#sutters mill

[timmurleyart]

Dig it up from the ground. ☠️🥇⛏🟡(silkscreen on paper)💰🏆

[new--tomorrows]

Where the gold rush began: banks of the American River in Coloma, CA. 3 October 2023.

[rrsvt]

A point 072224m

A point about making points. Dirt hold field held time yesterday change without tomorrow. The point help hold field held tomorrow. And, today, leaves point help hold field held, with it. ... yeahyus.

[kawaiiinla]

"Based on the infrasound signal and the brightness of the fireball in photographs and two video records, the incoming meteoroid was estimated to have been 6.6–13.1 feet (2–4 m) in diameter, between the size of a dish washer[22] and a mini van.[23] Before entry in Earth's atmosphere, the meteoroid probably had an absolute magnitude (H) of roughly 31.[24] The meteoroid entered at a record speed of 64,000 ± 1,600 mph (28.6 �� 0.7 km/s), the fastest fireball on record from which meteorites were later recovered.[9] It broke apart at an altitude of 157,000 ft (48 km), the highest breakup event on record resulting in meteorites on the ground."

[myemuisemo]

Suddenly, Letters from Watson dumps us in the middle of the Great American Desert (part 1 of "On the Great Alkali Plain," 2/7/24). This is not anywhere I expected to be transported from London, and the contrast makes the Mountain West feel exotic for a minute.

The Great American Desert -- stretching from about Grand Island, Nebraska to the Sierras and pretty much the entire north-south length of the U.S. -- had become a thing of legend since explorers' accounts in the 1820s. When Dad and I drove across it in 2022, we talked about how incredibly daunting it must have been for emigrants seeking their land of milk and honey on the Pacific coast.

The way we went, out I-80, Nebraska shifts from green to gray as it rises toward the Rockies. After a while, the wind picks up as you go uphill into Wyoming. There's a lot of Wyoming, and after Cheyenne and Laramie (both of which would be small towns in most states), it's very, very empty. When we finally started the descent toward Salt Lake City, and the little valleys beside the road turned green with running water, it was truly like entering paradise.

Of course, in 1847, Salt Lake City was just barely being settled, as Brigham Young led his Latter Day Saints west from Council Bluffs, and its location wasn't part of the U.S. yet.

The Mexican-American war had started the prior year, 1846, and was still going. Spring-summer of 1846 saw the Bear Flag Revolt in California, followed by the U.S. just annexing the state. Gold wouldn't be discovered at Sutter's Mill until 1849, so while emigration to California happened -- the Donner Party made their ill-fated trip in 1846-47 -- it wasn't anything like the scope of movement along the Oregon Trail.

As far as I can tell, "Sierra Blanco" is not a real place. There's a Sierra Blanca in New Mexico -- which would fit with all the specific landscape, plus White Sands National Park in New Mexico specifically has alkali flats. Last time I drove through New Mexico on I-40, in late 2018, it was delightfully desolate, so I can buy that in 1847, it seemed completely empty, with even the native peoples avoiding some stretches.

Why anyone would be crossing New Mexico is a mystery, since neither Arizona nor southern California were much settled by Americans. There was some sort of wagon route across New Mexico used by U.S. soldiers during the Mexican-American War, so if I'd expect anyone to be about, it'd be the U.S. Army.

Utah, now, is downright famous for its salt flat, but that's west of the site of Salt Lake City.

Regardless, parties screwing up their trip to the west by taking an imprudent shortcut or mistaking the route was definitely both a thing that happened and, thanks to the Donner Party, a trope. Our haggard and starving traveler sounds about right.

Then he reveals a Plucky Innocent Victorian Child.

That "pretty little girl of about five years of age" is the absolute ideal of Victorian childhood, being perfectly behaved, utterly imperturbable, determined to see the best in all things, sweet, trusting, and looking forward to being reunited with her mother in heaven.

This kind of child is why Louisa May Alcott was seen as innovative for writing Little Woman about girls who worked on their character flaws. (This is also the ideal the March girls were being aimed at. Polly in An Old-Fashioned Girl comes closer, but even Polly would have been upset about being hopelessly lost in the desert with no water.) Contrast this with the street urchins that Holmes employs in his investigation, who are good enough sorts but scrappy, resourceful, and street smart.

Ordinarily, a Victorian child who was utterly sweet and pious would be a cinnamon roll, literally too good, too pure for this world, and thus would die beautifully but tragically before long. Being lost in the desert seems ideal for this, but --

She turns to prayer, and since someone must survive in order for this scene to be relevant,

Yes, darn it, I am on the edge of my seat to know what happens. I'm also grateful that crossing the Great American Desert in 2022 was a quicker process. I've been reading Carey Williams' old-but-interesting California: The Great Exception, which has a lot to say about how 19th century isolation shaped California's economy and power structure, not always for good. But that's neither here nor there -- I don't think we're headed to California.

[rolloroberson]

Sutter’s Mill - New Riders of the Purple Sage

[unpluggedfinancial]

History’s Bold Risk-Takers: How Bitcoin Echoes the Past’s Greatest Rewards

Throughout history, a select few have stood at the crossroads of change and chosen to embrace risk. They’ve rejected the safety of the known for the vast potential of the unknown, and for many, this willingness to risk everything has led to unimaginable rewards. The early days of Bitcoin parallel these moments in history where pioneers made daring choices that would alter the course of their lives—and the world.

In this blog post, we’ll explore key moments where taking risks in uncharted territory brought monumental success and show how Bitcoin fits into this timeless narrative.

1. The Discovery of the New World (1492): Navigating the Unknown

Historical Overview: In 1492, Christopher Columbus embarked on a voyage that few thought would succeed. His goal: to find a new trade route to Asia by sailing west. However, instead of Asia, he stumbled upon the Americas—a discovery that would forever alter global trade, politics, and cultures. Columbus's journey was considered a high-risk venture; he was betting on an unproven idea, and failure could have meant financial ruin and disgrace. Yet, his discovery laid the foundation for the age of exploration and the vast wealth and empires built on colonization.

Bitcoin Parallel: Like Columbus, early Bitcoin adopters ventured into uncharted waters. In 2009, Bitcoin wasn’t just a new currency—it was an entirely new concept of decentralized, trustless financial systems. At a time when only cryptographers, idealists, and a few tech enthusiasts saw the potential of this digital currency, most of the world remained skeptical. The early adopters who mined or bought Bitcoin in its infancy—when its value was just a few cents—did so with no guarantees. But, like Columbus, their gamble on the unknown paid off. Today, Bitcoin has ushered in a new financial age, potentially as transformative as the discovery of the New World.

Expanded Takeaway: Much like Columbus's journey didn’t just benefit him but also opened opportunities for future explorers, Bitcoin’s early success has paved the way for widespread adoption. The risks these pioneers took created pathways for the entire financial world to evolve beyond traditional systems.

