#in the country- write a letter back to your son/brother who could perish in a land where no one knows him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dollypopup · 6 months ago

Text

I can't stop thinking about Colin on his travels. Colin, alone, on a journey to 17 different cities, across several countries. Colin on his own.

Colin who writes letter after letter, to his family, to his friends, and barely gets a response back. How long before he understands that they didn't get lost in the mail? How long until he realizes that, just like when he was a boy, no one has the time for him? The space for him? How many letters unanswered before he lets it finally take root and fester in his mind?

He could have died on that tour.

Would they even notice? Would they see when the letters slow until they cease? Would they wonder why? His mum, surely (maybe, possibly, but she has enough on her hands, besides, and he's never been a concern, in need of her assistance, before), but anyone else? Anthony on his honeymoon, Eloise a stormcloud personified, Benedict taking on the familial responsibilities, Fran preparing for the marriage mart and in Bath, regardless. Daphne, his closest sister, a mum running her own estate.

Greg and Hyacinth who enjoy his stories, but are children.

Pen who ignores him. No explanation, no goodbye.

Colin who has no one in his corner. Colin who travels city to city, putting on personas. Will they like me? What about now? Colin who has hardly anything to read from the people he loves. Who do not think of him.

And yet he thinks of them. Brings them back gifts, writes his recollections for them until it hits him that, oh, they don't care. They don't care what he's doing, how he's doing. They didn't want to hear it before, when he was there with them, and they do not want to hear it now, either. Did they even open those envelopes? Did they see them come through the post, just as proof he's alive, and shrug off the contents? Did they look? Once, Colin sends an empty page. No one notices. Easier, then, to send just the outsides. People only ever care about the outsides. Pretty and prim in neat packages, uncaring of what lies beneath. Sea sick on the rocking boats, staring up at stars on the continent, Colin grows aware, but not bitter. Sad, but resigned.

He loves his family, he loves Pen, loves them to grace, loves them to it's okay. It was him, he determines. Too chatty, his letters too long, uninteresting, his passions dull or droll, or else, worse, he's displeased them in some way. Colin who takes refuge in stranger's arms and homes, who dreams and tries to sate his curiosity. Colin who pretends, because anyone, anyone but him would be received better, he's sure of it. Colin who must talk too much, surely, and with no one to listen. Colin who learns to hush.

Yes. Remarkable- as in, I have many remarks about it.

How many times did he go to excitedly write of what he did that week, and stopped himself, knowing it was a waste? How many times did he write and throw into the fire a letter asking Why don't you see me? Why don't you care?

If he didn't make it, how long would it take for anyone to notice? A month? Two? A year? Would they wave it off as his frivolity, denounce him as a flake and fume about the funds? Would they wonder where it was he had lost himself off at?

He cannot fall into that, so, he writes in his journal, instead. Of the ache of it, of how he longs for connection, for understanding, for someone to take him seriously. He keeps it with him, this log of his discontent, of his folly and felicity, of his pitfalls and pains.

If he didn't make it, would they realize all that's left of him is what he sent them, not even a body to bury? Did he look over the side of a bow of a boat and look at the churn of the ocean and think of how many bones it held? Did he tip his face to the sun? How many new scars did he earn? Who did he befriend?

Who did he become?

Somewhere along the line, Colin learned. He learned the real him wasn't wanted.

Somewhere along the line, somewhere between Patmos and Paris, Colin left Colin behind.

And, somewhere along the line, Colin laid face to face with loneliness in his bed, and it wrapped its arms around him.

#colin bridgerton #bridgerton #polin #say what you will- i understand why pen did it- but i still think ghosting your friend with no explanation #when he's off on a journey he could very well die on. . .not great #and what the fuck else was his family doing that they couldn't respond to his letters? they are aristocrats living in an off season #in the country- write a letter back to your son/brother who could perish in a land where no one knows him #idk i think about this a lot like colin was just. . .so uncared for and so unseen #he went off on travels to Europe in the early 1800s #anything could have killed him #and eloise last told him his letters slogged on and on and if he liked it so much he should have stayed #in an ideal world when colin said he apologized for what he said pen would ALSO apologize for not telling him sooner #i don't think she realizes just how lonely colin actually is #just how unseen he is #she thinks like so many others think that he's a popular man and oh so well regarded #that colin isn't real #colin isn't listened to- i wish more people would have empathy for him about that

241 notes · View notes

recycledcactus · 4 years ago

Text

c!Wilbur & Eight by Sleeping At Last analogy

because apparently c!Wilbur was based off that song? Link here

!!!!Okay so this is not all in canonical order. It’s just based on every lyric/line!!!!

Most of it is during the Pogtopia arc and Wilbur insanity arc though.

