The War of the Breton Succession: Edward’s Last Straw

The War of the Breton Succession, or Breton War of Succession (1341–1365), was a war over the succession to the dukes of Brittany, in north-western France, that lasted for over twenty years. The war was a major conflict in the long Hundred Years’ War, which drove both France and England into a fight for survival and a contest for supremacy in Western Europe. Talia Bega explains — and looks at what happened as the English kept winning – until they didn’t.

Part 1 on the origins of the war is here, and part 2 on the rise of the English is here, and part 3 on the rise of the English here, and part 4 on French Struggles Against the English at Crécy here.

The Battle of the Thirty (1350). By Octave Penguilly L'Haridon. Source: Public domain, available here. 

The Failures at Crécy

In 1346, Edward successfully invaded France in a large-scale campaign known today as the Crécy Campaign. Edward saw it as a chance to press deeper into a France already reeling, striking further into its territories.  At first the campaign was risky for Edward: supplies ran short and morale was low. At the time, Charles of Blois was facing challenges as Edward was still sending in reinforcements to help strengthen the Montfort claim to the Duchy of Brittany.

Charles knew what Edward was about to do and had no choice but to face the fight.  Instead of a war for succession, it was now a fight for the survival of France. Philip VI, the first Valois king of France, saw much of the country fall apart. In 1337, he watched Edward lay claim to the French crown, and knew a reckoning between them was only a matter of time. A few years later, John III, Duke of Brittany, died, causing the War of the Breton Succession. Philip had a chance to win at first, but as the years dragged on, French morale collapsed.  He kept sending in as many men as he could, but the defeats kept coming.

Philip asked Charles for support to defeat Edward, but the risk was considerable. After the French defeat at Crécy, Charles lost hope, and a year later he was captured at La Roche-Derrien.

Charles vs the Hands of the English

In 1347, Charles had one more chance to lay siege to La Roche-Derrien and recapture it — but he was captured in the attempt. The battle showcased the power of the English longbowmen, whose arrows had an effective range of roughly 200m. Longbowmen would prove just as decisive nearly 70 years later at Agincourt. As at Crécy, the French besieging force heavily outnumbered the English relief force, yet still suffered the heavier losses.  The French were also backed by Genoese mercenaries, who remained a key part of their forces throughout the Hundred Years’ War. Despite their numbers, the French seemed unable to learn from their repeated defeats. The battle also saw surprise attacks on Charles’ forces by townsfolk armed with axes and swords, who harried his men and the longbowmen alike.

Charles thought he had won after his initial charge succeeded, but the English rallied and turned the battle against him. Charles was taken prisoner — another decisive victory for the English. With Charles gone, Philip’s support in Brittany had collapsed, and the English were closer than ever to securing their claim.

Charles was then held in the Tower of London for years, and little is known for certain about the conditions of his imprisonment. At the time, the Tower served as a central political prison, a royal residence, and a site for coronation ceremonies. The French pope, Innocent VI, was alarmed by the conflict and pressed for a peace treaty.  It allowed both factions to hold part of the territory and maintain an uneasy peace.

At Last Victory

At this time came one of the most famous episodes of medieval chivalry: in 1351, the Combat of the Thirty.  It came to represent the very peak of knighthood and honor. Both sides had thirty knights each, and the French were led by Marshal of Brittany, Jean de Beaumanoir, and for the English, Robert Bemborough. It was part duel, part military exercise — not simply a show for entertainment. The arrangements were straightforward: Jean challenged Robert to a fight, and both men accepted.

The fight itself lasted only a few hours, with four French knights and two English dead by the time of a short break. Bemborough was killed soon after, followed by several more of his knights. The English were surrounded and defeated, securing a French victory that underscored the era’s ideals of chivalry. The casualties were nine dead for the English vs six for the French. Unlike a typical battle of the period, it was remembered above all as a display of chivalric ideals. Chroniclers such as Jean Froissart cited the encounter as an example of chivalry itself.

Though the Combat of the Thirty had little effect on the war itself, Edward signed the Treaty of Westminster in 1353, formally recognizing Charles as the rightful Duke of Brittany — though this recognition proved short-lived. If Charles could pay a large ransom and forge an alliance with England, the arrangement would hold. Edward also wanted the young John of Montfort to marry his daughter Mary, though this required approval from both the Papacy and France. Amid the struggles, the treaty was never enacted, and Charles was freed and returned as the rightful duke.

This moment in history raises many questions, but it also offers lessons. Edward was now in his early forties and physically weakening, but his mind remained fixed on the prize. The English enjoyed strong support on both sides of the Channel, which helps explain Edward’s deep investment in the treaty. Charles became a political pawn after his capture — and so, in a sense, did France, which faced its own struggle for power.

How could France decide its own fate now? With Charles restored to his rightful duchy, peace settled over Brittany — but not for long. Ten years later, a new claim to the duchy would rise, asking the same question all over again.

A reminder that Part 1 on the origins of the war is here.

Bibliography

GRAHAM-GOERING, E. (2021). Princely power in late medieval France: Jeanne de Penthievre and the war for Brittany. CAMBRIDGE UNIV PRESS.

Sumption, J. (1991). The Hundred Years' War. University of Pennsylvania Press.

Henry VIII & His Wives: Part 7 — Catherine Parr: The Survivor

By the time Catherine Parr became the sixth wife of Henry VIII in July 1543, England had endured more than three decades of political upheaval, religious revolution, and dynastic uncertainty. The women who had preceded her had experienced exile, disgrace, execution, and death in childbirth. Catherine entered a royal court haunted by the memories of Catherine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, Jane Seymour, Anne of Cleves, and Catherine Howard. Unlike any of them, however, she would survive the king. Her story is not merely one of personal endurance but of intellectual achievement, religious influence, and political skill. As the final chapter in Henry VIII's tumultuous marital history, Catherine Parr's life provides a fitting conclusion to a saga that transformed England forever.

Terry Bailey explains.

Read part 1 on King Henry VIII here, part 2 on Catherine of Aragon here, part 3 on Anne Boleyn here, part 4 on Jane Seymour here, part 5 on Anne of Cleves here, and part 6 on Catherine Howard here.

Catherine Parr, attributed to Master John. Source: Public domain, available here.

Catherine Parr was born around 1512 into a respected northern gentry family closely connected to the royal court. Unlike many noblewomen of her age, she received an unusually broad education. She became proficient in several languages, including French and Latin, and developed a lifelong passion for learning. Humanist ideas, which had spread throughout Europe during the Renaissance, influenced her thinking and fostered an interest in theology, literature, and religious reform. Her education distinguished her from most Tudor women and would later make her one of the most intellectually accomplished queens England had ever known.

Before becoming queen, Catherine had already experienced much of life's complexity. She was married first to Sir Edward Burgh, who died after only a few years of marriage. Her second husband, John Neville, Lord Latimer, was considerably older and placed her in the midst of the political and religious tensions that marked northern England. During the Pilgrimage of Grace, the great Catholic uprising against Henry VIII's religious policies, rebels held Catherine and her stepchildren hostage while Lord Latimer was absent. The experience exposed her to the dangers of political instability and strengthened her understanding of the consequences of religious conflict. Following Latimer's death in 1543, Catherine attracted several suitors, including the ambitious Thomas Seymour. Yet circumstances—and the king's interest—would alter her future dramatically.

When Henry VIII proposed marriage, Catherine understood both the honor and the risks involved. The king was no longer the athletic and charismatic prince who had captivated Europe in his youth. He was aging, obese, frequently in pain from chronic leg ulcers, and increasingly suspicious of those around him. Yet Catherine accepted the proposal, likely recognizing both her duty and the opportunity to influence the kingdom's future. Their marriage took place at Hampton Court Palace on the 12th of July, 1543.

As queen, Catherine demonstrated remarkable political skill. She understood that survival required caution, diplomacy, and an ability to navigate competing factions at court. Unlike Anne Boleyn, whose rise had been closely linked to religious reform, Catherine pursued her beliefs with greater subtlety. She worked to reconcile divisions within the royal family, helping restore positive relationships between Henry and his daughters Mary and Elizabeth. Through her influence, both princesses were returned to the line of succession, a decision that would have profound consequences for English history.

Catherine's greatest political achievement came in 1544 when Henry departed for France on a military campaign. During his absence, he appointed her regent of England, entrusting her with significant governmental authority. The appointment reflected an extraordinary degree of confidence. As regent, Catherine oversaw the administration of the kingdom, signed official proclamations, managed finances, and coordinated preparations against a potential Scottish invasion. Her performance demonstrated that a woman could successfully exercise political authority at the highest level of government, even within a society that largely excluded women from formal power.

Her regency highlighted one of the central themes running throughout the story of Henry's six wives: the relationship between power and gender in Tudor England. Again and again, Henry's queens found themselves navigating a system designed by men yet dependent upon women to secure dynastic stability. Catherine Parr's success showed that women could exercise authority effectively when given the opportunity, although such opportunities remained rare and precarious.

Religion, another recurring theme throughout Henry's reign, played a crucial role in Catherine's life. By the 1540s, England's religious transformation remained incomplete. Henry had broken with Rome and established royal supremacy over the Church, yet many traditional Catholic practices remained intact. Catherine increasingly sympathized with Protestant reformers who sought further changes. She encouraged the reading of scripture, sponsored religious discussion, and surrounded herself with scholars who supported reformist ideas.

Unlike her predecessors, Catherine was also an author. She became the first English queen to publish works under her own name. Her devotional writings reflected both her personal faith and the growing influence of Protestant thought. Through books such as Prayers or Meditations and later The Lamentation of a Sinner, she contributed to the spread of religious ideas during a critical period in England's spiritual transformation.

Yet Catherine's religious interests nearly proved fatal. Conservative opponents at court, alarmed by her reformist sympathies, sought to undermine her position. They convinced Henry that the queen's theological discussions bordered on heresy. In 1546, an arrest warrant was reportedly prepared, and Catherine suddenly found herself facing a danger familiar to several of Henry's previous wives.

Her response revealed the political intelligence that had enabled her survival. Learning of the king's displeasure, Catherine approached Henry with humility and tact. She explained that their theological debates had never been intended to challenge his authority but merely to distract him from his physical suffering and allow him to display his superior knowledge. Henry, pleased by her submission and perhaps genuinely reassured, accepted her explanation. When officials later arrived to arrest her, the king angrily dismissed them. Catherine had narrowly escaped the fate that had consumed Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard.

The incident illustrates the continuing intersection of marriage and politics within the Tudor court. Henry's queens were never simply wives. Their relationships with the king carried profound political, religious, and national consequences. Catherine's ability to survive where others had fallen reflected not only good fortune but a sophisticated understanding of power and personality.

By the final years of Henry's life, Catherine had effectively become both wife and nurse. The king's health deteriorated steadily, and his once formidable energy faded. Catherine provided companionship and care during a period marked by physical decline and growing isolation. Her experience offered a striking contrast to the youthful romance that had characterized Henry's early marriages. The king who had once dazzled Europe now depended increasingly upon the support of the woman who would become his final queen.