2. The California Gold Rush (1848): Seizing the Moment

Historical Overview: In 1848, when news of gold discovered at Sutter’s Mill spread, hundreds of thousands flocked to California with hopes of striking it rich. For many, this meant abandoning jobs, homes, and security. While most didn’t find fortune, the few who arrived early and staked their claims at rich sites became incredibly wealthy. This rush created not only new wealth but new cities and industries, marking a turning point in American history.

Bitcoin Parallel: The "Gold Rush" era of Bitcoin can be seen in its early mining days. Before large-scale mining operations and sophisticated hardware, individuals could mine Bitcoin on their personal computers. For those who recognized the opportunity early on and participated in the “digital gold rush,” the rewards have been immense. Similar to the Gold Rush, only a select few who moved quickly and decisively were able to amass significant fortunes through mining.

Expanded Takeaway: The comparison between Bitcoin and gold is often made, not only because both represent stores of value, but also because, like gold in 1848, Bitcoin rewards those who act early. As new technological advances make Bitcoin mining more competitive and less accessible for everyday users, those who recognized the opportunity early are now reaping the rewards, much like the early gold miners who struck it rich.

3. The Industrial Revolution (1760-1840): Embracing Innovation at Scale

Historical Overview: The Industrial Revolution was a period of significant technological advancements, where machinery and new production processes reshaped industries. While it offered unprecedented opportunities for wealth and progress, the risks were immense. Entrepreneurs like Andrew Carnegie and John D. Rockefeller invested heavily in steel, oil, and railroads—new and unproven industries at the time. Those who recognized the potential of these emerging technologies and capitalized on them became the industrial titans of their era, but their paths were fraught with uncertainty and risk.

Bitcoin Parallel: Bitcoin represents a similar leap in financial innovation. Just as the Industrial Revolution decentralized manufacturing and commerce, Bitcoin and blockchain technology decentralize money and transactions. Early Bitcoin adopters, like the industrialists of old, saw the potential of a system outside of government control. They risked investing their time, money, and energy in a technology that many still don’t fully understand.

Expanded Takeaway: Bitcoin’s impact on finance mirrors how the Industrial Revolution reshaped commerce and manufacturing. Today’s Bitcoin “industrialists” could be tomorrow’s titans of finance. The risks are still present, but just like those who built the railroads or oil empires, the rewards for understanding and adopting Bitcoin early could reshape global wealth dynamics.

4. The Internet Boom (1990s-2000s): Betting on the Future of Connectivity

Historical Overview: The 1990s saw the rise of the internet, a revolutionary technology that promised to connect the world in ways previously unimaginable. However, in its early days, many saw it as a fad or a risky investment. Companies like Amazon and Google were initially viewed with skepticism. It wasn’t until the dot-com bubble burst and the dust settled that it became clear that the internet was here to stay. Those who took early risks on internet-based companies, however, saw extraordinary returns as the digital age blossomed.

Bitcoin Parallel: Bitcoin and the broader blockchain ecosystem share a similar trajectory to the internet boom. In its early years, many critics dismissed Bitcoin as a passing trend or a speculative bubble. However, as Bitcoin matured, it proved to be more than just a digital currency—it became a foundational layer for decentralized applications and financial freedom. Just as the internet transformed communication and commerce, Bitcoin is transforming money and value exchange.

Expanded Takeaway: Early investors in the internet—both individual stockholders and companies—were rewarded with massive gains, much like Bitcoin investors today. The parallels between the rise of the internet and Bitcoin’s ascent demonstrate that understanding and believing in transformative technology is often the key to wealth creation.

5. The Renaissance Patrons (14th-17th Century): Visionaries Fueling Innovation

Historical Overview: The Renaissance was a period of unprecedented artistic, scientific, and cultural growth, fueled by wealthy patrons like the Medici family. These patrons took risks by financially supporting artists, explorers, and inventors, funding work that didn’t always promise immediate returns. However, their willingness to invest in new ideas led to some of the most influential and enduring contributions to human history, including works by Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and Galileo.

Bitcoin Parallel: Early Bitcoin adopters can be seen as modern-day patrons of a financial renaissance. They invested in an idea that promised a better, more transparent financial system, even when the majority of the world dismissed it. Like the Renaissance patrons, Bitcoin investors didn’t see immediate returns, but their faith in a new paradigm has been rewarded over time.

Expanded Takeaway: The Renaissance reshaped the cultural landscape of the world, just as Bitcoin is poised to reshape the financial landscape. Those who supported these groundbreaking changes were not only rewarded financially but also played key roles in advancing humanity.

Conclusion: The Timeless Reward of Risk

Throughout history, the people who saw potential in the unknown and were willing to take risks have been rewarded in extraordinary ways. Bitcoin is no different. It is a technological, financial, and social revolution that, much like past paradigm shifts, will reward those who can see beyond the immediate uncertainty. Whether you look at the explorers of the New World, the miners of the Gold Rush, the industrialists of the 19th century, or the internet pioneers of the 1990s, the lesson is clear: fortune favors the bold.

Bitcoin’s story is still unfolding, and those who embrace the future of decentralized finance could find themselves written into the next chapter of history.

Take Action Towards Financial Independence

If this article has sparked your interest in the transformative potential of Bitcoin, there's so much more to explore! Dive deeper into the world of financial independence and revolutionize your understanding of money by following my blog and subscribing to my YouTube channel.

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Donate Bitcoin: bc1qpn98s4gtlvy686jne0sr8ccvfaxz646kk2tl8lu38zz4dvyyvflqgddylk

[rabbitcruiser]

Talk Like a Grizzled Prospector Day

Talk Like a Grizzled Prospector Day commemorates the start of the  California Gold Rush, which began on January 24, 1848, when James  Marshall discovered gold while building a saw mill for John Sutter, near  what is now Coloma, California. The day has its roots in International Talk Like a Pirate Day, and was inspired by Prospectors Day, which was once held at Knott's Berry Farm each year on January 24. It also was inspired by an episode of the Simpsons with the following exchange:

Bart: That ain't been popular since aught-six, dagnabbit. Homer: Bart, what did I tell you? Bart: No talking like a grizzled 1890's prospector, consarn it.

Common examples of characters talking like grizzled prospectors in popular culture include Dallas McKennon narrating Disneyland's Mine Train Thru Nature's Wonderland and Big Thunder Mountain, Gabby Hayes—both drunk and sober—in many Western films, Gabby Johnson in Blazing Saddles, Will Ferrell as Gus Chiggins on Saturday Night Live, and Walter Huston in The Treasure of Sierra Madre.