For @soot-spots I hope you like it. It’s written very weirdly and not like a regular analogy so bear with me here:

Lyrics are in italics like this [My analogies are bolder and in brackets like this]

I remember the minute It was like a switch was flipped I was just a kid who grew up strong enough To pick this armor up And suddenly it fit

[I think here, during the unknown of time before L’Manburg and after his childhood, Wilbur is thinking about his past with Philza. How Philza ‘raised’ him, AKA was an absent parent half the time. He knew how to survive, yes, and he knew Phil was somewhat proud of him. But Wilbur always felt he needed to prove himself. Techno constantly had Phil’s attention, so Wilbur wanted some for himself. He forced the metaphorical armour to fit. He forced himself to be responsible and strong. To act like he knows what he’s doing. People believed him, they followed him, so maybe the armour could fit.]

God, that was so long ago, long ago, long ago I was little, I was weak and perfectly naive And I grew up too quick

[I’m thinking this is probably in Pogtopia. Wilbur reflects on his past self and laughs. How naive could he have been? Thinking if he started a nation, Phil would pay attention to him? He was so stupid. So needy. Phil never cared. He forced himself to be responsible and grow up and prove himself that he didn’t take the time to be a child. And now look where he is, in a ravine, without his home, country, or people. Just Tommy. (Tommy, who also grew up far too quick. Tommy who should still be growing up and not exiled in a ravine separated from his best friend).]

Now you won't see all that I have to lose And all I've lost in the fight to protect it I won't let you in, I swore never again I can't afford, no, I refuse to be rejected

[(Pogtopia arc). He stops writing letters to Phil. He stops ranting on and on, filling up the pages with messy scrawl, about his victories, his losses, his thoughts and feelings. He stops pouring his heart out in these letters and telling Phil about everything he’s done. He rarely gets replies and when he does, they’re always short and blunt. His heart can’t take how little his father cares anymore, so he stops all contact.]

I want to break these bones 'til they're better I want to break them right and feel alive You were wrong, you were wrong, you were wrong My healing needed more than time

[(Pogtopia arc). Tommy tried desperately to encourage his brother and tell him that things would work out, that Wilbur could be better with more time. But Wilbur could only lash out and yell, punching walls and pacing wildly and tearing at his hair until small indents were carved into the floor of Pogtopia. He yelled at Tommy, screamed and berated him. And for what? Tommy was a kid. Tommy was forced into this. Tommy was trying to help. Wilbur can’t take back those words now. He couldn’t do anything. Nothing was enough. Nothing could bring him out of his head. He’d lost. It’s over. There’s nothing left, there’s— he’s—]

When I see fragile things, helpless things, broken things I see the familiar I was little, I was weak, I was perfect, too Now I'm a broken mirror

[(Pogtopia arc). Wilbur looks at himself in a mirror and doesn’t even recognize himself. The bags under his eyes are too big and his hair is too matted. There’s dirt cakes on parts of his coat and his shirt is covered in patches to keep it together. But he thinks maybe he’s stronger. He’s learned from his old self. He used to get too attached to people and things only to be betrayed and thrown out of his own country. He was weak. But now that he had nothing, he was stronger than ever, right? They say a man with nothing to lose can do anything he wants, right? There can’t be a harsher consequence than being exiled and thrown out of the country you built. Wilbur can do what he wants. He looks into Tommy’s eyes and sees a reflection of himself––broken, too. Broken and lost. But not the same. Tommy is so much stronger than him and maybe that does make him mad.]

But I can't let you see all that I have to lose All I've lost in the fight to protect it I can't let you in, I swore never again I can't afford to let myself be blindsided

[(Pogtopia arc). He puts on an air of self-confidence and (albeit grim) cheeriness for Tommy. He can’t show his little brother that he has no hope. He can’t show him he’s truly planning on blowing up L’Manburg and that it’s not just ‘Plan Bomb’. He can’t bring himself to talk to Tommy about how shitty things are for him because he knows Tommy has it shittier. Tommy is 16 and scared and traumatized and is holding himself up for his brother & Tubbo. He doesn’t need more problems to worry about. Wilbur smiles only to walk away and break down. He covers up how hopeless he feels and how far gone he thinks he is. He offers up plans of taking his country back just to see Tommy’s eyes light up. But he can’t help but know L’Manburg will all be blown up. He can’t get distracted from doing that because it’s the one thing that might make this pain go away.]

I'm standing guard, I'm falling apart And all I want is to trust you Show me how to lay my sword down For long enough to let you through

[(Pogtopia arc). Wilbur needs Tommy or Phil or hell, even Techno. He just needs someone. Someone to snap him from his intrusive mind. His thoughts that run rampant and scream at him to destroy everything. His plan that is both self-destructive and literally destructive that will leave everyone he cares about in shambles.

