There is something to be said for a man who knows how to die well...
Congratulations, Sir Cat! You're the Writer of the Week!
Congratulations, Sir Cat! You're the Writer of the Week!
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Lordling: Thanks! More below.
Fulcrumvale: No. The resulting firestorm wasn't pretty.
Chief Ragusa: No nukes this time. Any explosion/fire that's big enough will create a mushroom cloud. That said, I wanted it to be one of the bookends for this piece. We began with London being destroyed, and ended here.
Abraxas: It's funny. I'll miss it too. I'm already wondering what I'll do with that little empty spot when I'm done here.
Lews Therin: I think you (or someone) asked before. Thank you for the compliment, but no. I liked Jordan well enough. His attention to detail was amazing (though he could be long winded like Tolkien.) I couldn't get through his second book though. It was a little gritty for my tastes.
Director: Thank you!
*******
COMMENTS: I've had Tom's death scene written in my mind for... years. Some of the details changed right up until I sat down and started writing, but I knew I wanted a church and an explosion. I remember being surprised and pleased when I first learned Charleston's armory and church were side by side.
My first inspiration for that piece came from this piece. It's from an Anime called Cowboy Bebop, and is one of the more dramatic scenes I've scene.
I only found inspiration for Black's final speech right before I started writing. Go to this site. Flip through their little slideshow until you reach the eighth picture. For those who don't know, Ceiling Cat and Basement Cat are akin to God and Satan.
Now that you know my secrets, I shall have to have Black visit you.
Fulcrumvale: No. The resulting firestorm wasn't pretty.
Chief Ragusa: No nukes this time. Any explosion/fire that's big enough will create a mushroom cloud. That said, I wanted it to be one of the bookends for this piece. We began with London being destroyed, and ended here.
Abraxas: It's funny. I'll miss it too. I'm already wondering what I'll do with that little empty spot when I'm done here.
Lews Therin: I think you (or someone) asked before. Thank you for the compliment, but no. I liked Jordan well enough. His attention to detail was amazing (though he could be long winded like Tolkien.) I couldn't get through his second book though. It was a little gritty for my tastes.
Director: Thank you!
*******
COMMENTS: I've had Tom's death scene written in my mind for... years. Some of the details changed right up until I sat down and started writing, but I knew I wanted a church and an explosion. I remember being surprised and pleased when I first learned Charleston's armory and church were side by side.
My first inspiration for that piece came from this piece. It's from an Anime called Cowboy Bebop, and is one of the more dramatic scenes I've scene.
I only found inspiration for Black's final speech right before I started writing. Go to this site. Flip through their little slideshow until you reach the eighth picture. For those who don't know, Ceiling Cat and Basement Cat are akin to God and Satan.
Now that you know my secrets, I shall have to have Black visit you.
Epilogue (Part I)
-= 239 =-
June 1786
Charleston, South Carolina
The carriage creaked and swayed as it rolled along the pitted road leading to Charleston. Years of abuse and neglect led to tiny plants shoving cobblestone aside along with missing brick. The gutters on either side, built partially for drainage and so the larger wagons would have something for their wheels to grab onto, were choked with dirt and weeds.
John Preston stared at the desolation following eighteen months of war. Outlying farms lay empty where they weren't scorched, the final stands of multiple rebellions. Trees and animals were slow to come back, but already a few brave saplings lined the torn road promising greater things in years to come.
“Johnny?” Cassie touched his arm. She'd dressed in bright yellow for what would hopefully be a festive occasion with white lace gloves. Their daughter, now a precocious two and likely to cause an international incident just by existing, stayed in Columbia with friends and their new cat, a small black one found starving after Charleston burned.
“It never should have come to this, Cass,” he said, still looking at the devastation. “Damn me if I know how I could have stopped it though.”
Following Black/Moultrie's death, Richard Caswell of North Carolina took over the Federation. If he'd been fully in command he might have stalled the crisis. The remaining Carolina Guard along the Georgia border wouldn't listen however. They knew the northerners invaded, used some infernal device to kill their fellows defending the city, then in the confusion Charleston itself went up in flames. They wanted revenge and invaded...through Virginia.
Governor Henry escaped first to Richmond, then Fredericksburg ahead of the Major Ellis's Carolina Guard while calling on the Americans for help. Ellis broke off pursuit and headed west, hoping to use the roads along the Appalachian frontier to sneak into Maryland and so capture Baltimore and Philadelphia.