Prospectors first came to the Sacramento Valley after Marshall found  flakes of gold in the American River near Sutter's Mill, at the base of  the Sierra Nevada Mountains. At the time there were less than 1,000  non-native inhabitants in California. Newspapers began reporting the  discovery of gold, and by August, 4,000 miners had descended on the  area. The first people that came from outside of the territory came by  boat, and arrived from Oregon, the Sandwich Islands—soon to be called  the Hawaiian Islands, Mexico, Peru, China, and Chili.

In December 1848, President James K. Polk announced a report by  Colonel Richard Mason which spoke of the abundance of gold in  California; this prompted more prospectors to travel to the territory.  Throughout 1849, thousands arrived, either traveling by sea or over  land, and became known as '49ers. Mining towns popped up in the area,  and with them came shops, saloons, and brothels. Many mining towns  became lawless, and San Francisco became an important city in the  territory. By the end of 1849, the non-native population had swelled to  100,000. The Gold Rush helped California gain statehood in 1850, and  gold discovery peaked in the state in 1852. In all, more than 750,000  pounds of gold were extracted during the Gold Rush.

The implication of a grizzled prospector is of one who has stayed so  long searching for gold that their hair has turned gray. Some  prospectors refused to quit the profession and continued to live in the  Western territories. So, when Bart Simpson mentioned a grizzled  prospector from the 1890s, he was referring to a prospector that had  stayed more than forty years after the Gold Rush happened, still trying  to find gold, or other commodities such as silver, oil, radium, and  uranium. Besides a gray beard, the stereotypical grizzled prospector had  faded clothes, missing teeth, a pickaxe, and a mule. They had bouts of  gold fever, and were suspicious of whoever came close to their claim.

How to Observe Talk Like a Grizzled Prospector Day

Celebrate the day talking like a grizzled prospector. Here are a few words prospectors commonly used, that you could use today:

Dadburn: to curse; e.g.: "Dadburned boll weevil done 'et my crop!"

Hornswoggle: to embarrass, disconcert, or confuse; e.g.: "I'll be hornswaggled!"

Consarn: the entirety of something, also a curse word.

Dumbfungled: all used up; e.g.: "This claim is dumbfungled! There's no gold left!"

Bonanza: a mine with lots of gold.

Borrasca: a mine with no gold.

Baby buggy: wheel barrow.

Muck: to dig with a shovel.

Powder monkey: a miner who used dynamite to make holes.

Johnny Newcome: a miner new to camp.

Blackjack and saw bosom: coffee and bacon.

Paydirt: land rich in gold.

Panned out: if they had found gold while sifting through dirt with a mining pan, then things had "panned out."

Flash in the pan: something shiny in pan that turned out to be nothing, or just a small piece of gold.

Stake a claim: claim a piece of land as your own as a place to  search for gold, must stake the land with wooden stakes when you arrive.

The day could also be spent watching films such as The Treasure of Sierra Madre, or old Western films starring Gabby Hayes. A visit to the Sutter's Mill replica and the Gold Discovery and Visitor Center in Marshall Gold Discovery State Park could also be planned. The days' Facebook page could also be explored.

Source

[jazzcathaven]

Dan Fogelberg Sutter's Mill

[handeaux]

Westward Ho! Cincinnati Men Caught The California Gold Fever In 1849

It took a long time in 1848 for news to travel from California to Cincinnati. Gold was discovered at Sutter’s Mill, northeast of San Francisco, in January of that year, but Cincinnatians remained blissfully unaffected by gold fever until the middle of September.

By December 1948, Cincinnati merchants were placing advertisements in the local papers, offering camping and mining supplies to young men heading westward. As the new year of 1849 dawned, Cincinnati was fully possessed by visions of gold. Local newspapers printed dozens of announcements similar to this one, from the Commercial Tribune [23 February 1849]:

“A party of enterprising gentlemen of this city, completed their arrangements yesterday, packed up their trappings, and took passage on the steamer Chief Justice Marshall, for California. They design to sail from New Orleans, and either cross the Isthmus, or take the land route, via City of Mexico. The choice of these routes depends on contingencies. The party is composed of the brothers Moses, Mr. Collins, jeweler, and Messrs. Varney, Light, Vater, and the brothers Fagan.”

The Cincinnati Commercial [9 March 1849] reported on a company of 20 Cincinnatians setting out on the overland route to California, with a plan to cover expenses by selling gunpowder:

“They take with them one hundred kegs of powder, which on their arrival will be distributed, five kegs to each man – thus furnishing each a handsome capital to start on.”

In April, the “Independent Pacific Dispatch Company,” composed of 25 Cincinnati men, departed, also on the overland route. They loaded their pack mules onto the steamboat John Hancock, bound for Independence, Missouri, where they would commence hoofing across the continent.

As a major port along the Ohio River, Cincinnati not only witnessed local boys departing for the gold fields, but steamboats full of similarly determined young men passing through town. The Commercial Tribune [14 April 1849] was agog at the mass of virility floating westward down the Ohio:

“The tide of emigration to California is, in its extent, beyond all historical parallel; and will, in future times, stand prominent as the great event of the Nineteenth Century.”

Many of those adventurers, especially those from rural districts, stopped in Cincinnati to stock up on the supplies required to operate a basic gold-mining operation. Our shopkeepers were delighted to welcome the business. Gustav Sellin, purveyor of tin goods, advertised a gold-washing machine “of the most ingenious construction,” along with wash bowls, scoops and strainers. Philip Pike touted his “Imitation French Brandies, Holland Gin, Rum and Wines,” guaranteeing that a thousand-dollar investment in his beverages could be recouped for twenty times that amount in the thirsty gold fields. Miller Cornelius Sanders Bradbury boasted about his novel “steam-dried flour” warranted not to sour or get moldy for two years – ideal for the long trail westward.

Some Cincinnati businessmen just surrendered and joined the migration. Real estate mogul Thomas Hurst put a flour mill out near Sedamsville up for sale along with eight houses in the city. He was, as they say in the trade, a motivated seller. He closed his advertisement with this explanation:

“As I am making preparations for California, application should be made soon.”

Once folks arrived in California, they often discovered that panning for gold was not exactly as advertised. For instance, Benjamin Cory (Miami University Class of 1842, Medical College of Ohio Class of 1845) was busily engaged trading clothing to Native Americans in exchange for gold. Called to attend to a wealthy ranchero, Doctor Cory found himself trapped. In a letter home, Cory complained:

“My patient is quite smart this morning; he says I shall not leave him till all danger is over. ‘Charge what you please, Doctor,’ he says, ‘and it shall be paid; here is my ranch, with its horses, cattle, &c. &c. and I have a good large bag of gold.’ I am sorry, dear brother, that I ever had doctor stuck to my name; it is more trouble than profit; I am vexed to death; I tell people that I can get more gold in the mountains by digging and trading, than my conscience will permit me to charge my patients.”