Henry VIII died on the 28th of January, 1547. After years of political danger, Catherine Parr had achieved what none of her predecessors except Anne of Cleves had managed: she survived her marriage to the king. Yet her story did not end there. Freed from her royal obligations, she quickly married her long-time admirer Thomas Seymour. The marriage, however, proved less happy than she may have hoped. Seymour's ambition and questionable conduct created tensions within the household, particularly concerning the young Princess Elizabeth.

In 1548, Catherine became pregnant for the first time. At approximately thirty-six years of age, she gave birth to a daughter, Mary Seymour. Tragically, complications followed. Like Jane Seymour before her, Catherine died from puerperal fever shortly after childbirth. The woman who had survived Henry VIII ultimately succumbed to one of the era's most common dangers.

Despite her relatively brief period as queen, Catherine Parr's legacy was immense. Her influence upon Elizabeth was especially significant. Through her encouragement of education, learning, and religious inquiry, she helped shape the intellectual development of the future queen. Elizabeth would later become one of England's most successful monarchs, and many historians see Catherine's household as an important influence on her formation.

Catherine also left a lasting mark on England's religious development. Her support for reform helped sustain Protestant ideas during a transitional period, contributing to changes that would accelerate under Edward VI and become firmly established during Elizabeth's reign. In this sense, religion remained both a cause and consequence of the events surrounding Henry's marriages, just as it had throughout the series.

Looking across the lives of all six wives, Catherine Parr serves as a fitting conclusion to the story. Catherine of Aragonrepresented the old medieval order and the international power of Catholic Europe. Anne Boleyn helped trigger the English Reformation. Jane Seymour secured the long-awaited male heir. Anne of Cleves demonstrated the realities of international diplomacy. Catherine Howard exposed the dangers of youth and courtly intrigue. Catherine Parr brought together the lessons of all who came before her, combining intelligence, caution, political skill, and resilience.

Her story also mirrors the evolution of Henry VIII himself. The young king who had sought glory, romance, and dynastic certainty became an aging monarch preoccupied with control, security, and legacy. Through six marriages, England witnessed not only the transformation of a king but also the emergence of a new political and religious order.

The long-term impact upon the English monarchy was profound. Henry's marital decisions reshaped the succession, altered England's relationship with Europe, transformed the national church, and redefined the powers of the crown. Catherine Parr helped ensure that the next generation of Tudor rulers inherited not only a kingdom but also the educational and intellectual foundations necessary to govern it.

In the end, Catherine Parr earned a unique place in history. She was not the most famous of Henry's wives, nor the most controversial, but she was perhaps the most accomplished. Scholar, author, regent, reformer, queen, and survivor, she stands as one of the most remarkable women of the Tudor age. Her life provides a powerful final chapter in the extraordinary story of Henry VIII and the six women whose marriages shaped the destiny of England.

Needless to say, in many respects, Catherine Parr's life encapsulates the triumphs, tragedies, and transformations that defined the Tudor age. She entered Henry VIII's court at a moment when England stood at a crossroads, shaped by decades of dynastic uncertainty, religious upheaval, and political change. Through intelligence, education, diplomacy, and remarkable personal resilience, she succeeded where so many before her had failed. Yet her significance extends far beyond the simple fact that she survived her marriage to Henry. Catherine emerged as one of the most influential and accomplished women of sixteenth-century England, leaving a legacy that would resonate long after her death.

As the final wife of Henry VIII, Catherine served not only as queen but also as mediator, counsellor, regent, scholar, and reformer. She helped restore unity within the fractured royal family, supported the education of the future rulers of England, and demonstrated that a woman could exercise authority with competence and wisdom at the highest levels of government. Her regency during Henry's absence in France remains one of the clearest examples of female political leadership in Tudor England, while her published writings established her as a pioneering voice in English religious and intellectual life.

The story of Catherine Parr also highlights the extraordinary challenges faced by women in positions of power during the sixteenth century. Throughout Henry's reign, each queen was expected to fulfil multiple roles simultaneously: wife, political partner, dynastic safeguard, and symbol of royal legitimacy. Success in one area offered no guarantee of security in another. Catherine understood these dangers better than anyone. Her survival was not merely the result of fortune but of careful judgement, emotional intelligence, and an acute understanding of the volatile court in which she lived. She recognized that influence often depended not on confrontation but on persuasion, patience, and strategic restraint.

Viewed within the broader narrative of Henry VIII's six marriages, Catherine Parr represents the culmination of a remarkable historical journey. Each queen contributed in some way to the remaking of England. Catherine of Aragon embodied the old order of Catholic Europe; Anne Boleyn helped unleash the forces of religious revolution; Jane Seymour secured the Tudor succession; Anne of Cleves reflected the complexities of international diplomacy; and Catherine Howard revealed the dangers of courtly ambition and youthful indiscretion. Catherine Parr inherited the lessons of all these experiences and, through her actions, helped guide England toward the future that would emerge under Edward VI and Elizabeth I.

Her influence upon Elizabeth in particular cannot be overstated. The future queen's love of learning, intellectual confidence, and commitment to religious moderation were nurtured within an environment that Catherine helped develop. Through education and example, she contributed to the formation of a monarch whose reign would later be celebrated as one of the greatest in English history. In this sense, Catherine's legacy extended well beyond her own lifetime, shaping the character of the Elizabethan age and the development of England as a Protestant kingdom.

The wider story of Henry VIII and his six wives remains one of the most compelling narratives in British history because it is about far more than marriage. It is a story of power, faith, ambition, survival, and national transformation. Through these six unions, England experienced a break with Rome, the emergence of royal supremacy, repeated succession crises, and profound changes in the relationship between crown, church, and people. The personal lives of the king and his queens became inseparable from the destiny of the nation itself.

Catherine Parr stands as a symbol of endurance amid uncertainty and wisdom amid turmoil. She witnessed the final years of one of history's most famous monarchs and helped shape the world that followed him. Scholar, regent, author, reformer, stepmother, and queen, she embodied many of the finest qualities of the Renaissance while navigating one of the most dangerous political environments in Europe. Her life reminds us that history is often shaped not only by kings and battles but also by those whose intellect, courage, and perseverance quietly influence the course of events.

The story of Henry VIII's six wives is ultimately the story of England's transformation from a medieval kingdom into a nation entering the modern age. Among those six remarkable women, Catherine Parr occupies a distinctive place—not because she was the last, but because she helped ensure that the legacy of the Tudor dynasty would endure. Through her influence on religion, education, government, and the next generation of rulers, she became far more than Henry VIII's final queen. She became one of the architects of England's future.

If you enjoyed this series and would like to say ‘thank you’ and help us with site running costs, please consider donating here.

Now read about the alleged secret seventh wife of Henry VIII here.

The Centrifuge of Philadelphia’s Resistance — One Still Visible Today

Keeping a watchful eye over Philadelphia for nearly 255 years — Fort Mifflin is much more than just a decaying structure overlooking the Delaware River. It’s the site of Philadelphia bravery during the American Revolution — and its faded white masonry walls still bear the battle scars of American Freedom from 1777 — just as the unearthed cell (Casemate #11) found in 2006 and believed to encapsulate both graffiti as well as a coin and wine bottle from the Civil War.

Michael Thomas Leibrandt explains.

Fort Mifflin by Seth Eastman. Source: Public domain, available here.

If you want to see the true measure of the humble beginnings of American democracy and resolve — visit Independence Hall. If you want to see military determination and heroism in the face of nearly insurmountable odds in order to defend the Delaware River— then visit Fort Mifflin. And that very heroism — may have saved General George Washington’s Continental Army.

First constructed on Deep Water Island in the Delaware River in 1771 — Fort Mifflin was originally named Fort Mud at the time of the American Revolution. The British — after defeating Washington’s Army at the Battle of Brandywine in 1777 — may have captured Philadelphia with hardly a shot fired. But at Fort Mifflin — they found an unyielding resistance.

Some four hundred American soldiers had entrenched in Fort Mifflin — hampering British efforts for control of the Delaware. From his headquarters in Philadelphia — General Howe ordered the British fleet up the Delaware River to supply his army in Philadelphia. The resistance of those brave four hundred Patriots from within the Fort was challenged by what is considered to be the largest cannonade in all of the American Revolution — culminating with a massive bombardment on November 10th of 1777. Under the cover of darkness each night — French Major Francois de Fleury oversaw repairs to the Fort.

With only ten cannon left to defend the Fort — Commanding officer Major Thayer and his men abandoned Mifflin on November 15th — famously setting the fort ablaze in the night sky with the American Flag still fluttering in the darkness. The result of the efforts of those Americans in Fort Mifflin who defended against the British — Washington’s Continental Army was able to make it to winter encampment at Valley Forge.

The British would hold the Fort until their retreat from Philadelphia in June 1778. After the Revolution — Fort Mud was actually rebuilt and in 1795 — it was renamed after Continental Army Officer and Pennsylvania Governor (Thomas) Mifflin. When repairs to Mifflin were finally complete in 1863 — it actually held Confederate prisoners — including a significant number from the Battle of Gettysburg from across the state. The Fort actually endured a prisoner rebellion in 1863 and an ultimately doomed tunnel escape in 1864 also by inmates. One prisoner was even executed there in 1864.

Fort Mifflin’s role was a bit different during the First and Second World Wars. Funds were allocated for the repair of Fort Mifflin and a railroad was constructed which would serve to connect Fort Mifflin to both of the Depots of the Army Corps of Engineers Depot and the Naval Ammunition.

The Army declared the site as a (national) historical monument in 1915 and finally decommissioned it in 1954. Threeyears ago — a replica cannon was stolen from Fort Mifflin’s 14-foot exterior wall. Ownership of Fort Mifflin was transferred to the city of Philadelphia in 1962.

Today — visitors can still see Fort Mifflin for themselves for nearly ten months of the year. Tours are available, events are scheduled regularly during certain months, and weekends even have a ceremonial cannon firing at Philadelphia’s aging Fort from a bygone era being celebrated around America this year. For Philadelphia — Fort Mifflin means a lot more than just that.

Michael Thomas Leibrandt lives and works in Abington Township, PA.

The War of the Breton Succession: French Struggles Against the English at Crécy

The War of the Breton Succession, or Breton War of Succession (1341–1365), was a war over the succession to the dukes of Brittany, in north-western France, that lasted for over twenty years. The war was a major conflict in the long Hundred Years’ War, which drove both France and England into a fight for survival and a contest for supremacy in Western Europe. Talia Bega explains — and look at French struggles in Crécy.

Part 1 on the origins of the war is here, and part 2 on the rise of the English is here, and part 3 on the rise of the English here.

Battle of Crécy. From an illuminated manuscript of Jean Froissart's Chronicles. Source: Public domain, available here.