But he has no one. He can’t speak to Tommy without further scaring or hurting the boy. He refuses to write to Phil because he doesn’t even care (he wouldn’t come running to save his ‘son’ from himself). And Techno only supports the idea of destroying L’Manburg——he wouldn’t bother helping Wilbur with his problems.

Wilbur doesn’t know how to make the first move and let his guard down. (His mind briefly flashes to Eret and how much he used to trust the man. It was thrown away as soon as the Dream Team walked out of those walls though). That’s one of his last mistakes.]

Here I am, pry me open What do you want to know? I'm just a kid who grew up scared enough To hold the door shut And bury my innocence But here's a map, here's a shovel

[(At the beginning of L’Manburg and the drug van). This symbolizes Wilbur starting L’Manburg——starting a country from nothing but a van, his brother, and a crazy dream. He left his small childhood home behind––finally being able to breath in relief when he doesn’t have to relive all the times he and Phil had yelling matches when he walks through the kitchen, or to feel a bitter sadness remembering Tommy waking up screaming from nightmares and being the only one to console him whenever he passed the blond’s room. He can finally push the past behind and open up to people he cares about and trusts–– his friends and citizens.]

Here's my Achilles' heel

[(During L’Manburg when it was still a new country and they still wore soldier outfits). He soon realizes that L’Maburg is more than a country. It’s his home. It’s his family. His weakness. He cares about it because it’s the only place he could ever truly call his own. A small, nagging part of his brain whispers to him that if he’s not careful, it could be his downfall. He pays no mind though, because that seems so unlikely. He’s happier than he’s ever been and he won’t let intrusive thoughts ruin in]

I'm all in, palms out I'm at your mercy now and I'm ready to begin I am strong, I am strong, I am strong enough to let you in

[(Pogtopia arc). It dawns on Wilbur that L’Manburg has not been his downfall yet. Sure, he’s exiled, but he always imagined his downfall would be dying for his country. His country still lives though and he is not dead. Instead, the game is still on. His Achilles heel has not yet been struck. So maybe L’Maburg was not his Achilles heel all along? With that belief, Wilbur can’t help but still want L’Manburg back. He can’t push L’Manburg away when he’s trying so hard to get it back. He thinks maybe if he becomes president again and gets rid of Schlatt, his downfall would not come. He would be safe.]

I'ma shake the ground with all my might And I will pull my whole heart up to the surface For the innocent, for the vulnerable And I'll show up on the front lines with a purpose

[(Pogtopia/insanity arc). There’s still a possibility of L’Maburg being the end to Wilbur. With plans of war and overthrowing Schlatt, the thought is more prominent than ever. While Wilbur goes mad in Pogtopia, he’s quickly realizing that L’Manburg can’t be his Achilles heel if there is no L’Manburg. If he gets rid of L’Manburg, there will be no other problems. His symphony won’t be finished and therefore his Achilles heel will be protected.]

And I'll give all I have, I'll give my blood, give my sweat

[Oh but... but what if he is his own demise? L’Manburg was his. His dream. His home. He pushed everyone away for L’Manburg. He ignored his son, his brother, his best friend. Would it not make sense if he fell too? Should he not perish too? To let his brother rest? He knows the way they look at him——like he’s unstable, untrustworthy. Which he is. And Tommy... Tommy who still trusts him, who still looks at him like he could do no wrong, like he’s still a fearless leader. (He catches his small flinches though, the way he sometimes bites his tongue and hesitates before blurting out his words loudly, like usual). No matter how many times Wilbur hurts Tommy and tears him down, he’s always back——loyal and unwavering. Tommy did not deserve this. Tommy should be free. Wilbur cannot live in a world knowing Tommy is hurt because of him. Wilbur cannot see Tommy free with knowing what happened daily in that stupid, sold ravine. Wilbur cannot live and be anything to Tommy.]

An ocean of tears will spill for what is broken I'm shattered porcelain, glued back together again Invincible like I've never been

[Wilbur watches the leader who took his place, fall. He watches as his people cheer and fall over each other in exhaustion. Their wounds are deep, but smiles deeper. He elects Tommy, who in turn elects Tubbo (the discs again, when will it stop?) Wilbur listens to the man he once called father try to convince him not to destroy L’Manburg. He listens to the screeches of Withers and muffled cries of people.

It’s time.

Wilbur takes the arrow and strikes his Achilles heel.

He watches in twisted, painful satisfaction as his world blows up before him. People cry out for other reasons. They——especially Tommy——look at him in horror. But why does the arrow not kill him? Nothing else can hurt him like this does, right?

No, the wound is not deep enough. He is too happy to be injured like this for it to be fatal.

“Kill me” He begs. He thinks it’s good revenge on his father for being ignorant. And a good way for the arrow to strike him dead.

Philza stabs him.

The arrow in his heel digs deeper.