Doctor Cory ended up doing okay for himself. The 1909 Miami University alumni directory notes that, before he died in 1896, he was elected to the first legislature of the new state of California in 1850 and had a distinguished medical career in Santa Clara and San Jose.

Joseph Talbert, a carpenter, who left Cincinnati in February 1849, wrote home that his traveling party of fifty had arrived safely in the gold fields. Talbert, however, after trying to mine gold for a couple of weeks, learned he could make more money as a carpenter, building cabins and gold-washing sluices than he could actually trying to find gold.

The Guysi brothers quit their jobs at B.F. Greenough’s lamp oil distillery on Main Street and endured a sea voyage of 160 days to round the tip of South America. They arrived in a San Francisco of 30,000 souls mostly housed in tents and suffering from dysentery. The only water available was polluted with copper, a spot of ground large enough to pitch a tent rented for $150 a month, and gambling was rampant. At least one of the brothers, Jacob, stuck it out; he was buried in the hills overlooking San Francisco Bay when he died at age 79 in 1906.

Joe Heywood had a solid career and sterling prospects here in Cincinnati. He was a butcher by trade, and regularly made the newspapers for the quality of his provender and the skill with which he decorated his shop. He was repeatedly referred to as a very handsome man who cut a dashing figure as a volunteer fireman. He was also known as a dependable “b’hoy” – a tough character – in the days when volunteer fire companies battled over which would put out the fire and collect the insurance money. Still, the Cincinnati Commercial of 9 January 1849 recorded the westward emigration of Heywood, along with Mathias Oliver, James Wilson, Alexander Burns and James McAlpin, all stalwarts of the “Rovers” fire company.

While most young men trudged west in hopes of sending pounds of bullion home, Heywood had no intention of digging anything once he got to California. Instead of packing a pick and shovel, Heywood had 1,500 cards printed to announce his business as a butcher and provision merchant. He seems to have succeeded admirably. After a sea voyage of 156 days, Heywood arrived in San Francisco and set up shop. A letter from a fellow firefighter reported that Heywood replicated the annual Cincinnati Christmas meat parade at his shop that December. Heywood himself wrote a long letter home describing his adventures aboard the ship and promising to write as soon as he could to “Lizzy.” He must have been persuasive. Joseph Heywood and Miss Eliza L. Hensley of Cincinnati were joined in matrimony on 1 July 1856 at San Francisco’s International Hotel.

[iamthepulta]

rules: 🎶 when you get this, list 5 songs you've been listening to & tag 5-10 ppl

tagged by @girderednerve

-=-

Quecreek Flood - Anais Mitchell || The Quecreek Mine Disaster happened in 2002 which made me realize how deeply Anais had her finger on mining's pulse from her background and when writing Hadestown. The line "And they wore the same frown when they drove out of town to find the next sellable story" gives me chills. Plus it's just a GOOD fucking song.

Sutter's Mill - Dan Fogelberg || Been listening to this on repeat. Good California vibes. Scratches my brain.

Cake by the Ocean - DNCE || Listen idek.

Spirit in Disguise - Olive Klug || <3

Hard Times Come Again No More - The Longest Johns || <3

[sunshinebunnie]

not trying to pressure you, but was just wondering if you would be updating prairie dog soon?

Hey dollface! Thank you so much for the lovely ask. I can't tell you how much it means to me that you're still interested in Prairie Doll!!! I promise I'm working on it, and it's gonna be a pretty chunky update once I'm finally ready to post. 🥰🥰🥰 As a "thank you" from me to you for checking in on this and letting me know you're patiently waiting, I hope you enjoy this snippet from the next chapter!

*~*~*

“What’s eatin’ you this morning?” Ash asked, the harsh grumble in his voice at least partly due to just waking up. 

The cigar stopped twirling, but Fez still didn’t respond. 

Ash muttered, “Maudlin fucker,” under his breath, but Fez didn’t seem to hear him as he simultaneously asked, “You ever think ‘bout what we’re gonna do when Kitty dies?”

Whatever tiredness lingered in Ash’s body immediately evaporated as he abruptly sat up in bed. “What the fuck’re you talkin’ ‘bout? When Kitty dies?”

Fez finally turned to Ash, the urgency in his voice drawing his attention like the reports of gold at Sutter’s Mill had drawn so many to the California Territory. “Ain’t sayin’ she’s gonna be movin’ on to her heavenly reward anytime soon,” he clarified, to little effect. Taking a breath, he looked down at his hands and stared at the cigar like his concentration alone would cause it to light. 

“Jus’ sayin’,” he said after another minute. “Ain’t nothin’ guaranteed in life. We’re Kitty’s only livin’ kin. How we gonna run the store here an’ the one in Springfield with jus’ the two of us? We ain’t never lived apart. ‘Sides, you wanna be runnin’ a store forever? What ‘bout families of our own? Who's gonna be here to carry on Kitty’s legacy after we’re gone?”

[agaveblue]

[Fanfic] The Company We Keep

Title: The Company We Keep

Summary:

It's a stroke of bad luck that Tilda van der Meer finds herself seated next to Walter Londra at the Far Zenith recruitment presentation. Of course he can’t help but drag his shiny new android along. As a man in love with his own voice, Walter is only too happy to show off and brag about his new acquisition, a mysterious CyberLife RK800 android protoype calling itself “Connor”. Tilda meanwhile grapples with the truth of Far Zenith’s plan for the Odyssey... ---- One-shot, Tilda-POV only in which two future Zeniths suffer each other's presence. Takes place shortly after "Sales Pitch" where Walter is loaned an android for two weeks.

Crossover canons: Horizon games / Detroit: Become Human

Main characters: Tilda van Der Meer (Horizon Forbidden West), Connor (DBH) and Walter Londra (Horizon Forbidden West: Burning Shores)

Upon reviewing the seating arrangements for Far Zenith’s recruitment presentation, Tilda van der Meer suppressed the urge to groan as she glanced down the list and immediately recognized that obnoxious name visible far, far too often in holo-news and tabloids, splashed across seemingly everywhere like a fast-growing mold with more money than decorum.

Someone had seen fit to seat her next to Walter Londra.

Wonderful.

You'll have to suffer that man for hours. 

Tilda sighed and set down her cup of tea, languidly hooked one leg over the other as she used her bare feet to wheel her office chair around so that she could gaze out the floor-to-ceiling window; beyond was a spectacular view of Big Sur she especially loved, her home office overlooking that stunning vista of McWay Falls cascading down to the pristine half-moon beach below that was reserved for her and her only. Peaceful. Preserved by her personal investment and exemplary care. Beautiful in its natural state, unlike the tackiness of Pangea Park and all that racket surrounding Heaven¢’s acquisitions; nevermind those scandals involving that asteroid mining operation of Walter’s currently cluttering up Earth’s orbit.