A Lost Tide

The effects of the Truce of Malestroit challenged the French about whether the world really supported the English cause in France. Signed on January 19, 1343, the truce paused the war until September 1346 and allowed the English to make gains in France, as the treaty was signed in favor of the English. The monarchs did not meet in person as the treaty itself was signed by the Papal legates who mediated between the two crowns. However, the truce did not last long as Edward III was planning something larger, what would become known as the Crécy campaign.  Edward also saw that after John, the Duke of Montfort, was released, Charles fought on, which angered Edward further.

In 1344, Charles led a siege in the town of Quimper, in south-western Brittany, which fell shortly after a one-month siege. An estimated 2,000 citizens were killed, and a few hundred English prisoners were captured. John, even though he was in his late 40s, had lost the drive he once had, and fled to England. Edward saw this as a chance to break the truce and sent a large force into Brittany with John to check Charles’ advance.  The forces were also led by the Earl of Northampton, who helped John get a victory in Central Brittany that defeated Charles of Blois at Cadoret.

Charles and John were locked in another back-and-forth, with John now looking as though he might be the rightful heir after all.  As king, Edward had to raise heavy taxes to fund these campaigns, but this tax raise was largely deferred, since he was already struggling with mounting debt.  John tried to recapture Quimper, but died shortly after in September, ending his long struggle for the duchy.

His death shocked many, since he had been the central figure in the dispute, and it plunged the conflict into fresh chaos. Charles now held the upper hand as duke, but the English were far from finished.  This also helps explain why Edward broke off the truce: he could see that John was already losing. Crucially, the war had now become a land campaign, with Edward using Breton territory as a springboard to invade France on a far larger scale. He understood the stakes: at heart this remained a succession crisis, not merely another campaign.

The new heir was the 6-year-old John, and his family could only wait for the right moment to intervene and weigh what best served them. Edward’s Gascon campaign would continue to ravage France and inflict humiliating losses on the French leadership. Brittany descended into chaos as English forces used the sea lanes to bring in supplies as fast as ever, sustaining their large-scale offensives in the Gascon region. 

The Crécy Campaign

After the fighting resumed in 1345, Edward wanted far more, sensing that a decisive victory was within reach. The truce was meant to last until 1346, but neither side honored it, least of all Edward. It would prove one of the most humiliating defeats the French suffered on their own soil. The brutal campaign saw Edward overrun much of northern France, bringing him a step closer to Paris.

The campaign began with an invasion of Normandy in the summer of 1346, designed to lay waste to the countryside. It came a year after Edward’s victorious Gascon campaign, which had inflicted a heavy defeat on the French in their own lands. For France, Philip VI had to borrow heavily from the papacy to keep France from falling to the English. Edward, by contrast, won strong backing from Parliament, which approved the invasion and the taxes needed to fund it.

The French again employed Italian mercenaries, especially Genoese crossbowmen, while the English drew support from the Flemish and the Holy Roman Empire.  The French suffered a humiliating defeat at Caen, but English casualties were also beginning to mount. One problem for Edward during this campaign was not only these losses but also supply, which grew into a serious difficulty for an army of such size. The French also shrewdly denied the English supplies, making it harder for them to advance. 

One of the most famous battles was at Crécy, which resulted in heavy French losses. It was also the battle in which the sixteen-year-old Edward, the Black Prince, won his first victory. The fighting was grueling, with both sides locked in a hard struggle until the French were broken. Casualties were heavy: the French lost many thousands, while the English lost only a few hundred. It was a humiliation: the French had the larger army yet were routed, raising hard questions about their leadership. In 1347, after a brutal siege, Calais fell to the English, who held it until 1558. With everything collapsing around them, the French even turned to Scotland, England’s old enemy, for support. That hope collapsed when the Scottish king was captured by the English at Neville’s Cross.

The campaign was a deep embarrassment for France — not only because so large an army had been defeated, but because of how that defeat came about, especially against an English force that seemed to have a clear plan. Edward was well prepared and widely supported; the French, by contrast, were in disarray, already stretched by the war in Brittany. How could France lose, even under Philip’s hands, having lost so much support, even from his own court? Despite these failures, the Truce of Calais was signed in 1347, halting the war for some time, helped in part by the Black Death that struck around 1348. The truce held for some time, surviving the death of Philip in 1350 and the accession of his son as John II.

What Now?

The Crécy campaign is closely bound up with the Breton War of Succession, since both formed part of the wider Hundred Years’ War. France’s defeats shaped much of Brittany’s future, especially now that Edward controlled so much of this territory. Many questions about the campaign remain, but much of the outcome can be put down to France’s financial crisis, poor morale, and weak planning. Charles faced a mounting problem, especially after Crécy: how could he hold on if England held all the cards?

Now read part 45on how the French started to turn the tide (somewhat) here.

Bibliography

GRAHAM-GOERING, E. (2021). Princely power in late medieval France: Jeanne de Penthievre and the war for Brittany. CAMBRIDGE UNIV PRESS.

Sumption, J. (1991). The Hundred Years' War. University of Pennsylvania Press.

Henry VIII & His Wives: Part 6 — Catherine Howard: Youth and Tragedy

For Henry VIII, the years following the death of Jane Seymour marked a period of increasing uncertainty. The king who had once dazzled Europe as a vigorous Renaissance prince was now entering middle age, burdened by ill health, political anxieties, and the growing consequences of the religious revolution he had unleashed. His brief and disastrous marriage to Anne of Cleves had ended in embarrassment, but it also opened the way for a new queen. Into this atmosphere stepped Catherine Howard, a young woman whose beauty and vivacity seemed to offer Henry a glimpse of his lost youth. Yet her rise from obscurity to the throne of England would end not in triumph, but in one of the most tragic episodes of Tudor history.

Read part 1 on King Henry VIII here, part 2 on Catherine of Aragon here, part 3 on Anne Boleyn here, and part 4 on Jane Seymour here.

Unknown woman engraved as Catherine Howard, 1797, by Francesco Bartolozzi after Hans Holbein. Public domain, available here.

Catherine Howard was born into one of the most powerful noble families in England. She belonged to the influential Howard dynasty, headed by the powerful Thomas Howard, one of the kingdom's most prominent aristocrats. The Howards were deeply conservative in religion and had watched with concern as the Reformation transformed England under Henry's rule. Through Catherine, they saw an opportunity to restore their influence at court and strengthen the position of traditional Catholic interests. Yet despite her prestigious lineage, Catherine's childhood was far from privileged. Raised largely in the household of her step-grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, she received only a limited education and grew up in an environment that lacked the strict supervision expected of young noblewomen. The experiences of her youth would later become central to the accusations that destroyed her.

When Henry first encountered Catherine, he was captivated. She was perhaps in her late teens, while the king was approaching fifty and suffering from chronic health problems, including the painful leg ulcers that increasingly limited his mobility. Contemporary observers described Catherine as attractive, cheerful, and energetic. To Henry, she represented a refreshing contrast to the politically arranged marriage with Anne of Cleves. Their wedding took place in July 1540, only weeks after Anne's marriage had been annulled. The speed of the union reflected both Henry's infatuation and the determination of the Howard faction to place one of their own at the center of royal power.

The marriage initially appeared to bring new life to the aging monarch. Henry lavished gifts and affection upon his young queen, referring to her as his "rose without a thorn." Foreign ambassadors noted the king's obvious devotion and remarked upon the renewed enthusiasm he displayed in court ceremonies and entertainments. For a brief period, Catherine seemed to embody the ideal Tudor queen: youthful, charming, and capable of providing emotional comfort to a ruler increasingly isolated by age and authority. Yet beneath the glittering surface of court life lay dangerous tensions that would soon erupt into scandal.

The Tudor court was a place where personal relationships and political ambitions were inseparable. Every conversation, friendship, and romantic attachment could have political consequences. Catherine entered this world with little preparation. Unlike her predecessors, she lacked extensive education and political experience. Her youth and inexperience left her vulnerable to manipulation by those around her, while the immense scrutiny directed toward a queen made every aspect of her past a matter of state concern.

Rumors began to circulate concerning Catherine's conduct before her marriage to Henry. Investigations revealed previous intimate relationships, most notably with her music teacher, Henry Manox, and later with Francis Dereham. In modern terms, these relationships occurred before she became queen and might have attracted little attention. In Tudor England, however, such matters carried enormous significance. Questions arose regarding whether Catherine had entered into a pre-contract of marriage with Dereham, a circumstance that could potentially invalidate her marriage to the king. What might otherwise have remained private indiscretions became political weapons in a court where rivals constantly sought opportunities to weaken one another.

The situation became even more dangerous when allegations emerged concerning Catherine's conduct after becoming queen. Attention focused on her relationship with Thomas Culpeper, a gentleman of the king's household who enjoyed Henry's trust. Evidence suggested secret meetings between the pair, although the precise nature of their relationship remains debated by historians. Whether the relationship was romantic, emotional, or physically intimate, the appearance of impropriety alone was devastating. In a monarchy built upon dynastic legitimacy, any suggestion that a queen had been unfaithful threatened not only personal honor but also the stability of the royal succession.

Once the allegations reached the king, events moved rapidly. Henry was reportedly devastated by the accusations. Having endured the failures of multiple marriages, he now faced the possibility that another queen had betrayed him. An extensive investigation followed, conducted with the same determination that had characterized earlier royal inquiries. Witnesses were interrogated, confessions extracted, and evidence assembled. The process reflected both the legal mechanisms of Tudor government and the ruthless realities of court politics. Former acquaintances who might once have protected Catherine instead became liabilities, while political enemies found opportunities to advance their own interests.

Catherine was stripped of her royal status and confined while Parliament prepared legislation enabling her punishment. Unlike Anne Boleyn, whose downfall had involved charges of conspiracy and treason, Catherine's destruction rested upon allegations of sexual misconduct and betrayal of royal trust. Nevertheless, the outcome was equally final. On the 13th of February, 1542, Catherine Howard was executed at the Tower of London. According to later tradition, she declared that she died a queen but would rather have died the wife of Thomas Culpeper, though the authenticity of this statement remains uncertain. What is certain is that she faced death at an age when many young women were only beginning their adult lives.

Catherine Howard's fall illustrates the profound imbalance of power between men and women in Tudor England. Queens occupied positions of immense visibility and influence, yet their security often depended upon standards of behavior that were applied far more harshly to women than to men. A queen's body, reputation, and conduct were considered matters of national importance because they were directly linked to the legitimacy of future heirs. Catherine's tragedy reveals how little room existed for error within this system and how vulnerable even the highest-ranking women could be when caught in political struggles beyond their control.

Her story also highlights the continuing intersection of marriage and politics that shaped Henry's reign. Just as Catherine of Aragon's marriage had been tied to international diplomacy, Anne Boleyn's to religious transformation, and Anne of Cleves' to foreign alliances, Catherine Howard's marriage reflected factional competition within England itself. The Howard family hoped to secure influence through their young relative, but her downfall instead weakened their position and demonstrated the dangers of tying political fortunes too closely to royal favor.

