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Santa Maria de la Lagoa Mirim
Topic Started: Jul 14 2009, 01:52 AM (237 Views)
Noriega
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Resident Hobbit
OOC: Just a backstory on one of my future characters. Thought I'd get some activity going.

IC:

21 May 1887
Rio Grande, Duchy of Mirim

Morning. The steadily increasing drone of human activity along the harborside had drawn Captain Vicent Francesc Jufré Pijuan to the inevitable conclusion that it was morning. He arose from bed, casting the debris of the last night off his cot and cascading to the deck. The wooden thump the empty glass bottles perpetrated as they hit the timber also woke Cumpa, who had been dozing against a box of provisions. The native struggled to wake, finally pulling himself off the deck. The steam barge Fija, a 36 foot shallow keel affair, with a large steam engine in the back and a simple canopy over the deck, was moored at the north end of the Porto Rio Grande, where all the other river barges were kept. She was sturdy, and survived a storm or two in her day. She had made innumerable voyages across the two lagoons, too. The two men called her home, and between them, they managed to keep her steam engine running.

The city of Rio Grande was located on the west bank of the twenty-four mile stretch of water that bore the same name. The Rio Grande is a narrow strait that mingles the fresh water of the Lagoa dos Patos with the Atlantic. At that time, it was the capital of the Duchy of Mirim, a small semi-independent state north of Jufré's native Cisplatinia. It was essentially a city state, encompassing the area directly between the Rio Grande and its own namesake, the Lagoa Mirim. The port of Rio Grande was located within a large inlet off the main waterway; it was by far the largest in all of Rio Grande do Sul. The former province was actually named after the city. For this reason, the prominence of Porto Rio Grande, and thus the Duchy of Mirim, was undisputed among its neighbors. The city itself was large, and had a well-developed merchant class. It was merchants like these that contracted the Fija to make runs down the Channel of St. Gonçalo, which connects Lagoa dos Patos to Lagoa Mirim.

Jufré stood up. He was an average-sized man, five feet, two inches tall with a slight but athletic build. A life on the water and made his skin tan and a bit leathery, and his black wiry hair was a salt-bitten mess. As he stepped out from under the canopy and into the sun, he squinted out at the other barges. Some were already moving, heading out to the channel. Today, Jufré hadn't a contract or a cargo. He wasn't happy about it, but he would have to go out looking for work. He cricked his neck and jumped deftly onto the wooden dock. Cumpa, the short and rotund native that was Jufré's crewman and guide, heard the thump of the captain's bare feet on the wood, and came out to investigate.

"Mind the ship." Jufré told him simply, in passable Guaraní. He had picked up some of the native language during a stint in the army.

The captain ambled up the dock and on to the hot cobblestones of the harbor. His calloused feet didn't notice the heat. He made his way pass the bars and whorehouses and taverns of the waterfront, towards the plaza. The high-minded merchants usually refused to enter places the seamen frequented, so when they were looking for a barge, they often went to the Plaza del Rio. The plaza was a simple square where the provisions shops were located. It was also where the police constable had his office. His job was mainly to read announcements. The government never interfered in the lives of sailors. It was important to keep them happy.

Upon reaching the Plaza del Rio, Jufré calmly sat down on a stone bench under a shady tree. Furtive merchants, often afraid to be so close to the crime-ridden harbor-front, usually preferred to accost barge captains in settings such as these. Jufré was not the only captain here today. But he was singled out. A tall man, almost two meters and dressed too simply to be a merchant, sat down next to him. The man was not a sailor, Jufré knew right away. So he made no move to dissuade the man from sitting. For another barge captain to do so would have been a challenge, but this man wasn't from the waterfront. Slightly intrigued, Jufré turned to the man to greet him in Portuguese, the language of the land. But the man surprised him.

"You are hispano." the man told him simply, in perfect, native Spanish. It was clear to Jufré that this man was a native speaker.

"I am." he acknowledged. "How did you know?"

"I can tell the difference." the man stated flatly. "You are a barge captain?"

So, he was a client after all. Despite the man's strange airs, and the fact that he was certainly not a merchant, wherever he was from, Jufré was willing to put up with a man who could pay for the time.

"Si. Do you have a cargo?"

"Just myself. I need you to take me to Santa Isabel. Do you know it?"

Jufré nodded. It was a small port frequented by the barge captains on their way to Jaguarão, the usual destination for cargoes going through Lagoa Mirim.

