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Old November 26, 2001, 03:07   #1
Dom Pedro II
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The Price of a Patriot
It had come so suddenly. One Sunday, everyone was at church when the word came. The English had landed! They were north of the city! Of course, everyone laughed at this at first. The front was a thousand miles away. How could the English have landed a force so close to Sao Paulo?

Yet it was true. Fishermen had spotted a large flotilla of barges guarded by large war galleys drifting down the Brazilian coast. On Saturday night, riders had set out for the city from their country villages shouting "The English are coming!" Immediately, plantation owners packed their things and went to summer homes in the city. The English troops seized the plantations, burned the local villages surrounding the great city of Sao Paulo and drove straight toward the city.

The governor called for all able-bodied men to join the militia to expel the invader, but few came. Instead, the city had to rely on the single regiment of local warriors to defend the city. Had the whole Brazilian army been there, the Paulistas would have slept well in their beds as the flimsy English invasion force would have been throne back into the sea. But the Brazilian army was a thousand miles to the north in the Amazon mountains trying to seize the English outposts on the continent. Because of this, the great capital fell within two days.

People panicked as they saw English troops marching down the Avenida do Rei. The great palace of the king was put to torch after having been looted of everything of value and everything with no value at all. Sculptures were smashed in the city's squares. The Great Library of Sao Paulo was spared, but it was odd to see the new flags and banners fluttering outside in its main entrance, courtyard, and halls.

King Paulo was fortunately spirited away to Recife with the English army on his heels. There he immediately set up a new government seat to continue the war effort. In Sao Paulo, a military governor, Governor Rafael dos Santos, was put in place by the English. The man was an oppurtunistic member of the city's board prior to the invasion, and he saw a chance for real power. Still, his government was a puppet, and even the power granted him by the English was limited. dos Santos was a figurehead. The real power lay with Major General Wellington, the vicious English general who had led the invasion force into the city.

And so this was how life was. Sao Paulo remained occupied for another year by English forces. Brazilian troops loomed around the city waiting for the right time to take it. Reinforcements were being pulled down from the north, but it took time. There were many treacherous mountain passes and muddy paths that slowed down the transport. In the city of Sao Paulo, a resistance force began to arise calling themselves the Brazilian Brotherhood.

"Joao!" Pedro called.

"Ah, whattaya want?" Joao shuffled out in front of his house. He was an old man in his late sixties with a hunched back and disposition that matched his appearance.

"Are you coming over today?" asked Pedro.

"Eh?"

"Are you coming to play today?" Pedro's raspy voice struggled to say it louder.

"Oh yeah. Sure," Joao replied.

"Have you heard anything about the army?" Pedro asked.

"What do I look like, eh? A messenger? I know as much as you know! Besides, if I did know, I wouldn't tell you nothin'!"

"I dunno, I thought you might no something," Pedro shrugged, "You got that boy of yours..."

"Hey!" Joao snapped laying a finger on his lip. Then he spoke in softer voice, "None of that! Not out here."

"Ah, calm yourself!" Pedro waved a hand dismissively.

At that moment, Joao's son, Carlos, came through the gate. He was a young man in his late teens. He had been a scholar before the English had shut down the schools. Carlos came in with something tucked under his arm as he usually did. It was a book.

"Good morning, father," he said.

"Son, what have you got there?" he asked with a heavy sigh.

"Something very important! Big news!" the boy declared.

"Now, Carlos, really! Enough of this!" Joao said.

"Father, it must be done!"

"Not by you it doesn't!" his father cried, "You will get yourself killed, boy! You are my only son, and I don't want to lose you."

"How can I just stand by and do nothing?" Carlos demanded, "How can I watch as the English take everything from us?"

"They have let you keep your life! Be thankful for that," his father said softly.

"And what good is life if we are made to live as prisoners," the idealistic boy put his arms out-stretched and cried out to the neighborhood.

There were a few soft cheers from the surrounding homes, but Joao was not pleased. "Quiet! Are you crazy, boy?"

"Mind your father," Pedro remarked.

"Oh, keep quiet, you!" Joao glared.

"I cannot do nothing," Carlos said and went inside the house.

"Do you see this boy?" Joao asked Pedro.

"They claim to be patriots, but they're just a band of thugs! They do more to make sons disrespect their parents then to push the English out of our city... "

"You almost seem to like the English," Pedro chuckled.

"Of course I don't," Joao said firmly, "But let it be the king's task to get them out! I don't want my son to be the one to fight."

