The Burrrrrning of a Nation

A half-torn letter was found in the dark recesses of a dusty bookshelf in The Library of Congress in Washington, D.C. The letter was written by Alexander Hamilton, who ran as vice-president to Thomas Jefferson in the election of 1800, and later ran for the governorship of New York in 1804. The letter seems to be written during the election of 1800, write before the final results were drawn up.

February 11th, 1800

Ah… this is most interesting. Here I am, running as Jefferson’s running mate for President, and not a few days into the voting have I been informed that there is a tie between me and Jefferson! Apparently, the Electoral College is divided evenly over who is the best pick for President for the Republican Party. Hmm… I’m most uncertain as to what to do in this predicament. If I run against Jefferson, I’d look like an ambitious hog hungry for power—and I must that say that I wouldn’t wholly disagree with that statement, no matter how cruelly put—and if I don’t I would be disappointing and shaming all those respected electors who were wise enough to see that I have what it takes to lead this country. But no matter what path I choose, I’d have to deal with that hot-headed bastard Alexander Hamilton! It’s common knowledge that that Washington’s wench would rather pick Satan himself than I for president. His slandering of my good name will hurt any chances that I have for becoming president—should I chose to run against Jefferson. Hmm… I’m most compelled to run against Jefferson now. The more I think of it, the more I feel that I’m destined to become president. What can that tobacco mongering Virginian do for this country anyway? He envisions an America of farms and prairies; not of an America of industry and business and commerce—an America which is destined to expand throughout the world. I sometimes even fancy a separate nation; one situated in the heartland of North America, and one that shall stretch from the Yellow River in China to the Pillars of Hercules in Spain; the whole stretch of the world round and back. But those are but silly fancies… for now. Hamilton expresses this same view and has even argued with Jefferson over this many times; Jefferson hates him as much as I do just because of his stance on this issue, but, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Hamilton is right: this nation’s future is at stake. We can’t leave it in the hands of some slave-whipping, tobacco hung Southerner; oh, No, we can’t. Only those with the ideal vision for the future, the insight that this nation’s destined for much, much more can truly lead it to success. Well, to ensure this, I have finally taken it upon myself to run against Jefferson; Yes… my mind has been made up. To prevent a greater evil from hatching, I must go forth and smash its egg—and this, I shall do as President of the United States! And if I can’t, I might actually give some serious consideration to that separate nation idea…it does excite me so.

February 17^th, 1800

            Oh, what travesty! I lost! I LOST!!! That too after 36 Ballots!!! Oh, misfortune hath stricken me a cruel blow this day… How am I to ever face Jefferson now? How can I even look him in the eyes after this? Tis’ pretty clear that he will consider me a vile traitor and schemer from now on; but no matter. As his Vice President, there is little sway I hold in any matters to begin with. But this may be worse. I MUST save my political career somehow… and if it weren’t for that low-life conniving crook Hamiltion!! Maybe… just maybe I would’ve won. I will see to it that he will pay for this… with his life. I shall challenge him to a pistol duel; let’s see if he’ll face me like a man!! But it may be in my best interests to not jump to this action with such haste; my political influence plunged with this defeat, and I think it is best If I lay low for some time. After that, I’ll see to it that I exact my revenge on that vile rat Hamilton…

* Letter Ends Here*

 Burr does end up challenging Hamilton to a duel in 1804, right when both men were running for the governorship of NY. Hamilton accepts Burr's challenge, but ends up being fatally shot in the hip and through his liver and spine. Hamilton dies in a local hospital, while Burr runs away to South Carolina and lays low there for quite some time, and resumes his duties as Vice President. All charges against him were eventually dropped. Burr ends up following through with his crazy idea to create a separate nation in the South-western half of the U.S., bribing major U.S. generals and rallying a whole horde of farmers to take up his cause. Jefferson found out about Burr's plot, and had his arrested and brought to the Supreme Court to be tried for treason. The court found him innocent as they couldn't find any "proof" that he was indeed conspiring against the U.S. Burr was forever shunned by his fellow colleauges in the political arena, and he died a sad and lonely death. What a Burrn for him.

Abigail Adams's Diary

Hey guys, I'm still rolling with this historical letter theme, but want to quit it soon and move on to something else maybe (that is AP US suddenly becomes less interesting, which I doubt it will). This time, I'm writing from the perspective of Abigail Adams, John Adam's wife, and how she views the events crucial during her husband's presidency.

