Through The Mists Of The Deep - 1796 POD AltAmerica

October 17, 1796
Hey! It's been a long time since I've been to these forums. I joined as a kid; I'd like to think I've gained some maturity since then, and I've certainly come to have a greater fascination with history. I've been considering this timeline for several days, and I hope that I continue to hold your interest with it.

Before we begin, I'd like to make clear: I take butterflies very seriously. The point of divergence for this timeline is in April 1796. Anyone born after around November 1796 IOTL does not exist ITTL (though someone with the same name and parents might, they won't have the same mix of their parents' genetics and will be a different person). Nothing will happen simply because it happened in our timeline; as we get further from the POD, the timeline will resemble ours less (ignoring cases of convergent evolution).

So, without further ado...

THROUGH THE MISTS OF THE DEEP

It was a cold, wet Monday night in October. Sally looked through the crack in her cabin door to see a flickering light. She briefly fixated on it before catching herself and turning to her crying infant daughter, and cooed to quiet her. Harriet had just recently reached one year of age. When she calmed down, Sally silently sighed and touched her arm. She knew that she was with child again; she was due for early next year.

"You chose this."

Sally shuddered. Her master, Thomas Jefferson, had made a critical mistake in the spring; he and Sally both knew this. He had impulsively decided to accelerate his project to add an additional wing to Monticello, and within weeks had purchased about fifty slaves to aid in construction, financially straining himself. Integrating these slaves into Monticello had proven a difficult task fraught with complications. Accommodations had to be made for the new arrivals, and their sheer number seriously diluted the de facto culture that had formed among Monticello's long-term slaves. These organizational troubles made Thomas deeply irritable - which brought Sally to the scar on her arm.

"You cannot take it back."

Each slave on Jefferson's plantation had some role, and though it didn't exist on paper, Sally's role was that of a concubine. Jefferson had grown restless after his wife's death, and so Sally bore two of his children (one deceased), and would soon bear a third. When Thomas was frustrated, he often took it out on Sally. Normally it didn't leave a mark, but there had been an incident in the summer when, in a streak of sadism, Thomas deliberately frightened Sally. There was a struggle culminating in Sally being thrown into the corner of a table, which caused a gash along her arm. Thomas Jefferson's words as he stood over her still rung through her mind:

"You chose this. You cannot take it back."

The worst part was that it was sort of true. Nine years ago, at age fourteen, Sally had been sent to France to deliver Thomas's daughter Mary to his care. While in France, she had learned that it no longer legally acknowledged slavery; she was free to set up residence there as a full person. But the widowed Thomas Jefferson fell into an obsession with Sally - in fact, she was his passed wife's half-sister; their father had had a similar arrangement. So Jefferson pushed, prodded, lied, bribed, and threatened, all to get her specifically to return to America with him. She hadn't liked her options, but still, ever since then she had regretted the one she took.

After Sally's wounding, her despair was clearly visible to all who saw her. Most ignored it, but one of Monticello's new slaves, a bricklayer named Peter, noticed her injury, confronted her about it, and would not leave her alone. When Sally gave in and essentially told Peter her full life story, he seethed with rage and compelled her to repeat it to several others. They began to make plans and recruit others. Even some of the slaves apparently most loyal to the Jeffersons were sympathetic to the complaints. As for Sally - she stayed out of it. She didn't say a word to her master, but she didn't offer any help to the conspirators, either, even though they were ostensibly acting on her behalf. She would remain passive, and wait for events to take their course.

Monticello was burning, now. Tonight was the night. Anything within the mansion that could burn was set ablaze. Thomas Jefferson was paying for his many years of knowing right from wrong but considering himself above the distinction. There was screaming, and there were often gunshots, and each one set Harriet off crying again. Sally was wondering how successful the rebellion was, when several men finally entered her cabin.

In front, there was Peter, Sally's brother. In back, there was the other Peter, the leader of the revolt. Between them, four men marching a tall, unmistakable man in a bloody shirt, with a torn bag over his head.

"What's happened?" asked Sally. She stood up.

"Monticello's burning," said her brother. "Won't be used for anything anymore."

"Is anyone dead?" asked Sally.