The man smiled. "Good." He handed the captain a wad of money. Jufré was surprised by the amount, but the man explained, "I'm paying extra to leave immediately."


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Noriega
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Resident Hobbit
22 May 1887
Capão do Leão, County of Pelotas

The Fija pulled slowly into dock just as the sun set behind the warehouses on the waterfront of Capão do Leão. The light coming in between the gaps between buildings illuminated everything a bloody red as Cumpa hopped off the barge to tie her up. The man, his dirty blond hair tinged by the fading sunlight, strode regally onto the dock. Jufré still couldn't believe how tall he was. This man, whomever he was, was certainly more than he let on to be. He was most definitely from Cisplatinia for one thing, but he was no ordinary man. Jufré knew that it wasn't his position to be curious, he was getting paid for his time. By this time tomorrow they would be in Santa Isabel, and he would have his money, enough to make up for the fact that he had brought no cargo. And perhaps his curiosity would be indulged there.

Jufré looked out over the waterfront as he raised himself onto the wooden quay. He knew this town well. Capão do Leão was big, larger even than Rio Grande. It sat on the northern bank of the critical São Gonçalo Channel. From the fortress at the channel's mouth, whomever controlled this city controlled the vital waterway. The city was currently under control of the County of Pelotas, another small state that made up the remains of the province of Rio Grande do Sul. They had a good working relationship with the Duchy of Mirim. Barges from Rio Grande were allowed to pass unmolested through the São Gonçalo. But the distance from their point of origin meant they inevitably came to Capão do Leão, where they were made to pay a small fee to dock for the night, as well as spending their hard-earned money on the city's alehouses and whores.The next morning, they would pass on towards Jaguarão, the destination of all barges going down the São Gonçalo.

When they reached the line of warehouses at the waterfront, the mysterious client stopped. He obviously was unfamiliar with the city. Jufré on the other hand knew it well. Although he didn't detect any particular sensibilities in the man, he decided not to risk offending him. Unfortunately, his favorite cat-house would have to miss out on his business this time. He decided to head for a rather respectable inn almost a mile from the water. It was for the best, he determined. The walk was long and quiet. The man said nothing. Cumpa, who spoke only Guaraní, said nothing. Not that he had anything to say. Jufré didn't bother to start up a conversation. This whole affair was leaving him a bit unnerved, but he decided it was no matter.

They arrived at the inn, and separately paid for lodging. The man went immediately upstairs to his room. Cumpa immediately walked out the door and headed back towards the water. It was no secret where he was headed. Jufré decided he wasn't in the mood for fun, so he went immediately to the provisions store, which was just closing. He secured the purchase of a few items, and got a form to pick them up at a warehouse on the water. Figuring it to be closed, he shoved the paper into his pocket and walked on. By this time the lights of the city had come fully on, and most of the working people of the harbor were headed home. Jufré walked around a bit, restlessly, but eventually couldn't stand it any longer and headed back. When he got to the inn again, he was surprised to see the Cisplatinian in a booth sipping on some local ale. Figuring he might as well try, Jufré sat down across from him.

"Just what are we going to Santa Isabel for?" he asked seriously.

"I am looking for something." the man said simply.

Jufré frowned. It was against everything in his usual modus operandi to badger a client like this, but he was curious and had to know.

"For what, exactly?"

The man looked the captain over critically. It was obvious he was not pleased.

"A girl. To tell you as much as you can know, there is a girl in Santa Isabel that I must bring back with me to Montevideo. And it must be done in complete secrecy, so I will accept no further questions."

Jufré was still more curious now, and had even more questions than before. And then it occurred to him.

"Say, just how do you intend to get back to Rio Grande? Or on to Jaguarão?"

"Well, now that you mention it," the man said, smiling, "I can throw in a bit extra if you would be so kind as to help us..."
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Noriega
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Resident Hobbit
23 May 1887
Just Outside of Santa Isabel, Republic of Arroio Grande
18:00

By nightfall on the next day, they had successfully navigated the channel, and were steaming in the brackish waters of the Lagoa Mirim. Over to the port side of Fija they could see the flickering lights of Santa Isabel, the next stop for barges on the journey to Jaguarão. But this was their final destination. Captain Vicent Jufré had been contracted by a suspicious but seemingly wealthy foreigner to sail his barge all the way to Santa Isabela, a three day's journey, without cargo. Thankfully, he was paying enough to make it worth Jufré's time. Surprisingly, halfway through their journey, the captain discovered that the man was looking for a girl in Santa Isabela, and intended to take her back to Cisplatinia, possibly by kidnapping her. Jufré may have had objections, but the man was paying extra for the Fija to take them on the second leg of the journey. And now they had reached their objective.

