Uncharted Territory (Look to the West Book 2)

by Tom Anderson

  The Dutch also inherited coalfields from their Rhineland possessions, and Flemish industrialisation spilled over into the Republic, carrying with it the Optel network that helped link the two allies together. It was at this time that Standaard Nederlands, an attempt to create a single cohesive compromise between the various Dutch dialects of Flanders and the Republic, started to coalesce initially as a result of pidgin slang between the Optel operators. Looking at the linguistic influences upon SN is rather illuminating for consideration of the socio-political situation in the Low Countries at the time; the Flemish Dutch dialects practically equalled the Dutch Dutch ones in their level of contribution, the Low and High German dialects of the eastern regions taken during the Jacobin Wars also contributed, and the Walloons were pointedly ignored.

  France, under the doctrines of King Louis XVII and his ministers, was swift to take advantage of her industrialisation under Lisieux. L’Aiguille was hastily rededicated as a church tower, the new Notre Dame, yet it still served as the hub for the network the Optel network that Louis Chappe had created. Thouret’s absurd system of perfectly square départements might have been thrown out and the old provinces restored, but they remained linked by wide, taggertised roads drawn out under rational doctrine, and steam carriages travelled those roads. France had scaled back her army as part of the provisions of Copenhagen, but that simply meant that a large number of steam tractors that had formerly pulled artillery were now pulling ploughs or passenger carriages. France, along with like-minded Swabia, was one of the bigger customers for the German coalfields. Swabia, run by the pragmatic Frederick IV, freely accepted many former Jacobin industrialists who had been put on hitlists in France as being too complicit in Lisieux’s crimes, and prospered as a result of it. The settlement of Ney’s former armies and their families in the country helped create a unique identity, no longer fully German, nor yet French. This was only aided by the fact that half the new Swabia was former Swiss German lands, still a little bit different and resentful. Frederick had the most ambitious Optel network yet built, stretching up into the mountains to help try and unify his diverse country. Swiss rebel militiamen burned down many of the towers, yet as often as not it was clever Swiss artisans who built them back up again, and with the same hands that had made the old Confederation known for its clockwork. Soon southern Swabia became known as a home for innovation in the field of Optel. It was here that shutters first replaced semaphore arms in the late 1820s, and here that lamps were used to send messages by night, which would eventually have a huge impact on how economics worked in the Germanies and beyond.

  While Francis II might be a rejectionist, his ageing uncle the Archduke Ferdinand was a more thoughtful soul, and as King Ferdinand I of Italy he too saw Optel as a means to try to unify a diverse country, particularly problematic given Naples’ continuous attempts to pick apart the Kingdom through agents. Venice in particular was a hotbed of discontent, with Naples still having many Venetian exiles and ready to feed them to cause problems for their northern rival. Italy had also inherited some of the steam vehicles Lazare Hoche had used; while she lacked major coalfields herself, the fact that Francis had made Ferdinand’s son Archduke Leopold the Duke of Lorraine proved to be one of the few good moves that would-be emperor ever made. Lorraine controlled much of the Saar coalfield, and the territorial contiguity established by the Congress meant that a direct supply was possible, mostly by barges over Lake Geneva. When Ferdinand finally died in 1818, there were some rebellions against Hapsburg rule, mainly in Venice for obvious reasons, but they were muted by the fact that Ferdinand had been a decent ruler and many Italians feared direct rule by Francis. Instead, Leopold marched in with his Lorrainers, subdued the uprisings, and then asked Francis if he might succeed to the throne and also keep Lorraine, uniting them. Francis felt Leopold deserved Italy for his move, and in any case was disinterested in Italy, his political ambitions now turned to the south and east once more. He agreed, and a new industrial power was born.

  Many engineers and master miners fled from the conservative powers in this period, mainly Austria and also the Mittelbund to a lesser extent. Many went to Saxony or Denmark, both interested in furthering the role for these new technologies in war. Denmark in particular was noted as the world leader in balloon development, soon becoming famed for the running series of balloon observers along the Øresund, rising on cables from stations on both the Sjaelland and Scanian coasts, watchful for any attack on Copenhagen. It was inevitable that this would be taken as primarily aimed at the Russians, Denmark’s great ally and yet now her only competitor for control of the Baltic – which meant she could not stay an ally for very long.

