#rape/pillage/plunder world

[ohsalome]

Raids on about 30 museums around the country have been led by Russian curators in what experts regard as a systematic effort to seize Ukraine’s cultural treasures. Many of these treasures, an important part of Ukraine’s cultural heritage, made easy pickings for invading Russian troops. On top of murder, rape and robbery, they have pillaged national antiquities and artworks in the biggest case of cultural plundering since the Second World War.

“The orders are coming from someone pretty high up in the Kremlin,” said Sir Antony Beevor, the historian and author of Russia: Revolution and Civil War. “Vladimir Putin’s propaganda is that Ukraine as a country doesn’t exist, it’s part of Russia — so they can grab anything they want.” Robert Service, another British historian, described the looting as being “Russian state-sponsored” and added: “This is different from soldiers stealing things.”

Today’s Russian looting is “very reminiscent of the Red Army in 1945”, said Beevor. More than 2.5 million items were sent back to Moscow. Some were returned to communist East Germany in a gesture of goodwill in the 1950s but the remainder, including Gutenberg Bibles and gold from the excavation of Troy, has remained in Moscow, despite German pleas for its return.

Yet experts have little optimism about the prospects of Ukraine recovering its stolen artworks or archaeological treasures. “Losses, I’m afraid, are irreplaceable,” said Symonenko. “The Russians have not yet returned what they stole from European museums in 1945.”

[marcelwrites]

We don't really know what happens. It's all just a collection of responses to stimuli. Action, reaction, rinse and repeat. Seemingly meaningless in an indifferent universe. Crazy to think that it could even be considered meaningless when you can just step outside and be overwhelmed with the stark and overwhelming beauty of literally everything. And yet we still wage war and destroy the lives of millions, discriminating against one another and deciding who deserves food and water and who doesn't. We actively allow the very earth that gave birth to us and all this life we share the world with to be pillaged, plundered, and raped. We exploit the living and eat the dead. The rap sheet of humanity is a sickening account of free will and our most heinous flaws. Despite that, I still ruminate on the quote, "You are the conduit, the lightning rod that God uses to work wonders here on earth". For all the atrocities there's that distinct measure of good in the world, all the kindnesses both large and small, that change lives and brighten spirits in the grim dark of night. Think of the million acts of charity that occur on a daily basis. The loving embrace shared by two people madly and hopelessly in love with one another. In the blink of an eye it could all just cease to be, by the hands of angry, petty men, or some natural cataclysm. We could all just cease to be and what then of an indifferent universe? What then of a higher power? God? It seems cruel and harsh, but maybe also a little deserved. Who's to say? What I will say is that I wish we acted with a little more compassion and love. I wish I could wake up, and for just one day, see that people treated one another with the very same beauty we all have the fortune to wake up and see every day. No crime, no drama, no bullshit, just love. Every day I wake up and want to be proven wrong. I want to be shown we matter. I desperately want to know we're going to be okay.

[sh3nlong-promakh0s]

Ironically mass death is normal under modernity

The most dangerous part of bourgeois hegemony is the ideology of permanence and teleology, resembling Christianity and the Abrahamic religions very much so. That liberalism, becoming middle class and becoming bourgeois are inevitable, preordained and permanent states of being. That the whole world should be plundered raped and pillaged to this end, and that you should be blind to it.

[cuntkinghorr]

Jezus christos. Why can't I be rich? Where's my Conchita? I need lunch. Make me pasta from scratch bitch. Or I'll send your ass back across the Rio Grande and through the desert without water. Don't make me source more rats for those sewer pipes that cross the border cunt.

[worldofwardcraft]

Tornado warning.

October 24, 2024

With his cognitive decline increasingly evident and his presidential campaign visibly unraveling, anxious-to-stay-out-of-prison Donald Trump has become more divorced from reality than ever. You can see it in the growing number, mounting desperation and escalating ridiculousness of his unending stream of lies. Never comfortable with actual facts, Trump has lately turned into a Category F5 cyclone of falsehoods.

In addition to his infamous whopper about the dietary habits of Haitian immigrants, Trump has been shopping an imaginary takeover of the town of Aurora, CO, by Venezuelan gangs who he says are “blood thirsty criminals” and “the most violent people on earth.”

He's told his true believers that migrants will "rape, pillage, thieve, plunder and kill the people of the United States of America." Plus, "They will walk into your kitchen, they’ll cut your throat.” And if that isn't preposterous enough, he's also claimed:

Kamala [Harris] has imported an army of illegal alien gang members and migrant criminals from the dungeons of the third world…from prisons and jails and insane asylums and mental institutions, and she has had them resettled beautifully into your community to prey upon innocent American citizens.

One wonders if Trump is aware this is simply unhinged craziness. But it gets even worse. At a recent rally, he asserted:

The Harris-Biden administration says they don’t have any money [for hurricane relief]…They spent it all on illegal migrants…They stole the FEMA money just like they stole it from a bank, so they could give it to their illegal immigrants that they want to have vote for them.

A key identifying trait of psychopaths is their inability to experience the shame that would normally inhibit a person from being deceitful. Here are a few more of Trump's recent assertions. Judge for yourself his mental fitness.

• “I gave you $35 insulin…I did it. I did it.” No, he didn't. President Biden capped insulin costs. • “I achieved the lowest African American unemployment rate ever recorded.” As president, Trump presided over record high Black unemployment. • Schools are performing gender-affirming surgeries for transgender children behind their parents’ backs. This is just…lunacy. • "Everybody" wanted Roe v. Wade to be overturned. Poll after poll shows that's not even close to being the case.

CNN fact checked Trump's October 9 rally in Reading, PA, and concluded he also lied about inflation, his tax cuts, US troops in Syria and South Korea, in vitro fertilization, Kamala Harris' border role and on and on. In short, he was an uncontrollably destructive twister of untruth.

Artwork credit: Lalo Alcaraz

[bllsbailey]

Trump: Kamala Harris 'Can Never Be Forgiven' on Border

Vice President Kamala Harris "can never be forgiven" for "erasing our border," former President Donald Trump insisted during a rally in Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin Saturday, where he railed about a report indicating that hundreds of thousands of convicted criminals have been allowed to be in the United States under her watch.

"It's a total disqualifier, what she's done," Trump told an audience at an inside event. "She must never be allowed to become president of the United States … so much death has already taken place."

Friday, Immigrations and Customs Enforcement released a letter to Rep. Tony Gonzales, R-Texas, showing that more than 600,000 immigrant criminals are on its dockets but have not been detained, including 13,000 convicted of murder.

"They've never released this before," Trump said. "They never talk about deaths and how many they talk about certain things, but they've never released this kind of information. But it was so bad … these are people that have gone through the system. They're convicted. They're in jails for life. Some are getting the death sentence. But instead of that, they've crossed our border."

This means other countries are setting such people free "so they're free to kill again," he said.

"These are killers, he said. "These are killers at a level that nobody's ever seen. Not even your great law enforcement has ever seen people like this."

The immigrant criminals, Trump added, "make our criminals look like babies."

"These are stone-cold killers," he said. "They'll walk into your kitchen, they'll cut your throat. Kamala also let in 25,272 illegals convicted for rape, sex offenses or sexual assault, 62,231 criminal aliens convicted of violent assault. Everything but death happened to the people they assaulted. In total, she let in. 425,431 people convicted of and these are convicted of the worst crimes."

In addition, there were 222,000 illegal criminals who still have pending charges, Trump said. "That's over 647,572 migrant criminals who Kamala set loose to rape, pillage, thieve, plunder, and kill the people of the United States of America. And they're not going to change. They're only going to get worse."

And the nation's law enforcement, he added, are "told not to do their jobs."

"Kamala is mentally impaired," said Trump. "If a Republican did what she did that Republican would be impeached and removed from office, and rightfully so, for high crimes and misdemeanors."

Trump pointed out that he's been "saying this for three years" but the "fake news" has been denying it. 

"That's not even mentioning the rapists, the gang members, the drug dealers, the child predators, and the traffickers in women," said Trump. "Joe Biden became mentally impaired. Kamala was born that way… only a mentally disabled person could have allowed this to happen to our country."

Further, he said that under the Biden administration, "some of the greatest terrorists in the world" have entered the country, but "we have no idea where they are."

"They could be in Iowa," said Trump. "They could be in Idaho … every state is a border town. Every state is a border state. They're flying them in by the hundreds of thousands."

Harris, while visiting the border in Arizona, promised to start "getting very tough," but Trump asked why she hasn't been tough all along. 

He also spoke out about towns that are being "occupied" by criminals from Venezuela. 

"Areas of the Midwest are becoming famous because they're being occupied," he said. "This is is hundreds of little cities and little towns. They're petrified. And their law enforcement is petrified. You have a sheriff and a deputy or you have a small group, and you'll have a group of Venezuelan killers, street gangs occupying the town with MK-47s."

Sandy Fitzgerald ✉

Sandy Fitzgerald has more than three decades in journalism and serves as a general assignment writer for Newsmax covering news, media, and politics. 

© 2024 Newsmax. All rights reserved.

[poewillbulmer]

Blackbeard & Henry Every

Blackbeard was feared for many reasons, a couple of which being his incredibly tall stature for the time and his flaming beard, which he put slow burning coils in to burn while he engaged in robbing and raiding. Blackbeard stood at about 6ft tall, which was gigantic for the time, compared to the average for the time, which was roughly 5ft 4 inches.

He was also reputed for his wild eyes and strength, creating the image for himself that he was a wild and savage man. One that struck fear into many sailors and even his own crew, as he had the reputation for occasionally killing some of his crew for a greater share of the spoils.

Henry Avery (Every) originally served in the Royal Navy and later on merchant, buccaneer and slave ships before he began his life of piracy. He joined a ship in the service of Spain and helped to plot a successful mutiny, which led to him being elected as the new captain of the ship, which he renamed the 'Fancy'.

Over the years, Henry Avery recruited multiple other ships while preying on trade routes around Africa, before they sailed to the mouth of the 'Red Sea' where they plundered the Indian government's Mocha fleet and stole all of the valuables. They also committed unspeakable acts against any women they found on board, most of which opted to kill themselves instead of allowing Henry Avery's crew to get their way.

Later, Henry Avery's fleet split the treasure and separated, all spreading across different corners of the world. Meanwhile, Henry and his crew returned to England, where most of them were hanged for their many heinous crimes. Although, Henry himself managed to evade capture and disappeared.

Henry was known for a lot of the horrible things that he and his crew did. They transported slaves in horrible conditions, essentially leaving them to rot under the deck of their ship. They tortured, raped and pillaged their way across the ocean, earning themselves a dark and savage reputation.

Media portrayal of piracy and my opinions:

Across all forms of media, such as films, books and games, a lot of pirates aren't seen to share a lot of the same wicked qualities that Henry Avery and Blackbeard did. It's often a romanticized version of piracy either to create a story about a grand adventure on the seas or to be used as a coming of age story. Books and films such as Treasure Island, The Goonies and Peter Pan are great examples of this. It's often portrayed this way so that modern culture can relate to it a lot easier, otherwise a lot of people wouldn't be so attracted to the idea of pirates.

Even Pirates of the Caribbean, while definitely showing off some of those more unsavoury aspects of the pirate's life, still made it seem like it was a desirable way of living, even though the reality was likely anything but.

The reality of piracy is quite horrific. They traded and stole anything valuable, from gold and jewels to slaves and maybe even children. They raped, pillaged and killed all for the sake of their own survival and greed. They also had to battle illness and mutiny while at sea, which caused the downfall of multiple pirate crews.

Personally, the common idea of old timey pirates is pretty cool, but I'm content to let it be cool away from me. It's not a subject or setting that particularly intrigues me. Maybe I just haven't found a pirate setting/story that I really enjoy. However, the reality of pirates is often horrific and not at all desirable. There are no doubt some pretty awesome pirates, but one rotten apple spoils the bunch. A lot of them were awful people and even worse criminals and I definitely do not think that their way of life is in any way desirable.

