Lands of Red and Gold

Zam · Feb 1, 2020

Jared said:
Most likely explanation is exactly as in the article: she probably just used local oral history about the activities of the Hunter. She lived in a time when it's quite possible for people to have been around to pass on stories about the Hunter and what he said. Especially if she was reciting what her grandparents (or other grandparents) had quoted to her when she was young.

Ah that makes sense and as ATP noted, oral history is strong.

Now I'm just imagining a bunch of smug scholars in Britain crapping themselves in frustration because they were too arrogant to ask any locals their opinion and so got ur-sourced by a local poet, this apparently happens a lot.

Jared said:
Glad you liked it. This was one of those chapters where the military action itself would have been fairly pointless to describe in detail, so I looked for another way of showing it and also some of the longer-term consequences of the Hunter's actions.

It was a really clever fix, kudos!

Jared · Feb 7, 2020

Lands of Red and Gold #111: An Abscorbing Tale

From: The Riddle of Scurvy
By Lucas Montpelier, PhD, BMedMD, TjY

The riddle of scurvy is truly three riddles. The first is how the riddle of scurvy was solved in Europe. The second is how the riddle of scurvy was solved in Aururia. The third riddle is why the solution which was known for so many decades in Aururia was never found and applied by Europeans...

The truth of scurvy is well-known today. It is a lack of an essential micronutrient, ascorbic acid [Vitamin C], which is abundant in a wide variety of fresh foods but which is destroyed by most methods of cooking or food preservation. Throughout recorded history, scurvy has been a sporadic problem, particularly during winters in temperate or arctic climates where fresh food is harder to find. It became a much direr problem when people began undertaking long ocean voyages, especially during the Renaissance in Europe and since the emergence of the Nuttana in Aururia. During such voyages, access to fresh food was often impossible, and scurvy became the scourge of sailors...

In Europe, awareness of scurvy went back to Hippocrates or beyond, but knowledge of the treatment was lost and regained repeatedly. Scurvy probably remained a seasonal affliction of uncertain prevalence in much of medieval Europe, particularly more northerly latitudes, although surviving records are sparse. Its prevalence increased with the Age of Sail, as extended ocean voyages meant that fresh foods were consumed or decomposed and sailors could consume only ascorbate-free preserved foods.

The risks were greater the longer a voyage progressed, as bodily stores were exhausted and the disease robbed the sufferers of vitality and, all too often, of life. When Ferdinand Magellan's expedition circumnavigated the globe in 1519, half of his crew died of scurvy. Two million sailors, it is thought, perished of scurvy during the height of the Age of Sail, between about 1500 and 1800.

Practical knowledge of how treat scurvy was common with some mariners, but alas often not transmitted widely, and largely spurned by the medical establishment. Since the time of Vasco da Gama in 1497, some Portuguese sailors recognised the curative power of citrus when treating scurvy. Some English sailors recognised the same benefit, with Admiral Hawkins promoting citrus juice in 1593 as a preventative for scurvy. This realisation was, alas, often not transmitted effectively, with travellers and mariners often not revealing the particular benefits of citrus. Even when they did, the limited food preservation and storage technologies of the era meant that fresh food could scarcely be kept sufficiently long to sustain sailors through extended voyages.

The European medical establishment, obsessed with following ancient medical sources and disparaging of practical knowledge, invented a great many fanciful theories for the origin of scurvy, but did not properly put them to the test. Medical thought was dominated by the writings of Hippocrates, and his theory of the four humours was sought as the explanation for all diseases, scurvy included. John Echth, a Dutchman, early in the sixteenth century deemed scurvy as a disease of black bile. The theory held sway over much of the medical establishment for the next two centuries, leading to many creative but futile proposals for curing scurvy by addressing the supposed imbalance in black bile.

Realisations of the value of fresh food in general and citrus in specificity held little influence in such settings. Even when the black bile theory was gradually abandoned, replacement theories focused on supposed problems with digestion and similar matters, and gave little heed to the discoveries of practical men. When presented with genuine knowledge, medical scholars developed further theories but made no effort to test those theories.

In a notable example, the evidence that lime and lemon juice could cure scurvy was tpresented to the English College of Physicians in London. Their reasoning was that these were acidic, and since good health required a balance of acid and alkaline in the body, scurvy must be caused by an imbalance of alkaline in the digestion, and therefore it could be remedied by consuming a stronger acid: sulphuric acid, or elixir of vitriol as it was called at that time. This led to the tragic situation where for over a century the Royal Navy sought to cure scurvy with elixir of vitriol, mixed with various flavourings to make it palatable, such as hard liquor, barley water, or a selection of spices.

Occasional scholarly publications about the value of fresh food in curing scurvy were still made, such as the Bavarian physician Wolfgang Blucher in 1731. Tragically, these were largely brushed aside by the medical establishment as not conforming with existing theories of disease.

While not penetrating into medical academia, more practical mariners nonetheless continued to apply various forms of fresh foods as preventatives or cures for scurvy. Mariners took to planting citrus trees and other suitable crops at islands and ports throughout the world, so that ships could conveniently resupply. Aururians had long known of the value of their local sweet sarsaparilla (Smilax glyciphylla), whose leaves could be made into a tea which quickly cured scurvy, and shared this knowledge with visiting Dutch sailors in the early seventeenth century. This led to Dutch and English sailors planting the vine to grow wild around many of the tropical and subtropical coasts across the globe, where it could be retrieved by any passing sailors to restore any scurvy-afflicted comrades to health. Regrettably, dried sarsaparilla suffered from the same problems as most other food preservation methods, with the ascorbic acid largely lost in the drying, and so it could not provide a proper preventative solution.

Citrus fruits and juices continued to be used intermittently, where available and amongst sailors who had heard of its properties. Some naval surgeons, who tended to be more practical than land-based theory-driven doctors, used citrus juice on occasion. Many other would-be cures were also used. Elixir of vitriol remained a perennial favourite. Vinegar was often tried, on the same acidic reasoning. Other popular cures, influenced by the writings of one medical scholar or another, included wort of malt (fermentable barley malt), sea water, cider in both the European and Aururian fashion, hard work, sweet-pepper water, and bleeding...

The first Europeans to conduct what were in effect clinical trials about treatments for scurvy were Herbert Shuttleworth, a naval surgeon, and Reverend Hector McGinty, a ship's chaplain. On the HMS Kingfisher during the Nine Years' War, Shuttleworth and McGinty obtained permission from the ship's captain to try a variety of the proposed cures for a group of fifteen sailors who were suffering from severe scurvy. This type of practical trial was almost unknown amongst European medicine at the time, despite a similar practice being in place in Aururian medicine for centuries.

Shuttleworth provided two sailors each with lemons and limes, vinegar, sweet-pepper water, European cider, salt water, nutmeg, and elixir of vitriol. The remaining sailor was provided with fresh air on deck, another proposed cure. Shuttleworth found that the sailors provided with lemons and limes recovered rapidly, while the others showed no meaningful improvement.

Shuttleworth published his discoveries in a treatise called Observations on Scurvy in 1758. Tragically, while Shuttleworth's proposed cure was efficacious, his reasoning was not. Shuttleworth thought that scurvy was caused because the humid atmosphere at sea, and particularly aboard crowded ships, causes the pores the skin to stop working. In turn, he thought that this lack of effective perspiration meant that toxins accumulated in the body, since at the time the belief was that this was the means which permitted toxins to be expelled from the body. Shuttleworth thought that lemon juice cured scurvy because it had a cleansing action which opened the pores and permitted the toxins to be cleared from the body [1]. The medical establishment rejected his theory because it could not explain other occasions of scurvy on land, such as during sieges, and thus the treatment of scurvy remained mired in bad cures.

During the second half of the eighteenth century, the dominant theory explaining scurvy shifted based on new findings, but remained unfortunately misguided. Sufficient publications showed that scurvy could be cured by non-acidic fresh vegetables, so the acidic theory became gradually abandoned.

Poul Sørensen, a Danish physician who had migrated to London, concluded that the common property of all the known curative fruit and vegetables was that they were readily fermentable. He therefore recommended using a readily fermentable material, wort of malt, which is barley which has been moistened, partially sprouted, then heat-dried. This was normally used in brewing beer. Sørensen's reasoning was that wort of malt was known to be fermentable even when stored on conditions similar to those on board ships, and that therefore it should preserve the same character of scurvy prevention. This was in one sense an advance, involving as it did the realisation that food preservation methods were linked to scurvy, but unfortunately still entirely incorrect.

The realisation of the proper value of citrus waited another three decades. Naval authorities and commercial traders were not idle in between, for as the eighteenth century marched onward, the volume of shipping grew ever larger, and the toll from scurvy ever greater. Many reputed antiscorbutics were applied, though wort of malt remained the most favoured, but no-one replicated the careful trials of Shuttleworth and McGinty, so it was not possible to distinguish between cures which were useful and those of no value.

The solution to the riddle of scurvy, or more specifically the European solution, came in 1789 when a French physician named Antoine Hébert convinced the Compagnie d'Orient to trial a ration of lemon juice preserved in brandy. This was applied in a voyage from Nantes to Jugara [Victor Harbor], where three ships were sent, each issued with sufficient preserved lemon juice to provide their sailors with a daily ration. After a voyage of ninety-five days without stopping anywhere en route, the ships arrived in Jugara. Not only had they not lost any crew members to scurvy, the crew were reported to be healthier than when they left. Scurvy had been vanquished.

Triumphant though this discovery was, to modern ears it is tragic that if those sailors had asked properly at Jugara, they would have heard a solution for scurvy which had been applied for most of the previous century...

In Aururia, records of scurvy are likewise ancient. Kuritja (c.65 BCE-AD 3), one of the pre-eminent early Five Rivers physicians [3], has had most of his works lost except those which are preserved through quotations in subsequent sources. One of his preserved quotations describes which is clearly scurvy, and prescribes any of several fruits as a remedy.

Pre-Houtmanian Aururian sources, both those in the Five Rivers and other states such as Teegal and Durigal, describe scurvy as a disease rare in frequency but widespread in location. It does not appear to have been particularly common, but happened in many regions on occasion, usually after wildfires or sometimes more severe winters. Traditional cures were equally widespread, inevitably involving some food or foods which are notably rich in ascorbic acid, yet usually ascribing the cure to the properties of those specific foods rather than the value of fresh food in general. The most frequent remedies were those involving Aururian Citrus species, sweet sarsaparilla, and a leaf vegetable little known outside the Third World whose most common native name translates as "tooth-tightener," a reference to the gum disease and loosened teeth associated with scurvy, and the vegetable's ability to cure that if eaten [4]. Tooth-tightener was valuable because it kept its leaves for most of the year, and so could be picked as a cure for scurvy even in conditions where few other foods were available.

In most respects, then, scurvy in pre-Houtmanian Aururia was much as it was in pre-Rennaissance Europe: an occasional malady but not especially worse than any number of other nutritional or infectious diseases which plagued both continents. This state of affairs began to change in Aururia for the same reasons it did in Europe, namely, when the first Aururians began to make long enough ocean voyages for scurvy to become a major risk.