Congress, goaded by independent privateers operating out of Charleston and under new leadership, had already massed two armies on the border. The first struck down the Post Road to liberate Richmond and Williamsburg. They would also free Benedict Arnold if he was still there, then march all the way to Charleston. The second army under Benjamin Lincoln would destroy the Guard. Later a third, led by Harry Lee and Colonel Kirkland, seized the Carolina coast.
The Carolinan Rebellion (1785-86)
Lincoln defeated the Guard, chased them into North Carolina and won a decisive victory. Arnold met minimal resistancd on his march and after that it was simply mopping up.
Cassie shook her head. “There was nothing you could do, except remove yourself.”
They did stay out of it, despite repeated calls to take command of the flailing Guard. John spoke repeatedly about reconciliation. As the futility of their cause became more apparent and the naval blockade caused merchants to fail left and right, he won supporters.
John nodded grimly. Six horsemen from the Connecticut First ringed the wagon, both for escort and protection from fanatics. He hated their occupation, hated what it had done to his people. And yet, was it better than anarchy?
The twin forts that once guarded Charleston, now stone husks, came into view. General Arnold hadn't even waited to see if they were occupied. He'd deployed his cannon and spent a day and a half knocking them down before marching into the city proper. By that point the city wasn't capable of organized resistance at all. They were spared the usual horrors only because there was so little left to take.
The wide, empty field where refugees once camped was now filled with army tents. They'd built their own city there relying heavily on naval supplies. This they shared with the civilians grudgingly out of common decency, enslaving them as sure as they'd once done to blacks and Indians. Northern sentiment on the subject won here through brute force. No one formally emancipated them, but if they wanted to try their luck up north then the army would get them there and damn their owners.
“Driver!” He rapped the carriage with his cane. “We'll stop here!”
“Johnny?” Cassie's brow furrowed in confusion. “What's amiss?”
“There's...” Preston shook his head. He didn't want her to see the rest of the city. Pride. Shame. It wasn't to protect her sensibilities: In the end she'd proven tougher than he was. “I...I need to go on alone.”
She studied him for several moments until the door opened, and a Connecticut soldier nodded. “We brought a horse for you, gov'ner!”
“Governor?” John turned, startled. “No, sir. Just me.” He slowly dropped from the wagon and took his cane. “Cassie? I'll see you tonight and explain everything. Hopefully we'll be celebrating.”
She nodded. She didn't understand, but sensed this was important to him. “Hurry.”
He smiled, then grimaced as the soldier brought a horse. His leg never healed right, and mounting... Preston managed on the third try, hissing. The horsemen smiled.
“What's so funny?” he demanded, thrusting his cane into the holster usually reserved for rifles.
“Nothing, sir!”
Mounting hurt, but not as much as a long walk would, and now that he was actually on board... “Then catch me if you can!” He yanked the reins away, kicked the horse with his good leg and bolted down Meeting Street. After several startled seconds, the Nutmegers raced in pursuit.
Little traffic on the streets: The omnipresent soldiers saw to that. This gave John all the room he needed to maneuver. He took his escort on a grand tour through the city, ducking down Queen Street to the docks. He avoided the center of town with its crater where the church once stood. Arnold's army knocked down the neighboring State House as a danger. It survived the firestorm by virtue of being upwind. Much of the rest of Charleston couldn't claim the same, and soon they raced past tiny wooden buildings and shacks.
Too soon, far too soon, the race ended. He pulled up as they reached the one military dock and waited as the soldiers rounded the last turn at a gallop.
“What are you about, sir!?” demanded their leader, somewhere between amazed and furious. He ripped the reins out of John's hands.
“Not bad for a civilian with a bad leg,” Preston smirked.
The horseman's face twisted, then he smiled. “Aye. Now, off with you.”
John dismounted, an even more disagreeable process than mounting in the first place, and huffed silently as another man brought him his cane. He thanked his escort then hobbled towards the waiting cutter.
“Hey, gov'ner!” the lead called.
He turned.
“Good luck!”
*******
The heavy frigate Constitution, flagship of the American navy, floated about half a mile out to sea surrounded by fisherboats, a civilian packet, and several escorts. They helped him up with a boatswain's chair, not unlike a swing, and brought him aboard.
Despite himself, John had to admire their quiet perfection. The cannon brass glowed in the mid-day sun. The wood planking of the deck could have been installed yesterday - not a trace of wear or soil. The officers' uniforms, blue and white of course, were freshly laundered.
“My name is Jones, sir,” said the captain with a bow. “We have...had a mutual acquaintance. General Heyward.”