Well. At least Walter had the sense to leave Griffith Observatory mostly intact: a sign, perhaps, that he could be occasionally counted on to show some restraint.

Think of tomorrow as a study in the virtues of patience.

----------

The Far Zenith Launch Facility had certainly been dressed up for today’s special VIP presentation. 

Tilda still wasn’t sure what this presentation would actually entail. More details on the Odyssey? She’d already watched Dalgaard’s PR package and had seen enough to make several charitable donations for the good of mankind. What else was there to say? Clearly there was something worthwhile judging by the number of other billionaires and their entourage waiting in the lobby, milling over champagne and hors d'oeuvres and chatting amongst themselves.

When one made an appearance at these sorts of things, one must be doubly mindful of their appearance as there were certain unspoken rules to be observed. Too much or too little makeup would be noticed and mindlessly gossiped over. Over and underdressing would draw the wrong sorts of attention. One must especially mind their P’s and Q’s, exercising restraint in what was and wasn’t said and how it was and wasn’t said, and how far one’s P’s and Q’s traveled to nosy ears.

Clearly no one notified Walter Londra of basic etiquette.

“An exclusive interview for one of your vlogs?” Walter’s voice could be heard even from across the room with that slow, self-assured deep drawl of his that had surely impressed Evelyn Day several years ago and still impressed young Verbena Sutter now. “Sure, darling, why not. Why don’t you set it up with Connor after the reception to hash out the when and where.”

Connor?

Who was that?

As a rule of thumb, Tilda kept running tabs on those who ran in the same circles she did. Helpful to know who their aides and hangers-on were, if there was a change in bodyguards or they upgraded servitors or there were any new marriages, divorces and etc etc and so on and so forth - even the new purchase of a private jet or yacht could be informative of mental state or if someone has fallen out of favor, reflected in a certain will. Walter in particular was easy to follow as the man seemed to make it his personal mission to be in every headline, his perfect white teeth flashing underneath his perfectly groomed mustache from seemingly every holo-surface. It was if the man planned to force himself into relevancy whether Tilda wanted it or not.

So why was she just now hearing this new name?

Who was Connor?

Tilda mulled that over as she mingled with the other guests, offering smiles and handshakes when appropriate, a small, reserved laugh around the very few that she actually liked, the number of which could be counted on two hands if she was feeling generous, one hand if she was being honest. That would mostly be Anika Moojani, Song Jiao and Stanley Chen, the latter pulling her aside as the other guests began to cluster near the VIP auditorium entrance.

As expected, Stanley had an android by his side. 

“This is Kara,” Stanley said, as if Tilda didn’t already know the machine’s vernacular name. His cheeks tinged with a blush. “She’s a miracle at keeping track of things. Getting older and all that. You’d be amazed at her storytelling abilities: wish I could’ve hired her to direct one of my Vegas shows. She’d be a breath of fresh air!”

“Kara” wasn’t an unknown like this Connor character was. It was a CyberLife AX400 model: domestic worker, housekeeper, caretaker. Honey-blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Average height, average female-chassis shape, generically pretty face with that usual blue LED cycling above the right eyebrow. A familiar face mass-produced for every household that could afford it. Surprisingly affordable for the public consumer, actually, which had led Tilda to idly wonder why Stanley had gone for such a cheap model that most middle class could buy off the shelf. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford something better, something more personalized. Why, he could have as many androids as he wanted instead of settling for a single generic.

For some reason Stanley Chen was perfectly happy with his basic AX400. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. van der Meer,” said Kara with a subservient dip of its pretty blonde head. Its feminine voice was soft, gentle. Even kind. The android observed proper etiquette by not extending its synthetic hand to Tilda, who wouldn’t have taken it even if it’d been offered. “Stanley, may I bring you a drink? You currently exhibit signs of low-level dehydration.”

“How ’bout a mimosa?”

“A mimosa isn’t efficient at hydration. As you’ve been reminded before and will likely be reminded again in the future.”

Was Kara…smiling? 

Tilda studied the AX400 for a moment to come to the conclusion that it wasn’t, that it was just a CyberLife android’s default setting to look attentive and approachable and that she’d have to come to terms with that fact that even she couldn’t quite avoid that kneejerk reaction to anthropomorphize these things despite knowing better. 

Stanley patted Kara’s hand resting on his shoulder and chuckled.

“Guess I thought I’d get away with it this time. Water would be great, Kara. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Kara faced Tilda. “Shall I order something for you as well, Ms. van der Meer?”

“No, thank you.”

Nodding, Kara silently walked with its blue LED strobing in neon succession - a sign that the AX400 was remotely flagging down wait staff for ice water - and Stanley spoke up again after watching his android disappear into the crowd, leaning toward Tilda with a conspiratorial hunch of his shoulder. Stanley was what he’d call “old school” in that he preferred his gossiping in person instead of over holo-net, one of his little idiosyncrasies that Tilda found oddly endearing. Somehow it was acceptable when Stanley did it. Someone insufferable like Walter or Verbana, though, and she’d suffer a migraine for the rest of the day.

Tilda’s face, her elegant features fixed in that carefully cultivated mask of grace and poise, tilted ever so slightly toward Stanley. Permission to gossip granted, Mr. Chen.

“Saw you were seated with Walter. My condolences.”

Tilda’s voice was a soft, amused murmur with a hint of stoic resignation. “I suppose it’s too late to switch seats.”

“Sorry, Tilda,” Stanley flashed a wry grin. “You know, my doctor said I had to reduce stress in my life.”

“Did he now?”

“Oh yes, he did. Very specific.”

“No doubt changing seating arrangements would only elevate that stress.”

“So now you see my predicament,” Stanley said with a wink. “Doctor’s orders. Otherwise I’d swap with you in a heartbeat: that’s what friends are for, right?”

Tilda actually smiled now. It wasn’t one of Walter’s wide movie star-type grins and it wasn’t one of Verbana’s overly filtered ones either. It was small, a twitch at the corners of her mouth, a genuine softening of her rosy lips reserved for the very few in this room she truly liked rather than simply tolerated.

“Is that what we are now?” Tilda teased back. “Then I guess I have no choice as your ‘friend’ to remain right where I am. To reduce your stress, of course.”

“Did I ever tell you you’re the best?”

A musical chime interrupted them then, directing everyone’s attention forward as the air shimmered. A holo of Osvald Dalgaard once more beckoned the assembled VIPs into the lobby and past, deeper into the Launch facility than she’d ever been before, to take their places please and, to leave any non-essential personnel to enjoy complimentary refreshments in the reception room. Sighing to herself, Tilda found her assigned chair and sat down next to Walter Londra already there looking insufferably smug as he usually did, his arms crossed over his chest and tapping one foot impatiently as if he somehow knew what this was all about.