For centuries before and after de Houtman, Aururia's premier mariners were the Nangu, or as they later became, the Nuttana. Their pre-Houtmanian voyages were usually not long enough to risk scurvy, especially since Nangu sailors generally had a good diet [5]. Consequently, this malady did not meaningfully afflict the Nangu until they founded the Nuttana in 1634 and started longer voyages to Asia, India and in time other continents.

The Nuttana spent several decades seeking to manage scurvy by traditional cures, to scant meaningful success. Plantation of known cures in friendly ports assisted in the speedy recovery of afflicted sailors when they arrived, but this was only a small fraction of the problem, especially when visiting foreign ports where the locals could not or would not grow the necessary cures.

Scurvy presented a far greater problem to the Nuttana than it did to Europeans, due to one simple truth: the Nuttana were far more pressed for manpower than Europeans. Aururia in the seventeenth century faced dramatic population decline due to the toll of Old World diseases ravaging the continent. The Nuttana fared relatively better in this onslaught than most of their fellow Aururians, for reasons which are still debated, but even they were critically short of manpower. Losing large numbers of sailors to scurvy presented a graver threat for them than European mercantile and naval powers, since the lost manpower could not be conveniently replaced.

After the particularly severe toll of the 1660s and 1670s, when measles, diphtheria and pertussis [whooping cough] together ravaged Aururia, the need to preserve manpower became so pressing that the Nuttana bloodlines turned to an expensive solution. They sent a delegation to the newly-established Panipat in 1674, and offered to pay the physicians there to develop a cure or preventative for scurvy.

The Nuttana request provoked a heated dispute between different classes of Five Rivers medical professionals. For centuries, the Five Rivers had maintained a division between what were deemed natural and spiritual illnesses, with the distinction being approximately those diseases with clear external symptoms and those with only internal symptoms. The natural illnesses were treated by the physician class, who had a more practical mindset to identifying and curing illness and injury. The spiritual illnesses were treated by a separate class of priest-healers, whose methods did not involve physical contact. The priest-healers considered themselves superior, and generally the public did too, although physicians often held different views.

The priest-healers claimed that scurvy, in so far as it appeared in long-range ships, was a spiritual illness, and cited symptoms such as the general lethargy and listlessness associated with early scurvy, and changes in temperament often observed in later stages. Physicians disagreed, citing physical symptoms such as bleeding gums, skin changes, and skin bleeding as evidence that it was a physical disease. Physicians quoted early authorities of land-based scurvy which showed that it had been anciently considered a natural illness, while priest-healers retorted that naval scurvy was a new illness with greater malaise and temperament change.

The disputes were perhaps inevitable with the lucrative rewards offered by the Nuttana for cures. The determinative point was that the Nuttana had more trust in physicians than priest-healers, doubtless because of their own religious views, and so gave progress payments to physicians in preference to priest-healers. The priest-healers continued their own efforts, but had no more success than European doctors of the same period. While it is outside of this main tale, the success of the physicians and failure of the priest-healers in curing scurvy was a major factor into the shift of the Five Rivers priest-healer class into treating diseases of the mind, rather than the body...

Solving the problem of scurvy presented an immediate challenge, namely that first the physicians had to learn to induce scurvy. No Five Rivers physician had any interest in risking their own life or health in long sea voyages, so they first had to learn how to trigger scurvy in humans before they could attempt cures. Given that they had a general knowledge that fresh food could cure scurvy, this meant various groups of Five Rivers physicians adopting independent programs of inducing scurvy by depriving volunteers [6] of certain kinds of food on their diet, based around what they knew was harder to find during winters and post-wildfires. A couple of more astute physicians even replicated what they could of Nuttana sailors' diets.

The process took several years, partly because there was not an unlimited number of volunteers, and because of the inevitable distraction of Five Rivers physicians into seeking to cure other diseases in an epidemic-ravaged continent. Indeed, some physicians themselves died during this period.

Despite setbacks, by the early 1680s several groups of physicians knew how to induce scurvy reliably. With that knowledge available, the physicians set about the more arduous process of trying potential cures. By modern standards, their trials were far from rigorous, since they often trialled multiple cures on the same patients, moved patients between groups, and often did not have control groups. Nonetheless, in comparison to contemporary European medical practice, their efforts were incredibly advanced.

For several more years, the physicians' efforts largely found a group of solutions which did not work. They confirmed the known properties of the various Aururian plants which could cure the disease, and even experimented with various imported European crops such as onions and tomatoes and concluded that they, too, could cure scurvy when fresh. These cures were quickly shown to lose their value when dealing with dried or otherwise preserved foods, and were thus of no practical benefit aboard ships.

As with European doctors, Five Rivers physicians invented many possible theories to explain scurvy. The distinction was that the physicians were more practical in seeking to apply these to cures. The most common theory was that scurvy was linked to life-essence, which needed to be consumed fresh, and that this life-essence faded from preserved foods and so could not sustain life in the crew. Others thought that since most foods that cured scurvy were green, green foods maintained a common quality that was needed to maintain life, and sought to find a kind of green food which could keep well when dried and therefore might cure scurvy...

Eventually, after nearly two decades of failed efforts, two physicians discovered independent methods of preventing scurvy. In 1694, a Gutjanal physician named Banangra, working at the Panipat, discovered largely by accident that there was a preserved food which prevented scurvy almost entirely. For centuries, the Abunjay on the Tjibarri coast had used a method of preserving murnong, where they chopped it into small pieces, salted it, and stored it in sealed containers. This led to the murnong being fermented by lactic acid fermentation from naturally occurring bacteria. The Abunjay called this fermented murnong minabee, and enjoyed it for its distinctly sour taste, both when preserved alone and sometimes with flavourings as well.

The process of preserving minabee is similar to other fermented foods such as kimchi and sauerkraut. Foods preserved in this manner can keep for several months if sealed, particularly if kept in a cool location. Most importantly, this method of food preservation leaves the ascorbic acid content largely intact, and therefore can be consumed to prevent scurvy.

Banangra did not deliberately set out to test minabee as a preventative for scurvy. This particular dish was not popular in most of Tjibarr, but was occasionally imported by Abunjay who had migrated inland from the coast. When attempting to induce scurvy in preparation for testing his latest planned cures, Banangra was unable to obtain enough of the usual dried and salted foods used for that purpose, and added some minabee which happened to be available cheaply at the time.

To Banangra's complete astonishment, the four volunteers fed his test diet simply did not develop scurvy within the expected period of four to six weeks. He prolonged the test for fifteen weeks, until he had run out of preserved foods entirely, but still the volunteers showed no signs of scurvy.

Banagra was alert enough to realise that all which had changed was the minabee diet, and he set about testing it again with fresh volunteers and in various forms. By August 1694, he felt confident enough to announce to his fellow physicians, and to the Nuttana, that he had found a method of preventing scurvy...

In 1696, another physician named Welbee adopted a more inspired approach where he reasoned that particular foods might be available on ships that could maintain sufficient health even with a generally scurvy-inducing diet. He sought to trial whether specific foods could be made or kept fresh on board ships, and still prevent scurvy. He had an early piece of fortune when he chose to trial feeding a goat the same diet as the volunteers, but then feed the goat's milk to the volunteers. Welbee discovered, to his delight, that it appeared that goat's milk could still maintain its properties of scurvy prevention with the diet that a goat ate on board ship. He therefore recommended ships carry several goats, milk them and feed the milk to sailors in rotation so that they could share in the antiscorbutic properties of goat's milk...

Adopting ship's goats caused no unmanageable problems, although ships could not realistically carry enough goats to supply the required amount of milk to prevent scurvy in all their crew. In practice, the rotation of goat's milk significantly slowed down the progress of scurvy, but it needed to be supplemented by abundant fresh food at stopovers to be effective [7]. The Nuttana use of ship's goats was still widespread and noted enough that sailors from other trading companies started to refer to first Nuttana sailors, then all Nuttana, as goaties.

The use of fermented food like minabee held more promise in some respects, but faced two problems. The known successful food, murnong, simply did not grow near the Nuttana homelands, and around their core cities the climate was too hot to permit convenient fermentation. Transporting it in bulk from southern Aururia was impractical even when it was available to buy. Fortunately for the Nuttana, around this period their farmers and gold miners were moving into the highlands [Atherton Tableland] near Dangelong [Cairns], which was sufficiently cooler for fermentation of suitable crops. The Nuttana experimented with sweet potatoes and lesser yams, both of which proved to have the same antiscorbutic properties as murnong when made into minabee. Nuttana ships therefore started to carry this food in their stores, too, and scurvy became much less of a problem for them...

The third and perhaps most perplexing riddle is why Europeans did not learn of and adopt Aururian methods of scurvy prevention. Some scholars have credited the Nuttana's effort to keep their scurvy prevention method a trade secret, but it is plain that some of their sailors talked about it to Europeans, both while sailing and when foreign sailors working for the Nuttana returned home. This would-be explanation also ignores the greater problem that Five Rivers physicians wrote openly of their discovery of these two solutions, and indeed of further trials over the following decades where they identified refined methods of preventing scurvy. Five Rivers physicians wrote both in their own languages and sometimes in European languages, and their books were readily available in their higher learning institutions and elsewhere.

The Five Rivers, after all, were never fully isolated from European contact at any point from the 1630s onward. European sailors visited their ports, European travellers ventured inland on many occasions. The riddle becomes more troubling when it is realised that Five Rivers soldiers served alongside Europeans during the Nine Years' War. It becomes the most troubling of all when one considers the time when Five Rivers sailors belatedly joined the naval commerce race and came into regular contact with European sailors over much of the world, but still the European trading companies did not recognise and apply the solution to scurvy.

The Tjibarri factions are known to have tried to sell the secret of preventing scurvy to European trading companies on several occasions in the first half of the eighteenth century. It appears that the East India companies were sceptical in most cases, based on the Tjibarri reputation for duplicity, and a general belief that there was nothing which they could learn from backwards heathens. On the few occasions where the solution was discussed, it was dismissed out of hand by doctors back in Europe...

Fundamentally, the failure to learn of the method of scurvy prevention can only be explained by European scholars' general unwillingness to learn non-European languages, and an unhealthily strong but misguided belief in cultural superiority.

--

[1] The first European to conduct clinical trials on scurvy historically, James Lind, had a similar belief which may have hindered takeup of his observations for curing scurvy.

[2] A similar cure was espoused historically by David MacBride, although based on a different view of preventing putrefaction and bad air rather than the allohistorical theory involving preservability.

[3] Five Rivers physicians draw from a long tradition of publication of their observations, but never had the same veneration of earlier physicians equivalent to the esteem in which Hippocrates was held in the European medical tradition, where until relatively recently his works were often searched for cures without applying experimentation. In the Five Rivers medical tradition, earlier sources are reviewed and applied where relevant, but often questioned and corrected by later physicians.

[4] This is the plant which is historically known as scurvy weed (Commelina cyanea), which early European colonists used to collect wild as a cure for scurvy because its edible leaves contained high levels of ascorbic acid.

[5] European sailors of the Age of Sail, particularly those conscripted into navies during wartime, were usually from the lower echelons of society, and generally had poor diets to begin with. This meant that that their bodies tended to have lower stores of ascorbic acid before they started the voyages, and therefore that they exhausted those stores sooner and were more vulnerable to scurvy. (It is no coincidence that scurvy was a more common affliction of enlisted sailors than officers, for example.) Being from a wealthy island with an abundance of imported food, including fresh food, and plentiful seafood, Nangu sailors usually went sailing with better bodily reserves of ascorbic acid and thus would need to sail for longer before scurvy became a danger.