  Russia herself, while considered backwards by many, nonetheless was at the heart of a new kind of innovation that was dismissed in western Europe. Mine waggons generally ran on guide-rails, and had for years, when those waggons had been pulled by horses or driven by human strength. Now steam was coming in and rails were still used in mines, for the blasted surface was usually too uneven for free wheels. Yet to suggest that guide-rails might also be of use in long-range surface transport was dismissed as absurd by many established interests. Why constrain oneself to a rigid network when one could hop into a steam carriage and drive wherever one pleased?

  Some, mostly from mining engineer stock, nonetheless argued: because we can make it faster. The same reason that using Optel, where the messenger at the far end might still have to travel some miles to reach the intended recipient, is better than travelling all the way to the recipient yourself. Among such men was Vladimir Tarefikhov, a Russified form of his birth name: Richard Trevithick. The Cornish steam pioneer initially worked in industrialising Tsar Paul’s mines, taking advantage of the large number of freed former serfs who wanted a more modern, refined trade rather than being stuck on the fields for the rest of their lives. To be sure, the mines were often hellish and life might end in a painful instant if the use of black powder for blasting was misjudged, but they paid better than what farm serfs were used to and produced products that were becoming increasingly valuable throughout Europe – not only coal, but also iron ore and others. One of the biggest Russian coalfields was near Tula, a city known for its armaments industry and located about 180 versts[182] south of Moscow. It was here that Tarefikhov settled in 1804 and soon rose to become a very important business magnate, being made a Rytsar (knight) in 1814.

  He soon had the ears of many a Russian noble, and by 1816 was a favourite of Paul’s younger son Prince Theodore (Fyodor). It was at this point that Tarefikhov expostulated his ideas to bring the rails out from the mines and use them as a means to guide suitable steam-driven vehicles – perhaps a single tractor drawing a series of carriages – from town to town. Both industrial cargos and people, perhaps.

  Theodore was initially sceptical, but a small-scale public demonstration in Tula’s town square convinced him the concept could work, and he sold it to his father the Emperor by appealing to Russian political theory: the European rulers might allow their subjects to wander wherever they pleased, but in Russia such movement would be under the tight control of the Autocrat. The carriages would go only where the rails went, and the Tsar would decide where the rails went. It was a fitting middle path, a very Russian ‘take a third option’ approach to the conundrum that had led Francis of Austria to stick his head down a hole. Russia’s Optel network, which ran in parallel to its eventual railways and helped inform and guide their construction, was built with similar tight state control in mind. The first full-length railway in the world was built between Moscow and Tula (after several smaller demonstration railways) and opened in 1828 to the astonishment of the world… sadly for the sake of proponents of the railways cause, though, Europe would soon be distracted by the Popular Wars…

  Chapter #93: The Thais That Bind

  “For better or for worse, the nations of Indochina and to a lesser extent the Nusantara[183] have always been defined in terms of their relationship with China. As the name impl
ies, the region has historically been subject to cultural influence from the Indian empires as well as China, but the former lack the latter’s sense of cultural homogeneity, historical contiguity and linguistic consistency, meaning that China is where we should place our focus. China was never “the Other” to Indochina as, for example, the Ottoman Empire was to Christian Europe, something to define itself against; rather, the peoples of Indochina mostly saw China as an object of admiration and certainly did not consider themselves to be culturally closer to one another than they were to the Chinese. Indeed for much of its history Indochina can be said to have lain in the shadow of China, and here I advance the thesis that its peoples can only be truly understood by their actions in the brief periods in which that shadow has been absent…”[184]

  - conclusion to the introduction of On Asia by Pyotr Stepanovich Ostrakov,

  originally serialised in the journal The Muscovite Contrasanchezista from 1921 onwards, translated into English 1930

  *

  From: “A History of the Siamese Kingdoms” by Francois Montpelier (1940, English translation 1944)—