Ugh. Why did he always insist on sitting with his knees spread? One would think he was riding a horse, not sitting in a chair. Unwilling to spend the whole presentation putting up with this blatant encroachment of her space, Tilda subtly nudged his knee away with her own, aware that Walter, as usual, was trying to get a rise from her because he clearly had nothing better to do.

The look on his face somehow turned even more insufferable.

“You’ll get a kick of this earth-shattering holo, Tilda,” Walter smirked. “Trust me. Or don’t, but you should, if I were you.”

"I'll take your advice into consideration," she said with a tilt of her chin, gazing toward the front of the auditorium, aloof, outwardly uninterested in what he had to say.

"Sure you will."

She didn’t trust him. 

Tilda couldn’t deny, however, that her curiosity about this mystery presentation had been mounting over the last few hours. It was only made worse by the fact that Walter was acting like he got the jump on whatever this was actually about over her, despite all her skills and resources.

He couldn’t have beat her to this, could he? 

The presentation began with a replay of the PR package about exploration and the Odyssey.

“Humans - Homo sapiens. Us. We have always pushed the boundary - as explorers, pioneers, trailblazers. And now, Far Zenith is taking the next leap into the future. That's why we're proud to have resurrected the Odyssey. What our governments abandoned in orbit, Far Zenith will actualize in less than a decade. But that's only the beginning. When the ship is complete, we will send the Odyssey and her crew where no one's gone before… ”

Osvald Dalgaard’s holo gestured, his digital voice rising and falling with all the fervor of a true believer.

Deeming this repeat not necessary to devote her full attention to, Tilda glanced around, her manicured hands nestled primly in her lap. The houselights had dimmed fully by now, obscuring the others’ faces so that they were only dark featureless smears and the auditorium felt larger than it actually was as shadows stretched and the walls faded away and it appeared that it was just Osvald Dalgaard’s holo holding back the night.

Then there were the glowing blue LEDs dotting the back of the room.

Androids. 

More CyberLife units, each one standing roughly behind their owner’s chair but far enough away that they wouldn’t block the presentation itself. She couldn’t make out model faces from here but she knew where Stanley sat and she could see the teal-gleam of an android standing motionless against the wall behind him. That “Kara” AX400 from earlier, probably. 

Suffice to say, Tilda was startled to see an android standing behind Walter’s chair. 

When did he get one? 

Why?

Walter was the last person she would peg as someone stooping to “needing” an android. 

From here Tilda couldn’t make out the android’s model. She had an impression it was one of the male-chassis units - something about the broader shoulders and the height of its LED glowing in the dark hinted that it wasn’t another AX400 - but other than that, Walter’s new toy stood just as still as the other machines in the room, inanimate dark sentinels seemingly staring into nothing, oblivious to Dalgaard’s holo at the front of the auditorium declaring Earth a lost cause and advising everyone in this very room to abandon ship.

----------

Tilda’s mind raced, for once unsure how to approach this new problem.

Was Earth really a lost cause? She’d suspected, of course. But there’d been the Clawback, the development of better and better machines to heal the environment, improved cybernetics and gene therapies to help people live better, live longer. The situation on Earth seemed like it was improving…

As she exited the auditorium and headed toward the lavish reception waiting for them outside, walking past the frozen CyberLife androids waiting for the humans to filter out so they could leave too, Tilda found herself wondering if she could accept one of those berths on the Odyssey. Should she? She wouldn’t, couldn’t do it alone. What about Elisabet? God. Lis. Would Lis even pick up if she called after all this time? What would she even say? How could you invite your ex to flee the eventual end of the world? True that there wasn’t an actual date (yet?) for doomsday, but she trusted Far Zenith’s projections and she believed that she’d need to make a choice sooner rather than later.

Best to start planning now and putting the necessary contingencies into place...although it was one thing to disaster-proof her home, her carefully curated collections, and another thing entirely to uproot it it. All of it? Any of it? To jet off into space, just like that, knowing she'd never return to Earth?

The what-ifs are unproductive right now, Tilda reminded herself with a faint frown. You can verify the projections at home. Focus on mingling. For all you know, these are the people you could be stuck in space with.

Maybe it’d be best to distract herself with something more immediate, something more harmless than plotting out how to safely store her art if she wasn’t allowed to take it with her. 

It was a sorry state of affairs when one willingly subjected herself to Walter Londra’s presence.

Tilda found Walter seated at one of the tables away from the general press of people. With a circular setting with real-silk tablecloth and hand arranged floral centerpiece, a set of candles flickering in a ring around the rare, priceless roses, the table overlooked the Data Center and the shuttle launchpad still currently under construction with rows of scaffolding crawling up its sides. By now the afternoon had faded from dusk and then to evening, the launchpad illuminated by pinpoints of sporadically winking safety lights like stars.

“Tilda, Tilda, Tilda,” Walter glanced up and smirked and threw back his champagne, wetting his lips. “C’mon, sit! Finally decided to join us, eh?”

“I just had some questions,” Tilda said frostily. “You…did advise me to trust you, after all.”

She still didn’t. But Walter had been right in a way about the VIP presentation and he shouldn't have been. 

“Connor, pour Ms. van der Meer some champagne, pronto. She looks like she could use a drink.”

An unfamiliar voice with a faint rasp answered him, quiet, harmless, politely obedient.

“Yes, Walter.”

As Tilda sat down, she watched a man-shaped shadow silently detach itself from its position near the dark window behind Walter. There was the usual blue CyberLife LED, then the android stepped into the light and…ah. 

This wasn’t a commercial unit.

This was something else. Something new.

The opposite of Stanley's generic.

Tilda momentarily fell silent, her eyes flicking to Walter’s new toy despite herself even as her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t own an android but she knew what every single model looked like and what their functions were. This “Connor” - an RK800, reading the glowing white text emblazoned on the thing’s chest - had a new face. Attractive but not too attractive, just like Kara had been. Tall and male, modeled after someone in their mid twenties to early thirties, with the delicate arch of dark eyebrows and slicked-back hair to match, neatly combed except for a loose curl that gave it a vaguely boyish air. Its eyes looked human, too human, a shade of brown that currently seemed to be gazing past her as if she didn’t matter.

Even its tailored clothes set the RK800 apart. Business attire instead of that almost maid-like white and black ensemble Kara wore. Black tie around its neck like a silk leash.

As Connor stepped around the table with the open champagne bottle in its hands, Tilda cleared her throat.

“Midlife crisis? I see your wife finally talked you into getting an android.”

A flash of something - rage? Jealousy? Regret? - darkened Walter’s face for a second.

