A little something different.....

            29 June 1823…. Port St. Lucie,

From the diary of Moira Lauderdale

De Soto and his men have finally left, and behind them my township lays in ruins, and I lay here on my blanket on the beach, writing about the fact that my home has been reduced to a pile of cinders and although I am of a tender age, nineteen to be exact, I am now very much an orphan.  DeSoto had my father and mother executed in the town square, along with the town council, the Rev. Spokes, and my fiancé, David Goodwell. My heart is broken in two, and I am desperately trying to push it out of my head. Yet my current circumstances remind me of my plight. I am alone, homeless, and living on the beach just outside of town in a tent. No clothes except what I am wearing, no money, no food, just nothing…. I am laying here asking God what I ever did to deserve this. But I know my God would never do this to me. Just that bastard DeSoto and his men.  For the first time in my life I am feeling the cold hard edge of hatred, and the desire for revenge. DeSoto’s head will be mine, and I will display it on a spike in the middle of town as a celebration against his tyranny. First, I have to find him, second, I have to muster the courage to get out of this tent and actually do something…..

Ever faithful to your pages

Moira Katherine Lauderdale

            Moira laid her quill aside and sighed, pushing her auburn locks out of her face. Sunburned, wearing nothing but her bloomers and corset, barefoot and looking very much not like the proper lady she was raised to be, Moira Katherine Lauderdale poked her head out of the tent and peered out into the Florida sun. Six months earlier her family had settled there, her father serving as Governor just following the purchase from the Spanish and Seminole tribes. Port St. Lucie was a far cry from her lush townhouse in Charleston, South Carolina. Moira loved being in the heart of that beautiful Southern City, with it’s beautiful homes, and the buzz of Southern Society. Moira and her mother were quite the hostesses, and just last year Moira was introduced to Southern Society in a gala ball celebrating her eighteenth birthday. Her father, Jason Lauderdale, grandson of General Lauderdale who fought in the War for Independence, was one of the most powerful lawmen and military men in Charleston. Captain in the United States Navy, he ran Ft. Sumter like a well oiled machine. Moira was daddy’s little girl. Moira’s brother Keaton had been lost to them for several years. Keaton was older than Moira, and had been kicked out of West Point, then returned home only to be asked to leave after an embarrassing incident involving a chambermaid. The last time Moira had any correspondence from Keaton was right before Christmas, before the move to Florida. Keaton had now taken up residence in a little village called Castillo, on the island of Cuba…..

            Gathering her scarf and bag of tattered belongings, Moira headed out of her tent to survey what was left of her town following the sacking by DeSoto and his men. DeSoto, unlike his Spanish brethren, did not agree to the terms of sale to the United States in regards to Florida. From St. Augustine to the islands below Pompano, DeSoto owned land. Or so he claimed. Following the sale, DeSoto had gone to the waters of the Spanish Main and recruited the most vile, rapacious, foul creatures known to mankind. Pirates, East India Company branded pirates with black hearts (if they had any at all), and a lust for blood that was unquenched, even after sacking what was left of my town and the surrounding villages. Few survived, for they had been forced into hiding upon DeSoto’s landing on the beach. The three preceding nights had been a blur of cannon fire, swordfights, pistols, rifles, and the smell of black powder seemed to hang in the air. Moira’s fiancé’, David locked her in the attic of her family home for her own safety. Moira could only watch through the shutters as DeSoto’s boats came ashore, and the town going up in flames. Her father was not prepared, not prepared at all. Captain Lauderdale had only anticipated trouble from the neighboring Seminole tribes, and perhaps some wealthy squatters who were able to keep their homes, but not the full parcel of land they originally owned. He was not prepared for pirates. Upon landing, DeSoto raided the Lauderdale home, snatching Katherine, Moira’s mother, the Captain Lauderdale, and David. He was unaware of the beautiful Moira locked in the attic, quiet as a mouse, trembling in fear from the screams she heard downstairs, and from the house shaking from cannon fire coming from the beachhead.  Holding her in her hands, her parent’s cross, cutting the palms as she gripped it.