[ryanglinngardner]

Corsair Attacks from the Arab World

During the medieval period, Corsica was subjected to brutal attacks by Barbary corsairs.The corsairs, hailing from the Barbary Coast (present-day Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia and even Al Andalus in Iberia), were known for their skill in ship-to-ship combat and their aggressive coastal raids across the Mediterranean. These corsairs were not just pirates; they operated as privateers for the Ottoman Empire, the corsairs themselves were very diverse and had equally diverse motives. From religious fervor and dreams of Jihad to pure economic ambition, the corsairs specifically targeted Christian coastal regions within the Mediterranean for plunder and slaves under the watch of the Ottoman empire. The raids against Genoese Corsica were frequent and brutal. The island’s central position in the western Mediterranean made it a prime target for corsair attacks. Jacques Heers, in his book, The Barbary Corsairs: Warfare in the Mediterranean, provides a detailed account of several of these raids. Heers explains that the corsairs would never attack fortified settlements on the island, but smaller coastal towns were regularly assaulted, resulting in the enslavement of many inhabitants, the pillaging of resources, and other even more unsavory acts, (rape and murder). (Heers, 2003) Up until the construction of the towers, the corsairs, with their advanced ships powered by enslaved rowers, struck swiftly and disappeared before any substantial defensive force could be mobilized by the Genoese. The best known and perhaps most notorious of these corsairs was Captain Raïs Hamidou, an Algerian corsair who, despite not having attacked Corsica itself on record, left a significant mark on the Western Mediterranean. His life's story, written in Albert Devoulx’s Le raïs Hamidou, gives us a window into the way of life of the Barbary Corsairs and recounts his many raids. Hamidou’s attacks were very successful for him; he captured almost 200 Christian ships, looted vast riches, and took many slaves. (Devoulx, 1859) In response to the corsair attacks, the Genoese, who controlled Corsica at the time, took decisive action. They began constructing a network of coastal towers, a defensive measure aimed specifically at countering the corsair threat. These towers, built along the island’s coastline, acted as early warning systems. After construction had completed the Barbary corsairs had a significantly more difficult time attacking the island of Corsica The impact of the corsair attacks on medieval Corsica was significant; changing its defensive strategies and its historical trajectory. The raids were the main problem Corsican society faced during the Middle Ages and not only spurred the construction of the iconic coastal towers but completely changed the island from an agrarian backwater to an advanced trading hub with ample infrastructure. (Devoulx, 1859)

[pheonix1t23]

https://chuckbaldwinlive.com/Articles/tabid/109/ID/4513/Benjamin-Netanyahu-Holds-Middle-Finger-In-The-Face-Of-The-US-And-the-Entire-World.aspx

"Since its inception in 1948, the Zionist State of Israel has been a country without accountability. While Israel loves to portray itself as the forever victim, the truth is, since May 14, 1948 (and even before), the Zionist state has been one of the most monstrous terror states in the entire world. Over 5 million Palestinians have been murdered by Israel since 1948 (why isn't THAT a Holocaust?), and millions more have been subjected to the worst kind of inhumanity: rape, pillage, plunder, land theft, kidnapping, beating, torture, imprisonment, dismemberment, family separation, child mutilation--the list is endless."

[cuntkinghorr]

I have experienced several bouts of homelessness since I was a teenager....

and maybe it's because I'm a girl or maybe people think me a nice person or maybe I know the right people or God knows why, because I don't mean this to have been everyone's experience and it's not something I'm terribly familiar with (hard drug use that is, alcohol yes), but I could always get drugs for free when home deprived. Like always. Including alcohol and even legitimate scripts. Even and maybe especially as a teenager. And that's the worst part of it all.

Of course you want you do drugs. Your life sucks. Does it go well? No, not usually. But it's due to factors that almost displace the drug use issue. Rare is the person with a perfect life (with no: inner, familial, health, marginalization, racism, systemic abuse, home life, social, sexual/gender, unbearable stress/life purpose, existensial, community/school ostricism issues) that just happens to have fallen deeply into drugs. So rare I don't know of a single instance. Not personally at least.

And as everyone knows, most hard street drugs, unmonitored scripts and alcohol use exacerbate any issue at all. But the vast majority of people can cope, hide it, manage their lives, get away with it and stave off homelessness.

I know of several people that did heroine and meth and other hard drugs for decades and live/lived a "normal", some even familial, life and never got arrested or incarcerated or lost a job or anything of the sort.

Some people belong to entire families of addicts who cycle in and out of jail instead of bougey ass rehabs and house arrest or nonarrest at all due primarily to their lack of privilege and wealth, class status, and based more on bigotry and societal structures and not the merit of punsihment at all, whatsoever.

Do you think they arrest a lot of cartel, mafia, organized crime syndicate, white collar, corporate fraud, environmental negligence, government corruption people? No, they don't actually. These people get tons of passes and do so much more overall harm to society than any homeless people ever could.

And let's not forget that there are clean homeless people that do not commit any crimes at all. I know a handful of truly nice people that for various reasons choose a different lifestyle that doesn't include a permanent address, soft bed or easy bathroom access. And a few others that were thrown into it out of need to leave a horrible situation immediately and nowhere to go but the streets. Also remember in the US we have a lot of medical bankruptcy and lack of affordable housing.

So before anyone goes accusing homeless of being horrible people. Why not go meet some? Volunteer at a soup kitchen, senior center, children's youth home, homeless shelter, etc. Before judging you should get a well rounded idea of who the people you're judging are, and the difficulties of their life. And your one or two familial or known people with this problem is not a general consensus of any kind.

I always say that I don't care to pass judgement on people because it's not my job. And I definitely would never, ever, ever want that job... no matter the pay or benefits. Because you'd have to know all about their life to be able to pass judgement and the little I know about people's lives who have been homeless.... a lot of it is heartbreaking and really fucking sucks smelly shitballs. Why would I want to see loads of shitty tragedies or worse..... paths they didn't have to take or were sabbotaged and waylaid with by truly evil entities/systems/people/circumstances?

Sure most evil in the world is pure selfishness and some is mental health issues, but the rich and powerful and educated don't hold the key to virtuosity. They can just pay, bribe or schmooze their way out of shit because that's what upper eschelon people do. They rarely pay for their societal sins and vices. Everyone else does. That's the only trickle down scheme I see them ever truly do well.

And the problems homeless have didn't just spring up out of the morning dew. Most people have trauma, negligence, abuse, violence, disorders, parasites (literally intestinal and brain worms which are very common worldwide and throughout other animal kingdoms actually but can and will get worse when one slums it a lot, be that alleys, porn stores, dirty bathrooms, unsanitary food service, hookers/promiscuity, needle sharing, and not doing whole body cleanses and not washing hands after pooping or staying away from poop laden areas. Why do you think farmers and vets deworm animals. For the insurance scam?) along with many other systemic issues that most society/government/ religions/media/educational institutions, etc do very little to truly help with.

Leaving humans with humanities issues to fix for themselves individually, which is the most assine cruelty of this shitty world. As if anyone actually could do that? Its a bandaid on an avalanche.

It's almost as if the people lording over us are all dumb as fucking doornobs and just running around a dark room blindly bumping into each other and all the furniture until it's time to go home and then wake-up and do it all over again. It is as if they dont actively and purposely make or keep these societal structures absolutely abysmally horrible and then laugh at everyone's stupidity at playing along with the depravity.

We have so many systems and structural societal paradigms that instill inequality very much on purpose. Be it bigotry, racism, fascism, hatred in general, classism, elitism, sexism, agism, on and on and on and on. We are made and expected to judge and hate each other and punish and berate and violate and repudiate and isolate and desecrate and punish and be utterly fucking vicious to each other because obviously the world stops spinning on the correct axis, I guess, if we don't.

People are so stupid, narrow minded, elitist, judgemental and fucking egotistical.

But go ahead and act like nothing I said pertains to you fucktoids. You dumb imbeciles.

I am still tolerating you all. But some of you may not be able to say the same about me. I can pretend a lot better than most of you, fortunately. Maybe because deep down I'm not the depraved, raging, maniacal, vengeful, blood lusting person I portray myself to be here.

This is just me venting. This is me spouting off because I hate this world now. And I'm trying to find myself, my purpose and a single reason to live besides my children because this world doesn't hold any allure for me anymore. I hate almost everything and everyone in it.

So there is no luck with that necessary endeavor yet. But I'll get there, hopefully. As long as I wake up each day I will keep trying to find a reason to give a fuck in this shitty, brutalistic, inhumane planet and its dumb, selfish, useless inhabitants. Meanwhile you're all stuck with this bitter version of me. Welcome to my hell.

If you don't like it. Look away. Ignore me. Get a life. Fuck off. Go be nice to your children, or dog or something. Get off my back. I have enough vermin surrounding me.

And maybe... I don't know, consider being part of the solution instead of bitching about shit you don't really know much about..... you putrid, hypocritical, entitled, dumbass fuckheads.

Source

Source

[bookoformon]

Helaman Chapter 6, Part 6. "The Author of All Sin."

The roles have been reversed: the Lamanites are growing wise through faith and acts of self-government, and the Nephites are becoming more corrupt as their Secret Combination bears fruit.

The Book of Mormon says the Combination causes the government to falter and sin and wickedness take over the country. Notice the Prophet says none of these things they do are detailed on the Plates. Quite the opposite.

In fact covenants that work against the prescriptions named in the Decrees are forbidden, they are blasphemy. SO how did the Gadianton, the "coverers" convince themselves they should mint weapons, lie, cheat, steal, murder, rape, and pillage, and still remain in power in the governmnet and within the favor of God?

22 And it came to pass that they did have their signs, yea, their secret signs, and their secret words; and this that they might distinguish a brother who had entered into the covenant, that whatsoever wickedness his brother should do he should not be injured by his brother, nor by those who did belong to his band, who had taken this covenant.

23 And thus they might murder, and plunder, and steal, and commit whoredoms and all manner of wickedness, contrary to the laws of their country and also the laws of their God.

24 And whosoever of those who belonged to their band should reveal unto the world of their wickedness and their abominations, should be tried, not according to the laws of their country, but according to the laws of their wickedness, which had been given by Gadianton and Kishkumen "to cover and steal the faith from the people."

25 Now behold, it is these secret oaths and covenants which Alma commanded his son should not go forth unto the world, lest they should be a means of bringing down the people unto destruction.

There are laws against Secret Combinations in this country. Church and State, State and Industry, the State and private persons cannot collude in a manner that is prohibited by law. Yet US politicians do this all the time.

All this Pro-Life and antigay shit is promoted by politicians with ties to religious extremists. This means their behavior is Unconstitutional:

"Separation of church and state" is a metaphor paraphrased from Thomas Jefferson and used by others in discussions regarding the Establishment Clause and Free Exercise Clause of the First Amendment to the United States Constitution which reads: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof..."

26 Now behold, those secret oaths and covenants did not come forth unto Gadianton from the records which were delivered unto Helaman; but behold, they were put into the heart of Gadianton by that dsame being who did entice our first parents to partake of the forbidden fruit—

27 Yea, that same being who did plot with Cain, that if he would murder his brother Abel it should not be known unto the world. And he did plot with Cain and his followers from that time forth.

28 And also it is that same being who put it into the hearts of the people to build a tower sufficiently high that they might get to heaven. And it was that same being who led on the people who came from that tower into this land; who spread the works of darkness and abominations over all the face of the land, until he dragged the people down to an entire destruction, and to an everlasting hell.

29 Yea, it is that same being who put it into the heart of Gadianton to still carry on the work of darkness, and of secret murder; and he has brought it forth from the beginning of man even down to this time.

30 And behold, it is he who is the author of all sin. And behold, he doth carry on his works of darkness and secret murder, and doth hand down their plots, and their oaths, and their covenants, and their plans of awful wickedness, from generation to generation according as he can get hold upon the hearts of the children of men.

31 And now behold, he had got great hold upon the hearts of the Nephites; yea, insomuch that they had become exceedingly wicked; yea, the more part of them had turned out of the away of righteousness, and did trample under their feet the commandments of God, and did turn unto their own ways, and did build up unto themselves cidols of their gold and their silver.

32 And it came to pass that all these iniquities did come unto them in the space of not many years, insomuch that a more part of it had come unto them in the sixty and seventh year of the reign of the judges over the people of Nephi.

33 And they did grow in their iniquities in the sixty and eighth year also, to the great sorrow and lamentation of the righteous.

34 And thus we see that the Nephites did begin to dwindle in unbelief, and grow in wickedness and abominations, while the Lamanites began to grow exceedingly in the knowledge of their God; yea, they did begin to keep his statutes and commandments, and to walk in truth and uprightness before him.

35 And thus we see that the Spirit of the Lord began to awithdraw from the Nephites, because of the wickedness and the hardness of their hearts.

36 And thus we see that the Lord began to pour out his Spirit upon the Lamanites, because of their easiness and willingness to believe in his words.

37 And it came to pass that the Lamanites did hunt the band of robbers of Gadianton; and they did preach the word of God among the more wicked part of them, insomuch that this band of robbers was utterly destroyed from among the Lamanites.

38 And it came to pass on the other hand, that the Nephites did build them up and support them, beginning at the more wicked part of them, until they had overspread all the land of the Nephites, and had seduced the more part of the righteous until they had come down to believe in their works and partake of their spoils, and to join with them in their secret murders and combinations.

39 And thus they did obtain the sole management of the government, insomuch that they did trample under their feet and smite and rend and turn their backs upon the apoor and the meek, and the humble followers of God.

40 And thus we see that they were in an awful state, and ripening for an everlasting destruction.

41 And it came to pass that thus ended the sixty and eighth year of the reign of the judges over the people of Nephi.

Our government provides us with not one hint it is concerned with the poor, the undereducated, underemployed, or who are being persecuted by the Republicans and Evangelical Christians and Mormons who are engaged in a crusade against the rest of the civilized world.

Mention abortion, the world turns. Dare to discuss food prices and perstitently impoverished classes of people and nothing will happen.

These kinds of unholy juxtapositions between the government and the polity have always been the bane of human existence. Fortunately, they can be addressed with the application of Religion to the issues.

We are our own brothers' keepers. We depend on each other for food and shelter and to trust our neighbors they will not seek state power for the purposes of germinating hate, minting weapons, causing harm, making war, or to make money.

The secular government is in charge of making sure it is not repurposed for these things, to enable the purposes of the devil and this it has done and it must be held accountable.

Joe Biden is allowing the demons to run hell and this has to be stopped. Even he must not be permitted to own to retake the White House or consider it while the Republican Party and its members continue to share air and soil with normal human beings. They have to pay and pay dearly for what they have done.

As for the Gematria, a few select verses will hightlight the meaning of the other verses whose meanings are fairly obvious:

The sixty and seventh year of the reign of the judges over the people of Nephi: The Value in Gematria is 5202, הבאֶפֶסב‎, the bafesb, "satisfied with food from Ba'al.'