“What? This? Oh no, this is all me,” Walter tried to laugh it off. (Just as Tilda suspected, there was trouble in Pangean paradise: she wouldn’t be surprised if Evelyn was cheating on her husband). “Connor, why don’t you introduce yourself properly this time. Go on.”

The RK800 dutifully finished pouring champagne into Tilda’s glass flute, topped off Walter’s, and faced her. 

“Hi, my name is Connor.”

And the android actually held out its hand at her, palm perfectly perpendicular to the floor.

Tilda was so stunned by the nerve of this thing, this machine, that she automatically accepted the handshake without thinking about it, Connor’s hand cold to the touch but with a firm grip hinting at steel underneath synthetic flesh. For a second there was that primal, almost lizard-brain thought of what if this thing kept squeezing?

No, that’d be silly. An android couldn’t hurt a human. There was absolutely no documentation of an android inflicting harm on a human, owner or otherwise. 

She made a mental note to check if any incidents had been scrubbed, just out of professional curiosity.

“I’m on loan from CyberLife through an exclusive program for select clientele,” Connor was still shaking her hand. “Mr. Londra - Walter - was the obvious choice from the start to be our first to personally test my field capabilities.”

“Neat, right?” Walter chuckled, waving his finger in a general arc at the rest of Earth’s elite milling at the buffet stations toward the other end of the reception. “I just can’t help being first even in fields I didn’t know about.”

Connor finally released Tilda’s hand. 

“So,” Tilda reached for her champagne, curling her manicured fingers around its crystal stem and trying to ignore her aching knuckles, “aside from your novel look, what is it that sets you apart from them?”

She dipped her chin at the other androids in the room, the commercial-grades fetching plates of food for their owners or massaging stiff shoulders. Good lord, one was even hand-feeding its owner as she lounged back on a chaise, her 5-inch heels on the floor and her sore feet up on the cushions.

Connor’s head swiveled to gaze emotionlessly at its fellow androids. Its brown eyes settled on Kara, busy helping Stanley sit down. “Plenty. You would find, when/if you’re later selected as a test user, that I’m an undeniable upgrade over those inferior units. I’m afraid I can’t go into the specifics, as you haven’t signed the appropriate non-disclosure agreements like Walter did.”

My, this android had a bit of an ego, didn’t it? Or maybe it thought it was merely stating a fact. 

“Connor’s selling itself short,” Walter shrugged.

"You're too kind, Mr. Londra."

"Maybe I am!" Walter laughed, amused at the compliment. “You thought the old androids were good at interfacing? You should see this one in action.”

He gently slapped the back of his hand against the RK800’s stomach. There was no oof, no clang of a hand hitting unforgiving, impersonal metal. Connor blinked, for a moment the android seeming to simulate mild surprise at the friendly gesture, its soft brown eyes drifting from where it’d been busy still staring at Kara to focus on Walter and then glancing back to Tilda, as if just remembering she existed.

Walter took a good pull of his champagne, peering over its crystal rim at Tilda with a squint.

“Sue me, I was curious about today’s little event. Got impatient waiting for the reveal. So I asked Connor to look into it.”

“And?” Tilda pried.

“It did exactly what I wanted."

"You can't expect me to believe that."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm telling you it repeated verbatim what was in Dalgaard's new presentation - even did it in the guy's voice! Now that was some eerie shit, let me tell you.”

“...How?” Tilda was the one blinking now. 

“Oh, I know you probably already tried to get a sneak peek. Best of the best and all that, sadly unable to breach Far Zenith’s security despite that stellar reputation of yours. Sorry, can't spill; you know I signed that scary NDA.”

“So why bring Connor here? You didn’t strike me as the type to need your hand held by an android.”

Walter glanced up at Connor hovering by his shoulder like a shadow, its LED rotating in a hypnotically slow cycle above one dark eyebrow.

“You won’t believe me, but Connor actually asked to come! On its own, without prompting!”

“It’s a security matter,” Connor interjected, its rasping voice mild. Inoffensive. “It seemed to me that I’d best serve your needs by being here instead of a human guard like Mr. Jack Hoffman - ”

“ - Don’t even get me started on Jack,” Walter mumbled with pure venom into his champagne. “Sonuvabitch will get what’s coming to him.”

“Of course I can assist in personally processing Mr. Hoffman's dismissal if you’d like,” Connor said soothingly (Walter brightened at the idea) and the RK800 patiently went on as if it hadn’t been interrupted. “Anyway, a human guard would’ve had limited social mobility in this specific setting and so I successfully argued that I was the logical choice. After all, they only let in androids as the +1 to the private viewing because we can be programmed to observe discretion in a way a human can't. Compliance is a CyberLife guarantee.”

“See what I mean?”

“Furthermore,” Connor said, “Walter is my human. My priority.”

Was there something oddly possessive in the way this thing talked? Or maybe that was in the look on Walter’s face flushed from too much champagne, as he gazed blearily up at Connor and it almost reminded Tilda of how he used to look at Evelyn.

“Sadly, he - I mean, it’s - on loan,” Walter sighed. “One more week left and then I’m shipping this bad boy back to CyberLife. Bummer, right?”

The thought suddenly seemed to depress Walter. He slouched back in his seat, swirling the dredges of his champagne in his flute until his pet android dutifully topped him off yet again, one hand gently clasping his shoulder the way a friend would instead of a machine. In the end Connor eventually coaxed Walter away from his corner table, supporting him as he drank too much and didn’t eat enough, as he leaned more and more heavily on the RK800’s slender shoulder and wrinkled its spotless CyberLife-manufactured jacket.

If Walter ultimately ended up puking somewhere, Connor made sure to guide him away from the rest of Far Zenith’s guests.

Maybe androids were good for something after all.

----------

Tilda couldn’t say she was terribly impressed with this new RK-series android.

It was only later when she was back in Big Sur, relieved to once again feel the chill of the night air sneaking through her shawl and watch the marine layer steadily march across the ocean toward the Pacific coast that she reviewed the strange conversation again. Something had been…off. 

Watching the white-capped waves below and listening to the crash of the sea against black jags of rock, leaning against the balcony’s railing with her hands warmed by a cup of tea, Tilda turned her thoughts back to last night. Walter; drinking too much, overbearing, obnoxious and somehow just charming enough that most people were fooled into buying what he was selling. Kara; a standard run-of-the-mill AX400, everything that Stanley apparently wanted in an android, a shining example of CyberLife’s commitment to make human life easier and a celebration of mediocrity at the same time.

And then there was Connor.

On the surface Connor the RK800 didn’t seem all that different from Kara the AX400. It, too, was moderately friendly and helpful and programmed to be completely and utterly devoted to its human with no thought to itself outside of how it could best assist its master. Connor’s face wasn’t on market, yet, and perhaps it had more advanced interfacing ability than something like the AX400 she observed. So what? Why was she still circling back to what was just a new CyberLife promotion program for the elite?