John nodded, returning the bow. “He once spoke about your rescue. I'm sure he would thank you if he could.”
Jones returned the nod. The last he heard, this was the man who'd killed his fiance. Perhaps, perhaps not. This war and the years before did strange things to otherwise reliable people. “Mister Stark? Would you show the colonel to my cabin? The sooner this business is done, the happier we will all be. Do you agree, sir?”
Preston bowed. Stark, a ten year old midshipman, bounced ahead of him. Excitement did away with discipline and he talked animatedly about the one sea battle of the war. Six ships tried to break the blockade. Four, as well as two Americans, now sat on the ocean floor. The lone Carolinan survivor now took refuge in Savannah.
“Was you at the battle, sir?”
“No,” John said. “This is my first time on a ship.” Not quite true. He'd taken a transport from the siege at St. Augustine to meet up with Cassie in Charleston. True enough though - this was his first warship.
Stark knocked at the cabin door. A familiar face answered the door and Preston instinctively saluted. “Sir!”
Benjamin Lincoln smiled, as if party to a private joke. “Colonel.”
“I didn't expect to see you.”
Lincoln turned to the boy. “Compliments to your captain, and thank him again for the use of his cabin. We will send word if we are at need.” To John: “I arranged this meeting. Did you think I'd miss it?” He opened the door wider.
The main part of the cabin consisted of a wide, low table currently empty except for a pot of coffee and three cups. A single American marine took it upon himself to stand guard against one wall. A dignified man with an aristocratic air sat at the table.
“Mister President? May I present John Preston?”
Alexander Hamilton, President of the United States (1785-)
Hamilton didn't rise, but he nodded civilly and indicated a chair. “Please sit, Colonel. That looks uncomfortable.”
It was. The rocking of the boat, even at anchor, meant he had to constantly shift his weight. His right leg didn't like that. “Thank you.” He limped to the offered seat. Lincoln sat between them.
Pleasant civilities. Congratulations on your election, thank you very much. I understand you have a daughter, she's very well. Then, over their second cup of coffee, Hamilton got down to business.
“I understand you have authority to speak for the Federation?”
John leaned back and stretched his leg. Better. “I have agreement from most of the leading citizens of both South and North Carolina,” he said. “I've also been in contact with mayors and aldermen from the major towns in both states. There is no Assembly to speak of, of course, but it's safe to say I have their full support.”
“What I don't understand is why I'm here,” Hamilton said. “Similarly I have authority from Congress to address this conflict...but so does General Arnold, and he's been here all along.”
“General Arnold,” John began. He started, then mastered himself and emptied his cup. After filling it again he continued. “General Arnold's suggested terms are unreasonably harsh. They cannot be agreed to. No man with any pride in him can stomach them.”
Arnold took his job as occupying governor seriously. Resistance was met with deadly force, which in itself wasn't unreasonable. Farm buildings, hangings, searching and confiscating property on weak prospects: Those took some explaining. His terms included a long term military occupation “until order is restored,” the merging of South and North Carolina (“birds of a feather”) which would limit their voice in a future Congress, and the arrest of anyone associated with the 'rebellion.' Officers would be hung, while enlisted men would be barred from public service, voting or owning property.
“I've discussed his terms with him,” Hamilton said. “I can see why your principals would feel this way. It must be said, however, that even after taking control and restoring order we've met with armed, albeit isolated, resistance.”
“They want to be free,” John replied. “The Articles...”
“Are null and void.”
“Yes, but they granted each state sovereignty over their own affairs. This is all we want. Governors Moultrie and Caswell made unfortunate decisions. I cannot answer for Major Ellis: He did not strike me as a vengeful man and I suspect he was pushed into invading. None of them spoke for the entire populace. Almost everyone I've spoke with want to return to the union ... as equal states however, not occupied territories.”
“Almost everyone,” Hamilton returned.
“Old feelings die hard. The sooner we can build a lasting peace, the sooner it will fade.”
Hamilton glanced at Lincoln, who nodded. “Very well. What do you consider a lasting peace?”
“North and South Carolina be allowed to reconvene assemblies. The assemblies will vote to return to the union, and Congress will accept. I understand the need to maintain security, and a minimal garrison is probably a good idea while we rebuild. However, most of the army, including General Arnold, needs to go home.”
“We have it in mind to maintain a large force in South Carolina regardless, in case of British mischief,” Hamilton replied.
“That can be discussed,” John replied. His third cup done, he reached for the pot. Empty. “We're no more anxious for British troops marching through Charleston than General Arnold's.”