And then all is calm,]

----

[Also I feel like every one of those strong brassy bursts in the song is like a fist against the wall——Wilbur striking out against the walls of Pogtopia in anger and (self-)hatred and frustration.]

Hope you liked it. It was certainly an experience to write and I really enjoyed doing this

#character wilbur soot #wilbur soot #character tommyinnit #character wilbur soot analogy #character study #dream smp #mcyt #pogtopia #metaphor

23 notes · View notes

caramelslate · 4 years ago

Text

Two updates in a day after being inactive? Shocking, I know.

Day 2 of Moms Made Fullmetal Week 2020.

Prompt: Growth or School or First Steps

AO3 link here.

Enjoy reading!

The train station is full of people this Thursday noon. It was stupid to think that the station would be emptier because it is in the middle of the day on a Thursday but Chris completely forgot about the launch of two new steam trains in Central Station. The entire platform is filled with people, both here for the launch and traveling to God knows where.

“I told you we should’ve left earlier, hurry up, you slowpoke. Don’t let your tardiness be the reason your alchemy teacher sends you back here next week.” She wasn’t supposed to be the one to send him off, but Annika had a family emergency and the rest of the girls are on their day jobs and day-offs and Chris couldn’t bear to disturb them on their rest day. Chris turned to her nephew, Roy, who was stretching on his tiptoes to look over the mass of people and she noticed that his pant leg is now a bit short. The boy hit another growth spurt. That’s twice in a week. He’ll get even taller and soon be taller than her.

“Well, it wasn’t my fault that the train ticket was moved from the shelf I was keeping it in,” Roy grumbles about how people should just leave his stuff where it is because that’s exactly where he’s going to look for it. But living with women who like to fuss over him and clean after him, that would be impossible.

“Those are train tickets. It’ll be even worse if you lost it by leaving it everywhere, you know. Besides, it wasn’t even about the tickets. Who was it that was so excited about leaving, he couldn’t sleep and took a tiny nap in the bathroom that lasted two hours? Everyone thought you were already in your room getting ready already.” Chris rolled her eyes. Her nephew had the ability to sleep in the oddest places like a cat.

Chris remembered how two members of the military police entered her small bar seven years ago bearing the news that her brother and his wife perished in a car accident and her three-year-old nephew was hurt but is alive and resting in the nearest hospital. She kept up a correspondence with her brother who decided to live in the country in a small family house with his wife and son. Chris would often open his letters and would find several photos of him and his family, his new radiant wife and baby boy standing in front of a white porch, looking positively happy.

She planned to visit but instead of using the money for train tickets, she had been saving up to purchase the bar in which she was working as a bartender for years. The owner is planning to retire and had promised her that once she got the payment and the bar is hers. A year later, she sent her brother a photo of her grinning behind the bar with a little sign that says, “Mustang’s”.

Chris only saw her nephew in photos and he only saw her photos. And as the last remaining relative, she was given the choice to take in the child, or else he would be entered into the orphanage. Without hesitation, she took in Roy.

Looking at her nephew now, it was very different when she saw him standing behind her bedroom door, tousled black hair and tear-filled dark eyes, clutching a tiny bear and asking if she could “shoo the monsters in his room” because his father used to do that when he’s scared. The poor boy is missing his parents. Chris caved in that night and asked if he’d like to sleep in hers now because monsters are afraid of her and wouldn’t bother him if he slept here. She woke up that morning with drool on her arm and a four-year-old boy snuggled against her side.

Chris made a mental note to send one of the girls to go and buy more clothes for Roy because given the rate that he’s growing, he’s going to need more.

A train whistle interrupted her as Roy took her wrist and dragged her over to the waiting area, his beat-up brown luggage hitting several people in the shins. Chris quietly apologized to them and let her nephew drag her to a bench. The train Roy needs to take is arriving in 10 minutes and she couldn’t help but notice that Roy gets more fidgety as the clock slowly crawls overhead. He smooths back his hair, picks lint off his trousers and fixes his collar in an effort to contain his nerves

Roy glances at the clock, his eyes widen and he mutters, “Eight minutes.” before his knee goes bouncing up and down again, clearly agitated.

Chris sighs and patted the young boy’s knee. “You’ll do fine. Don’t worry about it. He’s not going to eat you.”

She found out about this Hawkeye person from one of the girls who learned from an officer that this man was a very talented alchemist who refuses to join their ranks due to some unknown reason. Apparently he has taken in some students for a fee, so Chris wrote him a letter to ask him and in a week, she received his approval and she was told to send her nephew the next month.

“What if he’s scary? What if he thinks I’m just a city boy who just wanted to experience country life to look cool for my friends?” Roy rambles.