February 10^th, 1796

          He won! HE WON! By Heaven’s grace, my husband has won! He is now the President of the United States! I always knew that my John John – ahem, John, would be president someday. He was always grumbly about being Vice-president to Washington, and being second-in-command and all and all that other nonsense (he claims that he lost because unlike Washington, he has ne’ry a hair on his scalp, thus bearing resemblance to a shiny egg for a head). My, the excuses that men make!  Anyways, as a victory celebration, I chose to forgo the usual, but still appetizing delight of meatloaf and garlic paste, and serve instead a grandeur meal of meatloaf, garlic paste, and a dash of liver onions! Oh, I can imagine his positively beaming face right now! At any rate, we are to move into the newly built President’s House in a few months’ time (not the White House, you know, which won’t be built until after the President’s House is burnt down by the British in 1814 as a result of British military provocations, thus bringing about a whole new war sure to ravage the American landscape and how am I supposed to know this?!?!?!)  Heh Heh… please do discount that most disturbing thought. Still, I do expect a life of luxury at its peak; after all, we are the First Couple now, are we not? Heh, I’d love to see the looks of all the other gals at the parlour after having to address me as “Lady Adams”. But the more pressing matter at hand is the fact that Jefferson is now the vice-president – how on Earth are two political rivals supposed to work together? Oh well, seeing as how much I know both John and Tom, they can settle things over a cup of my homemade tea!

         

January 8^th, 1798

          Oh, things do seem most distasteful as of yet. My husband is now faced with the threat of war with France over our cancelling of the military alliance between us and declaring neutrality in the war between Britain and France. French ships are marauding American merchant vessels and plundering their cargo – their nerve! And to think that we just ended a similar confrontation with Britain, and that we had to make a secret treaty with the British so as to not anger the French! To make things worse my husband has passed a series of laws called The Alien and Sedition Acts. Though meant to target foreign enemies within the country and potential saboteurs, my husband is using it as a ploy to silence all critics of the Federalist party—his party—and as predicted, Jefferson branded the laws as unconstitutional and called John a stark-raving mad dog! Hard-lined resistance—even revolt—against these laws seem imminent, and if not removed, it may endanger my husband’s chances at re-election… oh my; if he loses the next election, that means no more of the presidential luxuries, which mean no more pride among the ladies, and that means self-ruin and degradation, and—NO! I would not have it! I’ll have him re-elected… even if it means circle around disparaging rumors, slit a few throats, poison a few drinks, and as a last resort, to*ahem* removing potential hostilities with said-graceful lady charms. Oh, how helpless a man is without a woman’s backing…

         

                                                                             Abigail Adams

                                                                            

Martin Luther: A day in the life

Hey guys. This is something I've been holding onto since 9th grade when we were learning about the reformation. It reminded me of how fun world studies was, and to try and bring back that old spirit, I'm posting it here. I once again tried to sound all fashioned and all, and trying to sound like the character in the context of their times. Wanted to employ a bit of humor into this, but find many opportunities. Hope you guys enjoy it anyway:

GUTENBURG TIMES:

LOST LETTER OF LUTHER FOUND

Retrieved by Meister Sid Nair

                                                                                                                   16^thApril,1521

            God save me… the dark day has come. His majesty Charles V has called me to the Imperial Diet of Worms.  I fear the worst, for the Emperor wouldn’t seek out for a lowly monk such as my self without motive. The formal invitation to the Diet is what makes me more suspicious… a courtly invitation for a monk such as I? I fear my past debate with Johann Eck has spread a fire of unrest among the land. Eck, being a fierce defender for the corrupted Church, has brought me to a stalemate in the debate by comparing my actions to that of the heretic Jan Hus of bohemia. I fear it is only a matter of time before the Church condemns me as heretic. Oh God! Why art thy godly representatives on Earth so malignantly ignorant? Is the Church corrupted to the point where they shall deny the wrong in their actions? Is his supposed “holiness” who resides in the grandeur of Rome so quick to get rid of me? All that I wished for was a reform; a chance for which the one and only true Church can purify itself of its un-godly practices. If I am to be present before the Diet so urgently, will the emperor resort to cancel his formal invitation to me and just have his guards drag me before the court? Will I be denied of hospitality as well? Woe betides for any who speaks out against the Church… even if they speak out, with only the noblest intentions at heart. I fear that much may happen on this dark day, and my life will change because of it. If a stranger is to read this hastily writ letter, I only pray that he or she will only judge me after reviewing my teachings with an open and considerate mind… for I fear the Church will not.

P.S.: If abbot Schleiner is reading this, I have your frankfurter. Sorry for stealing you lunch.