“Very well. So far there's nothing I can't answer for,” Hamilton noted. “Now our terms. We will forgive the enlisted men, of course. The officers as well, provided they sign statements professing loyalty to the United States and swear not to take up arms against her again.”
“That is...”
“Not negotiable.”
John stared at him. “What else?”
“There will be no effort to recover property lost during this campaign,” Hamilton said.
“You mean the slaves.”
“Yes.”
John grimaced. That would be harder to push through, but realistically what chance did anyone have of recovery anyway? “Anything else?”
Lincoln spoke: “I think we understand you can't answer for those still taking up arms in the hills, Colonel. However, as the Carolinas regain political strength and the ability to take care of itself, we expect unqualified help dealing with them.”
“I'm sure they will fade away.” Most of them would, anyway. As for those last few holdouts, the Carolina governments would have as much to lose as the northerners. “Alright.”
“Then we're agreed.” Hamilton nodded to the general. “Ben, I will appoint you governor of the Carolina district.” He held up his hand against John's protests. “Your term will last only long enough to ensure fair assembly elections, and that basic security has been restored. After that, and once they've elected their own men to take over as governors, you can come home.”
Lincoln nodded.
To John: “Your duty will be more difficult, I fear. Since you seem to be in contact with the important men of this area, then you will need to help them organize and prepare for elections.”
Preston nodded as well, slowly. “I can do that.”
Hamilton turned to the marine. “Send for my servant. Tell him I asked for the wine.” He smiled at the others. “We must drink to our new friendship!”
Carolina Federation (1784-86) (Defeated)
A fair end to a rancorous dispute. The middle and northern states will be wise to let the Carolinas be reconciled with as little vengeance as possible. I suspect that any 'holdouts' in the hills will find that Preston is not a man to argue with, bad leg or no. Here's hoping they take good care of that kitten.
There remains of course the situation of Georgia... but given the American ability to co-exist with Canada, co-existence with a Georgia-Florida crown colony is not unthinkable. In our history, Alabama and Mississippi were largely settled from Georgia and the Carolinas. Here it is more likely the population will derive from Pennsylvania/Virginia, giving the Deep South a Kentucky/Tennessee culture. Overall, I can find a lot to like about that.
The election of Hamilton is very interesting, especially so since he was one of the better financial minds of the founders. Just don't tell me Aaron Burr was his vice-president.
Wow. Peace at last... and an end to the Articles of Confederation, which gives some hope for a more permanent Union. I'll drink to that!
There remains of course the situation of Georgia... but given the American ability to co-exist with Canada, co-existence with a Georgia-Florida crown colony is not unthinkable. In our history, Alabama and Mississippi were largely settled from Georgia and the Carolinas. Here it is more likely the population will derive from Pennsylvania/Virginia, giving the Deep South a Kentucky/Tennessee culture. Overall, I can find a lot to like about that.
The election of Hamilton is very interesting, especially so since he was one of the better financial minds of the founders. Just don't tell me Aaron Burr was his vice-president.
Wow. Peace at last... and an end to the Articles of Confederation, which gives some hope for a more permanent Union. I'll drink to that!
There are some British provinces in the Quebecois , the French speakers in the rest of American Quebec and the Indians that pose threats of one kind or another. The Blacks moving north may find a less han hospitable reception. They may retreat west to found their own state(s).
There's no reason British settlers from Georgia couldn't settle Alabama and Mississippi. Nor that the Carolinas wouldn't suffer a population explosion. A lot of the major slave owning landlords are going to have gone out of business. There are going to a lot of small cotton farmers who will grow rich. First have large families who don't need to be paid to work - at first - and later employing townsfolk as seasonal pickers.
Whatever Articles are eventualy adopted, a clause prohibiting North and South Carolinas from ever uniting will be in there.
Preston's got his work cut out. Replanting all those trees that were destroyed. Rebuilding two states devastated by ideology and war will take a little longer. I suspect Arnold will settle in North Carolina along with a cadre of officers and men and form that State's political elite. The South will be left to John.
As for the Heyward in that future 1945, what will he be doing? 12 years down the line will he have an eleven year old learning about the American plan to rebuild Europe after WWII and learning about the rebuilding of the Carolinas ...
"Dad, dad, theres this living History project about Gov Preston and how he save the Carlonas. I'd love to meet him and his family. Could we go, dad, please, please. Please dad."
"We'd need genuine clothing, son..."