"Do you want me to take her into dock?" he asked the man.

"No. Our true objective is outside of the city. We're going to the island of Chawuncu, just ahead now."

Jufré looked over his shoulder to see a large island looming out in the lake. He simply was not surprised. This man obviously was not intent on revealing his true objectives. The seasoned captain wouldn't be surprised if the plan ended up radically changing from here on out either. It was a little unnerving, but he hadn't been paid, so he was along for the ride now. He steered the Fija over to a sandy beach along the north side of the island. Cumpa was obviously surprised but Jufré waved him off. The Guaraní man knew that he only had to stay with the boat and not ask questions. He nodded and went to the front to help anchor her. As soon as the barge was more or less stead along the calm shore, Jufré and his client hopped off, the pursue whatever is was they were pursuing.

They walked to a tree line about 50 yards up the beach. Suddenly, the man pulled a revolver from his loose-fitting tunic. Jufré said nothing. He had known from the start that this may turn bloody. The Cisplatinian, whomever he was, had resources and a quick way out. Whatever he wanted he could get it more easily by force. Jufré had lived on the lagoons a long time, and he knew that the law was different up here. Just like it was different in the hill country in the north of Cisplatinia. In South America, rule of law was largely an urban phenomenon. The police could at least attempt to patrol the cities. But the countryside was simply too large for anyone to effectively govern. Up here, you made your own law. Perhaps whoever had the girl was about to find that out the hard way.

They continued on through the lush grove until they came to a clearing. There was a dilapidated wooden building in the center, oddly shaped with a slanted roof and a tower at the front. The tower bore a wooden cross at the top, so Jufré assumed it must have been a church. The windows were all smashed out of it, and the door was lying against the wall, partially off the hinges. There was a dirt path leading from the front of the church out into the forest again. The man tapped Jufré on the shoulder, and put a finger on his lips. The captain nodded and held his breath. The mysterious Cisplatinian moved out stealthily from the underbrush and into the moonlight. He looked around furtively, pointing his revolver at everything. But there was no response. He motioned to Jufré, who bounded out into the clearing.

"This was a mission. The girl's parents worked here. This is where she was born."

"What happened to them?"

"The natives, down the road." he gestured down the path. "The ones they were trying to convert. I suppose they must have got tired of it all, because they killed them. Ate them too, probably."

Jufré blanched. He had heard stories, but had refused to believe them. It still made him sick to his stomach. "Where were they from?"

"Angelcynn."

"And they came all the way out here?" Jufré looked at the man quizzically. The British Isles were a long ways away.

"Who am I to question their motives? To be fair, they were both originally from France. Perhaps they wanted to be around other Catholics."

Jufré nodded. He didn't question how the man knew all this. It wasn't important. But there was one burning question in his mind. "Why didn't they kill the girl?"

The stranger smiled. "She's a miracle healer. They call her Santa Maria." He smiled again, enigmatically, for a reason all his own. "Come on, this way."

They moved along the dirt road, quickly and quietly. The element of surprise was in their favor, and Jufré for one was determined to use it. Being unarmed, and having just heard how the missionaries had been murdered, he wasn't looking too favorably on his position. As they progressed further, he began to hear sounds in the distance. It was the sound of drums and bawdy laughter. He also smelled something roasting over a fire. He blanched again: hopefully not man. As they got closer, they moved off into the trees again. They tramped through the forest all the way until they could see the glow from the camp's fire. Then, following the man's lead, Jufré crouched down and inched forward. Despite the many creatures that were immediately crawling over him, he remained calm. He wasn't afraid, but he was nervous. The natives he knew were usually afraid of firearms right up until they quasi-assimilated into society. They went to their graves not knowing how they worked, but at least they knew there was no black magic involved. These natives would probably not be so enlightened.

From the bushes near the edge of the camp, Jufré could see the celebration going on. There was a large cooking pit where the natives were spit-roasting a boar. But only the women seemed to be paying attention to the fire. The men were processing around in a circle, whooping and shouting. It was almost a caricature. Undeniably it must have been most significant to them. In between the semi-naked warriors, Jufré could see a little girl, of pale white skin and raven colored hair. Her eyes were the lightest of sea greens. She was wearing a little dress woven from some coarse fabric and adorned with beads. No one else in the camp was wearing a garment such as this. She couldn't have been more than four years old, but they were worshiping her like she was a goddess. She seemed very uncomfortable with her position and aloof from the proceedings. He felt pity for her. Did she know her parents? Is she aware of their fate?