The day wore on. The sun disappeared behind the horizon and families everywhere sat down to small meals. The street lamps were lit, and candles glowed the windows of many houses. The poorer neighborhoods were forced to have large bonfires outside in which they burned planks from dismantled fishing ships since they could not afford candles or go into the forest for wood. Most people went to the church. At least there, they had free light, free heat, and at least some entertainment.

Pedro, Joao, and the other old fellows of the neighborhood joined together at Pedro's home for their weekly game. It was gambling, which was illegal, but no one ever enforced it. On this night, a cool breeze was blowing into the home. The flames of the candles flickered causing shadows to dance on the white plaster walls. A band was playing their instruments outside the house in the backyard of a young couple. The men had this to serenade them as they played.

"Ah ha, gentlemen!," Adalberto wheezed, "I win again!"

"Yeah, yeah!" Pedro grunted.

"So fellas," Adalberto said, "Apparently, the general had some big statement to make at the cathedral tonight..."

"Really?" Joao asked, "About what?"

"The rebels. What else?" Adalberto coughed, "He's tripled the reward money. Still, no one comes forward with information."

"Yes, well, we know how the English pay rats," Jose laughed, "Who would come forward after that last poor fool was hung for being a conspirator after he gave a way a half dozen names!"

A loud, musical voice came at the front door. "Senhor Joao! Senhor Joao!"

"Why, it's Maria!" Pedro gasped. He turned to the front door, "Come in, dear!"

The poor girl entered the house franticly. "Boa noite, senhores... Senhor Joao, where is Carlos?"

"He is not with you?" asked Joao.

"No!" she wailed, "I heard from my brother's friends... the army is coming tonight. The rebels in the hills have joined them. The plan is that the rebels are to lead an uprising in the city tonight at the cathedral! The crowd will rise up right there! I am so worried, senhor! I fear that Carlos will get himself killed!"

"I must stop him!" Joao shot up from his seat.

"An old man like you? Not a chance!" Pedro said. He turned to the dark yard, "Manuel! Manuel!"

"Sim, senhor," the servant boy emerged from the darkness.

"Go fetch Carlos at the cathedral. And be quick about it!" Pedro snapped. The boy took off into the night.

It was not long before the sound of intense fighting was heard from the center of town. It was the sound of thousands of men yelling like in a charge. The sounds of battle continued for hours. The peasants were fighting back with full fury. It was possible to see English ships disappearing into the water in flames. A bright glow came from the middle of the town. Fires. The whole city was embroiled in fighting. Out in the residential areas out here, it was eerily quiet. There were no troops. There was no rioting. All that could be heard was the fighting less than two miles away.

The men did not leave the house, and Maria stayed to wait and see if word would come of Carlos's state. Early in the morning before sunrise, Manuel returned. The poor lad was covered in blood. Pedro immediately ran to him.

"Oh, my boy!" he declared.

"Please, senhor. It is not my blood. I am fine. But Carlos...."

Two other boys carried the beaten figure of Carlos into the house and laid him down on the kitchen floor. Maria shrieked and ran to him. He was still alive, but it was clear he would not live to see the sunrise. His clothes were soaked with blood, and he had a large gash plowing through his skull and a large wound in his abdomen. It looked like he had been sliced open with a blunt sword. Joao, Maria, and the others remained beside Carlos until at last his hand grew cold as the new light spread on the land. With sunrise, it appeared that the English had been defeated. Joao watched the escaping ships filled with shaken soldiers sailing away toward the rising sun.
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Dom Pedro II - 2nd and last Emperor of the Empire of Brazil (1831 - 1889).

I truly believe that America is the world's second chance. I only hope we get a third...
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Old December 7, 2001, 02:48   #2
Invasion
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Again, it seems as if I must be the one to break the silence.

It certainly takes a wild imagination to create such a wonderful and detailed narrative from just one in-game turn. If I may say so, the characters could have been developed some more, but then again this is just a single-post story.

Good job.



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Old December 7, 2001, 10:53   #3
Dom Pedro II
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Local Time: 17:31
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Location: The College of New Jersey
Posts: 1,098
Thanks for the compliments.

You're absolutely right. The characters ARE rather under-developed. I think I may go back and make alterations to this story, but, hey, I wrote this up at some god awful hour totally spur of the moment. With some improvement, I think it could be very good.
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I truly believe that America is the world's second chance. I only hope we get a third...
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