The sixty and eighth year of the reign of the judges over the people of Nephi: The Value in Gematria is 4391, dagta, "to increase understanding by the Lampstand."

[seraferna]

My humble contribution with my first fanfiction in years. This work has been nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature.

—————————————————-

The man above me was relentless, pinning my wrists in an iron clasp as he tore through my Cthulhu-wet folds like a caged animal. I could not escape even if I wanted to; in my drugged state of floating balloons, I did not want to.

‘That’s it, take it, take it like a good adult G/N person—’ The Grabber growled, my abductor crowned with unrivalled sexual magnetism and serial paediatric murder, plunging into my nether realms. No, not plunging: pillaging. The plundering conquerer to my defenceless villager. Effervescent as the day’s last snail.

I whimpered, pleasure striking my sizzling veins like lightning shredding scorched earth, screaming his name to the heavens where angels wept in envy.

‘Are ya coming? Coming for me..?!’ His voice was the thunderstorm and I a shipwreck lost at sea.

‘No,’ I breathed, radiant with truth. ‘I’m romanticising pedophelia and promoting rape culture…! Fuck me Albert!’

The Grabber stumbled backwards, retreating from my warm sheath like a battle-worn sword caught in whirlwinds. ‘What the fuck?’

Even through the haze I could tell he was livid. I knew, for I was an empath. I knew from his Adam’s apple bobbing with all the violence of a serpent’s fangs. In my mind’s blind eye I saw caramelised apples, viscous sweet with the stench of Christmas markets. Round as a crystal orb swirling with accursed imageries of adult readers selling child porn fantasies. Moving with the sharpness of jail-cold air in spine surgeries that traded bone for bile.

‘Get the HELL out of my basement, you sick senior-citizen-harassing FUCK!’

And, ginormous boobs heaving, he kicked my arse hard, so hard I rolled up the stairs and down the streets, and I did not stop rolling past the trenches and the hills, and I rolled into the wilderness, into oblivion, into an indifferent world. I awaited my vengeance with bated breath, the vision of a world wide web free from nuance, critical thought, empathy or basic human decency.

Do not attend therapy. I hissed into the minds of impressionable, fragile hatchlings. This is where beginning meets the end.

[ladysophy]

Lincoln Should Be Ashamed of Himself

*Very Long and controversial post ahead. You may have some cognitive dissonance while reading this post.*

I’m nearly done with reading The Real Lincoln by Thomas DiLorenzo and it’s an eye opener. We (both Americans and non-Americans alike) have been lied to about this tyrant and his administration (aka his cronies) and the amount of damage they have inflicted upon America in the rest of the world by dictators and power hungry politicians following their lead.

Despite popular belief, it was not the American founding fathers’ (Washington, Jefferson, Madison etc.) intention to have a centralized government that America has now. They only wanted a limited and decentralized government and saw that the states were sovereign and had the right to secede. Lincoln blatantly disregarded this once he became President and was the originator of the myth that it was treason for the states to secede. He figuratively tore the American Constitution in half when the War Between the States (aka “American Civil War”).

According to DiLorenzo, Lincoln had a certain economic agenda. He wanted to create a 19th century version of a corporation where only a select few have money and completely disregarding the rest of the population. Lincoln was a corporate railroad lawyer before he became invested in politics and eventually the American presidency. He also had backing by some Northern bankers too (This is where is all about the money when domestic and international conflicts come to play).

Not only Lincoln viciously disregarded the American Constitution, but he also viciously disregarded international law when it came to wars. According to international (European) law at that time, it was considered a war crime if the army plundered, pillaged, raped and killed defenseless civilians that had nothing to do with the war at hand. Lincoln had his favorite generals, Sherman and Sheridan, tazed countless Southern cities to the ground where the majority of the population were women, children and men too old or sick to fight. There are countless primary sources that speak of these horrific crimes (murders, rapes, and destroying items) done to these poor civilians both white and black.

So why did Lincoln didn’t want the South to secede even though they had the right to do so? Simple, he was greedy. He and his cronies in Washington DC didn’t want to lose extra income from the South.

Lincoln inspired a lot of dictators including Hitler. To quash down any form of opposition in the North, his right hand man, Seward, established a form of a secret police to arrest anyone who said anything against Lincoln, his policies and the war, no matter how small or subtle. Seward had the audacity to brag to a British ambassador that he can put anyone away in the North and he was more powerful than Queen Victoria of Great Britain!

If this sounds very familiar, it is. It’s alleged that some of the American bankers helped the Bolsheviks in power with President Wilson’s blessing. Slightly off topic, but when the Russian Revolution was in full swing and the murders of the Romanovs and other Russian aristocrats were taking place over 70 years later after Lincoln’s reign of terror, Grand Duchess Maria Georgievna of Russia (née Princess Marie of Greece and Denmark) pleaded with Wilson on her family’s behalf when they were in France, but Wilson basically shoo her away.

Back to Lincoln, a preacher was even arrested for not praying for him in church where his administration made it mandatory to do so!

Not surprisingly, the people in the North who were arrested didn’t have no trials nor legal representations. They were immediately sent off to prison for the reminder of Lincoln’s presidency. Lincoln overturned the habeas corpus that made people have these legal rights.

Lincoln’s legacy after his assassination was just as deadly. After his assassination, there was a 12 year period called the Reconstruction. During this period, the South had militaristic dictatorships in thanks to the Republicans who held Lincoln to a high regard. The Republicans used blacks as political pawns by giving them the right to vote, but they could only vote Republican. The Republicans didn’t want the blacks to improve their living situations and education (many were illiterate), they wanted them to vote for them! The Southern white male voters couldn’t vote during this period. Not surprisingly sadly, this caused a lot of resentment with the white male voters and caused the souring of race relations that is unfortunately well known today.

And before anyone says that the South deserve what they got because they were evil slave holding racists, uh the North was actually more racist in the years prior to the war than the South believe it or not. There were black codes established in the North and many Northerners didn’t want to be near blacks, including some of the Northern abolitionists. Many wanted to remove all the blacks from America like Lincoln did. The many, but not all Northerners’ politicians blatant disrespectful talk about blacks in House of Representatives offended the future CSA President Davis. So much so that he wrote a letter to his wife about it. I’m not kidding. I was actually shocked when I found this out recently.

In the South, many whites and blacks were used to each other’s presence. They even greeted one another and the white women even trusted some of their black women servants or slaves to care for their children. There are countless photos of black women holding white children to back this up. The majority of the blacks who were in General Lee’s, CSA President Davis’, and CSA Vice President Stephens’ households had a lot of very good things to say about these so called evil hateful men (and no it isn’t because of Stockholm syndrome). Davis adopted a little black or biracial boy depending on what source you read and Stephens taught his slaves to read and write (which was against Georgia law at that time). Lincoln and his cronies would strongly balk and be horrified at this! And many American politicians and historians had the gall to say Lincoln cared about blacks which he clearly didn’t.

While there were some unfortunate cases of brutality in the South against slaves and free blacks, it wasn’t as widespread as some warmongering and imperialistic Americans want you to believe. In fact, the Confederate army contained blacks (!!!), Native Americans, and some Mexicans along with Southern white men.

And slavery was on its way out. Lincoln could have ended slavery peacefully like other countries, but this despot didn’t! So I am not defending slavery at all! I find it horrible. I am black American and some of my ancestors were slaves.

In closing, always remember that the victor writes history. The American civil war is of no exception.

P.S. Davis and Stephens had their issues too. Both men didn’t get along with each other well. Davis had a prickly personality which his chronic painful condition didn’t help and it has been alleged that Stephens believed in some of that psuedoscience crap that stated blacks were not extremely smart. If so, then why did he taught his slaves to read and write then?

[psalloacappella]

SSM21 Day 1. Glances

Pairing:  SasuSaku Prompt: Glances Title: the horses are coming, so you better run Tags:  AU - Greek Mythology Their language of silence is legendary, spoken only in glances. Ao3 | twt | full series link | @ssskmonth

All great reigns come with terror.

Slouching toward compromise at first, as scrappy guerrilla tactics are abandoned in favor of the negotiating dance. Money and mercy are more highly prized while torture and the other sordid campaign details fade into oblivion. Winners rewrite history, and distractions have no place.

Still, she’s known as a hard woman the world over:  Alluring in the way of exotics from faraway lands, ruthless with a divine strength (whispers like hissing fires saying handed down from the heaven temples; she is no human!) followed by a man with dark hair and sloe eyes, always at her side, always ready to lend the blade of his sword.

Sakura, sprout of spring, rules alone — the only woman.

Men spit, kneel in the sticky blood of innumerable sacrificial rites, and vow to make her the last.

Displays of her strength feel boorish, in her mind, a last resort of those lost to anger. It’s easier to say this now, of course, from the zenith of this warm stone  where it seems the sun never sets and her loyalists flanking both sides of the ancient rug unfurling up to her throne. Not that she uses it often — that, too, feels vulgar.

Leading is full of contradictions.

“Raising your voice in my room, and to a lady at that.” Greenglitter eyes, of which the shade and quality change as one turns over a shard of glass in the sun — sometimes soft, edged deadly in others.

Her companion barely stirs. Uchiha Sasuke, brought into the world in a similar swirl of rumor as the Queen, these mortal halflings touched by the golden power of vengeful, lustful gods who could not keep their hands off human beings.

“Barely,” the visiting envoy sneers. In representation of his King, carrying disgust across ocean waves to fling it before her in her own palace. It is nothing new. “We know what you come from, sired by titans, left in a river, bending men to your bidding—”

“No one has been forced to follow my cause. I don’t threaten to break legs to raise my banners.” She pauses, spring softness pulling back from her eyes and face to carve her features with something feral. “Perhaps some men don’t want to be as vicious as they pretend; is it so awful to imagine men who respect their wives and daughters? Who do not feed the poor to gods as livestock, seeking their whimsy blessings?”

And here, the two communicate in that fabled, magical way that defies all understanding, the stories of their bond whispered and passed as gossip talismans. The Queen and her sword-wielding consort-of-sorts:  No one’s quite sure if they’ve — but who wouldn’t, they sigh, just look at him, abnormally handsome in ways their own men are not, look at her, ferrying spring upon her stride.

No one ever knows what they’re saying, but have witnessed the outcomes of their silence. Speaking only with their eyes, Uchiha Sasuke shifts imperceptibly.

The envoy doesn’t notice.

“Isn’t your King,” Sakura booms, and the room can hear the recoil in voicing the title, “the man who recently disgraced his wife publicly, whom bore him four sons and put up with his plundering, his constant sailing? His rape and pillaging?”

When her foot hits the stone stair, it makes no sound. Credence to the rumors she glides, does not touch the ground, inhuman at heart.

“Who had to sit, locked up and spinning the loom as all men seem to want their women, listening to his exploits until it drove her mad?”

Spit, a dirty gob of it, lands at her foot.

“I won’t hear filth from the lips of a halfling whore like you!”

Another shared glance — and if you asked the court throng later, even in all that chaos as the people erupted in anger, the tale goes that Uchiha Sasuke and the queen exchanged a smile so sublime that no normal being could quite behold it in full.

Sakura tilts her head to let the earrings catch the afternoon light; the jaunty angle blinds the envoy momentarily, veils light fractals upon his face. He curses,

and it’s an easy movement with a sword so divinely sharp, the clean cleaving of his head from his miserable body.

Red spatters like paint, dapples Sakura with spots, but she’s snuffed out many men on her own and doesn’t flinch.

Her consort turns, bows his aristocratic head in morbid contrast to the one he’s dangling by its dead hair. Another undefined question in his dark eyes.

Slim fingers come up to brush a drop away with an ephemeral flicker, almost unseen. And for the next, a splatter bent in oblong shape, garnet and vivid amidst pink hair, light robes, spring eyes, Uchiha Sasuke replaces them with his own, an action only permitted by her gaze of silent permission.

Soldiers clearing the envoy’s meatsack away; handmaidens fussing at the blood in her hair; others dry heaving at the entrails on the rug; escorts of the envoy lost for words and now vulnerable. A warning of war, her message a final one — armies, do not dare encroach.

This is how they rule a queendom.

Even for a peaceful reign, violence is needed to keep it so.

Whispers on the lips of subjects devoted,

Their language of silence is legendary, spoken only in glances.

[elizabeethan]

I’ll Be Your Light

A follow-up to On This Night

Also on Ao3

Inspired by this prompt 

Killian and Emma travel the realms together happily, but when they’re drawn back to Misthaven, they must avoid the thing that sent them away in the first place.

A/N: All of the warning that applied to the first story are mentioned very briefly here, although no details are given. Very mild descriptions of violence and gore

Rated: a hard T, soft M, somewhere in there?

Tagging the usuals but if you want me to remove you (or add you) please tell me!! I will never not feel annoying doing this

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @profdanglaisstuff @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook​

Captain Killian Jones has led a tortured life. He watched his mother die, was sold by his own father, and held his brother in his arms as he drew his last breath. He’s lost countless crewmen at sea. He’s seen the horrors of war. But one of the worst nights of his life was seeing Emma Swan bleeding and delirious, nearly raped on the streets outside of the seedy tavern. He couldn’t have told her then, but he had been in love with her from the moment he met her. When he saw her crumpled on the ground, he couldn't stop himself. He knew he probably should have taken her back to Granny’s tavern for her medical attention, should have insisted when she refused, but he was a weak man. A man with a code, a man of honor, but a weak one, all the same.