She chuckled under her breath. “So? You prove him wrong. You show him you deserve to learn. Make him see that you’re worth his time. I told you before right? Who cares what other people think?” Chris turned to him. “People take things at a face value, they are quick to judge. Use that. Surprise him and show him what you’re capable of.” Chris stared at the face very much like her brother’s, that same gleam in their eyes. Like him, Roy is very persistent. So persistent to the point of annoyance.

His knee stops bouncing, a small smile slips into his face with a hint of mischief. “You think so?”

She placed her hand on his shoulder. “I know so. You’re like someone I knew. He wanted to travel the world, to see things he’s never seen before.” Chris leans back as the memory takes her again.

“That’s my father, right?” the boy asks, the same small smile on his face. Chris nodded, “We came from a poor family. My parents worked hard but not enough. I decided against college and went to work in a small store in town. But my brother was smart enough to go to college. They said he couldn’t do it and have been waiting for his return to town after the ‘tragic college attempt’. Wouldn’t you know, he became involved with the peace treaties in Xing and they were invited there for possible negotiation.” Chris beamed with pride as she remembered the shock of the town that the would-be-college reject was now one of the ambassadors of Amestris to Xing.

Roy hummed. “That’s where he met my mom, right?”

Once again, she nodded. Her brother had everything. The house, the career, and a family. Until it was all gone in a flash.

Chris cleared her throat. “My point is, if he turns out to be judgmental, let him. Sometimes, being underestimated is a good thing.” She flashed him a wink, and Roy laughed out loud.

His laugh was cut short by a train whistle, as emerging from the smoke, Roy’s train arrives. It slowly crawls to a stop and slowly opens its doors and the bustle of people get on.

Both of them rose up and walked towards the doors. “Now remember, it’s the country. People are not going to do stuff for you. You have to pull your own weight, okay. You have to wake up at dawn, don’t let them even wake you up. Help around the house and show them that you are raised in a house that expects cleanliness. For God’s sake, don’t leave your stuff everywhere.”

“Aunt Chris, I’m going to be fine,” Roy reassures her. “I’m going to leave all my horrible traits here. Once they let me live there, they’ll be so impressed, they won’t let me leave. I mean I’m awesome, who can resist me?”

“Brat.” Chris reaches out and ruffles the boy’s hair while he tries to swat her hands away. “You write, okay? The girls will be sad if we don’t hear from you in a month. If you don’t I’m personally coming down there to whoop your butt.”

Roy smiles at her. “Take care, Aunt Chris. I’ll see you soon.” Chris just smiles in return as Roy turns away and disappears into the train.

She stays on the platform to watch the train go. A week later Roy sends his first letter, filled with how his alchemy lessons are (she honestly glossed over those as it was filled with a lot of scientific terms, she can barely keep up). He went on about his alchemy master, who is incredibly smart but is somewhat a recluse so he leaves him alone after lessons. Chris breathes a sigh of relief when Roy tells of another child, the master’s daughter, Riza, and how she taught him how to plant tomatoes in the yard and various chores around the house. So he isn’t exactly alone there.

Until now, years later, Christmas still keeps that letter and all the letters from Roy in a box under her bed, along with her brother’s old things.

#moms-made-fullmetal-2020 #fic #Day 2 #fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fma #fmab #chris mustang #roy mustang

7 notes · View notes

militant-holy-knight · 6 years ago

Text

The Perverse Habits of Mehmed the Conqueror

What they don’t want you to know about Mehmed the Conqueror

Even if you know nothing about Turkish history, there is a good chance you at least heard about Mehmed II as he was the Sultan who conquered the city of Constantinople, ended the Medieval Era and was the arch-enemy of Vlad the Impaler (the real-life inspiration for Count Dracula). Unsurprisingly, he is a national hero in Turkey and revered in some parts of the Muslim world (not to the same level as Muhammad’s companions or Imam Hussein) primarily for fulfilling a Islamic prophecy that Constantinople would be conquered. He happens to be also hailed by some (incidentally left-leaning) Westerners as one of the greatest Islamic rulers in history for his tolerance, genius and yadayadayada... But as always some things get omitted and probably for good reason so that people wouldn’t know...

The Ottomans differed from European monarchies in terms of succession and marriage. Traditionally, kings were expected to marry among the nobility and the throne would be passed down from father to eldest son, while the Ottoman sultans per their heirs were chosen as the most capable to rule. Mehmed’s grandfather and namesake had fought a civil war with his brothers after their own father Bayezid I was captured in battle by the Mongol warlord Timur the Lame and dying in captivity. This period is known as the Ottoman Interregnum.