[6] Some volunteers being more voluntary than others, presumably.

[7] While Montpelier does not address this, Aururians could not have consumed enough goats' milk to completely prevent scurvy anyway. As with other peoples without a history of dairy consumption, the vast majority of the Aururian population are lactose-intolerant. This does not prevent all consumption of dairy products, but means that in practice most of the Aururian sailors can consume about one cup of milk per day. This is enough to give some ascorbic acid, but insufficient to prevent scurvy completely over sufficiently long voyages.

--

Thoughts?

P.S. With any Lands of Red and Gold post, it's worth remembering that I'm fond of exploring unreliable narrators. That holds particularly so for this chapter.

Zam · Feb 8, 2020

Jared said:
Fundamentally, the failure to learn of the method of scurvy prevention can only be explained by European scholars' general unwillingness to learn non-European languages, and an unhealthily strong but misguided belief in cultural superiority.

Is anyone surprised by this?

I'm not surprised by this.

No one is surprised by this.

XD

Jared said:
[3] Five Rivers physicians draw from a long tradition of publication of their observations, but never had the same veneration of earlier physicians equivalent to the esteem in which Hippocrates was held in the European medical tradition, where until relatively recently his works were often searched for cures without applying experimentation. In the Five Rivers medical tradition, earlier sources are reviewed and applied where relevant, but often questioned and corrected by later physicians.

Ah I thought this was the major distinction the way in which both side engaged with their studies showed one side appealing to tradition and trying to make square pegs fit in round holes for the most part, while the latter seemed much more scientific and willing to have their expectations overturned, so kudos on communicating that clearly across the whole post without making it repetitive.

This was quite an engaging read and intensely well thought out as always, thanks for sharing!

ATP · Feb 8, 2020

I once read, that vikings used pickle cabbage against scurvy - but even if it is true, Europe forget it.So, it no matter,just like no matter that they discovered America - since Europe forget it.
P.S about Poland - if we keep Sobieski style army,then Europe would knew about combine arms - winged hussarls acted supported by medium and light calvary,and dragoons using tools to quickly build fortified positions.That would make France stronger./Poland would have french or pro-french king/

Jared · Feb 15, 2020

Zam said:
Is anyone surprised by this?

I'm not surprised by this.

No one is surprised by this.

Well, this particular narrator does have a certain anti-European bias, in that they have a tendency to oversimplify a complex issue into "Europeans are cultural chauvinists, the Aururians were smarter."

The puzzling thing about scurvy is that knowledge of the cure was repeatedly found and lost again over the centuries. Citrus fruits had been known to cure scurvy going back to the thirteenth century or thereabouts. The Portuguese routinely planted citrus trees in suitable climes so that passing sailors could harvest the fruit to cure scurvy. Even after the official discovery of the cure by Lind in the 1750s, there were still Royal Navy ships for decades after that which suffered from scurvy, such as several venturing into the high Arctic.

The resolution of scurvy just had so many properties which made it counter-intuitive to solve. It was found in a variety of fresh fruit and vegetables, so it was hard to find any one source which cured it. Most forms of preservation destroyed it, so it was hard find a method which worked - but even then, things got confusing. Ascorbic acid is usually described as being destroyed by boiling - but a known cure for scurvy going back to the early sixteenth century was to boil the needles of a was to produce a "tea" from a North American tree (a kind of cedar) and drinking it.from c

The real problem with curing scurvy was twofold:
(1) inability to test cures for scurvy since it was only really found somewhere a long way away from the doctors; and
(2) food preservation - finding a method which could preserve food in a maritime environemnt without destroying the Vitamin C.

In this chapter, I had the Aururians solving (1), but even they haven't really solved (2). It was touched on in the post, but what they've actually found is a way to severely reduce the effects of scurvy, not eliminate it. Goats don't produce enough Vitamin C to prevent scurvy on their own, and the weight of securely shipping minabee means that enough can't be carried on very long voyages to eliminate scurvy - not to mention that it's harder to obtain on return voyages. So scurvy is not quite eliminated by Aururian methods.

The European solution took them much longer to develop (citrus juice preserved in alcohol), but it's much more efficient in terms of shipping long distances, since it doesn't take up as much weight or volume.

So short version, the ATL author wasn't entirely wrong in their criticism of Europeans, but wasn't entirely right either.

ATP said:
I once read, that vikings used pickle cabbage against scurvy - but even if it is true, Europe forget it.So, it no matter,just like no matter that they discovered America - since Europe forget it.

As per above, knowledge of treating scurvy was repeatedly gained and lost.

P.S about Poland - if we keep Sobieski style army,then Europe would knew about combine arms - winged hussarls acted supported by medium and light calvary,and dragoons using tools to quickly build fortified positions.That would make France stronger./Poland would have french or pro-french king/

Will be an interesting thing to explore when I get to writing more about Europe.

Zam · Feb 15, 2020

Jared said:
Well, this particular narrator does have a certain anti-European bias, in that they have a tendency to oversimplify a complex issue into "Europeans are cultural chauvinists, the Aururians were smarter."

To be fair, that sounds entirely one hundred percent accurate to me.

Sorry, I have no sympathy or respect for the colonial empires from which I descend.

Jared said:
The puzzling thing about scurvy is that knowledge of the cure was repeatedly found and lost again over the centuries. Citrus fruits had been known to cure scurvy going back to the thirteenth century or thereabouts. The Portuguese routinely planted citrus trees in suitable climes so that Even after the official discovery of the cure by Lind in the 1750s, there were still Royal Navy ships for decades after that which suffered from scurvy, such as several venturing into the high Arctic.

The resolution of scurvy just had so many properties which made it counter-intuitive to solve. It was found in a variety of fresh fruit and vegetables, so it was hard to find any one source which cured it. Most forms of preservation destroyed it, so it was hard find a method which worked - but even then, things got confusing. Ascorbic acid is usually described as being destroyed by boiling - but a known cure for scurvy going back to the early sixteenth century was to boil the needles of a was to produce a "tea" from a North American tree (a kind of cedar) and drinking it.from c

The real problem with curing scurvy was twofold:
(1) inability to test cures for scurvy since it was only really found somewhere a long way away from the doctors; and
(2) food preservation - finding a method which could preserve food in a maritime environemnt without destroying the Vitamin C.

In this chapter, I had the Aururians solving (1), but even they haven't really solved (2). It was touched on in the post, but what they've actually found is a way to severely reduce the effects of scurvy, not eliminate it. Goats don't produce enough Vitamin C to prevent scurvy on their own, and the weight of securely shipping minabee means that enough can't be carried on very long voyages to eliminate scurvy - not to mention that it's harder to obtain on return voyages. So scurvy is not quite eliminated by Aururian methods.

The European solution took them much longer to develop (citrus juice preserved in alcohol), but it's much more efficient in terms of shipping long distances, since it doesn't take up as much weight or volume.

So short version, the ATL author wasn't entirely wrong in their criticism of Europeans, but wasn't entirely right either.

All very well researched and well thought out, it certainly has a wild history as far as diseases go doesn't it? XD

Jared · Feb 15, 2020

Zam said:
To be fair, that sounds entirely one hundred percent accurate to me.

Sorry, I have no sympathy or respect for the colonial empires from which I descend.

My qualifier was not about Europeans of the period being cultural chauvinists - they were, as the historical record clearly demonstrates.

My qualifier was because that doesn't work as a full explanation as to why Europeans didn't adopt a cure of scurvy. Scurvy was enough of a problem that Europeans were quite willing to try cures from anywhere. As happened when they visited North America and tried Native American cures.

Zam · Feb 15, 2020

Jared said:
My qualifier was not about Europeans of the period being cultural chauvinists - they were, as the historical record clearly demonstrates.

My qualifier was because that doesn't work as a full explanation as to why Europeans didn't adopt a cure of scurvy. Scurvy was enough of a problem that Europeans were quite willing to try cures from anywhere. As happened when they visited North America and tried Native American cures.

Ah I see, thanks for the explanation, though even then subconscious biases can create issues even when going forward with something.

Jared · Feb 15, 2020

Lands of Red and Gold #112: Stuck In The Middle With You

"I do not wish to free the people. I wish the people to free themselves."
- Tjewarra ("strong heart"), Atjuntja activist

--

Sandstone Day, Cycle of Honey, 475th Year of Harmony (6.3.475) / 19 April 1714
Witte Stad [Albany, WA], Teegal [Dutch protectorate over Atjuntja realm]

The waters of the outer harbour were placid as the Eternal Fire passed south of the two islands that marked the harbour limits [1]. A fine, pleasant day for so early in the year.

May it be a sign of calm and pleasant trading when the ship docks. Balanada, newly-raised captain of the Liwang bloodline, would welcome such a time. Witte Stad was always an unpredictable port; sometimes placid, sometimes gravely troubled. This was his sixth visit to the capital of Teegal, though the first as captain. Twice the city had been unmarred, twice there had been agitation, and knives at night, which made proper trading most difficult. Once there had been a disturbance amongst the slaves a few weeks before his ship arrived, and the aristocrats had been busy arguing with the Nedlandj to spare those of their sons who were slaves. That time, trade had been all but impossible.

Now, Balanada was captain, and now, he hoped, there would be good fortune in his commerce. Two times calm, three times unrest, so with luck the next time will be calm.

A short burst of stronger wind sent ripples through the sails and a stronger flap to the flag which flew at the masthead. A flap of purple. A reminder, as always, of his grandfather's favourite complaint. His grandfather had never stopped talking about how in his own time at sea, ships of the Liwang had dyed their entire sails purple to announce that their bloodline owned the ship, rather than the "small flapping flags" they now carried.

Balanada could not comprehend such a fantastic waste of money. The Liwang had been the wealthiest bloodline in former times, or so his grandfather had claimed, with a wealth built on dyes, and most especially sea purple. Nowadays, he could not afford to dye his sails purple. Even if he could, he would not have squandered wealth in such a fashion. He found it wasteful enough to need to use sea purple even on a flag [2].

The breeze returned to its former slight push, and the Eternal Fire resumed its slower, steady course toward the inner harbour and the docks of Witte Stad. Balanada kept his calm vigil; his crew were well-trained and he did not need to give them any orders.

May there be wealth worth the finding here. A hope which might be dashed, as it had for many other trading-captains over the years. His grandfather had often bemoaned the decline in the Island's fortune; by the time his life drew near its end, he spoke of little else.

Once, there had been twenty-one bloodlines on the Island, his grandfather had said. Six bloodlines had left to found the Nuttana, and brought many men of other bloodlines with them. Two bloodlines had fled to Aotearoa, and one to Tjibarr. Seven had been consumed by plagues, famine, feud and vendetta, with their members gone entirely or their few pitiful survivors adopted into other bloodlines.

Balanada could not even name those vanished bloodlines. Five bloodlines remained on the Island now, and as far as he was concerned those were all that mattered. So many Nangu had left the Island over the long time of troubles. Even now, a trickle of Nangu left every year, and he had received several invitations to join them.