He could have tried harder to insist that she find her way into the tavern to sleep, rather than offering her a place in his bed. But she had been abused and battered and attacked all in one night and she needed someone to be there for her. She needed reminding that the whole world isn’t out to get her. He hated himself the next morning, feeling as though he’d coerced her, but he still couldn't help but to check in on her at the tavern later that evening.

When she told him she wanted to leave, he jumped at the opportunity to help her. If nothing else, he could at least ensure that she was safely away from her beast of a husband. If she chose to stay with him, that would be an added bonus of which he would happily reap the benefits. When he told her, foolishly, that he would drop her off wherever she wanted, thinking he was being helpful in not pressuring her to stay, she became so saddened that he knew immediately how badly he’d befouled. He thought that she would surely leave him, and he would let her. But when she called him a dullard and said that she loved him, he knew he would be content for the rest of his days.

She loved him. He loved her too. And so they ran away together.

They find themselves lounging in the sand, just two years after leaving port and never looking back. He continues traveling the realms and obtaining treasures, but she’s changed him in that he no longer feels the need to take out his anger and acrimony through pillaging and plundering. Instead, she encourages him to use his skills in bartering to make a living, and he must say, they’re doing quite well for themselves. Some of the men disliked the changes they saw in their captain and abandoned the crew, but many stayed behind and now continue to earn an honest living through trading exotic spices and jewels.

Emma liked Agrabah quite a lot, but she says her favorite location thus far is the tropical island they find themselves on now. He likes it too; he especially likes the little dresses she wears as she traipses along the beach and the fact that she takes them off when she wants to go swimming, and insists that he remove his trousers as well.

This afternoon was the only occasion during which they ended up in the warm waves with their clothes still on. They had been on a walk at high noon when the sun was at its brightest, enjoying the bright blue skies and the scorching white sand against their bare feet, when he knelt before her and presented her with a diamond he procured in Agrabah. She shouted excitedly, squealing and laughing and saying yes, yes, yes! before knocking him to the ground into the water and kissing the holy hell out of him. He thought they may have drowned if she’d held him under the water any longer, but he probably wouldn’t have minded.

“I can’t stop looking at it,” she says happily, grinning as she holds her hand out in front of her.

He hums and smiles back at her, rolling to his side to press a kiss to her temple. “I can’t stop looking at you.”

She blushes, just as she does every time he speaks to her this way, but he can’t help it. He has so much love for her in his heart that it hurts.

“I’d like to be married straight away, I think,” she says.

“Is that so?”

“Aye, it’s so,” she says with a laugh. “Who does the officiating when it’s the captain who wants to get married?”

He hums again thoughtfully , leaning closer so that he can press her into the sand and roll on top of her. He kisses her soft lips gently once, twice, three times, before saying, “I suppose I’ll have to make Mr. Smee do it.”

“Make him? He’ll do it for me,” she says sweetly, kissing him again.

He laughs. “That’s only because he’s afraid of you.”

She gasps in genuine outrage and pushes his shoulders until she can roll over and sit atop his hips. “He is not afraid of me!”

“My love, the entire crew is terrified of you.”

“Take that back!”

“Having a woman on board a ship is considered bad luck. They shiver at the thought of upsetting you and causing torrential weather, or a run in with a mermaid, or—”

She cuts him off with her mouth, kissing him fiercely to shut him up and only further proving his point that she is a cunning and unforgiving fire of a woman. He loves her so damn much.

“Your crew loves me, and they would do anything for me,” she insists, giving him a look that says he had best agree with her.

He smiles up lovingly at her and tilts his head to the side, completely in awe of his fiancé, then says, “of course, my darling. Whatever you say.”

She rolls her eyes, likely in annoyance at how easily he backed down, then presses on his shoulders so that she can stand before him and give him an expectant look. “Come now, then,” she says as he stands as well. “I need to marry you now.”

“Now?” he asks, raising a brow and taking her hand in his so he can lead her back to where the ship is anchored.

“Yes. Despite your rudeness, I find I can’t stand to spend another moment not being your wife.”

He laughs aloud, releasing her hand in favor of wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “Do you not want to discuss your marital needs first?”

She pauses, pursing her lips in thought, then says, “I have but one need.”

“And what’s that?”

“You.”

~~~~

They’re married at sunset on the helm of the Jolly Roger, the entirety of the crew looking on as they exchange words of love and promises to grow old beside each other. She’s a vision in red, her extravagant gown one that he procured for her in Camelot last summer. When he asked why she wasn’t wearing one of her cream colored dresses, she told him that she’s far from a virtuous and unsullied virgin; he couldn’t agree more, and he couldn’t be happier for it.

They have a view of the endless sea on one side of them, and the lush jungle on the other. The sky is pink and the crew cheers raucously as they seal their vows with a kiss, and they watch as the sun sneaks just below the horizon before some of the crew begin playing their instruments.

He holds her close as they drift in the shallow water, her head resting against his collarbone and his against her soft hair. The salty sea air has done wonders for her tresses— they’ve become longer and thicker in the two years since they’ve left, as if the happiness she’s felt has done more than nourish her soul alone. She has them styled hastily in billowing loose curls, surrounded by some flowers that the chef, Will, found for her on the island while he was foraging for dinner.

“Are you happy, my darling?” Killian asks against her hair, and she sighs into his skin and nods softly.

“Happier than I’ve ever been, I’d say.” Her breath tickles the hair on his chest and he squeezes her closer to him.

“I have to agree,” he whispers as the sky darkens and the lanterns provide a soft and comforting light around them. When the music swells, he pulls away from her just slightly and asks, “dance with me?”

She grins up at him and allows him to guide her from the rail to the center of the deck and sway her to the beat of the melodic sounds coming from beside them. He spins her, dips her, and lifts her until she’s giggling away and turning the same shade of red as her gown.

Will emerges from the galley carrying a small pastry meant to be their wedding cake and calls them over. They each enjoy it enthusiastically, and he kisses the powdery sugar from her lips and tastes the remnants of honey on her tongue.

When the twilight turns to night and the crew start dropping off one by one, drunkenly finding their way to their hammocks, she leads him to their bed to make love to him fervidly. She starts off on top, grinding against him as her eyes meet his, until he can no longer stand to not be holding her and flips them over so that she’s enveloped in his arms as they fall apart the same way they do everything: together.

When they’re finally sated, though still not content to be separated from one another, she lays her head against his chest and runs her long fingers through the dark hair she seems to like so much. His hands enjoy the feel of her soft skin as he runs them up and down her spine and occasionally cup and squeeze and blithely slap her backside, drawing playful giggles from her.

“You’re my wife,” he whispers into the darkness, and he feels her arms tighten around his torso.

“You’re my husband,” she breathes out. “Bit better than the last model.”

He snorts, taking another opportunity to squeeze her flesh, and kisses the top of her head. “I should hope so.”

She lies contentedly atop him for quite a while, breathing evenly as her skin is illuminated only by the dim flame of the lantern. He isn’t even sure she’s awake anymore when he speaks into the shadows and says, “there’s something we haven’t discussed.”

She hums to question him and shifts languidly so that she can nestle her nose into the crook of his neck. “What’s that?”

“Only the expectancy that generally comes with being a wedded couple,” he says nervously.

He isn’t sure how she may respond. He was certain that he’d never want to have a child until he met and fell in love with her. Truthfully, it was something they should have discussed before they wed, but it’s also something he never dares to bring up to her after her arduous experience baring a child.

“Are you referring to your carnal need to sire an heir to your empire?” Emma asks playfully, although he can sense the tension forming in her back as he continues to stroke along her skin.

“No, I’m referring to the natural desire to have a child that some people have after marrying the love of their life.”

She nods and sighs, seemingly more awake as she presses onto her elbows so that she can look at his eyes. “Perhaps we should have talked about this before we exchanged vows,” she remarks with a sad smile.

He moves his hand from her waist to her cheek and says, “it’s alright that we didn’t. Any decision that you make is one that I’ll happily agree with, I simply wanted to know your thoughts on the matter.”

“It shouldn’t be my decision alone,” she rationalizes. He can almost see the likeness to the Emma he met years ago, timid and frightened of stepping out of line in her marriage, so he does what he can to draw her away from that place and those thoughts.

She smiles sadly at him as he sits up slightly and rolls both of them on their sides.  “It’s ultimately your choice to make, my love. This is your body, not mine, and you have the right to not want to carry children after your last experience in doing so.” Her fingers run along his cheek, tracing the scar under his eye before kissing it.

“You’re very good at being a husband,” she whispers and he chuckles. “It’s a topic I need to consider further.”

“Take all the time you need, my darling. I’ll be here for whatever you decide.”

“Promise?”

He rolls on top of her and moves her hair away from her eyes so that he can kiss all along her face. “I did mention in my vows that I’d be by your side for the rest of my days. Your decision regarding children won’t change that.”

“Don’t you want them?”

He shrugs. “Truthfully, I think the two of us are parents already. We have about 12 children that we care for regularly.” she snorts and nods before he moves on. “I didn’t before, but when I met the love of my life, I realized why people crave having children so badly.”

She takes a deep breath and sighs out heavily, wrapping her arms around him and linking them just under his shoulder blades so that she can pull him close and feel his weight on her. “I love you,” she whispers. Each time she says it, his heart still races.

“I love you, too. I love you whether you choose to have a child with me or to spend the rest of our days just the two of us. I love you more than the consequences of whatever decision you make.”

She kisses his neck and squeezes harder. “You're a good husband.”

“I’ve only been a husband for six hours,” he argues happily.

“I know a good husband when I see one.”

“Aye, I suppose you do.”

He rolls to his side so that he isn’t crushing her any longer and she follows, pushing him to his back and hitching her knee up onto his hip and resting her head at his shoulder. “Sleep now, my love, and in the morning we’ll plan the honeymoon of our dreams.”

~~~~

They venture away from the secluded part of the island and make landfall just outside of the small village. As Killian goes off to do some business, Emma takes the chef, Will Scarlet, with her to walk through the streets and browse the small shops. The two of them became fast friends when she’d first arrived on board, and their closeness blossomed into the very friendship that Killian wanted for his wife. It started with Will helping her with her training in swordsmanship, or swordswomanship as she often corrected him, when Killian couldn't, and they’re now inseparable and always get into mischief together.

They spend almost a month longer in the tropics before Emma suggests that they try something new one night after dinner. “Perhaps we could visit somewhere snowy,” she’d said longingly. “I’ve hardly ever seen snow before.”

While he’ll miss her small dresses on the secluded beach and swimming naked with her in the warm water, he could never deny her of anything for which she wished so fancifully, so he began charting the course to Arendelle, the only place he knows of that will be seeing snow this time of year.

As they get closer, the seas get rougher, but she enjoys her days larking about with Will and sitting in her soft Agrabahan chair as she watches the snow fall onto the choppy waves. When the bird lands on the wheel as he takes the helm, he becomes curious, but it’s addressed to Emma and he dare not violate her privacy. So when the weather gets particularly bad, he chooses to take advantage of his first mate and relax with her in his quarters.

Her face is alight when she reads that her closest friend is to be married in six months time. Ruby shall wed a lad named August, whom Emma seems to know, in the small church outside of her hometown. Killian tries not to think about the fact that he now needs to take her back to the place he’d promised to help her escape.

They make landfall in Arendelle two days later, Emma’s face so joyous at the sight of the fresh snowfall that he knows immediately that the somewhat difficult journey was worth it. He trades jewels and some more exotic spices he procured on the small island, then spends as much time as he can with his wife.

There are only so many wintery activities they can participate in, the joys of sledding and ice skating and snowman building only taking them so far before the cold wins out and they choose to start their charts back to Misthaven.

He wants nothing more than to say, to hell with the wedding, let’s just go somewhere else so you're safe, but he knows that would crush her. Ruby has been her best friend for years, she and Granny taking Emma in when she had nowhere else to go, and he couldn’t possibly deny her the joy of seeing her married off to one of their mutual friends. Also, she’s been away from them for two anda half years now, and he’s certain that she misses them dearly.

He just can’t move past the dread he feels at the thought of bringing her back to the place that caused her so much pain. She was maimed, accosted, and struck, all in the span of a few hours. She’d dealt with verbal abuse for years. She’d conceived a child, only to lose that child and be stuck with an absolute demon of a husband. She’d lost her parents at birth and grown up as an orphan. And through it all, she was the most exuberant person he’d ever met. The idea of bringing her back to that place, where her former husband could still be lurking, made him sick to his stomach.

But he does it for her. And when they land in the small port town she called home for years and years, she has tears in her eyes. She brushes them away with a smile and looks up at him, hugging her arms around his waist. “I’m nervous,” she whispers, and he wonders if it’s for the same reasons he is. He thinks it must be.

“Me too,” he admits, hugging her back and kissing her temple.

“But you’ll keep me safe, won't you?” she asks with a soft and loving smile as she looks into his eyes.

“If it’s the last thing I do, my love.”

“It won’t come to that,” she insists.

Ruby’s wedding is far more put-together than their own. She has a decorated venue, middlemist flowers ordaining the aisle and wrapped through her hair, and after they exchange vows before a priest, as perhaps Emma and Killian should consider doing, the party is moved to the tavern where he fell in love with his wife. They dance the night away together, enjoying the ability to be in each other’s company here without fear of being noticed. Killian offers to buy her an ale as he wasn’t ever able to do when she worked here, but she turns him down and says she’s too tired. He can’t blame her, what with their endless travel and their long night spent dancing and laughing with friends, so he promises to take her home to the ship shortly.