As such, he implemented a policy of judicial royal fratricide which commanded that everytime a Sultan emerged to the throne, his brothers would be executed by strangulation. While one can argue that infighting didn’t necessarily began with Mehmed II himself, he made part of it’s system. Even though the ruling sultan could give some advantage to his favored heir over the others to claim the throne, literally every single one of his children (including those born of slave concubines) could possibly claim the throne for themselves. Such was the case of Mehmed’s own apparent heir Cem who was outwitted and ended up exiled by his brother Bayezid who became sultan instead and killed all their other brothers. Cem tried to gain support from Europeans even promising perpetual peace between Christendom and the Ottoman Empire if they helped regain his throne, but he ultimately died of pneumonia. His surviving family stayed in Europe and converted to Christianity, being forever barred from the line of succession.

This is the reasons why the Ottoman dynasty (known as House of Osmanoğlu) is relatively small today despite being one of the longest ones in existence, even compared to relatively younger House of Braganza which governed Brazil and Portugal, with the Brazilian branch having cadet lines of Vassouras and Petrópolis. Ultimately, this practice became so barbaric and threatened the integrity of the Ottoman dynasty that after the largest fratricide massacre perpetrated by Mehmed III for having killed 19 of his siblings that his successor Ahmed I done away with the killing part and simply imprisoned his brothers for live in nice, gilded prisons.

Speaking of prisons, the Ottoman Empire had one of the largest harems in history where several women from Europe were taken and kept as concubines. Per Islamic tradition, the sultan could own at least 4 official wives alongside “those which your right hand possess” or man malakat aymanukum, an euphemism for sex slave, which one can own in unlimited number and aren’t even considered people. To Mehmed’s credit, it’s said his harem officially only had 9 consorts which was relatively tame compared to Morocco’s Moulay Ismail who had a number of concubines on four digits, or Mehmed’s later successor Suleyman I that had preference for European concubines as consorts while Mehmed and his predecessors were expected to still marry Turkish women or European noblewomen given as part of arranged marriages. But one thing in particular about Mehmed: he had a taste for boys too.

Vlad III had a younger brother called Radu who was sent alongside him as a hostage to the Ottomans to ensure their father’s cooperation. While Vlad loathed his captors, it’s said that Radu became an favorite of the Sultan and stayed with him even after his older brother was released. According to some records, he might have converted to Islam, joined Mehmed’s harem as his catamite and is believed by some to have taken part of the Siege of Constantinople in 1453.

Some historians question the validity of these tales, since many Western scholars might have been biased and wanted to write Mehmed in the most negative light imaginable portraying him as the Anti-Christ, a tyrant and sodomite. This is plausible too, considering that Radu was also married with an Albanian/Serbian princess and he referred to himself as “Christ-loving” in some letters which puts his conversion to Islam questionable. On the other hand, the claim that Radu did indeed participate as a commander in the fall of Constantinople is credible due to the account of Konstantin Mihailović, a former Janissary of Serbian origin who was taken into Ottoman slavery when the Sultan captured his village, separated the men and women, decapitated the men, gave all 700 young women and girls to the Turks while the boys were taken as child soldiers. You know... Kind like what ISIS was doing.

But back to the topic: While Radu’s own homosexuality is questionable, he was certainly not Mehmed’s only lover: Jacob Notaras was the son of a Byzantine nobleman and considered a very beautiful 21 year-old young man that caught the attention of Mehmed. He was sent to his seraglio to serve the Sultan’s pleasure as his catamite as well for seven years until his escape and being reunited with his sisters. This tale is very popular on Tumblr, you can search it if you want to (I’d rather not get into trouble linking the specific blogs or using their art for this blogpost).

Naturally, nationalistic Turks, Islamists in general and Neo-Ottomans in particular don’t like hearing that one of their greatest heroes who provided a great triumph of Islam over Christianity was a “sausage jokey” given the hostile attitude Islamic societies towards homosexuality - even though Turkey is one of the relatively more friendlier countries towards LGBT, it’s still is a taboo subject particularly today. However, some Western liberals when hearing about this, become ecstatic over “gay Muslim great ruler” and happily hoist this as evidence that “Islam is really gay friendly” and to me this is an far more dangerous attitude.

I won’t even tackle the topic of Islam and homosexuality just to not go on off tangent, but let’s focus solely on Mehmed himself: he was a warlord that forced both women and young boys into sexual slavery for his own pleasure, began the centuries long jihad to conquer Europe, declared "At last Europe and Asia are mine! Woe to Christendom! It has lost its sword and its shield!" when his final enemy Skanderbeg perished, implemented a law that authorized fratricide in his family to ensure that only the strong and ruthless would succeed him... But we are supposed to give a pass to all of that because he was gay? Actual argument I heard: while he was a product of his time and environment, but since he was gay, that alone makes him more “progressive” and “forward-thinking” than the Christian rulers at the time.

This exposes some messed up priorities and hypocrisy from moral relativists to praise a historical figure for having an uncommon trait (i.e. being gay) of his time period from a purely Western perspective and yet accuse those who criticize this same figure for his more controversial aspects (harem-owning, war-mongering fratricidal despot) from also an Western perspective of being “Orientalists”, a meaningless buzzword meant to shut critics up.