"Only Isaac, the blacksmith," said the leader, and then he explained: "He got too close to the overseers, so they were able to stab him through the throat before we started shooting."

"Are all of them dead?" asked Sally.

"Yes, we didn't miss a one," said the leader.

"Someone also killed Mary," said her brother, quietly.

"Not Mary," said Sally. She didn't like how insincere she sounded.

"Enough of that," said the leader. "We brought you the big one. Him." Sally stared at Thomas Jefferson, and noticed long nails embedded in his chest, arms, and legs. He was still breathing, but couldn't walk unassisted.

"Why?" asked Sally.

"We decided it'd be appropriate if you were responsible for ending his wicked little life," said the leader. "Seeing as you're already responsible for our decision to end it."

"I didn't want any part in this..." said Sally. Thomas Jefferson tried to speak, but couldn't through his gag.

"He's going to die either way," said the leader. "That's justice. We just thought that you deserved to do it yourself. Wouldn't it satisfy you? And - no one'll know but us, and no one could torture it out of us. We're free."

"For now," intoned her brother. Peter the leader offered his musket to Sally, who reluctantly accepted it. She clumsily held it; she'd never even used any weapon before, and she was unsure of herself as she handled it. She pushed the long barrel up to Jefferson's forehead, hidden beneath the fur. She turned to her peers for approval, to make sure her posture was correct. They nodded.

"Go ahead," said the leader.

"I'm sorry, Thomas," said Sally, slowly and deliberately. "But you chose this. You cannot take it back."

And so Sally Hemings made her mark on American history.
 
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November 8, 1796
Sam Bunch was a child growing up in Tennessee, the westernmost of the sixteen United States, and the most recently admitted. His father was a farmer whose only serious political concern was the presence of a hostile Indian population in the western region of the state, discouraging would-be homesteaders. Sam’s entire family had been called to join a large crowd, awaiting an important announcement from a well-dressed man. He was deathly serious, but had a certain charisma around him – the entire outdoor assembly’s movement and energy were directed by his power; the same power he used to succeed in politics.

“That’s William Blount,” said Sam’s father. “He’s one of our senators; his family campaigned hard for our statehood.” A hush went through the crowd, as Senator Blount began.

“Good people of Knoxville!” exclaimed Blount. “On the seventeenth of October, a great statesman died. Thomas Jefferson.” Shocked murmurs grew angrier with each word, though they did not overpower Blount’s announcement. “Murdered in a treacherous plot enacted by his own slaves. Those miserable negroes don’t deserve to be compared to wild dogs, let alone law-abiding citizens. Over one hundred slaves successfully conspired to kill thirty five persons, including Thomas Jefferson and his daughter Mary, who’d only just reached eighteen years of age.”

“Thirty five persons,” Blount repeated. “It is perhaps the deadliest slave massacre ever recorded on this continent. Twenty one of the murderers – thankfully including the instigators - were either killed on the scene or captured to be hanged after a short trial. But most of the bastards got away, escaped in the chaos of the blaze they set. This could not be more outrageous if it were the devil spitting in your face!” Blount took a deep breath, and so did much of the crowd. Sam was terrified. Even with his little experience, he knew the world would face more bloodshed before this was over. Sam had absentmindedly wondered on occasion why slave plantations didn’t end up this way. Now, he had his answer: sometimes, they did.

“Now, I know that a lot of you’d been hoping to see Mr. Jefferson elected President of these United States,” continued Blount. “It’s disheartening to be reminded that one unlawful act may be used to prevent a man from ever holding any public office in this life. But rest assured, your electors are well and safe, and they won’t take this lying down and put Adams in charge. So Jefferson’s dead. The electors still have the same interests at heart – your interests – the interests of the men and women of Tennessee! And they will find someone as capable as Jefferson, someone who cares as much about you as Jefferson did, and that man will become the second President! Some Federalists probably laughed when they heard what happened, but they shall come to regret it! William Cocke and I will fight for you in the Senate! Your representative, Andrew Jackson, will fight for you in the House! And when the electors find a replacement for Thomas Jefferson, he’ll fight for you as Commander in Chief!”

The crowd cheered, and Sam contributed wholehearted whoops, his juvenile voice cracking. But a small part of him wondered how much of the hope around him was real.
 
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