Balanada spurned all calls to move from the Island. Undeniably, the call of lucre was strong. The Nuttana thrived where those of the Island could hope only to survive. Closer to home, the Tjibarri in Dogport [Port Augusta] and Jugara [Victor Harbor] were always offering to pay well for experienced sailing captains.

Despite the many invitations, Balanada had never been tempted to move. The Island was his land, the land of his blood, the land of his forefathers. He would not give it up.

So he remained with those bloodlines who still lived on the Island. His grandfather and father had always been conscious of the glory which had once been, and spoke much of it. Balanada preferred to look forward, watching for what wealth might come once again. It might be here in Witte Stad, or so he hoped.

The Eternal Fire completed the remaining part of the journey peacefully, and tied up at an empty dock at Witte Stad. Balanada barely glanced at the city as they approached. His father and grandfather had both talked at length about the splendour of Witte Stad, but the Nedlandj had ruined most of the city a couple of decades before. What little had been rebuilt had been designed for function, not grandeur.

A group of a half-dozen bearded Atjuntja waited at the dockside, together with one Nedlandj. He saw with some amusement that four of the Atjuntja wore Raw-Men style waistcoat and breeches, with the other two being armoured soldiers. The Nedlandj wore the same style of clothes, but with a pink-powdered wig. The Nedlandj also stood to the back, as if he were the least important, when everyone knew that the Nedlandj ruled Teegal in truth.

The Atjuntja asked a barrage of questions, which he answered as best he could. Yes, he had been to the White City – as they still called it – before. Yes, he would honour the laws of the King of Kings. No, he had not committed any former displeasures. While on shore, he would reside in the Islanders' House, unless a local dignitary gave him hospitality. No, he did not have any such contacts now, he was speaking hypothetically. No, he did not have a departure date decided yet. He would leave as soon as his trading was completed. Perhaps six days, perhaps twelve. Certainly no more than twenty-four.

The questions continued, and Balanda kept answering in the same polite, responsive manner. Atjuntja officials could refuse docking permission for any reason, and sometimes did so on a whim. Thankfully none of these officials had sought a bribe yet, since that could cut significantly into his potential profits.

The Nedlandj watched the questioning, evidently knowing enough of the Ajtuntja tongue to follow. A more accomplished fellow than most Raw Men, who often spoke only their own languages. Balanada could have responded equally fluently in the Atjuntja tongue, the Nedlandj speech, or the words of the Island.

After the Atjuntja officials seemed satisfied, the Nedlandj stepped forward and said, "What cargo do you bring to trade?"

"Whale oil, whalebone, smoked whale meat, gum cider, dyes of orange and sea purple and Tjibarri blue."

"Any kunduri?"

"Not for trade. A few of my men carry some for their own use, I believe." The Eternal Fire carried a small cargo of fine Tjibarri kunduri-snuff, but he would only bring it ashore if he could find somewhere private to sell it.

The Nedlandj grunted. His Company set the true rules for what could be bought and sold in Teegal. They tolerated the Nangu coming to trade, but required that key goods must be sold directly to the Nedlandj, not to the Atjuntja. Only goods which the Nedlandj cared little about could be bought from or sold to the people of the Middle Country.

According to the rules which the Nedlandj set, gold, spices and what little sandalwood was still grown here had to be sold to their Company, and no-one else. Some dyes were likewise restricted, particularly indigo, though some could be freely traded.

Restrictions applied also to what the Nangu could sell here. Balanada had only admitted to trading in products which were freely permitted. The Cider Isle still produced a little gum cider, despite all the troubles there, and the Atjuntja still enjoyed drinking it. The Nedlandj had never cared for gum cider, and so permitted that. Likewise, the Nedlandj saw little worth in orange and purple dyes. Tjibarri blue was new enough that the Nedlandj did not yet appreciate its value.

For some other goods, the Nedlandj set different rules. Such as how the Nedlandj insisted that any kunduri or sandalwood be sold only to them, not to any Atjuntja.

Sandalwood had become very rare in Teegal, due to the Nedlandj over-harvesting it. So rare, in fact, that the Tjibarri had taken up sandalwood cultivation in the Five Rivers, and produced some surplus which they sold elsewhere. He found some quiet amusement in the prospect of selling sandalwood to the Atjuntja; his grandfather and father had always used the saying "selling sandalwood to the Atjuntja" to mean accomplishing something impossible.

Despite that amusement, Balanada had not brought any sandalwood on this visit. Risks came with carrying it, since any ship which carried sandalwood would be watched closely in case of illicit trade. Besides, selling sandalwood directly to the Nedlandj was not worthy of a trade voyage; the Tjibarri charged too much and the Nedlandj paid too little.

Kunduri was another matter. Deprived of the drug, the Atjuntja had been forced back onto the accursed locally-grown tobacco [3]. In turn, that meant that any Nangu who were brave enough and found the right contacts could sell kunduri to the Atjuntja for good prices, though still cheaper than the prices which the Nedlandj charged for their own kunduri grown in distant Adjreeka. Only aristocrats, and not all of them, could pay the prices which the Nedlandj charged.

"See that it is not sold here," the Nedlandj said. "Any news worth the telling from the east?"

Nothing which I want to give away for free. Oh, except one thing. "Some barbarian warlord is said to be causing trouble for the Inglidj in Daluming."

The Nedlandj grunted. "That is not worth the telling." He turned away, which satisfied Balanada perfectly. He wanted to have little to do with this Nedlandj, or indeed any Nedlandj.

Taking that as a cue, one of the Atjuntja officials told him that he was permitted to visit Witte Stad, though he would be required to give an account of all trade before he departed. Balanada gave that assurance, naturally, despite having no intention of honouring it.

In truth, selling goods to the Atjuntja was the easier part of trade here. Whale oil, gum cider, the right kind of dyes, and circumspect kunduri, sandalwood and other goods – there was much that the Atjuntja wanted to acquire. The greater challenge was finding something they had that was worth buying in exchange.

Bloodroot was something which the Nedlandj cared little for, so it could be bought. That had some profitable uses back in the east, for those who craved its hot, slow-burning taste, or the varieties used as a dye [4]. But bloodroot alone was not enough to be worth visiting Teegal. Occasionally there were Nedlandj goods that were worth buying from the Atjuntja and reselling further east, such as foreign spices or steel goods or fine cotton textiles.

Inevitably, though, he would not find enough here of value. Officially speaking, that is. When he departed here, the official trade records would show that he had sold much and bought little.

As he had learned over several visits, the truly valuable thing to buy here was gold. Gold was strictly forbidden for sale. Yet no matter how much the Nedlandj tried to control gold production in Teegal, some of it leaked out. Inevitable, when they kept slaves in such a manner. Slavery should be regulated, of course, but by all reports the Nedlandj thought of slaves as people who would die soon, so not worth bothering to treat well.

No surprise, then, that slaves smuggled gold out of the mines where they could. In turn, some of that gold would flow through to Nangu visitors, if they were astute enough in commerce. Balanada certainly planned to obtain as much gold as he could, and bring it home. A captain who could not hide some gold aboard his ship was not worthy of command.

--

Black Cockatoo Day, Cycle of Honey, 475th Year of Harmony (8.3.475) / 21 April 1714
Witte Stad, Teegal

A dozen or so men walked ahead, each shackled to the one in front. Men whose skin was slightly lighter in hue than that of the average Atjuntja, and whose curled hair would have marked them as foreign slaves even without the chains.

Balanada had to stop his lips from curling in distaste. More slaves for the Nedlandj to work to death. Or perhaps these were slaves destined for the household of some noble, many of whom had learnt the same wasteful attitudes from the Raw Men. Slavery had its place, but slaves were still men, not beasts. Something which the Atjuntja and especially the Nedlandj often forgot.

Balanada's guide, a puzzlingly beardless Atjuntja who refused to give his own name, paid no heed to the slaves, walking around them quickly. Balanada matched his pace, and moved on, seeking to put the slaves out of his mind. Commerce was his objective here, not teaching the Atjuntja how to live properly.

Soon enough, he was ushered into the grounds of an Atjuntja house. A large mansion, with equally impressive gardens to match. Not everything had been destroyed in the Nedlandj ruination.

The first chamber inside the house had walls covered with finely-woven tapestries. They showed a series of scenes of the sun above the water, of men fighting with burning swords, of birds taking flight, and a thundercloud against blue-white sky. Strange. He had never seen the like before, but they fit with his father's descriptions of the fine weavings which used to be produced in Durigal, before the Great Dying consumed the most skilled weavers.

The beardless guide led him through several more chambers before ushering him into a tiled courtyard which looked out over the gardens. A small fountain stood in front of the tiles, with a goanna statue releasing water.

A man reclined on a cushioned bench, watching the fountain. He rose as Balanada drew near, then nodded slightly. The trading-captain bowed low in response, with his gaze fastened on the ground for a moment.

As he rose, Balanada studied the other man. He appeared only half like a true man of Aururia. His skin was darker, and he had curly hair, too. The marks of someone whose mother was a slave, though from somewhere different to the more commonplace slaves, whose skin tended to be lighter.

Nothing about being born of a slave mother would matter to the Atjuntja nobles, of course. So Balanada had learned, over several visits. To an Atjuntja aristocrat, a son was a son, regardless of who his mother was, or whether marriage vows had been spoken.

The man said, "I am Googiac son of Yageggera, and kin to the King of Kings."

"Honoured to meet you," Balanada said, with another deep bow. "I am Balanada of the Liwang, from the Island, here in harmony."

This Googiac overstated his family's importance, probably. Every Atjuntja aristocrat could claim some blood relationship to the King of Kings. One of the older monarchs, Kepiuc Tjaanuc, had been a prolific breeder, even by the standards of the many-wived Kings of Kings. Most of the Atjuntja nobles had married one or other of his descendants. So had many of the non-Atjuntja nobles, come to that.

Googiac said, "I have met many men of the Island, but you are the first of the Liwang I have spoken to."

"My fellows have brought many ships to the White City over the years, and this is not my first visit. Unfortunate that we have not met before, for we always bring much of value for trade."

"Let us not speak of commerce yet," Googiac said, and gestured to another of the cushioned benches in the courtyard, nearest to the one which he had been using. "I would know more of you and your kin first."

"As you wish," the Islander said, with another slight bow, before settling down into the chair.

"Do you have a family?"

"A wife, Warramuk. We have no children yet," Balanada said. Nor would they until Warramuk was satisfied of the security of his wealth, which meant at least one successful trading voyage, if not two.

"Tell me more of her," Googiac said.

The conversation went on, about his family, and Googiac's, and then shifted to other innocuous topics. They even spoke briefly of which birds visited the garden, with the aristocrat declaring that his favourite birds were the two kinds of black cockatoos which rarely visited. He had heard of some Atjuntja aristocrats who preferred to know more about men before they agreed to commerce, but never met one such. Of course, this man was the son, not the head of the family.

In time, Googiac said, "When you came, you said that you were here in harmony."

Balanada shook his head. "The Good Man taught that we should foster balance and harmony with all of those we meet."

"I have heard several Islanders speak of balance and faith. Though they most commonly sought to persuade me to adopt their faith, as if I were out of balance."