There's no reason British settlers from Georgia couldn't settle Alabama and Mississippi. Nor that the Carolinas wouldn't suffer a population explosion. A lot of the major slave owning landlords are going to have gone out of business. There are going to a lot of small cotton farmers who will grow rich. First have large families who don't need to be paid to work - at first - and later employing townsfolk as seasonal pickers.
Whatever Articles are eventualy adopted, a clause prohibiting North and South Carolinas from ever uniting will be in there.
Preston's got his work cut out. Replanting all those trees that were destroyed. Rebuilding two states devastated by ideology and war will take a little longer. I suspect Arnold will settle in North Carolina along with a cadre of officers and men and form that State's political elite. The South will be left to John.
As for the Heyward in that future 1945, what will he be doing? 12 years down the line will he have an eleven year old learning about the American plan to rebuild Europe after WWII and learning about the rebuilding of the Carolinas ...
"Dad, dad, theres this living History project about Gov Preston and how he save the Carlonas. I'd love to meet him and his family. Could we go, dad, please, please. Please dad."
"We'd need genuine clothing, son..."
Director: I'm going to assume (hope) this US is wise enough to know that seeking vengeance is only going to cause problems. John is not someone to mess with, though he still needs a few lessons in diplomacy before he reaches his full potential.
As for British Georgia, as you say I think America can learn to deal with them without too much rancor.
Chief: The rural part of the Carolinas will recover in time. Not giving back the present slaves just rebalances the playing field between large and small plantations. They can still get more. Charleston will take longer though.
Arnold settling in North Carolina is an interesting idea. I imagine they'd hate his guts....but Arnold doesn't strike me as the type of man to give a crap.
As for British Georgia, as you say I think America can learn to deal with them without too much rancor.
Chief: The rural part of the Carolinas will recover in time. Not giving back the present slaves just rebalances the playing field between large and small plantations. They can still get more. Charleston will take longer though.
Arnold settling in North Carolina is an interesting idea. I imagine they'd hate his guts....but Arnold doesn't strike me as the type of man to give a crap.
EPILOGUE, Part II
-= 240 =-
January 1946
South Carolina
“Tommy! Wake up!” Jessica Heyward put her fists on her hips and glared down at her new husband.
“What!?” He leapt straight out of a nightmare. A moment to recognize her, then he groaned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“Are you alright?” Jess stood about 5'4”, with curly brown hair and bright emerald eyes. She wore a traveling dress, cotton dyed the color of her eyes with a white sash. As usual she wore just a little too much makeup, the price of being a moderately successful singer and so always being in the spotlight.
“I'm fine,” he muttered. He didn't like worrying her with his dreams.
She frowned. “We're about to dock!”
“Already?” Yes. In the time he dozed on the deck of the passenger ship Queen Anne II the sun moved halfway through the sky. Most passengers were below, no doubt packing, while sailors dressed in midnight blue walked back and forth in small groups making sure all was secure. Ahead lay a small city with shipping to the right, factories belching smoke in the left, and a strange bald spot in the center.
Tom catapulted out of his chair and stared at the city he'd only seen in pictures, the occasional news reels, and barely remembered dreams. Yes, exactly as he pictured it. The port authority sent out a small black, blue and red pilot craft to help them navigate the tricky banks leading to the docks.
Jess watched her husband with pursed lips. She knew the American Insurrection and the years afterward fascinated him. He'd earned a degree in history, though didn't seem quite sure what to do with it. He didn't want to teach or give lectures.
He did want to see America, so when her career offered the opportunity they'd jumped at the chance. Savannah, Georgia (a Commonwealth member) enjoyed two theater houses and a concert hall. They'd spend the day here, then catch an overnight train to arrive in Georgia early tomorrow.
“Sir? Madam?” An officer removed his hat and nodded respectfully. “I apologize for any inconvenience, but we need the deck clear. Please pack your belongings if you haven't already, and we'll announce when we're ready to debark.”
Debarking proved remarkably easy. Two more 'misunderstandings' followed Carolina's fall, but by the 1830s Britain and America were fast friends. They'd dealt with French monarchists, prevented Prussia from running them into the ground in 1870, stabilized China in 1900, ended the Great War in 1915 before things could turn truly ugly, and fought a different kind of war to pull each other out of a worldwide depression in the 1930s. A polite man with a mustache wider than his face glanced at the Union Jack on their passports, stamped them and waved them through.
“Well?” Jess asked, once they were through. She slipped her hand under his arm and looked at the bustling dockside. Next to them laborers worked to unload a freighter from the Indian Nations. “Where to?”