Religion continued to cast a shadow over events as well. Although Catherine herself played only a limited role in religious debates, her rise occurred during a period of intense struggle between conservative Catholics and reformers at court. Her marriage strengthened conservative hopes, while her destruction removed a figure associated with that faction. The episode demonstrated how religious and political rivalries remained deeply intertwined in the years following England's break with Rome.

For Henry VIII, Catherine's execution marked another stage in his personal transformation. The athletic and charismatic prince who had once sought admiration increasingly ruled through suspicion and fear. Each failed marriage seemed to deepen his mistrust of those around him. The emotional devastation caused by Catherine's alleged betrayal reinforced a growing tendency toward harshness that characterized the later years of his reign. The king who had once pursued love and dynastic security through marriage now appeared increasingly isolated within the very system of power he had created.

The consequences extended beyond Henry's lifetime. The repeated rise and fall of queens during his reign altered perceptions of monarchy and royal authority. Future generations would remember Catherine Howard as a symbol of the dangers lurking behind the splendor of the Tudor court. Her story became a warning about the risks of political ambition, the fragility of favor, and the devastating consequences that could follow personal mistakes in an environment where private lives were inseparable from affairs of state.

Today, Catherine Howard remains one of the most tragic figures among Henry VIII's wives. Unlike Anne Boleyn, she left no enduring political movement, and unlike Catherine of Aragon, she became no symbol of religious resistance. Instead, her legacy rests in the stark contrast between youthful promise and catastrophic downfall. Her brief reign serves as a cautionary tale about power, vulnerability, and innocence confronted by the unforgiving realities of Tudor politics. As Henry's fifth queen, she occupied the throne for only a short time, yet her story continues to illuminate the human cost of a monarchy in which personal relationships could determine the fate of nations.

Needless to say, in many ways, Catherine Howard's story represents the final collapse of the romantic ideals that had once driven Henry VIII's search for marital happiness and dynastic security. What began as a union seemingly founded upon affection and renewed vitality ended in accusation, fear, and death. Her rise and fall exposed the harsh realities of Tudor power, where personal relationships were inseparable from political ambition and where a queen's private life could become a matter of national consequence. Catherine's youth, inexperience, and inability to navigate the dangerous currents of court politics ultimately left her vulnerable in a world that offered little mercy to those who misjudged its rules.

Her tragedy also serves as a powerful lens through which to view the broader themes that defined Henry's reign. The unequal balance of power between men and women, the use of marriage as a political instrument, and the continuing religious tensions unleashed by the English Reformation all converged in her brief queenship. Catherine became both a participant in and a victim of forces far larger than herself, illustrating how individual lives could be shaped—and destroyed—by the ambitions of powerful families, rival court factions, and the demands of monarchy.

For Henry VIII, the loss of Catherine Howard further accelerated the transformation of the king from the charismatic prince of his youth into an aging and increasingly distrustful ruler. The optimism that had accompanied his early marriages had long since faded, replaced by suspicion and disappointment. Catherine's execution deepened the atmosphere of uncertainty that surrounded the later Tudor court and reinforced the perception that proximity to royal power could be as dangerous as it was desirable.

Viewed from the perspective of history, Catherine Howard remains one of the most poignant figures of the Tudor age. She was neither a great political strategist nor a religious reformer, yet her fate continues to resonate because it reflects the human cost of living within one of the most powerful and unforgiving courts in Europe. Her story is a reminder that beneath the splendor of palaces, pageantry, and royal ceremony were individuals whose lives could be irrevocably altered by a single accusation or a shift in political fortune.

As this series approaches its final chapter, Catherine Howard's life stands as a somber turning point in the story of Henry VIII and his queens. The promise of youth and renewal had ended in tragedy, leaving a king more isolated than ever and a kingdom still grappling with the political and religious upheavals of his reign. Yet one marriage remained. Henry's sixth and final queen would bring neither scandal nor execution, but something that had become increasingly rare in the Tudor court: stability. In Catherine Parr, the aging king would find a companion capable of guiding his fractured household through its final years and helping to shape the future of the Tudor dynasty long after Henry himself was gone.

Now, read part 7 on Catherine Parr here.

Jack Norworth: The Songwriter Who Sent America to the Ballpark

By the seventh inning of a baseball game, the ritual is as dependable as a close play at first base. Fans rise, stretch their legs, and sing words that have echoed through grandstands for more than a century: “Take me out to the ball game / Take me out with the crowd…”

It is one of the most recognizable songs in American life, a tune so embedded in the national pastime that it can feel as old as baseball itself. Yet the man who wrote the lyrics, Jack Norworth, remains a fascinating footnote in both sports and entertainment history—a vaudeville performer, prolific songwriter, serial romantic, and a figure forever attached to one of popular culture’s great ironies: the longstanding claim that he wrote baseball’s anthem despite never having attended a game.

Like many good American legends, the truth is a little murkier—and more interesting.

Brian D’Ambrosio explains.

Jack Norworth. Source: Public domain, US Library of Congress, available here.

Jack Norworth was born John Godfrey Knauff on January 5, 1879, in Philadelphia. His family had ties to the theater world, and he gravitated toward performance early in life. As a teenager, he joined vaudeville, the rough-and-tumble entertainment circuit that dominated American popular culture before radio and film transformed the industry.

Vaudeville performers had to do a little of everything—sing, dance, act, improvise, and survive endless travel schedules. Norworth proved adaptable. He became both a performer and lyricist, eventually changing his name because “Jack Norworth” sounded more theatrical and marketable than John Knauff.

By the early 1900s, he was working in New York during the heyday of Tin Pan Alley, the bustling district where songwriters churned out hits for sheet music publishers. This was an era when hit songs traveled not through streaming services or radio playlists, but through family pianos and sheet music sales. A catchy tune could sweep the country.

In 1908, inspiration struck in famously ordinary fashion. According to the most widely repeated story, Norworth was riding a subway train in Manhattan when he noticed a sign advertising a baseball game at the Polo Grounds between the New York Giants and Chicago Cubs. He grabbed an envelope and quickly scribbled lyrics.

The opening chorus became instantly immortal:

Take me out to the ball game/Take me out with the crowd/Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack/I don’t care if I never get back.

The song’s lesser-known verses are equally charming—and far less remembered by modern fans. They center on Katie Casey, a young fan thoroughly obsessed with baseball:

Katie Casey was baseball mad/ Had the fever and had it bad.

When her suitor invites her to a show, Katie rejects the idea entirely. She wants baseball.

It was a clever twist for 1908: Katie Casey is portrayed as the true fanatic in the relationship. She understands where she wants to be and what matters.

She also delivers what may be baseball’s most enduring command:

Root, root, root for the home team/If they don’t win it’s a shame.

That line perfectly captures baseball loyalty. Your team may disappoint you repeatedly, but allegiance remains.

Norworth brought in composer Albert Von Tilzer to write the music. Ironically, Von Tilzer reportedly knew little about baseball himself. Together, the pair created a song that neither could have imagined would become permanently stitched into American sporting culture.

The famous claim that Norworth had never attended a baseball game when he wrote the song remains difficult to fully verify. He often admitted he was not a devoted baseball follower at the time, which helped fuel the legend. Later in life, however, he attended games regularly and embraced his connection to the sport.

The song became an immediate success in sheet music form in 1908, but its transformation into a baseball ritual took decades. For many years, it remained simply a popular song among many others.

Its biggest revival came through broadcaster Harry Caray, who famously led fans in singing it during the seventh-inning stretch while calling games for the Chicago White Sox and later the Chicago Cubs. Caray’s exuberant performances helped turn the tune into a permanent stadium tradition nationwide.

Today, the song is inseparable from baseball itself. It echoes through historic venues and modern ballparks alike, sung by generations of fans who may know only the chorus while remaining unaware of Katie Casey altogether.

Norworth’s life extended well beyond one song. He wrote dozens of compositions during his career and remained active in entertainment for decades. He was married several times, most notably to vaudeville star Nora Bayes, one of the era’s most prominent performers. Their marriage was often turbulent and frequently made headlines.

His life reflected the instability and glamour of early show business—equal parts ambition, reinvention, and spectacle.

Norworth died on September 1, 1959, in Laguna Beach, California, at age 80. By then, his place in American cultural history was secure.

What makes “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” endure is not simply its familiarity. The song captures baseball’s atmosphere as much as the game itself: noisy crowds, snack vendors, hope, heartbreak, and the communal optimism that arrives every season.

Baseball has changed dramatically since 1908. Ballparks are larger. Salaries are astronomical. Analytics shape strategy. Rules evolve.

Yet during the seventh inning, everything briefly slows. Fans stand. Voices rise.

And a songwriter who may not have fully understood baseball gave America one of its most lasting traditions.

That may be the most fitting baseball story of all.

You can read about the role of baseball in the US Civil War here.

Brian D'Ambrosio is the author of Montana Eccentrics, New Mexico Eccentrics, and Italian-Americana: Explorers, Entertainers, and Eccentrics. Available here: Amazon US | Amazon UK

​He is currently working on a volume of American Eccentrics: Mavericks, Misfits, and Visionaries.

Sources:

Library of Congress: https://guides.loc.gov/baseball-music/take-me-out-to-the-ball-game

Songwriters Hall of Fame: https://www.songhall.org/profiles/jack-norworth

Various Obituaries, Newspapers.com

Baseball Hall of Fame: https://baseballhall.org/discover/baseballs-anthem-began-as-tin-pan-alley-hit

Women Behind the Wheel: The First Circumnavigations of the Globe by Automobile

By the mid-1920s, one in six American families owned a car, and the Federal Highway Act of 1921 had funded a national network of roads suitable for automobiles. Europe lagged far behind. Automobiles were still largely a status symbol and even major roads were woefully unsuited for long journeys by car. In the rest of the world, automobiles were rare, and the roads on which to drive them were limited to the areas in and immediately around major cities. Most people in rural India, China, and elsewhere had never seen a car, and the roads they used to get from place to place were suitable only for foot traffic and carts.  But driving became intoxicating for a small number of auto enthusiasts who decided it would be possible to travel the world by car, and both of the serious global circumnavigation efforts in the 1920s involved women who felt born to drive.

Laurel Corona explains.

Laurel has written the book Aloha Wanderwell Takes the Wheel (Amazon US | Amazon UK)

Walter and Aloha Wanderwell with their Ford car. Source: Public domain, "Greetings and Goodbyes" Japan Overseas Travel Magazine 14 (March 1925): 47. Available here.

The Guinness Book of World Records acknowledges that the first woman to drive around the world was Aloha Wanderwell. She was born Idris Hall in Winnipeg in 1906 and spent her childhood in Qualicum Beach, on Vancouver Island, British Columbia. While Idris was in her teens, her mother relocated the family to France, and while in boarding school in Nice, Idris ran across an advertisement Walter “Cap” Wanderwell had put in the local paper for a woman with “Brains, Beauty, and Breeches” to join his around-the-world expedition by automobile. Though only sixteen, Idris got her mother’s permission to join for the short time the expedition would be in France. She changed her name to Aloha Wanderwell and never looked back.