"My counsel to other Islanders has always been not to tell any non-believers that they lack balance," Balanada said. Even if it was true, calling a pagan unbalanced would never please them.

Though this entire land is out of balance. Teegal had become a much-troubled, uncertain country, and some of their people had begun to look for the causes. For so long the Atjuntja rulers had forbidden the Nangu from telling their subjects about the true path, but that prohibition was as dead as the power of the King of Kings. There still was a King of Kings here in Witte Stad, but he could give no command unless the Nedlandj governor approved it.

Now...some of the Atjuntja, and their subjects, had asked men of the Island about the true path. The Nedlandj neither helped nor hindered that effort. But then, the Nedlandj cared very little about the true path, and indeed cared little about what the Atjuntja believed. Though they had suppressed the worst of the Atjuntja's customs of sacrifice. Some Atjuntja were still sacrificed to the pain, but none to the death. Or not in public view, at least.

So whatever the reason, the Nedlandj did not interfere with the Islanders speaking of the true path. While the King of Kings no longer could interfere. That left the Nangu free to speak of the true path... and they did.

"As may be," Googiac said, apparently unconcerned what Islanders thought of him. "It is intriguing, though, is it not, how many peoples have faiths with so much in common. My forefathers taught of the liquid harmony which pervades the cosmos. You Plirites and Tjarrlings speak of harmony and balance. Even the Cathayans speak of the cosmic balance of the Dao."

"The Good Man was the first to glimpse the whole truth, but it is inevitable that others will have imperfectly recognised parts of it."

"So you would say," the aristocrat said, with a smile. "And doubtless the followers of the Dao would claim that theirs is the true path, while yours is merely an imperfect reflection of it."

"I have never met a Cathayan," Balanada said. Nor did he have any real interest in doing so, particularly if it meant sailing too far from the Island.

"I have met several, though none yet who know enough of a useful language to find out more of what they believe," Googiac said. "But with so many ways of looking at the truth, that suggests to me that we need a tametja to truly understand."

"Tametja? I know not that word in your tongue."

"A… new way, you would say, in the speech of the Island."

The old way was good enough for Balanada, though he would not risk offending his host by saying so. "There are many roads to the truth." Which is true, it is just that only one road truly arrives there.

"A point to consider. I would like to speak more about what you believe, before your ship departs Teegal. First though, we can speak now of matters of commerce."

"Gladly. My ship carries a considerable cargo."

"Oil of black fish [whale oil], hair of black fish [baleen / whalebone], smoked meat, duranj [gum cider], and several dyes. Or so the port officials claim."

Balanada smiled. "Doubtless if they reported that much, they also described which dyes."

"Sea purple. Electric orange. Some kind of blue dye which is not indigo."

"Tjibarri blue. A vivid blue pigment which the men of the Five Rivers have discovered recently. They mine it from a deposit near Gwee Langta [Broken Hill]. Cheaper than indigo. It can dye cloth, or be used as a splendid paint. Though not as versatile a dye, since it cannot be made into yellow or green."

Googiac looked out at the fountain before replying. "My family may perhaps make some use of that, for the right price. Which deserves the next question: does your ship carry anything which the port officials did not claim?"

"My ship contains some compartments which are difficult to find," Balanada said. "Those compartments are not empty."

"Speak on."

"It is unfortunate that I cannot declare all of my cargo openly. Yet the Nedlandj have the power over trade, so I must be discreet."

Googiac laughed. "You do not understand where the power lies in the Middle Country."

"I would welcome enlightenment."

"The King of Kings is powerless. The Nedlandj broke him, and now he rules only at their sufferance."

"That much is known even on the Island," Balanada said. "So the Nedlandj rule Teegal as they wish, including on trade."

"No. The Nedlandj are too few, and too far away. We nobles rule the Middle Country. The Nedlandj have the power to break any individual noble. But not the power to break all of us."

Balanada smiled again. "So...?"

"So, we of the blood pure wish our pleasures: kunduri, sandalwood, gold, and other things. What we wish, we obtain. If the Nedlandj tried to stop the smuggling in truth, they would find all the nobles opposed to them – and they would not find the Middle Country so easy to rule."

"Why the rules, then?"

Googiac shrugged. "It stops the common man from trading those goods, save those with a noble benefactor, and keeps the Nedlandj from losing too much wealth. But they cannot stop the nobles. Nor have they tried. Or not in any way that matters."

"Then let us speak further of trade," Balanada said.

--

[1] These are historically known as Breaksea Island and Michaelmas Island on the outer edge of King Georges Sound.

[2] The dye which Aururians call sea purple is made from the large rock shell (Thais orbita), a relative of the Mediterranean sea snails (Murex) that produced blue-purple dyes that were extremely valued commodities in antiquity. Sea purple remains a very expensive dye within Aururia even after European contact, though it is mostly used within Aururia rather than exported elsewhere. It is particularly popular with the Tjibarri elite because it is one of the colours (together with orange, brown and pink) which are not associated with any faction.

[3] That is, tobacco grown from various native Aururian Nicotiana species, not the domesticated tobacco (Nicotiana tabacum) that originated from the Americas.

[4] Bloodroot, historically also called meen or mean, has the scientific name Haemodorum spicatum. It is a small black-flowered plant with an edible red tuber which gives the plant its name. The tuber contains a hot-tasting red substance which can be used fresh, or extracted in oil and then dried to use as a more concentrated spice. The culinary heat produced depends on the cultivar, with some as mild as (true) peppers and others nearly as hot as chilli peppers. Various parts of the plant can also be used to produce natural dyes, such as green produced from the leaves and stems, and pinks and purples produced from the bulb. However, only dye extracted from the seeds – which produces a serviceable red colouring – can be preserved in a form which is suitable for export.

--

Thoughts?

Radek · Feb 15, 2020

Illicit dealings when the high and mighty look elsewhere? Once more, people are people no matter where they hail from. Now all we need is pirates and it´s the Caribbean all over again. As I´m not familiar with Australian geography, where might a daring captain or several find shelter between raids?

ATP · Feb 15, 2020

Nobles would be nobles.And real power given to them - i remember, that british used to say " we do not rule India. We rule over people who rule India"
Apparently ,Nedlandji could say the same.

Zam · Feb 16, 2020

This was an excellent chapter, Balanada was an interesting and fairly sympathetic character, professional and somewhat bitter but not so much so that he became unpleasant so much as we just saw clearly the difficulties facing himself and his people.

As usual the descriptions were great and the world building excellently thought out from the shifts in wealth to the former use of dyes, and how much can change in a generation, along with how trade is managed and the colonizers willful ignorance of threats rising far away, I know he fails but I still love the Hunter and hope for his success XD

The horrors of cattle slavery disturbing Balanada was a good detail, I imagine he's used to less brutal systems based on debt or duty that were more akin to serfdom, not 'good' but not nearly so mindlessly brutal and evil as what the British empire and their contemporaries practiced. The fact they are smuggling gold out intrigues me is it spite, or to purchase extra rations, try to secure an escape, ETC?

I really liked the meeting with the noble, it seems the son is either acting as a proxy or is now functionally head of the family (Or maybe going behind their parents back). I really liked the exchange, the idea of getting to know someone before business and the ensuing theoglicial discussion were wonderfully done, I found the noble's observations regarding similarities across several religions and how each regards itself as the true path fun.

The ensuing veiled conversation about secret trade was well orchestrated and showed the colonizers haven't seized full control, though the corruption of cooperation of the noble class is allowing their culture to be eroded as we saw at the start and eventually will risk even these freedoms that they hold dear.

Really solid and well thought out stuff, kudos!

ATP said:
Nobles would be nobles.And real power given to them - i remember, that british used to say " we do not rule India. We rule over people who rule India"
Apparently ,Nedlandji could say the same.

If anything this almost sounds like the inverse, they rule over the common people but have little ability to control the nobles.

Jared · Feb 21, 2020

Radek said:
Illicit dealings when the high and mighty look elsewhere? Once more, people are people no matter where they hail from. Now all we need is pirates and it´s the Caribbean all over again. As I´m not familiar with Australian geography, where might a daring captain or several find shelter between raids?

One of the themes in this timeline is that while different cultures will have different worldviews and different customs, deep down, people are still people.

Pirates are one of those things which can kinda-sorta happen, but the geography is much less favourable than, say, the Caribbean. Australia has a far smaller number of good harbours, which means that it's much harder to find suitable ports for pirates. For instance, the OTL colony of Western Australia had exactly one natural deepwater harbour (Albany, or the White City ITTL) for the first seventy-ish years of existence. The second was only created by extensive dredging of the Swan River to create a deepwater harbour at Fremantle at 1897 or thereabouts.

The better place for piracy is probably around the Great Barrier Reef, which has lots of little coral islands that can be used to hide. There are problems there too, in that many of those islands are hard to find water or food, but at least there's more places to hide.

ATP said:
Nobles would be nobles.And real power given to them - i remember, that british used to say " we do not rule India. We rule over people who rule India"
Apparently ,Nedlandji could say the same.

The Middle Country is in one of those weird situations where no-one really rules the whole thing. It used to be a fairly centralised monarchy with significant royal powers, where there was still a noble class but they were distinctly subordinate to the local royal governors (or to the monarch, for those who lived around the White City). The Dutch broke royal power but didn't really have the (administrative) manpower or the interest in breaking the noble classes. So the nobles kinda-sorta stepped into the vacuum, but even they have only limited local authority. The Dutch essentially control extraction of a couple of key resource sites (mostly the gold mines), trade via the ports, and not much else.

Any nobles who tried to break overtly from Dutch rule would face Consequences, but other than that things just remain in limbo at the moment. Local-level government (via nobles) still happens, but that's about it.

Zam said:
As usual the descriptions were great and the world building excellently thought out from the shifts in wealth to the former use of dyes, and how much can change in a generation, along with how trade is managed and the colonizers willful ignorance of threats rising far away, I know he fails but I still love the Hunter and hope for his success XD

If the Hunter can't succeed, he can always redefine success.

The horrors of cattle slavery disturbing Balanada was a good detail, I imagine he's used to less brutal systems based on debt or duty that were more akin to serfdom, not 'good' but not nearly so mindlessly brutal and evil as what the British empire and their contemporaries practiced. The fact they are smuggling gold out intrigues me is it spite, or to purchase extra rations, try to secure an escape, ETC?

Gold leaks out for a variety of reasons. Sometimes it's to buy escape, for those slaves who think they can do so. Otherwise it's to try and make their life more comfortable (rations, some small luxuries, etc. A surprising amount of the kunduri ends up back amongst the slaves, illicitly).

I really liked the meeting with the noble, it seems the son is either acting as a proxy or is now functionally head of the family (Or maybe going behind their parents back). I really liked the exchange, the idea of getting to know someone before business and the ensuing theoglicial discussion were wonderfully done, I found the noble's observations regarding similarities across several religions and how each regards itself as the true path fun.

Usually, sons get delegated to do some meaningful task which is for one reason or another out of the family head's interest/dignity. Often it means learning part of what it means to rule the family.

For this particular son, managing the trade (licit and otherwise) is part of the approved remit from the father. The religious discussions, rather less so.

If anything this almost sounds like the inverse, they rule over the common people but have little ability to control the nobles.