Tom looked around. It all seemed so...familiar. Well, he'd studied the city enough. He probably knew the layout better than most locals. “Do you need to freshen up? No? Then there's Liberty Park straight ahead. There are some statues and such there. That's where Governor Moultrie was killed when St. Michael's Church exploded.”
She'd heard of that, simply because it was so sudden and violent that it bore mention next to the annihilation of the Russian army in 1795 by Polish irregulars as a moment when history turned 'on a dime' as the Americans would put it. “Swamp gas and a spark lit the gunpowder, right?”
He nodded as they walked past men with heavy coats and fedoras and women wearing coats with scarfs and hats holding their hair at bay. By South Carolina standards it was a cold day, though Tom was sweating. “That's what most scholars think. I don't know though. Remember there was an American regiment attacking the city. It sounds more like sabotage to me.” Though, for some reason, that didn't sound right either.
Jess shrugged. 160 year old mysteries didn't excite her. The latest fashions from Philadelphia did, and she stared longingly at a shop window. “We need to make a stop on the way back!”
He followed her gaze and sighed. Dresses did not excite him. “Yes, dear.”
No one ever built anything in the center of Charleston after the fire. The city remained underpopulated for decades and simply didn't need the land. By the time it might have proven useful, the days of fortified cities were over and the Carolinans simply grew outward. Guides in the blue and white of the eighteenth century American army and the black and red of Carolina's milled about ready to answer questions of the many folk passing through. Something about the latter gave Tom a shiver, and he jumped when he saw their armband.
“What's wrong?” Jess asked, squeezing his arm.
“Nothing.”
“Then stop glaring at the man!” The 'Carolinan,' sensing his animosity, looked up and raised both brows in a question.
Tom tore his gaze away. “Sorry. I guess I remember...” He grit his teeth.
“Your bad dream?”
He stared at her. “How did you....?”
“I sleep with you, dear.” His having bad dreams didn't bother her. His having the same bad dream did, but whenever she tried to get him to talk about it.... “You pay too much attention to that time period and not enough to our own,” she scolded gently.
He grimaced at her. “Let's walk around.”
She frowned. “Okay.”
“And I pay plenty of attention to our time. I married the most beautiful woman in it, didn't I?”
“Smooth,” she replied dryly. Jess flushed nonetheless, pleased. “Though I think if one of these women came to you displaying Colonial manners you would be smitten!”
“I doubt that.”
“So do I.” She leaned against his shoulder. He might have a strange obsession, but he was loyal and took as good care of her as he could.
They stopped at a statue of a man on horseback, an American cavalryman with sabre raised high.
“Jonathan Preston,” Jess read. “1758-1821, Governor of South Carolina 1790-1806. Largely credited with restoring order following the Carolinan rebellion, and is the only man to have served four terms as governor. Quoted upon leaving office as saying that in a democracy, it's a citizen's duty to constantly question.”
“That sounds like him,” Tom said. He'd studied the man of course. Wife, two children. The boy served as a general in the Mexican campaign, the girl helped set up and run the first modern mental health facility in America with her husband. Still, beyond his books, he felt like he knew John. His face, etched in stone, looked almost as familiar as his own. How?
Jess gave him a strange look. They continued walking along the cobblestone pathways amid grass and heavy set sycamore trees. One tree, taller and prouder than the rest, stood allegedly on the spot where the old Liberty Tree stood in front of the shattered church all those years ago. The ground here still shifted underfoot and dropped in elevation several feet, as if the scars of two centuries ago were still healing.
Next to it read a lurid description of that hellish night in December from the Beaufort press. Once you got past the anti-American rhetoric they reported demons in the sky, flaming cats, and of course the mutual annihilation of the Carolina Guard and Third New York by some sort of gas poisoning. Under that:
Modern scientists believe that the soldiers died due to extremely high levels of methane. Swamp gas occasionally leaks into the city even today. Back then there were no means of controlling this. High doses of methane can induce paralysis, breathing spasms and death as survivors reported.
Lower doses of methane can cause hallucinations. Further, other chemicals in 'swamp gas' are flammable and would explain why the church exploded without apparent cause.
“That's not what happened.”
“What do you mean?”.
Tom shook his head. He'd heard the explanation before. He didn't buy it then either. It just felt.... wrong. “I don't think that's right.”
“Well, maybe someday you will write your paper explaining what really happened,” Jess replied, smiling.
“Maybe.”