  As we have seen, in the latter half of the eighteenth century Indochina’s history was defined by two earth-shattering interventions of Qing Chinese power. The first was that of 1768, when the Daguo Emperor sent a Chinese army to back up the exiled Burmese general Myat Htun’s attempt to topple the Konbaung dynasty and restore the previous Tougou dynasty. This was a decisive move which shattered the Burmese empire that King Naungdawgyi had been building and replaced it with a web of Chinese vassals and puppets. Ava, the core of Burman[185] power, was indeed returned to Tougou rule under Mahadammayaza, with Myat Htun as the power behind the throne. Toungoo, though (ironically the city which had originally given its name to that dynasty, but several centuries of classically Indochinese shifting dynasties, capitals and states had eliminated that link), split off under Minhkaung Nawrahta, one of Nandawgyi’s brothers. After Nandawgyi’s death on the battlefield, Hsinbyushin, another brother, took most of the army of Ava and fled south and east to conquer the kingdom of Arakan. Arakan was swiftly taken and acculturated, eventually becoming a client state of the British East India Company in Bengal.

  The rest of the former Burmese empire considered itself to be liberated states, whether they be the recent conquests such as the Kingdom of Ayutthaya or those which had often been involved with Burma’s internal struggles, such as the Mon state of Pegu (also known as the Third Kingdom of Hanthawaddy).[186] The northern former territories of the empire were turned into an autonomous military frontier region of China under the name Shanguo, intended for basing armies for future interventions into western Indochina. The Chinese military in Shanguo, whether Manchu Banners or Han Green Standard Army (and indeed mutual railing against the primitive conditions and regular combat against bandits tended to weld the two into a more cohesive group than elsewhere), tended to be of a fearsome standard, honed by frontier warfare. This was illustrated in 1789, more than two decades after the Konbaung retreat to Arakan, when Hsinbyushin’s successor Avataya Min invaded Ava with British East India Company support. Though the Chinese garrison had been neglected by the Guangzhong Emperor, the maverick general Yu Wangshan defeated the Konbaung army. The Chinese were able to repel the revanchists and the previously neutral state of Toungoo was punished for its support of Avataya Min. The Toungoo ruler Shin Aung (the son of Minhkaung Nawrahta, and therefore Avataya Min’s cousin) was toppled and replaced with a pliable nephew, Hkaung Shwe. China’s influence over western Indochina was firmly cemented.

  The second great Qing intervention that defined the late eighteenth century was that in Dai Viet in the 1770s, culminating in the Battle of Than Hoa in 1778. The Chinese successfully restored the Emperor Le Cung Tong to control of northern Dai Viet (AKA Tonkin)[187] and kept the Nguyen Lords of the south at bay. Together with the Gorkha war of the 1780s, the Daguo Emperor’s reign was thus marked by three instances of China flexing her muscles and rattling her sabre, meaning that when nations bowed their heads in vassalage, the submission was real rather than theoretical. If they decided to argue, they would face an army.

  It was under the rule of his son the Guangzhong Emperor that this state of affairs began to deteriorate, with frontier garrisons being depleted and the government drawing little distinction between genuine Chinese vassals such as Ava or Tonkin and any other foreign country – as according to literalist Qing doctrine all the countries of the world were automatically tributaries of the Middle Kingdom. The frontiers remained quiet while the keg slowly filled with powder, but when the War of the Three Emperors broke out, it was the chance every anti-Chinese revanchist had been waiting for.

  However, we should not pretend that at the very moment that the Guangzhong Emperor expired, Avataya Min’s son Phaungasa Min immediately ordered another attack on Ava. The situation was complicated by the fact that the Chinese garrison in Shanguo was commanded by General Sun Yuanchang. Sun had replaced the controversial Yu Wangshan after his reassignment to the eastern frontier, and had served with distinction against the Gorkhas, certainly a respectable opponent. Though the army in Shanguo had been sapped of strength by Guangzhong’s policies, it was still numerous and strong enough for Phaungasa Min to hesitate, building up his forces all the time.