Without warning, the man burst out of the shadows, revolver held high. For a second, there was silence. Then, with a collective shout, the warriors ran straight for him. Jufré could make out about a dozen of them, but thankfully he was well hidden. He didn't need to worry too much about the outcome, so long as he could disguise his presence. He looked over at the girl, who was staring, shocked, at the white man that had burst from the bushes. With a crack, he fired a shot into the onrushing warriors. The lead one keeled over, tripping up the rest of them. They fell in a heap, struggling to gain composure. The revolver-wielding Cisplatinio used the opportunity to fire five more shots into the ones that were attempting to get around the pile. He managed to reload just as the remaining warriors had regained their footing. The women, shrieking, made a dash for the forest. The man ignored them. His business was with the warriors who stood stock still. Seeing their dead comrades, they soon joined the flight. Almost as an afterthought, the biggest one grabbed the shocked girl and ran for it. A well placed shot to the leg downed him, and the others left them both where he fell. The man grabbed the girl, tossed her to Jufré, who had come out of the shadows, and ran back towards the boat.
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Noriega
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Resident Hobbit
23 May 1887
Isle of Chawuncu, Lagoa Mirim
23:00

They dashed through the rain forest, totally oblivious to the tree branches that batted them in the face, chest, legs, everywhere. Even the child, Santa Maria, had stopped crying. There was a sense of desperation in their movements. The dark forest had swallowed them up, but they would not be safe until they were off of this island. No doubt, telling by the number of women, there were far more warriors than they had already encountered. And Vicent Jufré knew what natives did to those who displeased them. He was following his mysterious client, the Cisplatino man who would not reveal his identity. They had come here for the girl that Jufré now carried in his arms. She was the daughter of Angelcynns of French descent who had come here on a religious mission. They had been killed, but she had been spared for her miracle powers. Or so he was told. He really didn't know what this was all about. He had left Rio Grande to get paid, continued on this mission because it would bankrupt him to go back without the money. He was firmly in this now. But he was still in the dark.

After what seemed like an eternity sprinting through the dark, they burst out of the trees and onto the beach. They immediately realized that they had not come out where they had gone in. Not only was the Fija nowhere to be seen, but the shape of the coast was entirely different. This was a major problem. In their haste to escape, they had totally disoriented themselves. They didn't know which direction they were facing or which way the barge was. The north shore of the island was large, about 3 miles long, with several rocky outcroppings jutting out into the water and obstructing their view down the beach. Looking back and forth, Jufré wasn't entirely certain where the boat was. But he almost recognized the outcropping to their right. So he ran off that way. The man followed, close behind.

Luckily, Jufré's instincts proved correct. They rounded the peninsula to discover the Fija tied where they had left it. They ran up to the barge, which was rocking ever so slightly in the very weak current. It seemed a place of salvation for them. They were almost out of here. Jufré was almost ready to begin shouting orders to Cumpa as they ran into the water alongside the craft. But when they got there, Cumpa was nowhere to be found. The provisions boxes had all been smashed and emptied, they were littering the deck now. Otherwise, the boat was untouched. The steam engine looked perfectly intact.

"Could he have done this?" the man asked, referring to Cumpa.

"No." Jufré said confidently. "There's no way Cumpa did this. Or left here of his own will. Doubtless, they took him."

"Then we have no time to waste. Can you sail her alone?"

Jufré nodded and clambered aboard. He sat the girl down gently near the front amongst the splintered remains of the boxes. Hopefully she wouldn't cut herself. He ran to the back to start up the engine as the mysterious man untied Fija and lept aboard. They immediately steamed away, towards Santa Isabela and an uncertain fate.
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Noriega
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Resident Hobbit
Lagoa Mirim
24 May 1887
11:00

The sun was high overhead as they approached the mouth of the Rio Jaguarão. They had been sailing all night, running from the angered natives and essentially to scared to sleep. It had been twelve hours since then, but they weren't going to slow down now. Their provisions boxes had been smashed and looted, and all the extra fuel and supplies were missing. They were almost out of fuel, so there was basically no time to waste. There was very little current on the lake, so they would have to row to shore if the engine went out. And, perhaps in a critical blunder, Captain Jufré hadn't brought any. He had left immediately on his mysterious passenger's orders, and had not had time to pick up oars from the warehouse. Hopefully, it wouldn't be a problem. If all went well, the Fija would limp into port unharmed. But of course, it was not all to go well.