The common people around the White City are pretty much subject to Dutch rule, since that was the site of the old royal authority and main target for ongoing Dutch influence. The common people outside of the White City and a couple of other key areas are either under noble influence/formal control, or largely left to rule themselves if there's nothing there to interest the Dutch or the nobles.

Zam · Feb 21, 2020

Jared said:
If the Hunter can't succeed, he can always redefine success.

Cryptic!

Jared said:
Gold leaks out for a variety of reasons. Sometimes it's to buy escape, for those slaves who think they can do so. Otherwise it's to try and make their life more comfortable (rations, some small luxuries, etc. A surprising amount of the kunduri ends up back amongst the slaves, illicitly).

Depressingly realistic

Jared said:
Usually, sons get delegated to do some meaningful task which is for one reason or another out of the family head's interest/dignity. Often it means learning part of what it means to rule the family.

For this particular son, managing the trade (licit and otherwise) is part of the approved remit from the father. The religious discussions, rather less so.

Very interesting and informative, and I like the fact the son is also doing his own thing, even if it is just how he's engaging in theological debate.

Jared said:
The common people around the White City are pretty much subject to Dutch rule, since that was the site of the old royal authority and main target for ongoing Dutch influence. The common people outside of the White City and a couple of other key areas are either under noble influence/formal control, or largely left to rule themselves if there's nothing there to interest the Dutch or the nobles.

That certainly lines up with the style of dress, (Shudders) Thanks for the response!

Jared · Feb 21, 2020

Lands of Red and Gold Interlude #12: Elephant In The Room

"Nature's great masterpiece, an elephant,
The only harmless great thing."
- John Donne (1612), The Progress of the Soul, l.381.

--

Weemiraga's Day, Cycle of Copper, 439th Year of Harmony (10.14.439) / 2 September 1678
Near Nerridella [Townsville], Lands of the Six Lords (Nuttana)

The waka [war canoes] glided across the night-darkened seas. The ocean had been kept calm, whether by the benevolence of Tangaroa [god of the sea] or the valiant mana of Irirangi, the great warleader. The stars which adorned Ranginui [sky father] gave some light, but fortunately the moon still hung full and low in the western sky, granting vision to all.

Hare paddled the waka along with his comrades, grateful for the moonlight. On many raids, moving during moonlight risked discovery. Here, it was essential. The Pakanga could not hope to reach all the way to Nerridella undiscovered. This country was too far from what they knew, too foreign. What they needed was to get ashore in safety and then find the best target, be that the city proper or some outlying settlement.

The waka pulled onto the shore before Tama-nui-te-rā [god of the sun] had pushed his fiery presence above the horizon. Without needing instruction, the warriors pulled the waka up over the sand past the highwater mark.

Hare looked around. Most of the ground near the shore was covered by fields of a tall, solid-stalked grass which grew more than half again as tall as a man. A handful of rough-looking huts stood not too far to the south, but other than that there was no sign of human presence.

Irirangi came up from one of the later canoes. He gestured to another warrior. "Pomare, take ten men to those houses. Kill anyone inside. All others, conceal the waka!"

Pomare did not choose Hare amongst his warriors, so he joined his fellows in pulling the waka further up and covering them with this loose long-grass. He did not know what it was, until one of the other Pakanga said, "This is tohu-grass [sugar cane]!"

That motivated the Pakanga nicely. They cut at some of the nearby stalks, using most of them for concealing the waka, then sucking at the rest to extract the sweet juices. Hare took his share gladly. Tohu [sugar] was one of the most esteemed goods, enough that ariki iwi [kings] of the Māori traded slaves for it.

What a land of wealth this is, to have tohu growing freely. Hare could only dream of what further fortunes must be concealed in Nerridella. The prosperity of the Nuttana was legendary. Some of that wealth would be extracted, in whatever way suited the Pakanga best.

Pomare and his warriors returned quickly and reported that there had been only a handful of slaves there, now all dead. No warning would go to the Nuttana from there.

Perhaps we will accomplish greater surprise than I thought. Dawn was just breaking, with the first hint of light off in the east. The greater ships which had towed the waka were well off the horizon, waiting amongst the coral islets, where they would remain until sent for. With the waka now concealed and the locals killed, the Pakanga were not so easily observed. There may have been those who spotted them first, somehow, but with fortune the raiders might find their best target first.

Irirangi gave orders for several groups of scouts to go and search out the nearby lands. He designated a few more warriors to act as sentries nearby, in case some local Nuttana snuck in past the scouts. Again, Hare was unchosen, leaving him to wait and watch with the main group of warriors.

The morning passed as the Pakanga awaited the scouts' return. Some waited silently, in whatever contemplation suited them. Some regularly inspected their weapons, a ritual as soothing as it was unnecessary. Others talked in low voices, with conversation covering many topics but the most prominent choice being what booty they might loot from the Nuttana.

Around mid-morning, three of the sentries returned from the north. At a run.

"They come!" one said.

Irirangi barked out orders for the Pakanga to assemble. Hare had his musket ready, and he slung his mere [1] by his side. He was close enough to hear the sentries babble out more details about the approaching enemies, claiming that the Nuttana were using spirit powers to float above the tohu-grass.

Hare was in the front rank of Pakanga, which gave him a perfect view of the approaching enemy. The sentries were right: men who seemed to be hovering above the grass. Men, dark-skinned men who looked to be sitting, their legs just below the tips of the grass, and rocking slightly as they floated closer.

A musket barked, followed by a sharper bark from Irirangi to hold fire. The bullet showed no effect on the floating men, but then musket fire often missed. Impossible to say whether that was indeed some spirit protection or just poor aim.

"Ready," Irirangi said, as the men floated closer.

Hare joined the other Pakanga in preparing a volley. When the order to fire came, he aimed as best he could, and pulled the trigger.

A couple of the floating men fell, vanishing into the grass. The rest kept on their steady pace toward the Pakanga.

"Ready!" Irirangi shouted. Hare joined the others in trying to prepare, but found that fumbled his loading. The eerie spirit powers of these Nuttana were disturbing.

By the time Irirangi gave the order for a second volley, fewer muskets fired. Hare did so a moment later, and others followed. One more floating man fell, but the rest came on.

The fastest of the hovering men emerged from the tohu-grass, revealing the truth. They were not floating, but riding beasts that dwarfed a horse!

Hare had an impression of something grey and massive, with a huge head, large ears, a long arm where its nose should be, and two gleaming white swords emerging from its mouth. The creatures had men atop them, but it was only the beasts which concerned him.

Amidst the shouts of dismay and other exclamations, some of the Pakanga broke ranks and started running away. Hare needed only a moment's thought to join them. He ran, and felt no shame about doing so. Fleeing men was cowardice, but running from these unworldly creatures was simply sense.

--

Venus's Day, Cycle of Bronze, 424th Year of Harmony (9.5.424) / 16 May 1663
Logging camp on River Bidgee [Endeavour River], upriver of Wujal [Cooktown], Lands of the Six Lords (Nuttana)

Quailoi felt as if he were waking from the mother of all rum headaches. His temples ached, indeed, his whole head felt pained. His mouth was drier than the Dead Heart [outback], and his body felt as fatigued as if he had been placed on punitive labour from sunup till sundown.

He tried to piece together the threads of his fraying memory. He recalled fever, aches and coughs, and friends groaning in the darkness. He recalled snippets of speech, of men making their final prayers in expectation of passing, and fevered thoughts which had been terrifying at the time but where the details now slipped away whenever he tried to remember them.

Above all, he felt an overwhelming thirst, which begged to be satiated.

Slowly, forcing movement on his limbs, he sat up. He saw only the inside of his crude tent which normally sheltered four men during sleep. No-one else was within the tent, neither alive nor dead.

Outside, he had vague glimpses of the ruins of the logging camp and other men lying on the ground, either sleeping or dead, but he focused his slow movements on getting to the river. There, he lowered himself slowly and cupped water into his mouth until the worst of the thirst had receded.

With the water revitalising his body, his fatigued mind finally grasped the word which had been buried beneath fever. Plague. Some new outland plague had arrived, striking down everyone in the logging camp.

Quailoi sat beside the riverbank, slowly weaving together his scattered thoughts into a more coherent thread. Some new great-fevered plague had struck down the camp. Everyone must have fallen ill around the same time. He remembered men retiring to different tents before he withdrew to rest. From the glimpses he could see around him, several men had not even made it to the tents.

He saw logs piled into several piles around the camp, most close to the river so that they could be tied together and floated down to the city. He saw men fallen. But he realised, slowly, that all of the elephants had vanished. Forgetting about thirty-odd elephants takes some doing, but the plague had blurred his thoughts from realising it until this moment.

The elephants must have wandered off because of hunger and lack of human attention. Difficult to blame them there. But damnably frustrating since an elephant would have made a handy option for carrying him any distance, when he knew he could not walk far.

With that realisation, his thoughts finally assembled into something resembling a pattern. He needed to do two things. Find if anyone else was left alive and needed what meagre assistance he could give, and find the best way to get back to Wujal. If there was such a way.

Quailoi began the slow, grim but necessary task of searching throughout the camp, and finding out whether the apparently abandoned camp contained only people who were entirely dead, or some who were just mostly dead. The task took considerable time because he still could not move quickly, although in most cases it was immediately obvious that people were dead. Usually he could tell just by smell, for the dead usually emptied their bowels on death, something he had not really appreciated until this moment.

He did not see the full number of fallen men that he would have expected. Perhaps some had departed before the plague consumed them, or had fled into the forest and fallen, or roused earlier than him and still fled. Impossible to say, and it mattered little for now, though it would have been a most disharmonious act to flee before checking whether others survived.

When he had nearly given up hope, he found one other survivor beneath a tent at the far end of the camp. Wenedai. Lying down, motionless save for slight passage of breath, but with life still clinging. Fortunately, there was an empty bowl beside him, which Quailoi took back to the river to fill with water before returning to wake the other man.

Rousing Wenedai to mindfulness took some time and several return trips to the river for further water. Telling him that they were the only survivors of the plague, and obtaining comprehension about that, took even longer.

Quailoi said, "We must return to Wujal, then; no help can we be sure of from closer."

"Is there any easy way home?"

"One of the log-rafts is still attached to the bank. It will be our best way." He had spotted it on his last visit to the river.

"I suppose we must use it. Though the elephants are lost. All of the elephants. We cannot retrieve them."

"To the Blaméd One [2] with the elephants!" Quailoi snapped. "Let them fend for themselves, if they can. Let us get back to Wujal."

If there are any people left in Wujal. If this Great Death has not claimed them all. That thought, Quailoi dared not utter aloud, for fear that speaking it would make it true.

--

From: The Compleat Elephant

Elephants of Aururia

Elephants are such an iconic part of the Aururian fauna today that some people do not realise that they are not, in fact, native to the Third World...

The tale of Aururian elephants begins in the 1640s, when the founding fathers and mothers of the Nuttana were first carving out a new city at Wujal and a trading network which was spreading into Asia. They were keen for labour and especially for timber, but could not easily obtain the workforce they wanted.