Walter Wanderwell was a pioneer. In addition to his groundbreaking expedition, he was the first to underwrite a travel adventure by making films (in his time still silent and black-and-white) of his travels. At a time when most people did not venture far from their place of birth, audience paid a small admission fee to see his films of faraway parts of the world, while youthful and attractive expedition members hawked brochures and postcards for a little extra cash outside the theaters. Cap was a brilliant, self-taught engineer. Though his cars were called Model Ts, they really were Wanderwell cars. He built the cars using a Model T chassis, relying on Ford parts because Ford had by far the largest distribution around the world and it would make getting parts easier in remote locations. He built them with extra storage for supplies and fuel, and in a later model, a built-in darkroom that could be pulled out on hinges from the trunk to develop their film before they reached their next stop. Construction from aluminum and other lightweight materials made the cars easier to push or drag across inhospitable terrain. This made them painfully bouncy, and the substitution of a tarp for a roof made the journey even more uncomfortable. Most crew quit within a few months from the hardship of the road, but Aloha would continue traveling with Cap for the next decade, eventually marrying him.

Aloha and Walter Wanderwell’s Route Around the World

The route around the world was not meant to be in a straightforward line, and they set no timetable, or even a concrete plan for much of it. In fact, they spend one entire year driving around Europe before setting out for Egypt. After driving the length of Egypt, they went by steamer to India, and she and Cap, now in two cars and without any other crew, drove 1100 miles across India. Teams of oxen dragged them across rivers and marshes, and they battled deserts, monsoons, and nearly impenetrable terrain. From India they went by steamer to Malaysia and after a stop in Singapore they began their drive the length of eastern China. Eventually they arrived in Vladivostok, where Aloha celebrated her eighteenth birthday. They continued on through Japan, Hawaii, and across the United States to Detroit, where the expedition officially ended.

Later Travels

Aloha and Cap went on to travel nearly the entire length of Africa on their “Cape to Cairo” expedition, but were stopped by a murderous civil war in Sudan and ended their African adventure in Mombasa. Next, they undertook another daring expedition in South America, driving from Buenos Aires across the Andes to Lima, where the crew disbanded. Cap and Aloha made the rest of the drive by themselves up through Central America to the United States. It would be their last adventure together. Wanting to try something new, Cap bought a schooner to sail around the world, but in December 1934, an assailant came aboard and killed him. The murder and subsequent trial were the subject of a devastating tabloid frenzy for Aloha, made worse by the insinuations that she was involved, and the shocking acquittal of the obvious suspect. Aloha tried to continue the travel film adventures without Walter, but wasn’t able to adapt to the new technologies of sound and color, and audiences for her personally narrated films waned when she was no longer an ingenue. She married again and settled into a comfortable life in Newport Beach, California, where she died in 1996 shortly before her ninetieth birthday.

Clärenore Stinnes

The other person to lay claim to the title of first woman to drive around the world is Clara Eleonore Stinnes, who went by the name Clärenore. She was the daughter of a wealthy German industrialist, who in her twenties took up auto racing as a hobby. When she began winning shorter races, she decided to enter endurance contests, and in 1925 she became the only woman to win a 2600-kilometer race across western Russia. It was on that race that she decided she wanted to drive around the world. Clärenore had substantial backing for her project, including a cash reserve, a diplomatic passport, two mechanics, a supply truck, and supplies of gasoline and spare parts that were pre-ordered and waiting for her on her scheduled stops along her route. Traveling with her was Carl-Axel Söderström, a Swedish film maker. Their route took them by land across Asia to Beijing. After being stranded for months in the Russian winter, they resumed the drive to Beijing, and returned by ship via Japan, Hawaii, and the United States. Two years after setting out, they returned to Berlin.  Stinnes and Söderström married in 1930, and were done with their world travels, retreating to Sweden, where they bought a farm and raised their children. She lived to be 89, dying in 1990.

The Two Journeys Compared and Contrasted

While the hardships of driving in much of the world were comparable, the logistics were different. Clärenore’s journey was planned out meticulously and well financed. The Wanderwell expedition made its way by raising money on the spot. They had only a general sense of their itinerary and often took side trips when they heard about something out of the way that sounded worth exploring. Clärenore’s itinerary was designed to take her in as straight a route as possible. Clärenore and Aloha’s roles were different as well. Clärenore was clearly in charge of her project, and although the strikingly beautiful Aloha was the star of the Wanderwell expedition, Cap was its undisputed leader. Although Clärenore was quite young, still in her twenties at the time she set out, Aloha was only sixteen when she joined the Wanderwell expedition, and her extreme youth is another differentiating factor.  Aloha and Cap thrived on the fame and attention they received, whereas Clärenore was more focused on succeeding at the task she had set for herself. And of course, a final difference is that when Clärenore succeeded, she was finished. Cap and Aloha went on to travel the world for ten years total, across five continents, before Cap’s murder put an end to their life together.

Who Was First?

The question of whether Aloha or Cläremore deserves acknowledgment as the first woman to complete an around-the-world expedition by automobile has been contentious. At first glance, it would appear that Aloha is the clear winner, because her journey was complete before Clärenore even set out.  However, Clärenore’s journey from Europe to China was entirely by land, and the Wanderwells took freighters from Aden to India and from India to Penang, Malaysia. Because of a civil war in China, one stretch was taken by train for safety. Therefore, Clärenore’s journey was more completely done by car. Some argue, however, that because the oceans make it impossible to drive around the world anyway, the important thing is who got back to their starting point first after driving across every land mass they encountered on whatever route they chose. A semantic argument has arisen as well over what constitutes an expedition. Some argue that because Clärenore’s sole purpose was to drive in as direct a manner as possible around the world, her journey might more properly be called an expedition. The Wanderwells took their time and did so much else along the way that perhaps theirs should be called something else, like a global travel adventure. In fact, in promotional materials for the expedition, Cap gave the dates as “1921-?” Indicating that its purpose went far beyond making the most direct circuit around the globe. Hair splitting aside, the important thing is that the first two successful circumnavigations of the globe both had women at the wheel. Aloha and Clärenore defied the gender expectations of their time and did something thought impossible even for men of their day. Though there is no evidence they ever met, they are clearly kindred spirits who leave behind one of the most fascinating but underappreciated stories in automotive history.

Laurel’s book is out now: Aloha Wanderwell Takes the Wheel (Amazon US | Amazon UK)

Henry VIII & His Wives: Part 5 — Anne of Cleves: The Political Marriage

In the winter of 1540, the court of Henry VIII once again turned toward marriage, though this time less from passion than from political necessity. England stood in a precarious position within Europe. The break from Rome had transformed the kingdom into a religious outlier, while Catholic powers such as France and the Holy Roman Empire watched England with increasing hostility. The king who had once imagined himself a great Catholic prince now faced diplomatic isolation, and the search for a new queen became inseparable from the survival of the Tudor state itself. Into this atmosphere stepped Anne of Cleves, a German noblewoman whose marriage to Henry represented not romance, but strategy. Her story would become one of the strangest and most revealing episodes of the Tudor age, exposing the fragile intersection of politics, image, gender, and royal power.

Terry Bailey explains.

Read part 1 on King Henry VIII here, part 2 on Catherine of Aragon here, part 3 on Anne Boleyn here, and part 4 on Jane Seymour here.

Anne of Cleves by Hans Holbein the Younger. Source: Public domain, available here.

The marriage negotiations were orchestrated largely by Thomas Cromwell, Henry's chief minister and the architect of many of the English Reformation's most dramatic transformations. Cromwell understood that England required powerful Protestant allies if it hoped to resist the influence of Catholic Europe. The Duchy of Cleves, situated within the politically fractured territories of the Holy Roman Empire, offered precisely such an opportunity. Anne's brother, the Duke of Cleves, belonged to a network of German Protestant princes whose cooperation might provide England with diplomatic security and strengthen the Protestant cause across northern Europe. For Cromwell, the proposed marriage was not merely advantageous; it was essential to the future direction of the English state and religion.

By this stage in Henry's reign, marriage had become an instrument of government. His unions no longer revolved primarily around affection or dynastic fertility alone, but around the broader political needs of the kingdom. The evolution of Henry's character could be seen clearly in this transition. The athletic and charismatic prince who had once dazzled the courts of Europe had become increasingly suspicious, volatile, and physically diminished. Years of political conflict, personal disappointment, and worsening health had hardened him. Yet despite this transformation, Henry still retained a deeply personal expectation from marriage: he wished not only for political advantage but also admiration, obedience, and attraction. The tragedy of Anne of Cleves lay partly in the impossibility of satisfying both the political and emotional demands of such a king.

Before meeting Anne, Henry relied upon the work of Hans Holbein the Younger, the celebrated court painter whose portraits had become essential tools of diplomacy. Holbein was dispatched to Cleves to paint Anne and her sister Amalia, allowing Henry to inspect his prospective bride from afar. The resulting portrait of Anne was elegant, dignified, and carefully composed, presenting her as calm, noble, and attractive. In an age before photography, portraits functioned as instruments of international negotiation, shaping political decisions and royal expectations alike. Holbein's image became one of the most famous paintings in Tudor history because it sat at the center of a disastrous misunderstanding that would alter the fortunes of everyone involved.

When Anne arrived in England in late 1539, Henry was reportedly disappointed upon meeting her in person. Whether his reaction was genuinely one of shock or later exaggerated to justify the collapse of the marriage remains debated by historians. Contemporary accounts were shaped heavily by politics and by Henry's own desire to distance himself from responsibility. Anne, raised in the comparatively modest court culture of Cleves, lacked the polished education and flirtatious sophistication expected within the English court. She spoke little English, possessed limited familiarity with music and courtly games, and entered a royal environment defined by intrigue and performance. Henry, increasingly self-conscious about his age and physical decline, responded with resentment rather than patience.

Their marriage was celebrated in January 1540, yet from the outset it was marked by discomfort and emotional distance. Henry quickly expressed his desire to escape the union, claiming he found Anne unattractive and insisting the marriage had never been consummated. The personal dissatisfaction of the king soon became a matter of state importance. In Tudor England, the body of the monarch could never be separated from politics. A failed marriage threatened diplomatic alliances, succession planning, and the stability of government itself. The annulment proceedings therefore unfolded not merely as a domestic dispute but as an international political crisis.

Anne's response to the situation revealed a remarkable degree of intelligence and pragmatism. Unlike Catherine of Aragon or Anne Boleyn, she chose neither resistance nor confrontation. Instead, she cooperated fully with Henry's wishes. She accepted the annulment on the grounds of non-consummation and acknowledged the legality of the king's previous pre-contract negotiations. In doing so, Anne avoided the catastrophic fates that had consumed several of her predecessors. Her compliance reflected not weakness, but a keen awareness of the dangerous political realities surrounding the Tudor court. Women in Henry's world possessed little formal power, yet survival often depended upon understanding precisely how and when to yield.