But hey, lets see how funny it gets when this biased liberal viewpoint clashes with their more conservative-oriented allies and see what happens.

6 notes · View notes

cornishbirdblog · 5 years ago

Text

Standing in the oppressive heat of the desert between Tucson and Phoenix I feel a very long way from the green, rain-soaked valleys of Cornwall. It is a vast and untamed landscape like nothing I have ever experienced before in all my travels, yet thousands of Cornish found themselves drawn here in the 19th century. Some found their fortunes, others hardship and loss, or worse.

“These dry, rocky places are made of drought, created by absence, the sky holding back on purpose . . . Deserts are mummifiers, bone makers.” Craig Childs, Essays from Dry Places, Arizona, 2019

So, how did one particular Cornishman come to end his days in the deserts of Arizona more than 5000 miles from home? And was his death just a unfortunate tragedy or something far more sinister?

The Bodies of Two Men

On 17th May 1894 a report appeared in the Mesa Free Press, the newspaper for the Maricopa county of Arizona. It read:

The bodies of two men were found a few days ago on the desert near the Congress mine. One of them left a note giving their names as William Rogers and Wm. McDonald.

The bodies had been initially discovered in early May. In the days that followed more information about the circumstances surrounding the deaths and the contents of the note began to emerge.

It was established that one of the men was William Rogers from Cornwall.

William Rogers

William was born in Ashton near Breage in 1869. He came from a long line of miners. Both his father Francis and both his grandfathers worked underground. His parents, Francis Rogers and Thomasine Kitto, had grown up together in the village and married in 1854. William was their youngest of five children.

On the 29th July 1889 aged 21 William Rogers boarded the SS Umbria and began the long voyage to the USA. The log records his name, age and occupation – miner.

SS Umbria 1884, Francis Frith negative no. 26619.

Cornish in Arizona

The stalling of the Cornish mining industry in the early part of the 19th century forced Cornish miners to search for work in other areas of mineral production, such as South Africa, Australia and America. It is estimated that more than 500,000 Cornish left their home in the 19th century.

Initially, many settled in Wisconsin and Michigan. Later making their way further west to California, Nevada, Colorado and Arizona. A train ticket that could take you from one side of the country to the other could be purchased in the 1880s for $40.

Cornish miners in Arizona

The Cornish could easily have integrated in to North American society but instead others found them ‘clanish’. They utilized their ethnicity to their advantage. Being from Cornwall implied expertise in mining that would secure the best paid jobs. And the Cornish mine captains took on their fellow countrymen first, often giving them higher rates of pay and special privileges. The Cornish were also said to be constantly looking for employment for friends and relatives. One explanation for their nickname, “Cousin Jack,” suggests that when asked if they knew someone who could do a job in the mine the answer was always, “My Cousin Jack can.”

From Montana to Arizona

William Rogers’ adventures began in the north of America. We know that he spent time in Helena, Montana. He then moved to Telluride in Colorado and then sometime around 1894 made his way to Arizona.

The Vulture Mine near Wickenburg. Credit: the appendix.net

The 1890s had seen a severe devaluation of silver and copper in the US. Miners were forced to move to where they thought there was work, or the rumour of work. From 1893 to 1900 many miners from all the old silver camps of the West became caught up in the search for gold. Arizona was incredibly rich in the precious mineral. Numerous new gold deposits were discovered, notably in Congress in the Bradshaw Mountains, the Mammoth north of Tucson, and the rich Harqua Hala. Fortunes were made. Gold fever was rife.

William Rogers is thought to have been on his way to the gold rush in Harqua Hala when he died. But how exactly William and his companion met their ends in the desert is not entirely clear. In fact, it’s a little ambiguous exactly who died out in the desert sun at all.

Gold Rush

The first reports in the newspapers said that the dead men were travelling to Harque Hala from the town Prescott. A distance of over 120 miles, they may have had transport part of the way, horses perhaps, but it appears that they were completing the last stretch of the journey on foot.

The Harqua Hala mountains: credit Google Earth

“The bodies of two Cornishmen who were on their way from Prescott to Harqua Hala, were found near the sink of Date Creek a few days ago . . . The two men had perished from thirst.” Monhave County Miner, 19th May 1894

Haraquahala like so many of Arizona’s old mining settlements is now a dusty, forgotten ghost town. But it once saw a gold rush of epic proportions. The mine there produced $3,630,000 of gold and nuggets worth upwards of $300 could be found just lying on the desert floor!

Gold mined in Arizona

By 1888 it had become a sprawling boom town with saloons, boarding houses, a post office and its own newspaper – The Harqua Hala Miner. Rogers was making his way towards this town and, he hoped, his fortune.