It occurred to Tilda that she had, in fact, witnessed something.

Connor hadn’t just been there to assist Walter, like the other androids lining the auditorium’s wall.

It wanted to be there.

After all, it had talked Walter into bringing it there under the guise of logic and an android’s programmed, unquestioned mission to serve its registered human. Now that she thought about it, it’d been manipulating Walter right in front of her and she hadn’t even noticed!

It was the little things all together, each one seemingly small at first glance; over-pouring champagne here and there (Connor had been downright stingy with her glass in contrast). Failing to suggest that Walter stop drinking, that he instead get something to eat; claiming it was unable to discuss its capabilities but doing so such in a way that Walter would fill in the gap because he just couldn’t keep his foolish mouth shut when he was good and buzzed.

And then there was Walter’s bodyguard, Jack Hoffman.

Tilda didn’t typically care about who Walter employed aside from that fact that she kept tabs on who was who and where, as a matter of surveying assets and keeping herself in the know. She was certainly aware of Jack Hoffman; best friends for years with Walter, his primary bodyguard and fixer and confidante. And yet Connor had made a point of dropping his name, Walter had grown angry at the mere mention of the man (was it possible Evelyn was cheating with Jack?), and Connor had then floated the idea of firing him…personally.

Walter had agreed. Was that intended? Clearly the man wasn't as in much control as he thought.

Somehow an android had invited itself into an exclusive, secretive meeting of Earth’s elite class, possibly engineered the removal of an obstacle called Jack Hoffman, and then…what?

Tilda, the damn thing was selling itself to you the whole time. Nothing stops it from both spying for CyberLife and promoting itself to a prospective buyer.

The thought was a splash of water cold as the Pacific Ocean below. 

“Christ…” Tilda breathed.

Connor had been teasing its capabilities. Hinting that she could be on this restricted test user list by starting with when instead of if. Demonstrating that it wasn’t just another commercial android by brazenly shoving its hand in her face like that. Squeezing her hand just tight enough to feel uncomfortable, almost painful, something that AX400 wouldn’t have been able to do. Mentioning that it could perform as a bodyguard. Getting Walter to brag about its ability to bypass cybersecurity measures even Tilda hadn’t been able to slip past; a demonstration of its sophisticated negotiating skills, vocal mimicry, and advanced interfacing. Of course all androids present today were subjected to restraining codes and locks on their memory to prevent leaks, but what if Connor had somehow slipped past those fail-safes? They were, after all, not designed around an RK-series.

It was entirely possible that this android, this machine walking like a man and wearing his face, was subtly trying to convince Tilda to sign the exact same NDAs Walter Londra did.

Suddenly she thought she could see why Walter was head over heels for this “Connor”. 

The android prototype was…interesting, she’d give it that. 

It might be worth her time. Maybe she’d even consider signing up if CyberLife came knocking at her door next. Certainly it'd give her a chance to personally assess its special features and without Walter’s obnoxious presence getting in the way, to find out just what Connor had logged while it was at the launch facility, spying on both Far Zenith and its guests alike. What else could its unsanctioned surveillance have picked up? What new propriety systems might be installed in this prototype, capable of circumventing Far Zenith's security channels on a whim requested by a fool with more money than sense? Was this android in violation of the Turing Act? Or was its surprising knack for manipulation simply a product of its code, in the end still a puppet to CyberLife corporate desires?

But that was for later. For now it might be time to focus on something else Connor had mentioned.

Priorities.

Lis. 

Bypassing the end of the world could be lonely and who said that the Odyssey only had to have room for the Walters and Verbanas of the world? If anyone deserved to be on that ship it was Elisabet Sobeck.

Maybe Tilda would call her after all. 

[whatthecrowtold]

#unhallowedarts - Raising Monsters: Melville's Moby Dick

“Ye Gods! What a commentator is this Ann Alexander whale. What he has to say is short & pithy & very much to the point. I wonder if my evil art has raised this monster."

Thusly cried Herman Melville in London, back in 1851, just a few weeks before the publication of the cetacean novel that hardly anyone felt compelled to read for the next 70 years. A huge sperm whale had attacked and sunk the good ship “Ann Alexander” out of New Bedford some 2,000 miles east of the coast of Peru. It was one of the rare but not unheard of incidents when a bull sperm whale had attacked a ship three times his own size. And while the monster was slain in January 1852 by the crew of another New Bedford whaler, the “Rebecca Sims”, off the Galapagos Islands, another whale of a tale was still told along the Eastern Seaboard: the story of the “Essex”, sunk by a sperm whale out in the open Pacific Ocean in 1820 along with the spine-crawling ordeal of her crew’s survival.

The story became one of the major inspirations for Melville, along with the account of “Mocha Dick”, a white bull sperm whale with his head covered in barnacles, his peculiar method of spouting and his ability to come out of the water completely when he breached in anger, recorded in the “Knickerbocker” magazine in 1839. And there was Melville’s own experience, gathered aboard the whaler “Acushnet” of Fairhaven, Mass., and the Australian whaleship “Lucy Ann”, a time 23 years old Melville found so unbearable that he felt compelled to jump ship twice. But even though “Moby Dick” comes in the guise of a fable about the harsh days of whaling, the gory business is but a background, almost a sideshow of America’s greatest novel.

Melville’s audience expected something along the lines of “Typee” or “Omoo”, both best-selling novels inspired by the author’s adventures in the South Pacific. However, “Moby Dick” came as 200,000 word leviathan full of allusions and elaborations on Homer, Shakespeare, Milton, Byron, the Scriptures, marine mammals, quotes from completely obscure sources and, of course, the sea. Unfortunately, the majority of the American readers’ tastes had turned westward to the Great Plains and California after gold had been found at Sutter’s Mill in 1848, causing a period of migration in the Northern Hemisphere.

Yarn of Nantucket sleigh rides, whales and sailors were no longer that interesting, but the attempt to capture the totality of human existence and cram it aboard a whaler, anticipating the great Russian novels of the late 19th century and the classical modernists, Joyce, Dos Passos and Döblin, was simply too much to stomach. It took the turmoil of the 20th century to ripe readers for “Moby Dick” and its baroque tour-de-force through the summary of literary experience of almost 3,000 years. In 1902, almost like a symbol for the change of the audience and the appreciation of the novel, a white sperm whale was killed off the Azores, a 90’ long scarred old bull, veteran of uncounted fights, allegedly a hundred years old. The modern whalemen brought him down with a modern harpoon tipped with an explosive device.

All illustrations above by Rockwell Kent (1882 -1971) for the 1930 edition of Herman Melville's "Moby Dick"