Deus servo mihi - God save me,

                                          Martin Luther

The Lost Letter of King George III

Being influenced by A.P. U.S. History, I decided to write a letter describing a crucial moment in American History through the eyes of King George III of England. I tried to sound a bit more old-fashioned than I usually am; and a bit more humorish. Hope you guys like it! :

*Historians have found private letters written by King George III during the American Revolution:

December 16^th, 1773

        Oh, those horrid Americans! What poor subjects they make for a fine King such as me. After all that I and my forefathers have done to protect them in their new world; after all that I’ve done to increase their prosperity; after all that I’ve done to better advance them towards English civilization and culture- this is how they repay me?!  By dumping all of England’s precious tea into the Boston Harbour??!!! Tea is meant to be drunk; not meant to be thrown over like used toilet paper!  I can’t fathom their nerve! All that I’ve done is impose a few taxes that ALL British subjects, both in England and abroad, have to pay; and it’s not like it’s anything new… most of the taxes that I now enforce are centuries old! And even back then they resisted to follow with standard British trade regulations and customs. And these wretched fiends should be thankful that the East India Trading Company decided to lower the price of tea.  But now, things are getting worse. They’re now tarring-and-feathering my poor tax-collectors! God’s wounds, that’s a punishment to be endured…. to have hot tar bathe your skin and have feathers stick to your skin like pricky needles. Also, they’re starting to send in petty petitions to me requesting that I repeal the taxes; hah! I would’ve half considered them had they known how to write properly like proper Englishmen! For their blatant display of insolence and rebellion, the Boston Port is to be hitherfore closed until further notice, and Boston is now to be garrisoned by British troops, and under the command of General Gage. That should quell their rebellious spirit for some time. And If I weren’t such a good King, I’d say that they’ll soon declare Independence and cut off all ties from Britian.. hah… but they won’t do that…will they?

July 4^th, 1776: 

 Holy Mother and Child! Those American twits finally did what I feared the most; declaring independence! My courtiers ran in with a piece of parchment written in fine-ink named “The Declaration of Independence”; signed by all the moronic heads of their so called “Continental Congress”. But I say, what neat penmanship! The words used in this document implies that there are at least some learned men among those uncultured heathens. But are they stark-raving mad?! Do they really believe that they have the slightest chance of surviving on their own? Without Britian’s aid and my rule to guide them? Bah!.. and to think that they’re requesting the aid of France in their struggle. Oh, the French; those pompous, makeup-wearing, mustache twirling, snail eaters! To think that I’m at war with them, and now have to deal with petty rebels at the same time. For this vile act of betrayal, I’m sending all domestic forces to the New World immediately to crush this petty resistance; that’ll make them rue the day they chose to stand up against Britain. And as for the French, I shall see to it that are defeated once more; and- - ooh, time for tea and crumpets!

* Letter ends here. No further entries are listed; historians can only assume for certian that King George had a wonderful time sipping tea and eating crumpets.

Blackbeard's Journal

The long lost journal of Blackbeard the Pirate washed up on shore on a deserted island, where a stranded sailor just happened to find it. Instead of trying to find a way to signal a passing ship or find food and water to survive, he instead got deep into reading the journal. Poor sap. Well, let's read it then:


June 2^nd, 1717

 

Arrgh! What spicy rum, be that! Castilian-distilled, if I be right. The murky air inside the hull be damp enough (and pungent) to knock a man right of his senses!  Ho, sirrah, that rum’s gotta’ kick! ...  In my second year, I am, as a pirate on the high seas. Pirate captin’, tha’ is. Aye, what a fright I give to all seafarers when they merely mention ma’ name: Blackbeard the Pirate! Ha! Those half-wit loons... if only they knew my real name: Edward Teach. Gah! The very mention of it twirls ma’ entrails. Seems ma’ mother wanted a college professor, not a pirate! Aye… but that isn’t enough to smear my reputation on the high seas; my reputation for pillagin’, lootin’, and raidin’ any town, city, or ship that dare stand up against ma’ flag!  And his Majestey King George III o’ England ( oh, that gluttonous loon for a monarch), truly thinks that I can be caught! Ha! The follies that fools fancy these days… truly makes me wonder who commits greater piracy: us seadogs or those wig-headed sloths for politicians back in Britain?   Makes me also think about… ooh the rum’s kick be on again!

September 5^th 1717

 

Another good day of adventurin’ and pillagin’ for me. By Mary, this week I looted four galleons and 6 brigandines! We had em’ cornered at an alcove near the shore… somewhere near North Carolina, methinks. They be practically fleein’ from us when they saw me flag; ha! Shudda’ heard their cries when they saw it. The loot were practically whelping for my warm, greedy touch, they were! Oh the look of those cowerin’ navy officers and sailors! That’d teach em’ to not mess with Blackbeard’s armada!