Culling’s Well

The bodies of our two boys were discovered near a dried up creek just a few miles from Culling’s Well. They were roughly 20 miles north of the Harqua Hala mountains. The well, which should have been their salvation, is now almost completely disappearing back into the desert but movingly it has retained a connection to William Rogers’ death.

Culling’s Well was established in the 1860s by Charles C. Culling. This innovative man had to dig down through 250ft (76m) of dirt before he found water. He then sold this cool, sweet ground water for 25c per animal or 50c a barrel. Culling was described by his contemporaries as “a jovial man, always giving a hearty welcome to travellers”. His was the only stable water source for 100 miles and when he died in 1878 the business was taken over by his widow’s new husband, John Drew. Drew just so happens to be one of the men who discovered the bodies of the Cornish prospectors.

Local legend has it that Drew was so moved by how close the two men were to the well when they died of thirst he decided to act. Sadly deaths like theirs seem to have been pretty common. One newspaper wrote at the time:

“Year by year the addition to the number of deaths on the deserts of the southwest are growing and yet the supervisors of the various counties take no action in the matter of putting up guideboards for the convenience of travellers and in so doing save many men from an awful death.”

Drew however decided to try and ensure no other travellers perished so near to water again. After the Cornish men’s deaths a light was suspended on the top of a long pole above Culling’s Well to act as a beacon for lost travellers. The settlement quickly became known as ‘the lighthouse in the desert’.

Graveyard Culling’s Well

There is a small graveyard at Culling’s Well, it isn’t confirmed but it’s entirely possible that Rogers and McDonald are buried here.

Rogers’ Last Words

The bodies of the two men were found some distance from each other. A journal containing a scribbled note was found on one body. the note read:

“I remain your loving son, William Rogers. Dying for want of water. Do no grieve for me mother, I am dying. Send to Telluride, Colo for my trunk. My partner will go on to Harqua Hala, his name is Bill McDonald. The key to my trunk is in my pocket.”

In the pocket of the other body was a letter of credit for £15, 3s issued by Wells Fargo Bank made out to Mrs. Constance Hoskins from William McDonald.

However, doubts over the identity of the bodies would quickly begin to surface.

The Manner of his Death

The circumstances surrounding the deaths of Willam Rogers and William McDonald at first seemed straightforward. They apparently died of dehydration when they became lost in the desert near Culling’s Well.

That was the story that appeared in The Times in London on 16th May 1894. The article bought dozens of letters to Justice Kincaid from worried relatives back in England, including one from William King, Rogers’ brother-in-law. The letter was published in The Arizona Republican in August 1894. King asks if Kincaid can provide more information concerning the circumstances of Rogers’ death. He writes that he has already contracted T J Drew “one of the discoverers of the bodies” but had no reply.

You see, rumours of foul play had begun circulating in late May, since another letter had been published. This letter was sent anonymously from a mining town called Harrisburg, Arizona. It claimed that the dead men had originally been part of a party of four who had left Congress Mine together. And that the bodies were William Rogers and a man called Hoskins, not McDonald.

Some twenty miles after setting off the letter says the four men separated. Hoskins and Rogers left the group. The other two, McDonald and an unknown man, went to on Copper Camp, then Culling’s Well, Harqua Hala and finally made their way to Harrisburg. In Harrisburg the writer claims that these men had been heard to say that “their partners were left in the desert to die”.

The letter goes on to assert that:

“Rogers and his partner [Hoskins] went to the Copper Camp and got water and went on. McDonald and his partner went to work at the Harqua Hala mines, never saying anything about their partners . . . If they had made it known men would have gone in every direction until they had been found . . . When found the dead men were lying on their backs with their hats over their faces. No man dies in that shape with thirst. Foul play is suspected and the case ought to be investigated. It was done in Maricopa county but the bodies were brought over to Yuma and buried.”

So, how exactly did the men come to reach their ends? Was there an argument, over money perhaps? Were Rogers and Hoskins (if it was Hoskins) just weaker than the others and rather than help they went on without them? As far as I can establish the deaths were never investigated further.

Unanswered Questions

The anonymous statement printed in The Arizona Republican raises a number of interesting questions. The most pressing being not just how the men died but who exactly was it that died in the wilderness.

Mrs. Constance Hoskins, the lady of the credit note found on the second body, lived at Churchtown in Breage. Very close to the Rogers family, did they already know each other? According to the 1891 census her husband William, a blacksmith, is abroad. She is also living with their two year old son and her brother, William Peller who records his occupation as retired Gold Miner.

If the second body wasn’t McDonald then why was that what was written in the journal? Was it ever verified that Rogers’ had written the note? The whole episode leaves me with so many unanswered questions. Perhaps something more will come to light in the future, in which case I will certainly let you all know!

Look out for another post coming soon about the Cornish in Arizona . . .