A thought strikes him, and he wonders for how long she’ll tolerate living with him on a ship. They’ve been at this for two and a half years, and they’re now married and at least casually considering parenthood. Should he buy her a house? Where would she even want to live? He thinks she would like that, but wonders if she’s ready to leave her life of travel and wanderlust.

As the ale continues to flow through him, his love for her grows, and he thinks she must be glowing more than usual as she sits under candlelight  in the corner with Ruby, laughing and catching up on all that they’ve missed of each other. Granny must agree, because when she sits beside him on a stool and bumps his shoulder with hers, she grins. “She looks good,” she tells him, nudging her head towards his wife.

“Aye, she does.”

“I gotta tell you, I wasn't thrilled when Ruby told me she’d run off with a pirate.” He lifts his hand off of his mug and scratches behind his ear. “But she needed to get away from that bastard husband of hers. And you’ve loved her for quite a while.”

He laughs in surprise, eyes widening and brows raised as he looks at her before responding, “You knew, then?”

“‘Course I knew, I'm no fool. And I know a fool in love when I see one.” He chuckles and nods at the same time as his wife throws her head back and laughs boisterously at something Ruby said. “And I know Emma Swan. She’s loved you since the moment she met you.”

He smiles at her, the woman who has known Emma longer than nearly anyone else, and nods again. “That’s nice to hear, thank you.”

She grunts out an acknowledgement and sips some more ale. “Heard you gave up the pirate’s life,” she says, and he nods once more.

“Felt unnecessary once we’d left. Truthfully, I hadn't done much pillaging since I met her.”

“That so?”

“Aye.”

“So Captain Jones has gone soft?”

He laughs at her, and he thinks that if he hadn’t had so much ale, he likely wouldn’t be telling her so much, but continues anyway. “I’ve always been soft. Losing my brother just made me lose my mind a bit. But meeting Emma helped me find it again.”

She hums thoughtfully, then bumps her shoulder into his once more and says, “huh, who knew the infamous and treacherous Captain Jones was such a sap?”

“Emma, certainly,” he jokes.

“Yes, my love?” she asks from behind him, and he turns happily, surprised that he missed her getting up from her seat.

“Hello,” he says with a smile, and she leans in to press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips.

“Hm, someone’s been enjoying their ale,” she remarks at the taste of his mouth, drawing a chuckle from him.

“Aye, it’s been a while since I’ve tasted this backwash and watched the beautiful blonde from across the tavern.”

He feels a whack at the backside of his head and exclaims, reaching up and turning to see Granny’s irritated face chastising him. “Need I remind you, I let you sit in that corner and watch my barmaid for years before you stole her away from me? You know how hard it is to find good help these days?”

“She’s right, my love, one cannot abase Granny’s ale in Granny’s tavern, never mind with Granny sitting right beside you.”

He stands from his stool, apologizing to Granny and tipping just slightly to the left until Emma presses herself against him, and wraps an arm around her shoulder. “Care to turn in, milady?”

“Definitely,” she says, yawning with perfect timing. “I’m done for.”

They wish their friends a pleasant evening, Emma promising that they won't be leaving port just yet and will surely say goodbye in person rather than leaving a sad letter. Ruby informs them that she and August will be leaving for their honeymoon in the mountains in three days, and asks that they stay that long so that they can spend some more time together.

“That was lovely,” Emma says as they fall into bed together. It’s been some time since he’s drank himself to this extent, but figures it was grounds for celebration.

“It was. A bit more put-together than ours, but a nice time indeed.”

“Ours was fairly well put-together considering we were only engaged for about six hours.”

“Too right, love,” he chuckles, pulling her into his arms. “You miss being here?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess. I miss Ruby and Granny, but we can’t exactly stay around long, so it’s alright.”

He sighs as he holds her, letting her drift off to sleep quickly as he considers how he can fix this for her.

~~~~

The following evening, Killian receives an invitation from August to go to a tavern that isn’t owned by his mother-in-law. He asks Emma to come, but it would seem that Ruby wants to spend time with her, and he can hardly deny her such a pleasure, so they head to Ruby’s new home while the lads spend the evening at the pub. He likes August well enough, but he can’t help but miss the image of his wife winding her way through the tavern with her blonde hair following her.

He learns that August grew up with Ruby and Emma, and once had feelings for Emma when they were much younger. He feels childish at the jealousy that arises, but must remind himself that the two of them are both happily married. He chuckles at the man’s words, joking that he also had feelings for Emma quite a few years ago.

“I knew it was you, pirate,” he hears from behind him, and he cocks his head to the side as he takes another swig from his mug.

When he turns around, he sees a man he doesn’t recognize, but somehow knows all the same. He’s angry with Killian, that much is clear by the heat in his face and the tone of his voice as he spits, “How long were you fornicating with my wife before you finally had the stones to take her away?”

He nods in understanding, practically feeling sorry for the man who is still so clearly hung up on a woman he abused and chased away. “I suppose you must be Baelfire,” he says, putting his mug down on the bar and holding out a hand for a shake. It gets slapped away.

“Yeah, I am. I’m also Emma’s husband, and I’d like to know where she is.” He’s clearly drunk, having had at least three too-many ales. Killian is most certainly not going to be giving this man any information about her.

He smirks. “Who?”

Baelfire scoffs, spitting on Killian's cheek as he does so. “Maybe a few whacks to the head will remind you.”

“She’s dead,” he says, trying to come up with the fastest way to get Baelfire to leave. “Died a long time ago.”

“Dead?”

“Aye, dead. Now what do you want?”

He’s starting to get irritated, as having to repeatedly call his wife dead is less than ideal.

“So you stole my wife, and then you killed her?” He pulls out a stool beside Killian and takes a seat, staring in what he assumes is an attempt to be leering, although it seems as though his eyes may be going in two different directions.

“I didn’t kill her, mate, and I certainly didn’t steal her.”

“Well, I think you did.”

“Tell me something, then,” he says, clearing his throat and turning as the anger at this man begins to fester. “If a woman comes to you and begs you to take her away... is that theft?”

Baelfire lunges for Killian but he’s able to stand and dodge him quite easily, sending him falling onto the stool that Killian had abandoned. “Bastard pirate, you don’t deserve to live.”

He laughs. “I’ve heard it all before, mate. Why don’t you get back to whatever gutter you crawled out of and leave me in peace.”

“No,” he says as he stands. He’s shorter than Killian by several inches and decidedly not threatening. “I want a duel.”

Killian scoffs. “A duel? Why?”

“For my honor. You stole my whore of a wife and then murdered her in cold blood, I must assume, so I want to duel for my honor.”

The look Killian shoots at him is one of confused disgust at Baelfire’s obvious oblivion. He wonders how someone can be so foolish as to assume that his wife being murdered is any reflection on his honor. He wonders how he can let the man go after saying such things about his wife. “If it’s a duel you want, then a duel you shall have. Though I must inform you that I'm a master swordsman and will more than likely win.”

“A fight to the death, then.”

Killian laughs now, throwing his head back. “Very well, gutter rat, have it your way. We fight to the death at dawn.”

~~~~

When he arrives back to the ship, a bit drunker than he should be, Emma's laying in bed with a candle lit beside her, wide awake despite the late hour. “My darling wife, what are you still doing up?”

She smiles as she sits up just slightly turning to him and intaking a deep breath. “I’m seasick,” she tells him.

He cocks his head and moves to sit beside her. “You’re never seasick. Is it nerves?”

“Hmm, must be,” she agrees, laying back down when his hand finds her scalp.

“Well, worry not. You needn’t worry about Baelfire again after tomorrow, and then we can stay here as long as you like.”

She sits up abruptly, glaring at him in concern as she hisses, “what?”

“Aye,” he smiles and caresses her cheek, “Baelfire found me at the tavern and has requested a duel. One that I shall surely win.”

“Killian, no. Don’t go.”

He shakes his head. “What do you mean, my love? I must go and eradicate any threats against you. I know a part of you wants to stay here, and once I win, we can do just that.”

“I’m serious, don’t go! He isn’t worth it!”

“Darling, don’t worry. He’s nothing but a drunken fool, and once we’re rid of him you won’t have to fear ever running into him again.”

He thinks she may have tears in her eyes as they shine in the flicker flame of the candle. “I don’t want you to do this, Killian,” she says seriously. “You’ve left the pirate’s life. There’s no need to fall back into dueling.”

“Alright, I hear you,” he says, stroking her hair soothingly. He feels her relaxing against his touch instantly.

As much as he wants to promise her that he won’t go, that he won’t leave at dawn to duel this man who has caused her such anguish, he simply can’t.

~~~~

The air has a thickness to it that makes Killian uneasy. He hasn’t been in Misthaven in quite some time, but he doesn’t think he remembers feeling such sticky humidity when he was here last.

He knows he’s being foolish. Emma told him not to come, begged him not to, but there was something in the way that Baelfire spoke of her last night that set him off. He thought it may have been the ale he was drinking that made him so excessively angry, but hearing this man who vowed to love her call her a white and talk of her death so callously had him seeing red.

“I see you decided to honor our agreement, then, pirate. I must say I’m surprised.”

He rolls his eyes at the man’s cloying voice. “I am a man of honor, Baelfire, unlike you. Of course you’re surprised.”

He scoffs, drawing his sword from the scabbard and pointing it towards him. “How do you come to the conclusion that I’m not a man of honor?”

Killian draws his sword as well. “No honorable man would strike his wife.”

He guffaws, tossing his head back, and says, “you can’t say that until you marry a slag, mate.”

Killian snaps, lunging forward and clashing his sword against Baelfire’s. He fights back rather well, meeting each swing with a defensive block, but he’s no match for Killian’s decades of training. They spend a few moments gamboling around each other as they swing their blades. He’s making it too simple, his slow swipes easy to avoid and his weak blocks easy to break through. Killian becomes hard-headed when he thinks Baelfire may be tiring, letting his guard down and deciding to have a bit of fun with him, until the demon lunges at him with such violent enthusiasm that he falls to his knees.

Killian had made a foolish mistake, thinking that Baelfire was a poorer swordsman than he. He is, of course, but Killian shouldn't have let his guard down, as he’s now allowed Baelfire to place his blade at his throat and kick his sword out of his grasp. “Do you know what it’s like to have your wife stolen from you? It’s like getting a sword through your heart,” he spits out, trailing the steel from his neck to his chest and drawing just a bit of blood along the way.

“She wasn’t stolen from you, mate,” Killian breathes out, and he isn’t sure why he’s still acting so foolish as to instigate the man holding a sword to his heart.

“Let me show you how that feels, pirate—” he says, drawing back just slightly as he rears himself to plunge his sword through Killian’s chest.

He isn’t sure how the hell he got himself into this position. One minute he was confidently parrying with this fool, beating him easily, and the next, his cockiness has gotten the better of him and sees him on his knees about to be run through. He tries to think quickly, about to duck out of his way and roll towards his own sword, when he hears her.

“Stop!” she shouts, and his heart hurts more now than it did when he thought he was going to be stabbed. She stands before the both of them looking fierce and scared all at once, her fists clenched tightly at her side and her eyes the size of saucers.

“Emma,” Baelfire says, dropping his sword and turning to her with a sinister smile. “Well, this is a turn of events.”

“Bae, don't hurt him.”

“Emma, get out of here.”

“No!” she shouts at Killian. “You fool, I told you not to come!”

“Enough!” Baelfire asserts, pointing the sword back at Killian. “This is a story I wasn’t expecting. My wife has fallen in love with the pirate, is that it?”

“Bae, please just leave us be. Let him go now and you won't see us again.”

He laughs condescendingly, dropping his sword once more, then gesturing for Killian to stand. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you Ems? You want me to leave you be so you can whore around with your pirate?”

The anger is back, flowing through Killian’s veins the same as blood. He gets to his feet and clamours towards Emma, facing her with his hands on her cheeks so that he can ensure that she’s alright despite the tears that are falling from her eyes.

“Bae,” she continues, choking the word out as she looks down from his eyes. “If you won't let us go willingly, perhaps an exchange will do.”

He laughs and Killian draws his brows together in confusion at her words. “I’d love to hear what you have in mind, strumpet.”

He turns towards Baelfire again but Emma grabs his upper arm, grounding him. She holds out her other hand and lets something fall from it: a ring dangling from a silver chain. “You can have this back.”

“Well,” he laughs. “Come then, hand it over.”

She steps to the left, releasing Killian’s arm, and takes one stride towards Baelfire before it all goes wrong. She’s holding the chain in her left hand, and moves to pass it to him, but rather than accept it, he raises his heavy sword towards her and swings it downwards.

He doesn't think, throwing himself in front of her and her to the ground out of harm’s way. He feels the sharp burn in his left arm immediately, but isn’t able to focus on that very well over the sound of Emma's screams. He’s on the ground, and she falls to his side, touching his face and weeping so forcefully that her tears fall onto his own face. She’s completely hysterical, but in his dazed mind he isn't sure why. He hears laughter above him and sees her face shift from fear and sadness to all-consuming fury as she reaches to Killian’s side and he hears the shrill swipe of iron against the cobblestone ground.

He turns just slightly as she pushes herself up, hoping to stop her from injuring herself, but when he finally sees her through his blurred vision, he’s met with the sight of her sword plunging deep into Baelfire’s middle, as if he was moving towards her and she stopped him with the blade.

She’s back at his side in an instant, breathing more heavily than he’s ever seen her, then she’s screaming for help and running her warm, wet hands along his face and his arm, and he wishes he could tell her that he’s alright and that she shouldn’t worry, but the icy heat that’s radiating from his hand is becoming too much, and his vision blurs into blackness.