November 8^th 1717:

Aye… ten ports looted, and twenty villages sacked. Ah yes; tis’ good that me and me crew have been plunderin’ so much loot these past few months; but something seems to be amiss. Was it the sheer sense of excitement I would get in ma’ belly when I saw unprotected treasure fleets yonder? Or was it the pleasure I got from senselessly maimin’ the captives and refusin’ to ransom em’ back for anything less than their bodies’ weight? I dunno, but somethin’ seems to be lackin’ in this… in this adventurous thrill of mine. Maybe I’ll find out what it is once I get me some o’ that good ole’ castillian- rum!

December 18^th 1717

Another plunder; just a passing dingy boat, but still… tis’ a plunder I suppose, if you had nothing good to loot for in weeks…

 

January 2^nd , 1718:

A monstrous storm betide us from outta’ nowhere… all hell seemed to break loose… the ship’s damaged in several places, and we lost three of our men. The ship seems to be off-course, and I got no ideas on where are right now. And to think I could’a sensed a storm from miles away by now. I really need ta’ get off this rum.

January 7^th, 1718:

.. Been out at sea for God knows how long; nothin’ to eat, nothin’ to drink. Haven’t seen many ships pass by either. Josamme thinks we’re off-coast Puerto Rico; Billy Gibbs thinks we’re a mile away from Brazil.  I dunno who to trust right about now, for all the rum stores are startin’ to deplete; and no rum, means… Oh, God a tiny sliver of land would do a lot’a good for me now! Argh!

January 9h, 1718:

… Tired..Hungry…thirsty… No sightin’s of land, or any ships on this barren stretch of sea. I’m startin’ to think this all be some sorta’ punishment from the all mighty. What could I’ve done wrong in me life? Plunderin a few ships? Massacrin’ a few villages? Tis’ all but means to a stable end, after all. But now.. but now I’m startin’ to think that we’ll never find our way out this oceanic wilderness if we don’t repent for our actions.. somehow… but exactly when that chance would come, I know not.

January 11^th: 1718

 Just when I thought I started to lose all hope (and all me sanity with it), I spotted a small injured pelican lying on a single rock protruding from the waters. It’s wing was a mangled mess, and blood bathed its frizzled white coat. Yet, it was still alive. God knows why I decided to do this next, but I steered the ship towards the rock, to the crew’s confusion, and laid anchor near it so I could perch out from the deck and step onto the rock. The crew watched me perplexed as I stepped onto the rock and marched towards the dying bird. I kneeled beside it, and took a real close look at it: the poor thing’s tongue was rollin’ out, and it’s one eye seemed ta’ be bruised! What I did next, perplexes me to this day. I cradled the poor thing in my arms; cradled it as would a parent to child. I gingerly carried it back to the plankboard of me ship, where I was met with appalled looks from the crew, and mouths agape. I yelled, “ This bird is to be nursed back to full health! If it dies upon my ship, and I see that none of ye took an effort in curing it, I’ll behead ye all for mutiny!” My order was met with crazed looks from the crew; but knowing me for what I was, they wordlessly obeyed. And so, we set sail once again; I praying daily that we sight land soon, and an additional prayer this time: that the sea-gull regain its health, and be able to fly again once more. Arrgh, how an injured bird can help us find land is beyond me, but better to do at least one good deed before having to meet my infernal end… whenever that is. Judging by the current state of things, I hope that’ll be soon; but for now, the bird is my only concern. Now… where be that pesky bottle a’ rum?

The Everlasting Horizon

Keelo woke up to the daily crow of the rooster in the morning. The sky was pitch black as always, and the air was freezing cold. Keelo knew that the cold was only a temporary relief, before the blistering sun sears the island during the day.  The familiar spray of the sea hit Keelo in the face as he emerged from his small hut. He took a deep breath, and exhaled in relief. He always found the sea’s presence comforting; after all, this is where he grew up, and his father before him, and so on. He went back in his hut to grab his paddle and straw hat.  Inside, he couldn’t help but notice how cute his wife and daughter looked when they were sleeping in scrunched up positions next to the central fire. My Pearls, he thought. My precious Pearls. To Keelo, his family really was his pearls; they’re the only thing in this world which he can truly call his own.