The collapse of the marriage destroyed Thomas Cromwell. Henry, humiliated by what he perceived as a failed arrangement, turned his fury against the minister who had engineered the alliance. Cromwell's enemies at court, especially conservative nobles opposed to Protestant reforms, seized their opportunity. Accused of treason and heresy, Cromwell was arrested, condemned, and executed in July 1540. His downfall demonstrated the terrifying volatility of power under Henry VIII. No service, however loyal or transformative, guaranteed safety. Cromwell had helped reshape England politically, administratively, and religiously, yet in the end, he became another casualty of the king's increasingly unpredictable authority.

Religion remained deeply entwined throughout these events. The Cleves marriage had emerged from Protestant diplomacy, while Cromwell's fall strengthened conservative religious factions at court. Yet Henry himself continued to occupy an ambiguous religious position. He had rejected papal supremacy, dissolved the monasteries, and established royal control over the Church of England, but he retained many traditional Catholic beliefs. This ambiguity defined much of the English Reformation during his reign. Religion functioned simultaneously as a matter of conviction, political survival, and royal control. The annulment of Anne's marriage therefore symbolized more than personal failure; it reflected the unstable and often contradictory religious identity of Tudor England itself.

Remarkably, Anne of Cleves adapted successfully to her altered position. Granted a generous settlement by Henry, she received estates, income, and the honorary title of the king's "beloved sister." She lived comfortably in England for the remainder of her life, outliving Henry himself as well as several of his subsequent wives. Freed from the pressures of queenship, she occupied a unique place within the Tudor court: respected, financially secure, and politically safe. In many ways, Anne achieved what none of Henry's other wives fully managed, survival combined with stability.

Her later years also reveal important truths about gender and power within Tudor society. Queens were expected to embody obedience, fertility, grace, and political usefulness simultaneously, yet their positions remained perilously dependent upon the king's favor. Anne's success came not through influence or manipulation, but through adaptability. She recognized the realities of royal authority and navigated them with caution and intelligence. In doing so, she transformed herself from a discarded foreign bride into one of the most secure women in England.

The legacy of Anne of Cleves extends beyond the brief duration of her marriage. Her story illustrates the central role of diplomacy in royal unions and the immense power of image within Renaissance politics. Holbein's portrait became symbolic of the dangers inherent in political expectations shaped by art and propaganda, while the marriage itself demonstrated how rapidly international alliances could rise and collapse around the personal desires of a monarch. At the same time, Anne's fate contrasted sharply with the violence surrounding so many Tudor queens, reminding historians that survival could itself become a form of quiet triumph.

Within the broader narrative of Henry VIII's reign, Anne's chapter marks another stage in the king's transformation. The energetic monarch who once pursued love with reckless passion had become a ruler increasingly governed by suspicion, vanity, and authoritarian power. His marriages no longer promised renewal or romantic ambition; instead, they exposed the instability of a court shaped by fear and political calculation. Yet these unions also permanently altered the English monarchy. Through Henry's marital struggles emerged a redefined relationship between crown, church, and state that would shape England for generations.

Anne of Cleves therefore occupies a unique place in Tudor history. She arrived in England as a diplomatic solution, became the victim of royal disappointment, survived the destruction of powerful men around her, and ultimately secured a peaceful existence within the very court that had once threatened to consume her. Her life reveals that in the dangerous world of Henry VIII, endurance could prove more powerful than ambition, and adaptability more enduring than passion.

In the final assessment of Anne of Cleves and her brief marriage to Henry VIII, what emerges most clearly is not failure, but revelation. Her story exposed the fragile foundations upon which Tudor power so often rested: dynastic ambition, diplomatic necessity, religious uncertainty, and the dangerous unpredictability of royal favor. Though her queenship lasted only a matter of months, the consequences of the marriage reverberated far beyond the annulment itself, reshaping political alliances, destroying one of the most powerful ministers in English history, and further revealing the increasingly unstable nature of Henry's court during the later years of his reign.

Anne's experience also illuminates the wider realities faced by women within Tudor England. Queens were expected to fulfil impossible expectations, serving simultaneously as political symbols, dynastic instruments, obedient wives, and embodiments of royal magnificence. Yet despite occupying the highest female position in the kingdom, their security remained entirely dependent upon the king's satisfaction. Anne of Cleves survived because she understood these realities with unusual clarity. Rather than allowing pride or resistance to destroy her, she adapted to circumstances that had already consumed others. In doing so, she demonstrated a quiet but formidable resilience that distinguished her from nearly every other woman connected to Henry VIII.

The political dimensions of her marriage further reflected the transformation of England itself during the Reformation. The alliance with Cleves had been conceived as part of a broader Protestant strategy designed to protect England from Catholic hostility abroad. Its collapse revealed how deeply personal desire and political calculation had become intertwined within the Tudor monarchy. Henry's private dissatisfaction carried international consequences, while the downfall of Thomas Cromwell illustrated how swiftly religious and political fortunes could shift within an atmosphere dominated by fear, factionalism, and royal absolutism. Religion during Henry's reign remained neither entirely Protestant nor wholly Catholic, but a volatile mixture shaped largely by the king's own changing priorities and insecurities.

Anne's legacy also speaks to the growing importance of image and perception in Renaissance politics. The famous portrait by Hans Holbein the Younger became far more than a work of art; it symbolized the immense power of representation in an age where diplomacy often depended upon carefully constructed appearances. The controversy surrounding the portrait reflected the dangers of political expectation, but it also revealed the increasingly theatrical nature of the monarchy itself. Tudor power relied not only upon armies and laws, but upon spectacle, symbolism, and the cultivation of royal authority through image and performance.

Within the broader narrative of Henry VIII's six marriages, Anne of Cleves occupies a uniquely paradoxical place. She was neither crowned in triumph like Catherine of Aragon, nor destroyed like Anne Boleyn or Catherine Howard. Instead, she quietly endured. In many respects, hers became the most successful outcome possible within the perilous environment of Henry's court. By surviving, maintaining dignity, and securing independence, Anne achieved a form of victory rarely available to Tudor queens.

Ultimately, the story of Anne of Cleves serves as both a personal and political mirror of Henry VIII's later reign. It reveals a king who had evolved from the celebrated Renaissance prince of his youth into a ruler increasingly isolated by power, suspicion, and vanity. His marriages had become reflections of England's own transformation, where religion, politics, and personal authority collided with consequences that would shape the monarchy for generations. Yet amid this turbulence, Anne's calm pragmatism and remarkable survival ensured that her legacy would endure not as a tragic victim of Tudor politics, but as one of its most perceptive and resilient survivors.

Now, read part 6 about Catherine Howard here.

The War of the Breton Succession and the Rise of the English: Could the French Compete with Edward III?

The War of the Breton Succession, or Breton War of Succession (1341–1365), was a war over the succession to the dukes of Brittany, in north-western France, that lasted for over twenty years. The war was a major conflict in the long Hundred Years’ War, which drove both France and England into a fight for survival and a contest for supremacy in Western Europe. Talia Bega explains — and asks whether the French could compete with the English.

Part 1 on the origins of the war is here, and part 2 on the rise of the English is here.

King Edward III, 16th century depiction. Source: Public domain, available here.

Edward III’s Breton Campaign

For the past two years, France and England had been locked in a brutal succession war over who would become the next Duke of Brittany after the death of John III in 1341. The conflict unfolded within the long Hundred Years’ War (1337–1453), a wider trial of which realm was the more powerful. John of Montfort backed the English cause, while Charles of Blois backed the French. Both men were eager to win the duchy, but Edward III of England had plans of his own.

After the Truce of Espléchin in 1340, which paused the fighting for a year, Edward put forward a plan to support John once the old duke died — in return for John’s backing of his own claim to the French throne. The treaty allowed both sides to stop fighting and committed the English not to invade French lands. Charles believed himself the rightful heir to the duchy, not least because of the popular support he enjoyed, while John sought to reconquer territories such as Nantes and Rennes. He was captured by French forces, however, and imprisoned in 1341. Edward resolved to plan an invasion after John’s wife, Joanna of Montfort, begged him to intervene and free her husband. With Edward now involved — a military mastermind backed by a strong realm — Charles was suddenly at risk.

A Large Invasion and the Rise to Victory

The year 1342 at last saw Edward act on his plan to free John from prison and press the Montfort claim to the duchy of Brittany. Helping the duke also allowed Edward to gain territory and strengthen his own bid for the French crown. It is worth noting that many popes of this era were French — a period known as the Avignon Papacy. Many of them were pro-French, which posed a problem for Edward, who needed support for his claim to the French throne. Clement VI in particular was strongly pro-French and had long served at the French court under Philip. Edward, for his part, was determined to turn the duchy to his own advantage.

Clement did his best to resolve the conflict, but Edward refused to cooperate and pressed on with his own plans. He sent a large body of reinforcements after Joanna pleaded for help in the summer of 1342. Charles used the same period to regain lost territory and laid siege to Hennebont in Brittany. By this point John had already been captured, and some of his commanders had passed under his wife’s control. Edward put his reinforcements to work in the struggle for control, winning several victories along the way.

Joanna also proved shrewd, particularly in winning over French supporters such as the famous Amaury de Clisson. Clisson might be seen as a traitor for aiding the Montfort cause and helping to break the siege Charles had laid. The Montfort recovery owed much to Charles himself: his financial terms were ones not everyone would accept, and some of his Italian mercenaries deserted him. His fortunes dipped again a few weeks later, when another of his sieges, this time at Brest, failed. Joanna once more found herself besieged by Charles as he pressed to seize the duchy’s main power base. Since his victory at Sluys in 1340, Edward had built a much stronger navy — one whose value would later show in his greater triumphs of the Hundred Years’ War.

English attack

The English warships were modeled on the cogs of the German territories, in contrast to the French galleys. These large merchant vessels were prized for their carrying capacity, and their roomy holds could just as easily transport soldiers. The crossing to Brest took about three days, carrying a relief force of some 1,350 men. The town of Bayonne, loyal to Edward, proved a great help: it gave him a base from which to launch the ships, and with it the advantage. The English fell on the Genoese galleys without warning and destroyed them one by one. Shaken by the strength of this force, Charles abandoned the field, leaving Brest in English hands for decades to come. His defeats were not yet over — he was beaten again at Morlaix, to the embarrassment of the French. Meanwhile John remained a prisoner, while his wife’s strategy took shape, aided above all by the king of England.

A few weeks later Edward landed and won a victory at Vannes, helped by Robert of Artois, who was wounded there and later died. Robert had watched Charles storm and ravage the town, but with over 10,000 men he helped lift the siege. Vannes endured several sieges in all, and before long both sides had gathered large armies for a far wider war. That war never came: with the help of Pope Clement VI, the Treaty of Malestroit was sealed on 19 January 1343, pausing the conflict for the next three years. The siege was over, and under the treaty the papal legates decided who should govern the territory.