With trade links stretching to Sumatra and Southeast Asia, they were aware of the power of elephants, particularly for logging. Possessing what were then extremely novel and thus valuable spices, they had no problems trading for elephants, mostly from Sumatra. Shipping the elephants proved to be more of a challenge, with early efforts resulting in several which were lost in transit, but within a decade they had mastered the practice.

By the late 1650s there were several dozen elephants working in logging camps upriver of Wujal, with a few more in the city itself for assistance working within the growing timberyards. Because the Nuttana preferred to ship smaller elephants, most of these elephants are believed to have been females or adolescent males...

The critical moment for Aururian elephants came in 1663. This was the year when measles, the worst plague ever to strike the Third World, reached the Nuttana lands. Crucially, it reached two logging camps where a considerable number of elephants had been utilised in timber work. The workers in the camp were all struck down at once. Most workers died, and even those who survived were in no condition to see to the elephants. So the elephants saw to themselves, and fled into the forest.

In the aftermath of what they came to call the Great Death, the Nuttana were far too busy to retrieve some wandering elephants. By the time their people had recovered, the elephants had vanished deep into the tropical forests of northern Cape Kumgatu [Cape York Peninsula], and were far too difficult to track down and capture in numbers.

These escapees formed the nucleus of the Aururian pachyderm population. While historical records of the time are understandably vague, it is estimated that around forty or fifty elephants escaped into the forest. Because the importation preference had been for smaller elephants, it is thought that the majority were female. This meant that they bred faster than would have otherwise been expected – for elephants – and their numbers rapidly expanded.

For the first few generations, even the growing numbers of elephants were still easily able to conceal themselves within Aururia's northern jungle. The Nuttana left them alone, not completely forgotten, but not something which attracted much interest. It proved to be cheaper for them to import a few more elephants when they needed them, rather than try to hunt down and tame the feral elephants...

While abandoned, the Aururian elephant population did not die out. On the contrary, they continued to thrive, supplemented for several generations by the occasional rogue elephant which escaped from captivity, or a handful of releasees.

Aururian elephants were and are not particularly numerous, but they have become an established part of the fauna in north-eastern Aururia. The early elephants were largely creatures of the deep forest, hiding within the jungles of Cape Kumgatu and only rarely encountering Nuttana. As their numbers grew, they expanded further south into more inhabited areas, including further down the Tohu Coast [3] and into the drier savannahs of the inland north. The modern population is estimated at about 5-6000 animals...

The introduction of elephants has been noted for several ecological effects, particularly in their more long-established range. Notably, the presence of elephants has changed the nature of the flora. What were formerly open woodlands and savannah dominated by Eucalyptus and Acacia species have been replaced by more heavily forested regions dominated by more fire-sensitive flora.

It is hypothesised that the presence of elephants as large grazers and browsers has reduced understorey vegetation which would foster fires, and thus permitted the transition of these ecoregions from open woodland to forest. The extinct megafauna of Aururia may well have had a similar function, since paleontological evidence suggests that Eucalyptus and other fire-tolerant flora have become much more widespread since humans entered Aururia. If this is the case, then the reintroduction of elephants has simply fixed a problem which was originally of human making...

--

[1] A mere is a kind of short bladed weapon, sometimes called a short club, which is used mostly for thrusting and jabbing attacks. Historically the most valuable forms of these were made from pounamu (jade/greenstone), while others were made from wood, stone or whale bones. Allohistorically, they are most commonly made from bronze or iron. Musket-carrying Māori warriors use this as a secondary weapon for close-quarter combat.

[2] Quailoi is a Nuttana of Kiyungu heritage, and so naturally invokes the deities of the Kiyungu. The Kiyungu have an unusual system within Aururian mythology where their deities are referred to by a kind of praise-name or title rather than their original names (which are all now lost). The Blaméd One – which can also be rendered "he who must be blamed" – is a deity who is considered their chief troublemaker and source of discomfort in the world.

[3] The Tohu Coast is named for its sugar cultivation. The name comes from the Nuttana word for sugar (borrowed in turn from Papuan languages). The Tohu Coast stretches from approximately the tip of Cape York to historical Townsville.

--

Thoughts?

kilopi505 · Feb 21, 2020

...no one plans to bring Elephants to Australia now?

Zam · Feb 21, 2020

Jared said:
"Nature's great masterpiece, an elephant,
The only harmless great thing."
- John Donne (1612), The Progress of the Soul, l.381.

... This moved me...

Irirangi was a solid narrator, though don't kill the slaves you bastard! Whatever the case he came off as competent, calm but a touch cocky and his descriptions of the floaters, followed by breaking in the face of Elephants was all well conveyed, the growing sense of "What is going on!?" was conveyed well.

The plague section was excellent conveying the desperation, confusion and exhaustion masterfully and I love that the elephants escaped, the fact such a vast trade network exists is cool in of itself and their use was clever, their growth and impact on the environments was very intriguing, nice allusion to a more ancient time and long lost creatures too!

EBR · Feb 22, 2020

That meme was old when I joined AH.com

Radek · Feb 22, 2020

Elephants in Aururia then? And I assume a poacher problem later along when the value of ivory really sinks in for some people. Not what I expected, but I guess it works.

Jared · Feb 22, 2020

kilopi505 said:
...no one plans to bring Elephants to Australia now?

It's been discussed in some circles, in the vein of"reintroducing megafauna to fill vacant ecological niches". Same general concept as the proposals to release some African megafauna (elephants, rhinos, lions) into suitable areas of North America. It's never really been enacted because:
(1) The idea of introducing more potentially invasive species to Australia doesn't really go over well; and
(2) Bringing in enough elephants to form a viable population would be a mammoth undertaking.

Zam said:
The plague section was excellent conveying the desperation, confusion and exhaustion masterfully and I love that the elephants escaped, the fact such a vast trade network exists is cool in of itself and their use was clever, their growth and impact on the environments was very intriguing, nice allusion to a more ancient time and long lost creatures too!

Glad you liked it. The idea of having elephants in Australia was one I was kicking around for a while, but eventually figured out what I think is a plausible way for it to have happened.

EBR said:
That meme was old when I joined AH.com

It's an older ~~code~~ meme, sir, but it checks out.

Radek said:
Elephants in Aururia then? And I assume a poacher problem later along when the value of ivory really sinks in for some people. Not what I expected, but I guess it works.

Ivory poaching will be something of a problem, although not as severe for Asian elephants since not all of them have prominent tusks anyway.

The Sandman · Feb 22, 2020

Jared said:
Bringing in enough elephants to form a viable population would be a mammoth undertaking.

That pun was bad and you should feel bad. :anger:

Zam · Feb 22, 2020

Jared said:
mammoth undertaking

hehehehehehehehehehehe

Jared said:
Glad you liked it. The idea of having elephants in Australia was one I was kicking around for a while, but eventually figured out what I think is a plausible way for it to have happened.

I did, thanks for writing it and the response, I think this was a clever method, kudos!

StarMaker764 · Feb 24, 2020

Jared said:
Thoughts

I am conflicted: on one hand as someone who values ecology and knows the effect camels have on OTL Australia I can't help but feel this will not end well in the long run.

OTOH having Elephants in Australia sounds so right

Jared · Feb 28, 2020

Lands of Red and Gold Interlude #13: Echo of a Memory

This is another of the posts which was originally posted as a Christmas special. This one offers a glimpse of how the world might have turned out if it was even more changed than it was in the main LoRaG timeline. As with all special posts, this should be taken in a light-hearted manner.

--

Taken from a discussion thread posted on the allohistory.com message board.

*

From: Shaved Ape

For Want of a Yam #100: Fifteen Hundred Years After

It's hard to believe that I've made it to a century of posts in this timeline, not counting sideposts and apocrypha and the like. It's been a long road, and I can't even say the tale is yet nearer the end than the beginning. (Or even big inning).

For all the folks that have missed this timeline to date, or who found the sheer length of this timeline too much to keep track of, this post serves as a recap of what has happened to date. It does not contain much that's fundamentally new – though there's a couple of Easter Eggs in there – but it puts all of the fundamental information in one instalment rather than needing to digest all 99 previous posts to understand what's happening in the timeline.

A reminder also that this is a butterfly-killer timeline. This means a timeline which ignores random butterflies. Any changes which happen in the timeline are ones which I've been able to calculate as logically flowing from the point of divergence. There are no such things as changes because of random butterflies or something being butterflied away just for the sake of it.

I've adopted this position because I've come to the conclusion that obsession with butterflies can be taken too far. Timelines are as much literary creations as they are allohistorical explorations, and as a writer I think it's easy to over-use them. Rather than Random Butterfly X producing Random New Ruler Y, I have gone with what can be determined as a logical consequence of the divergence.

Anyone who complains that this has led to an absence of butterflies will be fed to the Blobfish. https://www.alternatehistory.com/forum/threads/possibly-the-ugliest-creature-on-earth.111779/

-

The basic premise of For Want of a Yam is that the lesser yam (Dioscorea angustus) evolved 1600 years earlier than it did historically; that is, in 200 BC rather than AD 1400. This allowed the northern expansion of Aururian agriculture to happen much earlier than it did historically, with changes that in time will resonate around the world.

Historically, indigenous Aururian agriculture was limited to south of the Tropic of Capricorn. This was because the two staple root crops, red yam (Dioscorea chelidonius) and murnong (Microseris lanceolata) could not grow north of that latitude, and thus full agriculture was impossible there. The emergence of the lesser yam, and spread of the imported kumara (aka sweet potato, Ipomoea batatas) allowed agriculture to spread into the tropics, as the Kiyungu and Butjupa began to advance northward.

However, the spread of agriculture happened too late for Aururians to make direct contact with the Old World. Instead, the Old World came to them, with Frederik de Houtman leading the first of the vanguard of Europeans descending on the Third World, with consequences which we all know too well.

Allohistorically, in For Want of a Yam, the lesser yam emerges much earlier, in 200 BC, in the late stages of the Great Migrations. This means that the forefathers and foremothers of the Kiyungu and Butjupa can begin their northward advance much earlier. In time, it will be Aururians who go to contact the Old World, not the reverse.

-

The development of the lesser yam means that the Great Migrations become the Greater Migrations, lasting about three hundred years longer than they did historically and stretching as far as Cape Kumgatu [Cape York] and the Costa dos Crocodilos [Arnhem Land]. This process is caused by a gradual expansion of the Kiyungu and Butjupa alone; the migrations in southern Aururia end at the same time which they did historically, while these two northern peoples spread further.

The spread of agriculture to the northern coast of Aururia does not produce immediate dramatic changes in the rest of Aururia, or indeed in the world. These are still relatively marginal farmers. The lesser yam allows them to farm in the area, but their other main staples, cornnarts [wattles] are more temperate species which do not grow as well in the northern reaches. The soils in the north are also less fertile.

What is produced in the north is a series of thinly-spread but thriving farming peoples. Their agriculture gradually improves, with the domestication of new northern crops, particularly cornnarts and a variety of new fruits. They receive a substantial boost when the spread of the noroon [emu] allows them to provide better fertiliser for the soils. Still, for several centuries they remain relatively thinly spread and with no societies organised above the chiefdom level.