His walnut colored boat stood out against the sandy beach in contrast. Keelo paced towards the boat, humming to himself. Here we go again, he thought. He pushed his boat from the sands towards the crashing waves with all his strength. The boat floated in one place for a while, patiently waiting for its master to climb aboard. Keelo threw his paddle into the boat, and climbed aboard. His net was still nestled on the wooden floor of the boat. Keelo knew what came next. He held the shaft of his paddle with both of his arms, placing the spade of the paddle into the crashing waves, while holding the hilt aloft. Keelo then rowed further out into the sea, while the morning sun slowly perched out of the horizon. The waves got stronger as Keelo rowed further out in the sea, but the waters looked very smooth. Keelo finally found at a spot in the middle of the ocean, calm, but not completely static. Keelo grasped one end his net tightly, and flung the huge net with both arms into the air. The net spread itself fully in the air, and then landed in the smooth waters. The net floated aloft in the water for a while, silently waiting for unsuspecting prey. He held on to one end of the net, waiting to sense any tugging or pulling from the submerged part of the net.

Nothing to do but wait, he sighed.

This was Keelo’s daily routine for as long as he can remember. Afterall, his family depended on whatever Keelo caught at that day. Clams, oysters, pearls, corals, exotic shards; these were the commodities most prized for. Anything short of that can only guarantee a few days worth supplies and rations.  “Spirits, yield me a good catch today…” murmured Keelo. As he watched the gentle waves surfing past him, Keelo had anxious thoughts buzzing in his head.

Supplies? Good for a week. Clothes? All washes. Oars? Must buy a new one… and the tax collectors.. Oh the damned tax collectors.. can’t let a man live in his own--                      But then his greatest worry came to daunt him once again.

“Leela…” croaked aloud Keelo. “ Oh my daughter… I cannot find it in my heart to force you into something that which you don’t approve of, but I cannot let you waste your future as well!”

 Keelo felt agony and despair seize him His worries started to gnaw at his core. Before Keelo knew what was happening, he broke in tears. He had always been strong for his family, being stoic for better or for worse. But in truth, Keelo’s spirit at this point was like a glass vase, ready to be toppled at any moment. Right when Keelo thought he would completely break down, his net tugged with force. The net tugged tighter and tighter, till Keelo had to use all his strength to reel in the net. “ What in spirits’ name…?!”, exclaimed Keelo. Keelo struggled to pull in the net closer and closer to the boat, until the weight of the net forced Keelo to set aside his oar. He used all his strength to haul in the catch; the boat almost capsized in the effort. From what Keelo could see, it resembled some sort of strange box.. The boat almost swayed sideways. Keelo beheld the strange box, apprehension and excitement blurring his vision. “A chest?” mused Keelo in wonderment.  Keelo noticed that the lid was slightly ajar, and a golden luster gleamed within. Keelo’s heart pounded suddenly. Keelo prayed that he won’t be disappointed this time. With shaking hands, he grasped the lid of the chest, and he closed his eyes. He slowly opened the lid fully, and he could feel the golden gleam illuminate his face. Keelo was sweating, for he had never experienced such tension since he first met his wife. Keelo slowly opened his eyes, and his eyes feasted on the sight. The chest housed thousands of gems, stones, and gold coins. Keelo wanted to faint at the sight, but all he could do was let out the longest gasp in his life. “ By God, even Cortez can’t match such wealth!” said Keelo in bewilderment. At that instance, Keelo’s dreary gloom for his life suddenly changed into visions of expectancy. Keelo’s broken spirit mended itself, with optimism pouring through the cracks. The visions started to flood his mind already; a better house, good food, and fine clothes. But Keelo found relief in the one problem that he could finally solve; his daughter’s future. “She won’t have to live like a popper’s daughter anymore”, said Keelo tearfully. “She can finally marry”.

 Keelo closed the lid of the chest, and grabbed his paddle. He rowed his way back to the beach, but before he set shore, he was frozen still. Keelo saw Leela at the far side of the shore, holding hands with a young, tan boy about her age. He looked strong, built, and good natured; faults couldn’t be discerned at first glance, Keelo concluded. They were laughing and playing, until the pair got real close to each other. Soon, the two kissed. A cold breeze swept past Keelo’s unflinching eyes. The ocean suddenly seemed much larger than it actually was. “My daughter... she has found her love…!” breathed Keelo. He stared at the chest which lay beside him, still gleaming with Keelo’s hopes. He glanced at the couple, and then at the box.  Without a second thought, Keelo heaved the immense chest, and chucked it across the boat and into the gulping water.  He then turned towards the sun, closed his eyes, and took the longest breath of life. He felt that only now, has he found the true bounty of life.

A thought

Hi guys! This is my blog, where I shall pour forth my deepest thoughts. My words are meant to carry a message; so please, take a moment, sit, and think. Also, wisdom carries itself in many forms, so remember; a funny story or a short anecdote may carry itself farther than expected, if the thinker is wise. However, don't think too much! Let the words carry you as it pleases.

- Sid