They sat on a bench under the sycamore watching the crowd pass back and forth.
“Sometimes Tommy, I think you think you've been here,” she said. “You have quite an imagination, dear. Do something with it! Take that with how much you love history? Maybe you should try writing.” She grinned. “Make it a lurid tale about how a demon tricked the Carolinans into...”
“Fallen angel.”
“Pardon?”
Tom opened his mouth, then paused. Where did that come from? “I....maybe instead of a demon it can be a fallen angel. Make it all biblical.”
Her smile faltered. “You sound so serious.”
“Sorry, love.” He stood. Something bothered him. “Will you be alright for a minute? I want to take a turn, then we can go.”
She nodded rapidly. “Okay. Hurry back!”
Heyward walked down one of the paths. He didn't know why he chose it, or even why he left his wife behind for that matter, but Tom felt something.
He found it a few minutes later. A simple plaque on one of the lampposts:
“THOMAS HEYWARD, JR. (1746-1784?)
Congressman, S.C , General, U.S.A.
At his death General Heyward was considered a criminal in the Carolinas for attempting to kill Governor Rutledge and conspiring with Great Britain, and wanted in Philadelphia for leaving custody. He headed south, pursued by the Third New York cavalry which believed he planned to assassinate Governor Moultrie. In 1797 Governor John Preston exonerated Heyward, saying that no evidence was ever found linking him to either attempted murder or treason. He added that if Heyward was in Charleston at the time of the fire, he must assume it was in an effort to clear his name. Regardless, General Heyward was never seen again and is presumed to have died in the fire.”
The half remembered nightmares flooded back in full detail, from London destroyed by German weapons, to combating Rutledge and Black for so many years, to final mutual annihilation. It matched the plaque perfectly, which meant....
“It wasn't a dream.”
“What wasn't, Tommy?”
He turned. Jess stood there, looking beautiful. Somewhere she'd bought a parasol which she span nervously. “Are you okay?”
“I'm fine,” he began. “I.....” He felt great, like a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “There's just something I needed to see.”
“What?” She tried to look past him, but he blocked her.
Tom shook his head. “It's not important.” He knew what the nightmare meant now, and so it lost its power to bother or frighten him. He hadn't done half bad all things considered, it was all in the past anyway, and he had an exciting new life to lead. Hopefully sans fallen angels or having to save the world.
He kissed her and smiled. “I'm alright now. Let's go find your shop.”
*******
October 2008
Ohio
At a little after two in the morning on the last day of October, a tired writer put the finishing touches on what, at least to this point in his life, was his masterpiece.
Four years, five months and one day before, the self proclaimed 'CatKnight' had a few less silvery-grey hairs and a few less scars both emotionally and physically. He'd moved four times since then, had one operation and two other hospital stays. The woman he loved at the time had faded to join the rest of a melancholy, unlucky past.
During all these struggles however, and despite numerous absences, the tale continued to tease and beckon in the back of Cat's mind. At one point he despaired of it ever ending, and more than once called it the “AAR that wouldn't die.” He never told anyone, but a secret, superstitious part of him thought the story might outlive him or that, failing that, the two were inextricably linked and the end of one would finish the other.
Well, as of that final day, both were still alive and well.
Cat paused as he wrote the final part of Tom Heyward's story. He'd initially envisioned Heyward as 'himself' transported back through time. This diverged as the story grew stranger and stranger but, just as the beginning and ending of his story ended in fire, so the beginning and ending reflect the writer's condition as well.
In pagan traditions, this was Samhain, a/k/a All Hallow's Eve. Not only a time to remember the dead, it is also a time to celebrate endings and new beginnings. In the past few months, Cat married someone he wanted to spend his life with, and found a new job that promised, in time, great things.
Like Tom, his old world of self doubt, occasional madness, loneliness and wandering was slowly coming to an end. He knew where he belonged now, and if that meant working out a few kinks first, such is life.
Like Cat's, his new world looked bright indeed.
And so, with just a little pang of dread, of wondering whether he can ever top this work, or whether he will be able to find something in his imagination to write about at all, Cat wrote down the two words each author secretly both relishes and fears.
THE END
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Well congratulations to both you and Thomas Heyward. After such a long journey, and a nice round figure of 240 chapters, you can both retire. Leave the work to us, I hope to read through it all one day. The EU2 forums won't be the same without this on the front page. Well Done.