As they neared the light station at the mouth of the river, a patrol boat began to approach them. The Fija was not the only boat on the lake, but they seemed like they knew what they were looking for. At first, Jufré decided to keep ahead and hope that the patrol boat wasn't after them. At a modest speed and with no fuel, the Fija wasn't going to outrun a patrol boat. A man on the deck of the patrol boat was waving signal flags, flanked by several armed men. He was telling them to stop. For the first time, Jufré panicked. Patrol boats were trouble. And the guards who manned them were notoriously trigger-happy. No barge on the lagoon could escape from them. And they often confiscated boats to sell at auction. He began to steer towards the embankment.

"Are you crazy!? We can't be found out!" the other man yelled, hitting the captain over the head with a plank of wood. Jufré fell to the deck with a dull thud. Barely conscious, he felt himself being dragged away from the controls. He was under the canvas now, with the little girl standing over him, looking concerned.

The Fija began to pick up speed as the mysterious passenger through the last fuel into the engine. The patrol boat fired a warning shot with its 4 inch gun. It hit the water just before the bow, sending a shower over and into the enclosure. The girl shrieked and jumped down next to Jufré. She snuggled up to the still only semi-conscious captain. Her presence was oddly comforting. He felt the fog slowly lifting from his eyes as the guards began firing their rifles. The little girl, Maria, was shivering and whimpering. She was terrified. Jufré was made aware of the burning pain in his skull as he began to come to. A rifle bullet slammed into the engine, causing it to whine pitifully. Steam began to hiss out. Jufré looked over at the girl. He had to do something for her.

"Wait here!" he whispered, not knowing if she understood. Then he lept out and dashed for the engine.

He grabbed the other man and began to wrestle him away from the controls. Jufré received a painful elbow to the nose, which caused blood to spurt out all over both of them. He staggered back, the man ignored him and kept on. A rifle bullet zipped past where Jufré had been standing seconds ago. The seconds were ticking away. They were all going to be killed soon. He ran back at the man, grabbed him by the neck. The guards would have to see that Jufré was on their side. They had to. They did not. The nameless man grabbed for his revolver, but Jufré kicked it over the side. He was going to protect her. After wrenching her out of her life. After murdering her caretakers in front of her. Out of her home they had brought her here to this battleground, but not to die. She wasn't going to die. Not if he could help it.

The machine gun raked the whole deck of the Fija. The four poles that held up the canopy were cut down like toothpicks, bringing the overhanging sheet down on top of Maria. Both Jufré and his enemy were hit many times. Too many. The engine was eviscerated by the fire, and spilled burning fuel out on to the deck, out over Jufré and the man. They were both dead already. Fija had caught fire now and wouldn't last long. It crept up the deck as the bow began to lower in the water. Soon, the canvas had gone ablaze at the rear end. Maria saw the fire and was afraid. She was afraid of outside too. The nice man and the bad man had both stopped making noise. The other boat was quiet too. There was no guarantee that anything would still be there when she got out from under the canvas. But she decided it was time, and scrambled out to the bow.

It was the gunner who had struck the wayward barge that saw her first. Luiz Almeida, a newcomer to the guard, saw the girl, sitting abandoned at the bow and crying. What had he done? Thank God she hadn't been hit by a stray bullet. But now there was the fire. She ship was about to burn up. The fire hadn't reached the bow yet, but it was close. And the ship was beginning to go under at the stern. With no time to waste talking to anyone else about it, the guard threw off his jacket and cap and jumped from the rail into the water below. At first, the other men were surprised. But then they saw the girl. They began to cheer Almeida on from the rails, with at least a few more jumping over after him. He swam over to the wreck and clambered on with no time to spare. He grabbed the girl, who had no choice but to trust him, and lept overboard.

From that day forward, he would raise her as his own daughter. He determined her name was Maria, but did not want to give her his surname. She had her own, somewhere. She could not ever tell him anything of the men whom they had found her with. Only that neither was her father and that they had taken her from her home. Of her parents, she remembered nothing. Almeida, on deciding to name her, decided to give her a name from whence she came. From that day forward, she was known as Maria de Mirim...
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