  The situation changed in 1810, when Sun embarked on his Great Eastern March to lay waste to southern China in support of the claimant Chongqian Emperor. With him he brought his army and many irregulars drawn from the local Shan and Mon recruited from Pegu. The consequences of this were enormous for China, of course, but no less so for Indochina; for the first time in four decades, there were no significant Chinese military forces stationed in the region. Now Phaungasa Min made his move, backed by mercenary armies drawn from Indian states, primarily Manipur. There was also some support from the British East India Company and its sepoys, but this would fall away within a few years as the BEIC was drawn into the Scindia-Holkar War and latterly the Gorkha invasion of Oudh. It was at this time, in fact, that the Gorkhas broke free from vassalage, destroyed the small number of Chinese troops remaining in Tibet, and conquered the whole land for themselves, at least on paper. Rumours of atrocities committed by the strongly Hindu Gorkhas against Buddhist monks and temples, not all of them exaggerations or fabrications, spread like wildfire through western China and its environs. This would also eventually lead to significant consequences for the War of the Three Emperors.[188]

  With the withdrawal of Sun’s army, it seemed as though the days of China’s puppets were numbered. As Phaungasa Min’s armies advanced through the summer of 1811, Toungoo rose in revolution against Hkaung Shwe and sent many volunteers to join the returning Konbaung dynasty. Phaungasa Min then set his sights on the real prize: Ava. Yet all the players had overlooked something. Not all China’s allies in Indochina were pliable puppets. One had been ruled wisely, with good and foresighted governance, since its liberation in 1768.

  Ayutthaya.

  *

  From: “Roar of the Elephant: A History of the Thais” by Canancaura Basquaran (1954, English translation 1961)—

  As with many or indeed most of the peoples of Indochina, defining the Thai race is a confusing and contradictory business. There are some scholars who will paint a broad swathe of the region and its neighbours with the Thai brush, while other more conservative colleagues restrict themselves to a much smaller area. Like most nations in Indochina, the Thais have been through many dynasties and states – and in Indochina those two terms are often synonymous, with a new capital, a new flag and so forth coming forth with each new ruling family. Before the Burmese conquest of the 1760s, there had been two main Thai kingdoms: Ayutthaya, based in the city of the same name, and Lanna, based in Chiangmai. Lanna had historically been a puppet of Burma, but had managed to break free some decades before. At this point, though, the expansionist Konbaung toppled both kingdoms and sought to directly annex as much territory as they could.

  With the Chinese support of
Myat Htun’s rebellion, the Thai states were liberated. The former king of Ayutthaya, Ekkathat, had died in the wars; something to which most Ayuthhais quietly breathed a sigh of relief, as the man had been divisive and incompetent, having taken the throne by subterfuge and unhelpfully fought against other claimants while the Burmese advanced. He was succeeded by his older brother Uthumphon, who had previously briefly ruled before becoming a monk, but was persuaded to return in Ayutthaya’s hour of need.[189] Uthumphon proved to be a more competent ruler, and was able to take advantage of the lack of political stability in Lanna by annexing the former kingdom to Ayutthaya. He now ruled over the majority of Thais united into one kingdom, or so it was seen at the time; this was before the awakening of national consciousness among the Zhuang Thais of Guangxi province in China.[190]

  Uthumphon died in 1786 and was succeeded by his son Maha Ekatotaphak. It is now of course quite difficult to view this figure dispassionately, with the eyes of a historian. He has been elevated to the pedestal of demigod by Siamese nationalism. Yet we must also seek to avoid the immediate and tiresome counter-conclusion of the reflexive revisionist historian that Maha Ekatotaphak must be an incompetent madman and mass murderer. In truth it would seem that Maha Ekatotaphak was an amiable ruler, a little too charismatic and popular to class as a nonentity, but certainly not a king one would usually earmark for greatness. The reason history has judged him well was his choice of advisors, in particular his defence minister Prachai Tangsopon. Ayutthaya had struggled for centuries with the problem of its feudal structure; she had previously suffered losses to the Burmese thanks to the fact that her militias had owed allegiance to mun nai (local lords) rather than the king. King Trailok had tried to abolish this system and unify matters in the sixteenth century, but Ayutthaya was still subject to the problem of her ministers and officials being rebellious, single-minded and drawn from the same hereditary families.