~~~~

He sleeps through cloudy delirium for what feels like eons. He hears faint whispers beside him from time to time, whenever he wakes, but the scorching pain of his arm makes it impossible to stay conscious, and he screams in agony until he feels sweet sleep taking him again.

He isn’t sure how much time goes by before he finally starts to hear the things that people say around him. They toss out words like infection and loss and stump, but he isn’t quite sure what those things have to do with one another. He hears Emma weeping beside him more than anything else, constantly whispering into his ears although he hardly comprehends her words.

Too much time has passed, and he thinks he must be dying. That must be why he’s still in such great pain and numbness and why Emma remains at his bedside in tears, always whispering her thoughts into his ears and resting her head on his chest. She’s a strong lass, and would be fine without him, he’s sure, so her ongoing emotional outpouring tells him that something awful must be happening.

More time passes before he’s able to comprehend what she says to him in the night when she must be unable to sleep. He’s discovered that he’s been in their bed, probably all this time, and she keeps a candle lit despite the darkness of the sky outside the window. He only keeps his eyes open long enough to take in the shadows of the room they share and the gold of her hair before they fall closed again. She must notice the change in his breathing as he wakes slightly, lifting her head from his chest and pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, though he can hardly respond. She moves her mouth to his ear and whispers, “come back to me, my love. We need you here now. I can’t do this without you. Please come back to me.”

He’s sure she can do anything without him; she’s the strongest person he knows. She could become the captain himself and sail the crew across realms if she truly wanted to.

His attempt to lift his hand and place it on her head in comfort fails, as he finds he’s still unable to move much, so he rolls his head towards her just slightly to tell her that he hears her now. He feels her whimper and cry in response, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheeks as she repeats, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” like a mantra.

He uses it as a mantra himself as he falls back to sleep. He loves her.

~~~~

“Are we sure he’s even still alive under there?” he hears someone say, and he screws his brows together. Of course he’s alive.

“Of course he’s alive!” Emma says, and he smiles just slightly at the fierceness in her voice.

He tries to say something, anything, to give the fools an indication that she’s right, but all that comes out is a pathetic grunt.

She gasps so loudly that he jumps. “Killian!” she shouts, and he feels the mattress shifting under her weight as she bounds towards him. “Are you there? Killian, can you hear me?”

When he opens his eyes, he’s met with the perfect view: her cleavage is directly in his line of vision as she fusses with his hair and face. He smirks, breathing out a soft laugh, reflecting internally on how long it must have been since he’s been met by such a sight. He hums out in satisfaction, causing her to draw back and glance down at her own chest. “You brute,” she says with tears in her eyes when she realizes to what he’s reacting, then reaches for a cup of water.

“Hi,” he chokes out, finding his voice barely working despite his throat being less dry now. The door closes beside him as the men must've left them alone.

She’s on him in an instant, kissing along his face relentlessly and getting tears on his skin. He laughs, finally able to lift his arms to try and hold her, but when he reaches both hands to her cheeks, only one makes it.

Her face falls in response to his confusion, more tears falling as she sits up to straddle his hips and takes his left arm. When she raises it between the two of them and presses a kiss to the bandaged stump, his face must show how confused he remains.

‘Baelfire,” she tries, holding back a sob. “He, he swung at me and you…” she can’t seem to finish her thought. “You’re such a fool,” she laughs and cries and shakes her head.

“He… my hand?” He glances back down at the blunted arm but can't quite understand.

“We couldn’t save it; it became very severely infected. I’m so sorry, Killian.”

He chances another look, hoping it would be restored magically somehow and becoming disappointed when it doesn’t. “It’s gone?” he asks, as if the visual confirmation wasn’t enough

How is he to care for his wife with only one hand? How will he protect her, provide for her? “Yes,” she whispers.

“But… how…” It’s as if he can’t get it straight in his mind. What sort of husband could he possibly be to her?

“He swung,” she repeats, but he cuts her off before she has to recount the story again.

“No. How will I… with just…”

“Killian, no,” she says, taking his face in her hands once more. “You're capable of anything you attempt. This isn’t going to hold you back.”

He feels himself slipping, his anger and resentment consuming him all at once as his thoughts spiral into ones of hatred for Baelfire and of the inevitability of his own failure. She’ll leave him, surely, as she deserves to be with a man who can provide for her and meet her needs. His face is falling along with his mood, and he drops his hand, no, his stump, down onto his lap and lets his head fall back against his pillow.

“Stop,” she says firmly. “Stop right now. I know exactly what you're thinking and you’d best stop it now, or so help me, Killian Jones, I’ll, I’ll,” she trails off, finishing, “I’ll skewer you like I did Bae.”

That catches his attention. He looks up at her in awe and confusion and says, “you did what?”

“Ran him right through. The bastard tried to attack my husband? I think not.”

He feels the corners of his face twitching upward at the visual she’s given him. He likely shouldn't be proud of his wife for murdering someone in cold blood, but that’s exactly what he is. “You ran him through?”

She nods, giving him a shy smile, and gets off of his hips to sit beside him. “He swung at me and you jumped in line of his blade. He maimed your hand badly and there was blood everywhere when you fell to the ground, and I was just so upset. I couldn't even think. I grabbed your sword as he was coming back around to finish the job and I just…” she uses both arms to demonstrate the motions she must've made to stab through her ex-husband. Killian glows with pride.

“So you used those skills I taught you, then?”

She laughs lightly, lying down next to him and hitching her knee up over his hips. “I’m not sure you're the one who taught me how to stab, I think it was more of a gut reaction to my husband being attacked.”

“Likely true, but I don't mind a bit of credit.”

She laughs through some more sniffles, hugging him closely to herself before saying, “oh, I’ve missed you so. I thought for sure I would lose you and the…”

She freezes, her arms clinging to him and her body stiffening. “The what?” Inhaling deeply, Emma nuzzles her nose against his neck and presses a soft kiss there before sniffling once more, as if she’s started to cry again. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s something else you must know.”

He yawns inadvertently; apparently the few moments he’s spent awake have exhausted him. “What’s that, my love?”

She clears her throat, not moving otherwise, and says, “I’m pregnant.”

He thought he was losing his mind before, but with this admission, he’s truly dumbfounded. “You’re… what?”

“Pregnant, Killian. With a baby.”

“With a baby,” he repeats, tasting the words on his lips before letting them curl into a smile. “My baby?”

She snorts, sitting up to look at him. “I should hope so.”

“Our baby.”

She smiles at him sweetly, then it’s as if something has shifted for her internally and she stares him down seriously. “You went off to duel with someone, you dullard, and I want you to know how angry that makes me, because it’s not just about you and me anymore. Got it?”

He realizes now that there was a deeper reason for her being so firmly against his plans to fight Baelfire, and this was it. The babe in her belly, growing happily in the home she’s creating for it. And he nearly put that in jeopardy. “I’m sorry,” he says, and she shakes her head.

“It’s alright, everything is fine now. You’re okay, baby’s okay… we’re all fine.”

He’s fighting sleep now, but staves it off a bit more to ask, “in your stress, you thought… you thought you may lose him?”

“Or her,” she corrects softly. “But it’s been nearly three weeks since then and so far… everything seems normal.”

Bloody hell, the thought of him being nearly unconscious for three weeks straight is mind boggling. He can’t believe he left her alone for that long. “Are you alright?”

She tips her head to one side in question and then nods. “Of course I am, now that you’re awake.”

“With the babe, I mean. I know you were hesitant…”

She smiles sweetly, brushing her fingers through his hair as she answers. “Once I found out, that feeling went away. I suppose it’s different, having a child with a man I love.”

He smiles back up at her and kisses the inside of her wrist. With the caressing of her fingers along his scalp, he’s trying hard not to let his eyes drift shut. “How am I to care for a babe with one hand?”

She hums, leaning back down so that she’s on her back beside him, and takes his remaining hand in hers to place it upon her belly so he can feel the slight swell. “Perhaps we can fashion you a new apparatus. Maybe a nice frightening hook so you can keep up your fearsome pirate persona.”

He laughs as he drifts away, rubbing his fingertips gently over her stomach, over their baby, and says, “you’re funny,” as he falls asleep.

~~~~

He does get a hook, but only for operating the ship— he finds it easier to tie knots and manage the wheel. He recovers quite well from his three week flirtation at death’s door, once he’s able to keep solid food down and stand on his own. Emma’s helpful in his adapting to life without a left hand, but she never once coddles him and always assures him that he can still do anything he did before.

He’s nervous for when the baby comes, assuming it’ll be difficult to properly care for them on his own with only one working hand, but Emma comforts him by reminding him that she’ll always be there for him, and if she isn’t, there are 12 crewmen who can lend a hand. He doesn't find her pun very funny, but he’s willing to let it slide, for her.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Treat Your S(h)elf: The Anarchy: The Relentless Rise Of The East India Company (2019)

It was not the British government that began seizing great chunks of India in the mid-eighteenth century, but a dangerously unregulated private company headquartered in one small office, five windows wide, in London, and managed in India by a violent, utterly ruthless and intermittently mentally unstable corporate predator – Clive.

William Dalrymple, The Anarchy: The Relentless Rise Of The East India Company

“One of the very first Indian words to enter the English language was the Hindustani slang for plunder: loot. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, this word was rarely heard outside the plains of north India until the late eighteenth century, when it became a common term across Britain.”

With these words, populist historian William Dalrymple, introduces his latest book The Anarchy: The Relentless Rise of the East India Company. It is a perfect companion piece to his previous book ‘The Last Mughal’ which I have also read avidly. I’m a big fan of William Dalrymple’s writings as I’ve followed his literary output closely.

And this review is harder to be objective when you actually know the author and like him and his family personally. Born a Scot he was schooled at Ampleforth and Cambridge before he wrote his first much lauded travel book (In Xanadu 1989) just after graduation about his trek through Iran and South Asia. Other highly regarded books followed on such subjects as Byzantium and Afghanistan but mostly about his central love, Delhi. He has won many literary awards for his writings and other honours.  He slowly turned to writing histories and co-founding the Jaipur Literary Festival (one of the best I’ve ever been to). He has been living on and off outside Delhi on a farmhouse rasing his children and goats with his artist wife, Olivia. It’s delightfully charming.

Whatever he writes he never disappoints. This latest tome I enjoyed immensely even if I disagreed with some of his conclusions.

Dalrymple recounts the remarkable rise of the East India Company from its founding in 1599 to 1803 when it commanded an army twice the size of the British Army and ruled over the Indian subcontinent. Dalrymple targets the British East India Company for its questionable activities over two centuries in India. In the process, he unmasks a passel of crude, extravagant, feckless, greedy, reprobate rascals - the so-called indigenous rulers over whom the Company trampled to conquer India.

None of this is news to me as I’m already familiar with British imperial history but also speaking more personally. Like many other British families we had strong links to the British Empire, especially India, the jewel in its crown. Those links went all the way back to the East India Company. Typically the second or third sons of the landed gentry or others from the rising bourgeois classes with little financial prospects or advancement would seek their fortune overseas and the East India Company was the ticket to their success - or so they thought.  

The East India Company tends to get swept under the carpet and instead everyone focuses on the British Empire. But the birth of British colonialism wasn’t engineered in the halls of Whitehall or the Foreign Office but by what Dalrymple calls, “handful of businessmen from a boardroom in the City of London”. There wasn’t any grand design to speak of, just the pursuit of profit. And it was this that opened a Pandora’s Box that defined the following two centuries of British imperialism of India and the rise of its colonial empire.

The 18th-century triumph and then fall of the Company, and its role in founding what became Queen Victoria’s Indian empire is an astonishing story, which has been recounted in books including The Honourable Company by John Keay (1991) and The Corporation that Changed the World by Nick Robins (2006). It is well-trodden territory but Dalrymple, a historian and author who lives in India and has written widely about the Mughal empire, brings to it erudition, deep insight and an entertaining style.

He also takes a different and topical twist on the question how did a joint stock company founded in Elizabethan England come to replace the glorious Mughal Empire of India, ruling that great land for a hundred years? The answer lies mainly in the title of the book. The Anarchy refers not to the period of British rule but to the period before that time. Dalrymple mentions his title is drawn from a remark attributed to Fakir Khair ud-Din Illahabadi, whose Book of Admonition provided the author with the source material and who said of the 18th century “the once peaceful realm of India became the abode of Anarchy.” But Dalrymple goes further and tells the story as a warning from history on the perils of corporate power. The American edition sports the provocative subtitle, “The East India Company, Corporate Violence, and the Pillage of an Empire” (compared with the neutral British subtitle, “The Relentless Rise of the East India Company”). However I think the story Dalrymple really tells is also of how government power corrupts commercial enterprise.

It’s an amazing story and Dalrymple tells it with verve and style drawing, as in his previous books, on underused Indian, Persian and French sources. Dalrymple has a wonderful eye for detail e.g. After the Company’s charter is approved in 1600 the merchant adventures scout for ships to undertake the India voyage: “They have been to Deptford to ‘view severall shippes,’ one of which, the May Flowre, was later famous for a voyage heading in the opposite direction”.