I need to catch up to your final posts, CatKnight but I wanted to make sure and mark this occasion by saying what an amazing ride this AAR has been! It took some time to complete, but often times the best do. A mighty congratulations on a job magnificantly well done and thank you for giving us your time and this story over these years. It has indeed been our pleasure!
Cheers to Four years of blood, sweat, and a great writers toil! Fantastic story CatKnight, any plans for what to do next?
Four years. This AAR is an institution now.
It’s like seeing an old oak fall down…
It’s like seeing an old oak fall down…
Happy Halloween! And here's to you and yours...
There IS a life after 'The End' you know. The fastest way to recover is to dabble in another project, preferably something light and easy.
The hardest part, I fear to tell you, lies ahead: the moment when this work is mentioned and a forumite says, 'What? Never heard of it.'
But that too shall pass; you are not a man with only one work in him.
Congratulations... and thank you. It's been a pleasure.
There IS a life after 'The End' you know. The fastest way to recover is to dabble in another project, preferably something light and easy.
The hardest part, I fear to tell you, lies ahead: the moment when this work is mentioned and a forumite says, 'What? Never heard of it.'
But that too shall pass; you are not a man with only one work in him.
Congratulations... and thank you. It's been a pleasure.
Congratulations for getting all this together and Thank You for all the countless fantastic hours I've spent reading Resurrection and checking the forum in hope of updates!
Hard work has paid off for both you and Tom and I can only hope the future will be as bright for you as it is for him. After years of hard work he got everything that he had been fighting for, must be a pleasant feeling, especially now that he finally knows he's not crazy.
And it's nice to see John whom we first met as a young and hot-headed boy eventually became not just a great military leader but also a wise statesman who was able to lead his state from destruction to reconstruction (or should I say resurrection?)
It has been a truly wonderful read, inspiring in several respects.
Hard work has paid off for both you and Tom and I can only hope the future will be as bright for you as it is for him. After years of hard work he got everything that he had been fighting for, must be a pleasant feeling, especially now that he finally knows he's not crazy.
And it's nice to see John whom we first met as a young and hot-headed boy eventually became not just a great military leader but also a wise statesman who was able to lead his state from destruction to reconstruction (or should I say resurrection?)
It has been a truly wonderful read, inspiring in several respects.
CatKnight: ...As for British Georgia, as you say I think America can learn to deal with them without too much rancor.
personally, i suspect that when Canada achieves (National) freedom, that Georgia (and Florida?) would likewise be interested in freedom from direct rule. also, by that time, trade and immigration would certainly make it possible for them to unite with their Northern Neighbors...
CatKnight: ...Cat wrote down the two words each author secretly both relishes and fears:
THE END
not to mention, each reader ! ! ::wipes away tears::
magnificent ! !
personally, i suspect that when Canada achieves (National) freedom, that Georgia (and Florida?) would likewise be interested in freedom from direct rule. also, by that time, trade and immigration would certainly make it possible for them to unite with their Northern Neighbors...
CatKnight: ...Cat wrote down the two words each author secretly both relishes and fears:
THE END
not to mention, each reader ! ! ::wipes away tears::
magnificent ! !
Sniff...
Excellent work and congratulations on finally finishing! Here's hoping your life will be as bright as the future you are looking forward to.
I'm glad I chose to catch up on this one first after my absence.
Thanks for all the hard work and let us know when you plan to start your next project!
TheExecuter
Excellent work and congratulations on finally finishing! Here's hoping your life will be as bright as the future you are looking forward to.
I'm glad I chose to catch up on this one first after my absence.
Thanks for all the hard work and let us know when you plan to start your next project!
TheExecuter
Excellent, CatKnight! Finally read the last words of the AAR and they were powerful. What a finale! Still trying to digest all that happened and piece it all together, but let us simply say above all - a masterpiece of this place we call AARland. Your work is among the best ever written here and allow me to say once more what a pleasure it was for you to have offered it to us. Thank you and congrats once again on finishing.
As for life after the end...as Director said, the cure is starting anew. Let's hope we see something soon.
As for life after the end...as Director said, the cure is starting anew.
Let's hope we see something soon.
Wow, really cool finish. I can't believe it's over, this AAR has been running longer than I've been on the forum! Congrats on completing this epic, hopefully we'll see another from you at some point.
By God! I've spent the last three weeks (intermittenly, of course) reading this AAR. What a Hell of an AAR, and congrats! I liked the author's note especially at the end. Thank you. You and your work are an honor to AARland and Paradox itself.
Utterly amazing. I may have to sit down one day and reread it from beginning to end. It's really that good. Congratulations, CatKnight.