Along the Tohu Coast [NE Qld coast], the Kiyungu gradually develop better shipping, with their search for coral, long distances to sail between their compatriots, and sheltered waters which allows them scope to slowly improve their shipbuilding and navigational techniques without being swept out into the open ocean. They come into contact with Austronesians and Torres Strait Islanders which allows them to learn some critical navigational improvements, particularly lateen sails, which in time will lead to the capacity for long-distance sailing.

On the northern coast of the continent, the migrating Butjupa merge with several groups of hunter-gathers around the coast of the Groot Golf [Gulf of Carpentaria]. These hunter-gatherers, collectively named the Wuri, speak related languages and are quick to adopt agriculture. The result is a composite people, the Wutjupa, who adapt the southern Aururian crop package into one better-suited to the monsoonal climate of the northern fringe.

These northern Aururian peoples have several encounters with the cultures of Torres Strait and Motua [Papua New Guinea], but for several centuries this contact remains limited. With the social organisation of both peoples, only a few trade goods are worth exchanging, in small quantities, and none of these cultures are arranged in a form for naval warfare. With this low-level contact, there are for the moment no meaningful disease exchanges. Sugar gradually spreads south and the Kiyungu take up its cultivation; the soils and rainfall of Wutjupa country are not suitable for significant sugar production.

-

In the southern half of Aururia, the changes to history are too minor to make much difference for several centuries. The peoples of the Five Rivers regarded the northern fringes as meaningless backwaters, much as they viewed the eastern coast, but without even the benefits of spices to be worth trading for. The gems of the interior were not yet discovered, since none of the migrants have a history of mining. So the Watjubagan Empire emerges and falls as it did historically, with the same borders as it did. (Butterfly-killer timeline, remember. The Blobfish awaits those who forget.)

Events in southern Aururia begin to diverge in the aftermath of the Empire's collapse. The wetter climate of the late Imperial period develops as it did historically – the forces of climate are not yet significantly affected by human activity – and the kingdom of Lopitja emerges and dies as it did in the history that we know. The Good Man is still born around the time that Lopitja seizes independence, and promotes his understanding of the Seven-fold Path.

The changes begin during the Good Man's lifetime. As he did historically, he attracts students from around most of the known world, including Butjupa and Yalatji from the Neeburra, though not the Kiyungu who never cared much for what happened west of the continental divide. Unlike what he did historically, he attracts students from some of the more northern Butjupa, and even one from the far Wutjupa.

The Good Man's disciples divide into competing schools after his death, as they did historically. The orthodox school of Plirism, the Warrgowee, converts the king and becomes the state religion in 1214, as happened historically. Unlike what happened historically, where the disciple Tjarrling went north alone, in this changed history two other disciples of the orthodox school go north with him. They compete over the conversion of the Butjupa and Yalatji. Their religious disputes are still continuing when Lopitja collapses, and some religious refugees from the Warrgowee school head north to join their co-religionists. There, they are ultimately victorious in converting the peoples of the Neeburra.

This means that the Warrgowee school survives allohistorically, where in real history it and many of the early schools of Plirism were lost with the collapse of Lopitja. The Nangu, Yadilli and some Tjibarri and Gutjualanese schools still survive in the south, but the Tjarrlinghi branch of Plirism is lost to allohistory as the Warrgowee replace it. The process of conversion is even more vigorous in the changed history, where the population density is higher thanks to earlier lesser yams, and the religion spreads through northern Aururia over the next six decades.

-

The conversion of the Wutjupa to Warrgowee is one of those fortunate confluences of timing and circumstance which will lead later scholars to argue that Warrgowee drove state formation. In fact, what has happened is that through a coincidence of history – the same kind which led Islam to spread right at the time when the two superpowers of the region had exhausted themselves in warfare – the growing population of northern Aururia was ripe for unification. Their agriculture has adapted to the conditions of the northern half of the continent, and the increasing population density favours the formation of states, as it has done so many other places in the world. So too, less obviously, does their genetic fusion with the local hunter-gatherer peoples and their centuries of genetic adaption to malaria. Malaria has been present in northern Aururia for an unknown length of time, perhaps since the last ice age, and living there over enough generations lets natural resistance evolve. The farming peoples of northern Aururia are not completely immune to malaria, but have enough resistance to make it safer to visit Motua and the Spice Islands.

Two states emerge, Gindabee along the Costa dos Crocodilos, and Wattamatta on the Neeburra. Warrgowee spreads to the coast too, leading to the gradual unification of the Kiyungu, first as a defensive alliance against the threat from the interior, then as a confederation, and ultimately as one state unified by naval trade.

Even before unification, some Kiyungu have turned into trading and semi-colonial powers, cultivating sugar at home, and trading southward for jeeree and Aururian spices. In time, they expand their interests out of Aururia, sailing northward initially for slaves, and then further for pursuit of the foreign spices which they had heard about: nutmeg, mace and cloves. In 1267, the first Kiyungu traders arrive directly at the Banda Islands, marking the beginning of major commercial contact with the Old World. While operating for religious rather than commercial regions, the Wutjupa of Gindabee also become active in the northern islands around the same time, founding Plirite (Warrgowee) missions, the first in Timor, then in surrounding islands.

Contact is quick and lucrative, with Aururian spices popular amongst the local peoples and in turn Spice Island produce is popular back in Aururia. The interaction with the Spice Islands also brings the Kiyungu into contact with a greater variety of peoples from the Old World, including Arabs, Indians and Cathayans. The diffusion of some technology is quick, particularly firearms, as the Kiyungu have a great interest in them and sufficient wealth to purchase both supplies and manufacturers.

By 1300, fifteen hundred years after, the Kiyungu and Wutjupa are both active in the Spice Islands, and some of them have even reached mainland Asia. The Kiyungu are also starting to develop a colonial empire further south on mainland eastern Aururia.

-

No history of contact between Old World and Third World would be complete without recognising the history of disease. Aururia has the same three significant diseases which they had historically: swamp-rash, Marnitja and blue-sleep. The Old World has the same cocktail of deadly diseases which would be so devastating to the Third World in real history.

The pace of transmission of Old World diseases to Aururia is both faster and slower than in real history. Some diseases arrive faster, such as influenza, because with farming societies in northern Aururia there is an easier chain of transmission to the larger states of the continent than in real history. Some diseases arrive slower, because the Kiyungu do not have the faster ships that Nuttana and Europeans did historically, and so those epidemics burn out on board ship before they can reach the Third World. Nonetheless, by 1300 Aururia has been struck by several deadly Old World diseases, including influenza, mumps, chickenpox, and tuberculosis. The population of the continent has been reduced by between 15-20%.

Fortunately for the Old World, blue-sleep and swamp rash remain confined to the Third World for the time being.

Unfortunately, Marnitja does not. A disease which produces so many asymptomatic carriers cannot be confined. The Waiting Death reaches the Banda Islands in 1269, and is spread by Cathayan and Malay traders into the Old World. It burns a steady path across India, Cathay and into Europe and Africa. One significant short-term effect in Cathay is that the death toll from the disease forces the Yuan to lift the siege of Xiangyang in 1271, and provokes a fresh succession crisis amongst the Mongols. For the time being, the Southern Song dynasty survives.

One tendril of Marnitja reaches from Europe to Iceland and to Greenland. There, as they had been doing for centuries, the Greenlanders visited parts of North America to collect timber. One carrier of the Waiting Death encounters the local Innu, and passes on the disease to them. From there, Marnitja slowly burns its way across most of the New World.

The strike of Marnitja is initially horrific for the New Worlders, causing at least 15% of their population to perish. However, in the longer term it has some small benefits. The presence of an epidemic disease means that many of their cultures have more conception of dealing with epidemics, and will thus be better placed to respond once regular contact with the Old World is established by Columbus or his allohistorical equivalent. It also means that exposure to epidemics strengthens the immune system of the population, allowing slightly greater resistance to Old World diseases when they arrive.

So, in 1300, the world is much changed, and is only going to diverge further.

-

Thoughts?

*

From: Great King

Intriguing as ever.

I'm curious how the Orthodox school of Plirism (aka Warrgowee) changes the development of societies here. What are the practical differences from historical orthodox Plirism, and their consequences?

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From: The Profound Wanderer

Very useful summary.

Do you have any more details about how the rest of the disease contact between Aururia and the Old World will turn out? And Aotearoa too, I guess, whenever that contact happens.

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From: Alloanthro

I thought it was a superb update.

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From: Never Know Jim

I'd like to know how industrialisation is going to happen in Aururia. Especially early industrialisation.

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From: Shaved Ape

@Great King

The Warrgowee school – I prefer using that name to Orthodox, even though that's the correct translation, because otherwise it creates too much confusion between Orthodox Plirism, ie the early state-sponsored school, and orthodox Plirism, ie the collective name for the various orthodox surviving schools of historical Plirism – has a different form of socio-religious organisation to either of the main surviving branches of Plirism.

Surviving orthodox Plirism is mostly organised along a community-temple model, with priests involved with the local community and providing spiritual and practical advice, but with a clear distinction between secular power and religious guidance. There is no central authority to make decisions for Plirism; anyone who can persuade enough people to follow them has the potential to start their own new temple, or indeed school.

The Tjarrlinghi are organised along a warrior-ruler system, where the priests either rule directly or expect to have very strong influence over those who do rule. They also have a strong tradition of spiritual succession, where priests are expected to trace either their actual descent, or spiritual influence, through an unbroken chain of successors back to Tjarrling and through him to the Good Man.

In contrast, the Warrgowee school had what could more accurately be called a strong monastic tradition. Many of their priests – or monks, they could also be called – were expected to withdraw from the world and follow their own personal road to harmony and insight. Except for the head of a monastery, who would give guidance to the local ruler - or governor who ruled in the name of the monarch – the priest-monks of the Warrgowee school were expected to have little contact with the outside world. They would benefit the world through prayer and as an example, not through providing direct guidance.

Snippets of these traditions survived in orthodox Plirism, too, but in a much more marginal way. Monasticism is known in a couple of smaller surviving schools in orthodox Plirism, but it is far from the dominant form. Mystics arise in later orthodox Plirism, sometimes attached to existing community-temples and occasionally forming their own schools, but despite some popularity at various points in history, they were also not the dominant religious model.

So a surviving Warrgowee school will have a lot of monasteries around, often in out-of-the-way regions. Both the Dead Heart and the more rugged parts of the highlands would probably prove popular. They will have a significant class of learned scholars who have access both to wealth and to time to study the world, in greater pursuit of harmony. This may well have some spin-offs in terms of proto-scientific thought.

@the Profound Wanderer

Very little to add to what I've already written, I'm afraid. I haven't mapped out the precise path of how diseases will spread, and even if I had, I wouldn't want to spoil the story. In very broad terms, the peoples of the Third World will be better off because they will have more time to recover before Europeans could arrive.

@Never Know Jim

Very hard to guess where and when industrialisation will happen, this far ahead of where allohistory is up to. I can point out that the silver at Gwee Langta [Broken Hill, NSW] is still exactly where it is. The magnificent iron ore of Worrumbin [Iron Knob, SA] has not moved from its historical location. Kunduri is still an extremely valuable crop. Past that, it's too early to speculate.

--

Thoughts?

EBR · Feb 28, 2020

I do like alternate of alternates, it's always fun to see that alien perspective.

Lands of Red and Gold

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