What a Game of Thrones styled tv series it would make, and what a tragedy it unfolded in reality. A preface begins with the foundation of the Company by “Customer Smythe” in 1599, who already had experience trading with the Levant. Certain merchants were little better than pirates and the British lagged behind the Dutch, the Portuguese, the French and even the Spanish in their global aspirations. It was with envious eyes that they saw how Spain had so effectively despoiled Central America. The book fast-forwards to 1756, with successive chapters, and a degree of flexibility in chronology, taking the reader up to 1799. What was supposed to be a few trading posts in India and an import/export agreement became, within a century, a geopolitical force in its own right with its own standing army larger than the British Army.

It is a story of Machiavels from both Britain and India, of pitched battles, vying factions, the use of technology in warfare, strange moments of mutual respect, parliamentary impeachment featuring two of the greatest orators of the day (Edmund Burke and Richard Sheridan), blindings, rapes, psychopaths on both sides, unimaginable wealth, avarice, plunder, famine and worse. It is, in particular – because of the feuding groups loyal to the Mughals, the Marathas, the Rohilla Afghans, the so-called “bankers of the world” the Jagat Seths, and local tribal warlords – a kind of Game Of Thrones with pepper, silk and saltpetre. And that is even before we get to the British, characters such as Robert Clive “of India”, victor at the Battle of Plassey and subsequent suicide; the problematic figure of the cultured Warren Hastings, the whistle-blower who became an unfair scapegoat for Company atrocities; and Richard Wellesley, older brother to the more famous Arthur who became the Duke of Wellington. Co-ordinating such a vast canvas requires a deft hand, and Dalrymple manages this (although the list of dramatis personae is useful). There is even a French mercenary who is described as a “pastry cook, pyrotechnic and poltroon”.

When the Red Dragon slipped anchor at Woolwich early in 1601 to exploit the new royal charter granted to the East India Company, the venture started inauspiciously. The ship lay becalmed off Dover for two months before reaching the Indonesian sultanate of Aceh and seizing pepper, cinnamon and cloves from a passing Portuguese vessel. The Company was a strange beast from the start  “a joint stock company founded by a motley bunch of explorers and adventurers to trade the world’s riches. This was partly driven by Protestant England’s break with largely Catholic continental Europe. Isolated from their baffled neighbours, the English were forced to scour the globe for new markets and commercial openings further afield. This they did with piratical enthusiasm” William Dalrymple writes. From these Brexit-like roots, it grew into an enterprise that has never been replicated “a business with its own army that conquered swaths of India, seizing minerals, jewels and the wealth of Mughal emperors. This was mercenary globalisation, practised by what the philosopher Edmund Burke called “a state in the guise of a merchant””.

The East India Company’s charter began with an original sin - Elizabeth I granted the company a perpetual monopoly on trade with the East Indies. With its monopoly giving it enhanced access to credit and vast wealth from Indian trade, it’s no surprise that the company grew to control an eighth of all Britain’s imports by the 1750s. Yet it was still primarily a trading company, with some military capacity to defend its factories. That changed thanks to a well-known problem in institutional economics - opportunism by a company agent, in this case Robert Clive of India, who in time became the richest self-made man in the world in time.

Like many start-ups, it had to pivot in its early days, giving up on competing with the entrenched Dutch East India Company in the Spice Islands, and instead specialising in cotton and calico from India. It was an accidental strategy, but it introduced early officials including Sir Thomas Roe to “a world of almost unimaginable splendour” in India, run by the cultured Mughals.

The Nawab of Bengal called the English “a company of base, quarrelling people and foul dealers”, and one local had it that “they live like Englishmen and die like rotten sheep”. But the Company had on its side the adaptiveness and energy of capitalism. It also had a force of 260,000, which was decisive when it stopped negotiating with the Mughals and went to war. After the Battle of Buxar in 1764, “the English gentlemen took off their hats to clap the defeated Shuja ud-Daula, before reinstalling him as a tame ruler, backed by the Company’s Indian troops, and paying it a huge subsidy. “We have at last arrived at that critical Conjuncture, which I have long foreseen” wrote Robert Clive, the “curt, withdrawn and socially awkward young accountant” whose risk-taking and aggression secured crucial military victories for the Company. It was a high point for “the most opulent company in the world,” as Robert Clive described it.

So how was a humble group of British merchants able to take over one of the great empires of history? Under Aurangzeb, the fanatic and ruthless Mughal emperor (1658-1707), the empire grew to its largest geographic extent but only because of decades of continuous warfare and attendant taxing, pillaging, famine, misery and mass death. It was a classic case of the eventual fall of a great power through military over-extension.

At Aurangzeb’s death in 1707, a power struggle ensued but none could command. “Mughal succession disputes and a string of weak and powerless emperors exacerbated the sense of imperial crisis: three emperors were murdered (one was, in addition, first blinded with a hot needle); the mother of one ruler was strangled and the father of another forced off a precipice on his elephant. In the worst year of all, 1719, four different Emperors occupied the Peacock Throne in rapid succession. According to the Mughal historian Khair ud-Din Illahabadi … ‘Disorder and corruption no longer sought to hide themselves and the once peaceful realm of India became a lair of Anarchy’”.

Seeing the chaos at the top, local rulers stopped paying tribute and tried to establish their own power bases. The result was more warfare and a decline in trade as banditry made it unsafe to travel. The Empire appeared ripe to fall. “Delhi in 1737 had around 2 million inhabitants. Larger than London and Paris combined, it was still the most prosperous and magnificent city between Ottoman Istanbul and Imperial Edo (Tokyo). As the Empire fell apart around it, it hung like an overripe mango, huge and inviting, yet clearly in decay, ready to fall and disintegrate”.

In 1739 the mango was plucked by the Persian warlord Nader Shah. Using the latest military technology, horse-mounted cannon, Shah devastated a much larger force of Mughal troops and “managed to capture the Emperor himself by the simple ruse of inviting him to dinner, then refusing to let him leave.” In Delhi, Nader Shah massacred a hundred thousand people and then, after 57 days of pillaging and plundering, left with two hundred years’ worth of Mughal treasure carried on “700 elephants, 4,000 camels and 12,000 horses carrying wagons all laden with gold, silver and precious stones”.

At this time, the East India Company would have probably preferred a stable India but through a series of unforeseen events it gained in relative power as the rest of India crumbled. With the decline of the Mughals, the biggest military power in India was the Marathas and they attacked Bengal, the richest Indian province, looting, plundering, raping and killing as many as 400,000 civilians. Fearing the Maratha hordes, Bengalis fled to the only safe area in the region, the company stronghold in Calcutta. “What was a nightmare for Bengal turned out to be a major opportunity for the Company. Against artillery and cities defended by the trained musketeers of the European powers, the Maratha cavalry was ineffective. Calcutta in particular was protected by a deep defensive ditch especially dug by the Company to keep the Maratha cavalry at bay, and displaced Bengalis now poured over it into the town that they believed offered better protection than any other in the region, more than tripling the size of Calcutta in a decade. … But it was not just the protection of a fortification that was the attraction. Already Calcutta had become a haven of private enterprise, drawing in not just Bengali textile merchants and moneylenders, but also Parsis, Gujaratis and Marwari entrepreneurs and business houses who found it a safe and sheltered environment in which to make their fortunes”. In an early example of what might be called a “charter city,”

English commercial law also attracted entrepreneurs to Calcutta. The “city’s legal system and the availability of a framework of English commercial law and formal commercial contracts, enforceable by the state, all contributed to making it increasingly the destination of choice for merchants and bankers from across Asia”.

The Company benefited by another unforeseen circumstance, Siraj ud-Daula, the Nawab (ruler) of Bengal, was a psychotic rapist who got his kicks from sinking ferry boats in the Ganges and watching the travelers drown. Siraj was uniformly hated by everyone who knew him. “Not one of the many sources for the period — Persian, Bengali, Mughal, French, Dutch or English — has a good word to say about Siraj”. Despite his flaws, Siraj might have stayed in power had he not made the fatal mistake of striking his banker. The Jagat Seth bankers took their revenge when Siraj ud-Daula came into conflict with the Company under Robert Clive. Conspiring with Clive, the Seths arranged for the Nawab’s general to abandon him and thus the Battle of Plassey was won and the stage set for the East India Company.

In typical fashion, Dalrymple devotes half a dozen pages to the Company’s defeat at Pollidur in 1780 by Haider Ali and his son, Tipu, but a few paragraphs to its significance (Haider could have expelled the Company from much of southern India but failed to pursue his advantage). The reader is not spared the gory details.

“Such as were saved from immediate death,” reads a quote from a British survivor about his fellow troops, “were so crowded together…several were in a state of suffocation, while others from the weight of the dead bodies that had fallen upon them were fixed to the spot and therefore at the mercy of the enemy…Some were trampled under the feet of elephants, camels, and horses. Those who were stripped of their clothing lay exposed to the scorching sun, without water and died a lingering and miserable death, becoming prey to ravenous wild animals.”

Many further battles and adventures would ensue before the British were firmly ensconced by 1803 but the general outline of the story remained the same. The EIC prospered due to a combination of luck, disarray among the Company’s rivals and good financing.

The Mughal emperor Shah Alam, for example, had been forced to flee Delhi leaving it to be ruled by a succession of Persian, Afghani and Maratha warlords. But after wandering across eastern India for many years, he regathered his army, retook Delhi and almost restored Mughal power. At a key moment, however, he invited into the Red Fort with open arms his “adopted” son, Ghulam Qadir. Ghulam was the actual son of Zabita Khan who had been defeated by Shah Alam sixteen years earlier. Ghulam, at that time a young boy, had been taken hostage by Shah Alam and raised like a son, albeit a son whom Alam probably used as a catamite. Expecting gratitude, Shah Alam instead found Ghulam driven mad.  Ghulam Qadir, a psychopath, ordered a minion to blind Shah Alam: “With his Afghan knife….Qandahari Khan first cut one of Shah Alam’s eyes out of its socket; then, the other eye was wrenched out…Shah Alam flopped on the ground like a chicken with its neck cut.” Ghulam took over the Red Fort and after cutting out the eyes of the Mughal emperor, immediately calling for a painter to immortalise the event.

A few pages on, Ghulam Qadir gets his just dessert. Captured by an ally of the emperor, he is hung in a cage, his ears, nose, tongue, and upper lip cut off, his eyes scooped out, then his hands cut off, followed by his genitals and head. Dalrymple out-grosses himself with the description of Ahmad Shah Durrani, the Afghan invader of India, dying of leprosy with “maggots….dropping from the upper part of his putrefying nose into his mouth and food as he ate.”

By 1803, the Company’s army had defeated the Maratha gunners and their French officers, installed Shah Alam as a puppet back on his imitation Peacock Throne in Delhi, and the Company ruled all of India virtually.

Indeed as late as 1803, the Marathas too might have defeated the British but rivalry between Tukoji Holkar and Daulat Rao Scindia prevented an alliance. “Here Wellesley’s masterstroke was to send Holkar a captured letter from Scindia in which the latter plotted with Peshwa Baji Rao to overthrow Holkar … ‘After the war is over, we shall both wreak our full vengeance upon him.’ … After receiving this, Holkar, who had just made the first two days march towards Scindia, turned back and firmly declined to join the coalition”.

For Dalrymple the crucial point was the unsanctioned actions of Robert Clive and the bullying of Shah Alam in the rise of the East India Company.

The Jagat Seths then bribed the company men to attack Siraj. Clive, with an eye for personal gain, was happy attack Siraj at the behest of the Jagat Seths even if the company directors had no part in this. They “consistently abhorred ambitious plans of conquest,” he notes. Clive’s defeat of Siraj at Plassey and the subsequent chain of events that led to Shah Alam giving tax-raising powers to the company in 1765 may be history’s most egregious example of the principal-agent problem.

Thus, the East India Company acquired by accident the ultimate economic rent — a secure, unearned income stream. Company cronies initially thwarted attempts at oversight in London, but a government bailout in 1772 following the Bengal Famine and the collapse of Ayr Bank confirmed the crown’s interest in the company, which had now become Too Big to Fail. Adam Smith called the company’s twin roles of trader and sovereign a “strange absurdity” in Book IV of The Wealth of Nations (unfortunately, Smith’s long condemnatory discussion of the company receives only a cursory reference from Dalrymple).

As part of the bailout, Parliament passed the Tea Act to help the company dump its unsold products on the American colonies by giving it the monopoly on legal tea there (Americans drank mostly smuggled Dutch tea). This, of course, led to the Boston Tea Party and the American Revolution.

By 1784, Parliament had set up an oversight board that increasingly dictated the company’s political affairs. The attempted impeachment of Governor-General Warren Hastings by the House of Lords in 1788 confirmed that the company was no longer its own master. By that stage, the company was an arm of the state. Dalrymple’s coverage of the subsequent racist policies of Lord Cornwallis and the military adventures of Richard Wellesley make for compelling reading, but they are not examples of unfettered corporate power.

Overlaid on top of luck and disorder, was the simple fact that the Company paid its bills. Indeed, the Company paid its sepoys (Indian troops) considerably more than did any of its rivals and it paid them on time. It was able to do so because Indian bankers and moneylenders trusted the Company. “In the end it was this access to unlimited reserves of credit, partly through stable flows of land revenues, and partly through collaboration of Indian moneylenders and financiers, that in this period finally gave the Company its edge over their Indian rivals. It was no longer superior European military technology, nor powers of administration that made the difference. It was the ability to mobilise and transfer massive financial resources that enabled the Company to put the largest and best-trained army in the eastern world into the field”.