This was a turning point in England’s favor: the treaty suited the English and fulfilled Edward’s wishes. It secured the release of John of Montfort, along with several other prisoners on both sides. The main conference followed a year later, in 1344, though the two delegations never met face to face. It produced a great deal of back-and-forth, since neither side took it seriously and each pursued its own ends. Two years after that, Edward launched his Crécy campaign, ravaging France still further. He was far better prepared than Philip VI, knowing exactly what he wanted and when. His strategy stripped Charles of power and pressed England’s claim in France, even though Charles had until then held the upper hand. The next thirty years would prove perilous for France — and in 1346, everything changed at once.

A reminder that Part 1 on the origins of the war is here.

References

Graham-Goering, E. (2021). Princely power in late medieval France: Jeanne de Penthièvre and the war for Brittany. Cambridge University Press.

Sumption, J. (1991). The Hundred Years’ War. University of Pennsylvania Press.

Antietam and the Maryland Campaign: Part 1 – Background & The Lost Order

The Confederate victory at Second Manassas, August 28-30, 1862, followed victories in the Valley Campaign and the Peninsula. The casualties incurred by the Army of the Potomac included 14,000 killed or wounded of 62,000 engaged, compared to about half of that for the Army of Northern Virginia. Then, on September 1, Stonewall Jackson defeated a Union cohort retreating from the battlefield at Chantilly. General Pope was relieved of command and sent to Minnesota to deal with the Sioux, and was never again involved in the Civil War. Pope would blame Fitz-John Porter for the loss, even though that wasn’t the case; Porter would be heard from again at Antietam but would go through a devastating court martial soon after. One of Pope’s generals said of him, “Suffice to say ... that more insolence, superciliousness, ignorance, and pretentiousness were never combined in one man.”

In a multi-part series, here Lloyd W Klein looks at the background to Antietam and the Maryland Campaign.

General George B. McClellan. Source: Public domain, available here.

Situation: The Union

It would be hard to imagine what President Lincoln was going through after these battlefield defeats. After a year and a half of fighting, none of his generals had ever defeated the Rebels in the Eastern Theater, although General Halleck had done well enough in the west, thanks in large part to a crazy general named Sherman and a drunken one named Grant. The backbiting in the army was at full swing, the blockade was having only a moderate effect, and his diplomat to Britain, Charles Francis Adams, was afraid that PM Gladstone would force negotiations to end the conflict. The soldiers who had been enlisted for one year had now swerved their commitment, unless they wanted to re-enlist. Casualties were high, and there was a pervasive sense of incompetence at the top of the military leadership.

And even worse, General Lee was rumored to have crossed the Potomac on September 3rd. The United States was being invaded, the Union army had no commander, and the national mid-term elections were coming up in 2 months. No other POTUS has ever faced a crisis this serious, but then, no other president was Abraham Lincoln.

Lincoln had removed McClellan as general-in-chief after the Peninsula Campaign and brought in John Pope from the west. McClellan had remained Commanding General of the AoP. In the early stages of his command, McClellan was able to build the Union army into a more powerful unit than the Confederacy had faced at Bull Run. He was a brilliant administrator, and he had created a well-trained and supplied army, had planned a clever strategy to take Richmond, and his army greatly admired him. Despite these organizational successes, his apparent slowness, almost an unwillingness, to fight a battle slowed the war beyond what Lincoln could politically accept. His repeated unforced retreats in the Peninsula led to a lack of confidence. Moreover, McClellan had shown great disrespect for Lincoln. Most presidents would not have made this decision. But now, Lincoln needed a general to meet an imminent threat, and he went back to McClellan as the best man available. McClellan was very popular among the soldiers and the officers. The parallels are very interesting with the one at the onset of the Gettysburg campaign, when Hooker was dismissed on the eve of battle during an invasion following a devastating loss in Virginia. But now, 6 months later, Lincoln grudgingly gave McClellan command of the full eastern theater. Give Lincoln credit: he chose the best man available, even though they didn’t mesh well.

Some believe that McClellan purposely withheld his men from helping Pope at Second Manassas.  In late August, two full corps of the Army of the Potomac had arrived in Alexandria, but McClellan would not allow them to advance to Manassas because of what he considered inadequate artillery, cavalry, and transportation support. He was accused by his political opponents of deliberately undermining the Pope's position. But he is especially criticized by historians for his letter to his wife on August 10, "Pope will be badly thrashed within two days & ... they will be very glad to turn over the redemption of their affairs to me. I won't undertake it unless I have full & entire control." He told Abraham Lincoln on August 29 that it might be wise "to leave Pope to get out of his scrape, and at once use all our means to make the capital perfectly safe". After his severe defeat, Pope was relieved of command, and McClellan was reinstated. Lee invaded Maryland. Antietam occurred just 3 weeks later.

Situation: General Lee

After Second Manassas, General Lee enjoyed widespread popular acclaim in the South, and the confidence of the president and his cabinet. He had thus far turned every battle into a victory, even those where he lost more men percentage-wise, defeating two Union commanders in just a few months. While supplies and armaments were in short supply, at this stage they seemed adequate.  It was a propitious moment to plan an invasion of the north. But with Autumn coming, Lee had to move quickly and efficiently.

He had two excellent Corps Commanders in Longstreet and Jackson. His division commanders were highly competent, but they were also high-spirited, and their personalities clashed with their superiors. Lee was a highly perceptive judge of people. Lee recognized that Stonewall Jackson thrived on independent action, especially attack situations, and he would place him in that position in the campaign. He also saw Longstreet as embodying an attacking defender, and used him for the main base of the army for that purpose.

After Second Manassas, the ANV could not be supplied by the farms in Northern Virginia. The Orange and Alexandria RR did not have the capacity; critical bridges were down. The Manassas Gap was nonfunctional from Front Royal in the Valley. A large Army could not be sustained any longer on the land of northern Virginia. Lee had to go somewhere else. Lee had these objectives with an invasion of the North:

·       to move the focus of fighting away from the South and into Federal territory, to feed and clothe the troops.

·       To forage for supplies

·       To recruit in western Maryland and bring secession-leaning citizens hope

·       Achieve a military victory in the north: Lee believed he could outwit McClellan on any battlefield, and that the right opportunity would show itself.

·       Confederate success would also influence impending Congressional elections in the North, perhaps forcing a negotiated settlement

·       Persuade European nations to recognize the Confederate States of America. 

His objectives were political and logistical, not military. Lee did not have on his immediate agenda an attempt to raid or capture Baltimore or Washington, D.C. This makes it appear as if Lee was merely wandering aimlessly around western Maryland. But there were insufficient resources to take and hold any northern city. In an insurgency, it isn’t necessary to do so.

Robert E Lee. Source: Public domain, available here.

Traditionally, General Lee has been given the credit for planning. Rossino has recently found evidence that the campaign was the culmination of planning that had been discussed at the highest levels in Richmond since June-July 1861, and that the invasion was ordered by Jefferson Davis to fulfill a mandate issues by the Confederate Congress in December 1861.

Although the idea for the invasion was well-conceived, many modern-day civil war enthusiasts think this was a terrible idea because the Confederacy should have stayed on defense, not fritter away its resources. But the period after 2nd Manassas was the single moment of the war that was their best window for a chance at achieving a military victory, when Lee was truly in the ascendancy. Indeed, if he hadn’t tried, history would judge him harshly. This likely was the real high-watermark of the Confederacy, a moment when another Confederate victory might have brought huge dividends.

Lee crossed the Potomac at two fords west of Washington.  His army moved to Frederick, camping in a field 2 miles south of the town at Best’s Farm. Lee started on September 4 by sending D.H. Hill’s division across the Potomac about 5 miles north of Leesburg. Stonewall Jackson followed Hill across the river on September 5, and led the march to Frederick, near which he camped on September 6.

As far as anyone knows, Lee didn’t have a defined military objective for the campaign. His issuance of a movement order after reaching Frederick is the only existing tactical plan. The rest is speculation, and he may well have thought that the Union Army was so disorganized that he could run wild in western Maryland for a long while. The Army of Northern Virginia’s objectives at the time of the Maryland operation included feeding and clothing the troops, in addition to attracting recruits from among Marylanders sympathetic to the Confederacy. General Lee also initially planned to forage for supplies in southern Pennsylvania until winter brought an end to the campaigning season, but he abandoned that goal within 48 hours of crossing the Potomac River.

Militarily speaking, Lee endeavored to draw the Federals out of Virginia by threatening Washington from the northwest. This he accomplished by forcing George McClellan to shift his men from northern Virginia to positions around D.C. above the Potomac. Lee then hoped to engage the Federals in a clash that would decide the end of the war.

These are the goals that Lee and others wrote about, but there was yet another overriding objective - pulling Maryland out of the Union. The Confederate government had made accomplishing this an explicit political goal in December 1861, when it passed a resolution relating to Maryland which Jefferson Davis signed. Lee also appears to have initially believed - as did many in his army - that simply marching into Maryland would encourage Secessionists in the state to rise up against the Lincoln administration.

The invasion was made based on tactical considerations only. Lee believed he could easily flank the enemy by crossing the Potomac upriver from Washington and marching the Army of Northern Virginia through Maryland. A short thrust into Union territory would not be enough; a prolonged, several-month stay would be the key to Confederate success. Lee hoped to keep his army on United States soil through much of the autumn, not to capture and hold territory but to gather resources and create chaos before returning to Virginia as winter approached.

Lee Invades the North

Lee wanted to use Leesburg as his stepping-off point to get to Frederick. The turnpike leading out of Snickers Gap goes to Leesburg. This turnpike was an old Indian trail that white settlers had widened and had become the main thoroughfare between the Shenandoah and Loudoun County. Up to this point, Lee was using main roads for supply lines, which was clever strategically, as there were no railroads except as connected to Harper’s Ferry.

Frederick, Maryland, is centrally placed between Washington and Baltimore. The Baltimore and Ohio Railroad  set up a supply line to that town. It is also well located to Harper’s Ferry. And, it was the new capital of Maryland when it was removed from Baltimore. There is good water nearby at the Monocacy River, and there is abundant farmland, so it is a great base.

In September 1862, Confederate forces crossed the Potomac River at several places. Here are the main crossing points utilized by Lee's army before the Battle of Antietam:

·       White's Ford: Located near Leesburg, Virginia, White's Ford was the major crossing point used by Lee's army as they entered Maryland (see drawing). They crossed the Potomac River here on September 4-6, 1862, and began their advance into Union territory.

·       Cheek’s Ford: Upstream of White’s Ford, was used by DH Hill’s forces.

·       Noland's Ferry: Situated downstream from White's Ford, Noland's Ferry was another crossing point used by Lee's forces. They crossed the Potomac here on September 7-8, 1862, continuing their movement into Maryland.

McClellan Responds

General McClellan assumed command of an army that was truly leaderless. Lincoln had intentionally diffused power so that no single mistake could be ruinous, but that had led to no one being capable of bold action. When McClellan took charge of the Union forces on Sept. 2, he inherited four separate armies, thousands of untrained recruits, and numerous other small commands that needed to be made ready in a hurry. To further complicate matters, three of the AoP’s senior commanders had been relieved of duty, charged with insubordination.

