaking in higher tones, but the voice and its rhythm simply became larger. What could I do? It was a sound as low, dull and quick – much such a sound as a watch makes when it is enveloped in cotton! It grew louder! Louder! LOUDER! And still the commissioners smiled and laughed with me. Was it possible that they had heard? Almighty God! – No! NO! – they had heard! They knew! The Commissioners had weeded the loyalists and federalists in the army by using twisted psychological methods, and saw around 10,000 former servicemen killed or imprisoned! And now they were doing the same with me! They knew! They were making a mockery of my suffering and my inordinate guilt. This I thought and this I think. But anything was better than this silent agony. Anything, even Commissioner Imprisonment was tolerable than this derision! I could not bear those hypocritical, mocking and twisted smiles any longer! I felt that I must scream and die And now – again! – hark! Louder! Louder! LOUDER! LOUDER!

Villains! Hypocrites! Spies of Jackson!” I shrieked. “Dissemble no more! I admit the deed! – tear up the planks! Here here! – it is the beating of his hideous heart!”

***

[1] –Chloroform

***


A/N: This is a parody of the Tell-Tale Heart written by Edgar Allan Poe in otl adapted for this timeline. I have no rights to it. All claims and copyrights belong to Edgar Allan Poe
I find literature an underappreciated part of Alternate History and this is my take on it!
***
 
Last edited:
A/N: This is a parody of the Tell-Tale Heart written by Edgar Allan Poe in otl adapted for this timeline. I have no rights to it.
I find literature an underappreciated part of Alternate History and this is my take on it!

This was in my folder and needed to be published here! Don't expect much updates after this one for the next two months however.
 
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