Dalrymple pretty much loses interest once the Company gains full control. “This book does not aim to provide a complete history of the East India Company,” he writes. He skips past one mention of Hong Kong, which the East India Company seized after the opium wars in China. A few sentences record the 1857 uprising of Indian soldiers that led to the British government taking India from the Company and establishing the Raj that lasted until Indian independence in 1947.

The author makes passing reference to the fact that the struggle for American independence was underway for much of the period about which he writes. He notes that It was British East India Company tea that patriots dumped into Boston harbor in 1773. American colonists were so grateful that the Mysore sultans tied up British forces that might have been deployed in America, they named a warship the Hyder Ali. Lord Cornwallis provides a connection, having surrendered to George Washington at Yorktown in 1781, an event confirming American independence, and turning up in 1786 in India as governor-general, taking Tipu Sultan’s surrender in 1792.

That reference raises an interesting side question that may someday deserve closer examination - Why were American colonists successful in driving off their British overlords. At the same time, Indian aristocracy and the masses over whom they ruled were unable to rid themselves of the British East India Company and the British Raj for another century?

No heroes emerge from Dalrymple’s expansive account that is rich, even overwhelming in detail. He covers two centuries but focuses on the period between 1765 and 1803 when the Company was transformed from a commercial operation to military and totalitarian — to use an appropriate term derived from Sanskrit - juggernaut. Among the multitude of characters involved in this sordid story are a few British names familiar in general history, Robert Clive of India, Warren Hastings, Lord Cornwallis, and Colonel Arthur Wellesley, who was better known long after he departed India as the Duke of Wellington. None - with the exception of Hastings - escape the scathing indictment of Dalrymple’s pen.

At the core of the story we meet Robert Clive, an emblematic character who from being a juvenile delinquent and suicidal lunatic rose to rule India, eventually killing himself in the aftermath of a corruption scandal. In particular Robert Clive comes in for much criticism by Dalrymple. After putting down one rebellion, Clive managed to send back £232 million, of which he personally received £22m. There was a rumour that, on his return to England, his wife’s pet ferret wore a necklace of jewels worth £2,500. Contrast that with the horrors of the 1769 famine: farmers selling their tools, rivers so full of corpses that the fish were inedible, one administrator seeing 40 dead bodies within 20 yards of his home, even cannibalism, all while the Company was stockpiling rice. Some Indian weavers even chopped off their own thumbs to avoid being forced to work and pay the exorbitant taxes that would be imposed on them. The Great Bengal famine of 1770 had already led to unease in London at its methods. “We have murdered, deposed, plundered, usurped,” wrote the Whig politician Horace Walpole. “I stand astonished by my own moderation,” Clive protested, after outrage intensified when the Company had to be bailed out by the British government in 1772. Clive took his own life in disgrace. 

Warren Hastings, whom Dalrymple portrays as the more sensitive and sympathetic Company man, was first made governor general of India for 12 years and later endured seven years of impeachment for corruption before acquittal. Hastings showed “deep respect” for India and Indians, writes, Dalrymple, as opposed to most other Europeans in India to suck out as much as possible of the subcontinent’s resources and wealth. “In truth, I love India a little more than my own country,” wrote Hastings, who spoke good Bengali and Urdu, as well as fluent Persian. “(Edmund) Burke had defended Robert Clive (first Governor General of Bengal) against parliamentary enquiry, and so helped exonerate someone who genuinely was a ruthlessly unprincipled plunderer. Now he directed his skills of oratory against Warren Hastings (who was finally impeached), a man who, by virtue of his position, was certainly the symbol of an entire system of mercantile oppression in India, but who had personally done much to begin the process of regulating and reforming the Company, and who had probably done more than any other Company official to rein in the worst excesses of its rule,” Dalrymple writes. At his public impeachment hearing in 1788, Burke thundered: “We have brought before you…..one in whom all the frauds, all the peculation, all the violence, all the tyranny in India are embodied.’ They got the wrong man but, by the time he was cleared in 1795, the British state was steadily absorbing the Company, denouncing its methods but retaining many of its assets.

Dalrymple has a soft spot for a couple of Indian locals. “The British consistently portrayed Tipu as a savage and fanatical barbarian,” Dalrymple writes, “but he was in truth a connoisseur and an intellectual…” Of course, Tipu, Dalrymple confesses a bit later, had rebels’ “arms, legs, ears, and noses cut off before being hanged” as well as forcibly circumcising captives and converting them to Islam.

Emperor Shah Alam (1728-1806) is contemporary for much of the time Dalrymple covers. “His was…a life marked by kindness, decency, integrity and learning at a time when such qualities were in short supply…he…managed to keep the Mughul flame alive through the worst of the Great Anarchy….” Dalrymple portrays a most intriguing figure in Emperor Shah Alam, a man attracted to mysticism and yet as prepared as his contemporaries to double-deal; someone who endures exile and torture and who outlives, albeit in a melancholy fashion, his enemies. Despite his lack of wealth, troops or political power, the very nature of his being emperor still, it seems, inspired affection.

Part of Dalrymple’s excellence is in the use of Indian sources – he takes numerous quotes from Ghulam Hussain Khan, acclaimed by Dalrymple as “brilliant,” who threads the story as an 18th-century historian on his untranslated works, Seir Mutaqherin (Review of Modern Times). Dalrymple has used a trove of company documents in Britain and India as well as Persian-language histories, much of which he shares in English translation with the reader. However he does this a bit too often and portions of his account can seem more assembled than written.

These pages are also brimming with anecdotes retold with Dalrymple’s distinctive delight in the piquant, equivoque and gory: we have historical moments when “it seemed as if it were raining blood, for the drains were streaming with it” (quoted from a report c1740 regarding events that preceded Nadir Shah’s infamous looting of the peacock throne) as well as duels between Company officials so busy with their in-fighting that it’s a miracle they could perform their work at all; there’s also homosexuality, homophobia, sexual torture, castrations, cannibalism, brothels and gonorrhoea.

The principal protagonists of the “Black Hole of Calcutta” incident are both, naturally, certified pervs: Siraj ud-Daula is a “serial bisexual rapist” while his opponent Governor Drake is having an “affair with his sister”. And one particular Mughal governor liked to throw tax defaulters in pits of rotting shit (“the stench was so offensive, that it almost suffocated anyone who came near it”). All this gives one a rough idea of what historically important people were up to according to Dalrymple. But all things considered, Dalrymple’s research is solid and heavily annotated.

However entertaining and widely researched using unused Urdu and Persian sources, Dalrymple’s overall approach doesn’t tell us very much about the general tendency in eighteenth-century imperial activity, and particularly that of the British, that we didn’t already know. And other things he downplays or neglects. Thus, the East India Company was one of a series of ‘national’ East India companies, including those of France, the Netherlands and Sweden. Moreover, for Britain, there was the Hudson Bay Company, the Royal African Company, and the chartered companies involved in North America, as well, for example, as the Bank of England.  Delegated authority in this form or shared state/private activities were a major part of governance. To assume from the modern perspective of state authority that this was necessarily inadequate is misleading as well as teleological. Indeed, Dalrymple offers no real evidence for his view. Was Portuguese India, where the state had a larger role, ‘better’?

Secondly, let us look at India as a whole. There is an established scholarly debate to which Dalrymple makes no ground breaking contribution. This debate focuses on the question of whether, after the death in 1707 of the mighty Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb (r. 1658-1707), the focus should be on decline and chaos or, instead, on the development of a tier of powers within the sub-continent, for example Hyderabad. In the latter perspective, the East India Company (EIC) emerges as one and, eventually, the most successful of the successor powers. That raises questions of comparative efficiency and how the EIC succeeded in the Indian military labour market, this helping in defeating the Marathas in the 1800s.

An Indian power, the EIC was also a ‘foreign’ one; although foreignness should not be understood in modern terms. As a ‘foreign’ one, the EIC was not alone among the successful players, and was not even particularly successful, other than against marginal players, until the 1760s.  Compared to Nadir Shah of Persia in the late 1730s (on whom Michael Axworthy is well worth reading), or the Afghans from the late 1750s (on whom Jos Gommans is best), the EIC was limited on land. This was part of a longstanding pattern, encompassing indeed, to a degree, the Mughals. Dalrymple fails to address this comparative context adequately.

Dalrymple seems particularly incensed at “corporate violence” and in a (mercifully short) final chapter alludes to Exxon and the United Fruit Company. Indeed Dalrymple has a pitch ” that globalisation is rooted here, albeit that “the world’s largest corporations…..are tame beasts compared with the ravaging territorial appetites of the militarised East India Company.”

It is an interesting question to ask: How might the actions of these corporate raiders have differed from those of a state? It’s not clear, for example, that the EIC was any worse than the average Indian ruler and surely these stationary bandits were better than roving bandits like Nader Shah. The EIC may have looted India but economic historian Tirthankar Roy explains that: “Much of the money that Clive and his henchmen looted from India came from the treasury of the nawab. The Indian princes, ‘walking jeweler’s shops’ as an American merchant called them, spent more money on pearls and diamonds than on infrastructural developments or welfare measures for the poor. If the Company transferred taxpayers’ money from the pockets of an Indian nobleman to its own pockets, the transfer might have bankrupted pearl merchants and reduced the number of people in the harem, but would make little difference to the ordinary Indian.”

Moreover, although it began as a private-firm, the EIC became so regulated by Parliament that Hejeebu (2016) concludes, “After 1773, little of the Company’s commercial ethos survived in India.” Certainly, by the time the brothers Wellesley were making their final push for territorial acquisition, the company directors back in London were pulling out their hair and begging for fewer expensive wars and more trading profits.

So also for eighteenth-century Asia as a whole. Dalrymple has it in for the form of capitalism the EIC represents; but it was less destructive than the Manchu conquest of Xinjiang in the 1750s, or, indeed, the Afghan destruction of Safavid rule in Persia in the early 1720s. Such comparative points would have been offered Dalrymple the opportunity to deploy scholarship and judgment, and, indeed, raise interesting questions about the conceptualisation and methodologies of cross-cultural and diachronic comparison.

Focusing anew on India, the extent to which the Mughal achievement in subjugating the Deccan was itself transient might be underlined, and, alongside consideration, of the Maratha-Mughal struggle in the late seventeenth century, that provides another perspective on subsequent developments. The extent to which Bengal, for example, did not know much peace prior to the EIC is worthy of consideration. It also helps explain why so many local interests found it appropriate, as well as convenient, to ally with the EIC. It brought a degree of protection for the regional economy and offered defence against Maratha, Afghan, and other, attacks and/or exactions. The terms of entry into a British-led global economy were less unwelcome than later nationalist writers might suggest. Dalrymple himself cites Trotsky, who was no guide to the period. To turn to other specifics is only to underline these points.

After Warren Hastings’ impeachment which in effect brought to an end the era when “almost all of India south of [Delhi] was…..effectively ruled by a handful of businessmen from a boardroom in the City of London.” It is hard to find a simple lesson, beyond Dalrymple’s point that talk of Britain having conquered India ‘disguises a much more sinister reality’.

One of the great advantages non-fiction has over fiction is that you cannot make it up, and in the case of the East India Company, you cannot make it up to an extent that beggars belief. William Dalrymple has been for some years one of the most eloquent and assiduous chroniclers of Indian history. With this new work, he sounds a minatory note. The East India Company may be history, but it has warnings for the future. It was “the first great multinational corporation, and the first to run amok”. Wryly, he writes that at least Walmart doesn’t own a fleet of nuclear submarines and Facebook doesn’t have regiments of infantry.

Yet Facebook and Uber does indeed have the potential power to usurp national authority - Facebook can sway elections through its monopoly on how people consume their news for instance. But they do not seize physical territory as Dalrymple states. Even an oil company with private guards in a war-torn country does not compare these days. This doesn’t exonerate corporations though. I know from personal experience of working in the corporate world that it attracts its fair share of psychopaths and cold blooded operators obsessed with the bottom lines of their balance sheets and the worship of the fortunes of their share prices and the lengths they go to would indeed come close to or cross over moral and legal lines. Perhaps the moral is to keep a stern eye on ‘corporate influence, with its fatal blend of power, money and unaccountability’. Clive reflected after Buxar, ‘We must indeed become Nabobs ourselves in Fact if not in Name…..We must go forward, for to retract is impossible.’ That was the nature of the beast. 

Speaking of being beastly, some readers may disagree with the more radical views presented in taking apart the imperialist project and showed it for what it was - not about civilising savages, but about brutally exploiting civilised humans by treating them as savages. I think that’s partly true but not the whole story as Dalrymple will freely concede himself. Imperial history is a charged subject and they defy lazy Manichean conclusions of good guys and bad guys.

Dalrymple’s book is an excellent example of popular history - engaging, entertaining, readable, and informative. However, I honestly think he should have stuck to the history and not tried to draw out a trustbusting parallel with today’s big companies. Where the parallels exist, they are to do with cronyism, rent-seeking, and bailouts, all of which are primarily sins of government. 

The Anarchy remains though a page-turning history of the rise of the East India Company with plenty of raw material to enjoy and to think about. To my mind the title ‘The Anarchy’ is brilliantly and appositely chosen. There are in fact two anarchies here; the anarchy of the competing regimes in India, and the anarchy – literally, without leaders or rules – of the East India Company itself, a corporation that put itself above law. The dangers of power without governance are depicted in an exemplary fashion. Dalrymple has done a great service in not just writing an eminently readable history of 18th century India, but in reflecting on how so much of it serves as a warning for our own time when chaos runs amok from those seeking to be above the law.