McClellan knew that Lee was in his northwest and moved in that direction. By the time he arrived in Frederick on September 13, Lee had been gone for 4 days. Classic histories portray McClellan's army as moving lethargically, averaging only 6 miles a day.

Lee was moving west to attack Harpers Ferry, which is west of Frederick. He was not moving east to advance on the big eastern cities. Had General Lee attacked any of the major cities, his lack of resources would have been immediately obvious. His supply lines were too tenuous to try: he couldn’t have held these cities, in any case. His goal was to goad Union generals into battles.

Harpers Ferry was a critical strategic point early in the war. It was the north-south crossroads from the Shenandoah Valley to Western Maryland, and the joining of the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers. It contained a large arsenal and was a concentration for military manufacturers. All of these factors played key roles in why it was a crucial military goal. In fact, control of the town changed 8 times during the war, remaining in Union control for most of it.

Surrounded on three sides by steep heights, the terrain surrounding the town made it nearly impossible to defend; all one had to do with take the heights and shell the town until it surrendered. Stonewall Jackson once said he would rather “take the place 40 times than undertake to defend it once.”

The Baltimore and Ohio Railroad and the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal were crucial supply lines connecting the east with the west, and they ran right through town. These assets were the real reasons why Harpers Ferry was so strategically important.  If you take Harpers Ferry, the railroad is cut in half and supplies can’t be moved to the west without a large detour. And most importantly, Lee could then use this town as his supply depot for further operations deeper into Maryland.

McClellan commanded in theory 28 cavalry regiments. But the disastrous Manassas campaign had worn out the horses of almost half the Union regiments, while most of the remainder were stranded at Hampton Roads by gale-force winds. For the first week of the campaign, McClellan could only count on perhaps 1,500 cavalry from two regiments and a few scattered squadrons from his old army to challenge some 5,000 Confederate cavalry soldiers screening Lee’s army.General Franklin’s Sixth Corps troops captured the signal station atop Sugar Loaf Mountain on September 11. By that time, information had already come in from other sources, including Governor Andrew Curtin of Pennsylvania, reporting that Lee’s army had marched away from Frederick in the direction of Hagerstown. McClellan knew within 24 hours, or perhaps even less, that Lee’s army was on the move.

First Battle of Bull Run (First Manassas), Virginia, 1861. Source: Public domain, available here.

Special Order Number 191

Lee and a large part of the Confederate Army bivouacked on the Best Farm, about 4 miles south of Frederick, near the Monocacy River. This site would 2 years later be the location of the Battle of Monocacy, but on September 9, 1862, the Union army was not close to Frederick. General Lee set up headquarters in an oak grove on the farm and dictated orders to a subordinate who laid out the campaign for the next week. Numbered Special Order No. 191, headquarters distributed these orders using couriers who brought copies to the commanders of the army’s wings and divisions.

General Robert E. Lee issued Special Order No. 191, known as “The Lost Order”, on September 9, 1862, during the Maryland Campaign to his corps commanders directing their movements. In Special Order #191, General Lee outlined the routes to be taken and the timing for the attack of Harpers Ferry. It provided specific details of the movements his army would take during the invasion of Maryland.

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“Special Orders, No. 191

Hdqrs. Army of Northern Virginia

September 9, 1862

The citizens of Fredericktown being unwilling while overrun by members of this army, to open their stores, to give them confidence, and to secure to officers and men purchasing supplies for benefit of this command, all officers and men of this army are strictly prohibited from visiting Fredericktown except on business, in which cases they will bear evidence of this in writing from division commanders. The provost-marshal in Fredericktown will see that his guard rigidly enforces this order.

Major Taylor will proceed to Leesburg, Virginia, and arrange for transportation of the sick and those unable to walk to Winchester, securing the transportation of the country for this purpose. The route between this and Culpepper Court-House east of the mountains being unsafe, will no longer be traveled. Those on the way to this army already across the river will move up promptly; all others will proceed to Winchester collectively and under command of officers, at which point, being the general depot of this army, its movements will be known and instructions given by commanding officer regulating further movements.

The army will resume its march tomorrow, taking the Hagerstown road. General Jackson's command will form the advance, and, after passing Middletown, with such portion as he may select, take the route toward Sharpsburg, cross the Potomac at the most convenient point, and by Friday morning take possession of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, capture such of them as may be at Martinsburg, and intercept such as may attempt to escape from Harpers Ferry.

General Longstreet's command will pursue the same road as far as Boonsborough, where it will halt, with reserve, supply, and baggage trains of the army.

General McLaws, with his own division and that of General R. H. Anderson, will follow General Longstreet. On reaching Middletown will take the route to Harpers Ferry, and by Friday morning possess himself of the Maryland Heights and endeavor to capture the enemy at Harpers Ferry and vicinity.

General Walker, with his division, after accomplishing the object in which he is now engaged, will cross the Potomac at Cheek's Ford, ascend its right bank to Lovettsville, take possession of Loudoun Heights, if practicable, by Friday morning, Key's Ford on his left, and the road between the end of the mountain and the Potomac on his right. He will, as far as practicable, cooperate with General McLaws and Jackson, and intercept retreat of the enemy.

General D. H. Hill's division will form the rear guard of the army, pursuing the road taken by the main body. The reserve artillery, ordnance, and supply trains, &c., will precede General Hill.

General Stuart will detach a squadron of cavalry to accompany the commands of Generals Longstreet, Jackson, and McLaws, and, with the main body of the cavalry, will cover the route of the army, bringing up all stragglers that may have been left behind.

The commands of Generals Jackson, McLaws, and Walker, after accomplishing the objects for which they have been detached, will join the main body of the army at Boonsborough or Hagerstown.

Each regiment on the march will habitually carry its axes in the regimental ordnance—wagons, for use of the men at their encampments, to procure wood &c.

By command of General R. E. Lee

R.H. Chilton, Assistant Adjutant General”

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The point of these movement orders was to put Lee’s invasion into motion. Jackson was to take Harpers Ferry while the rest of Lee's army was posted at Boonsboro under the command of Maj. Gen. James Longstreet. DH Hill was designated to guard the rear. General Longstreet was to encircle the towns and roads leading to Harpers Ferry. The places where parts of the army were sent controlled the roads into and out of Harpers Ferry. Martinsburg holds the road across from Whites Ford. Boonsboro hold the road north of Harpers Ferry.  Once Lee’s various divisions were in place, Harpers Ferry was in essence surrounded.

Lee hoped that after taking Harper's Ferry to secure his rear, he could create chaos in western Maryland, wrecking the Monocacy aqueduct, before turning his attention to Baltimore, Philadelphia, or Washington, D.C. itself. Lee did not expect to be attacked by McClellan at this vulnerable moment. He was hiding at Boonsboro precisely to keep McClellan guessing. He could not know that McClellan knew where he was. Lee is not looking to bring on a large battle, and he knew McClellan must be somewhere behind him, so he was going in the opposite direction. What Lee would like is to operate surreptitiously and attack bits and pieces of the Union Army.

The Lost Order

Soldiers of the Union Army found a copy of this order in a field on September 13. The military intelligence gained allowed General George McClellan to advance his army with confidence, and thus was a decisive element in the Battles of South Mountain and Antietam.

In Special Order #191, General Lee outlined the routes to be taken and the timing for the attack on Harpers Ferry. It provided specific details of the movements his army would take during the invasion of Maryland. The crucial point was that Lee divided his army, which he planned to regroup later.  The order directed Major General Stonewall Jackson to move his corps to Martinsburg while McLaws's and Walker's divisions "endeavored to capture Harpers Ferry." Major General James Longstreet was to move his corps northward to Boonsborough. Major General DH Hill's division was to act as rearguard on the march from Frederick.

DH Hill’s camp was just over one mile to the southwest of Lee’s HQ, along a small watercourse named Ballenger’s Creek. To be clear, there is no evidence that Lee’s HQ sent a courier to Hill bearing a copy of Special Orders No. 191. The traditional story differs greatly from what recent scholarship by Alex Rossino has more recently uncovered.

Traditional Story: Lieutenant Colonel Robert H. Chilton, Lee’s assistant adjutant general (chief of staff), wrote out 8 copies of the order, 1 to each of the generals named and 1 to President Davis. At the time that Special Order #191 was written, Hill was under the command of Jackson, his brother-in-law. Jackson personally copied the document for Hill because once the army crossed into Maryland, the order specified that Hill was to exercise independent command as the rear guard. For this reason, Jackson copied and sent Hill the order because he didn’t know if Chilton had done so. But, since Special Order #191 conveyed Hill’s having an independent command once entering Maryland, Chilton had in fact sent Hill a copy. DH Hill received only the copy from General Jackson, in the general’s writing, and never received the copy written by Chilton. Since he had received his orders, no one was concerned at the time that a copy had been lost. The traditional story is that somewhere in that 1 mile ride, a courier delivering Lee’s order to DH Hill somehow lost it.

Updated Version Uncovered by Dr Rossino: Contrary to the assertions found in numerous texts, the lost copy was not dispatched by Lee. It is claimed that McClellan verified its authenticity based on the signature of Robert Chilton, which would have originated from Lee's headquarters. The version sent by Jackson successfully reached its destination, enabling Hill to understand his directives; however, this also contributed to the Confederates' unawareness of the lost copy from Lee. The lost document consisted of movement orders for D.H. Hill issued from army headquarters but was never transmitted. Research by Rossino indicates that the copy was likely created by Armistead L. Long rather than Robert Chilton, as the handwriting and signature on the lost document do not correspond with the official records that Chilton authored and signed. The reason for the creation of this additional copy remains unclear, although it is posited that Long either prepared it for Jeb Stuart or was instructed by Lee to do so when the cavalry commander visited headquarters on the afternoon of September 9. Stuart subsequently misplaced the order on September 12, yet he was not held accountable for this oversight since Hill's name was affixed to the document.

Np one really knows who lost the order found by the Union soldiers. In the traditional story, only Chilton’s courier, Hill’s staff, or Hill himself could have been the culprit who lost the orders. A frequently postulated possibility is that Hill did receive both orders and lost one of them.  After the war, this was the standard belief, but Hill always denied it. He even sent a letter to General Lee after the war detailing the events and asking for clarification, as he did not know what happened. Hill defended himself after the war vociferously. He knew his orders would come from Jackson, so the fact that none came from Lee did not surprise him. Hill famously carried the copy he had received in his pocket to show to everyone that he, indeed, had kept his copy of the orders. He claimed that he had pinned his version in his pocket, knowing of its importance. His chief of staff always maintained that only one version was received.

It seems self-evident that the critical clue is this: How did such an important document end up in a field wrapped around three cigars, still in the original envelope? A logical conclusion is that the last person to possess these items must have been a cigar smoker, which DH Hill was not. Several individuals, including myself, have speculated that Henry Kyd Douglas, a courier on Jackson’s staff, is the most likely suspect; he was known to smoke cigars and was present in Lee’s camp. However, in his memoirs, he made no mention of that particular day. Ultimately, this identification hinges on the existence of a courier.

That morning, the 27th Indiana rested in a meadow which had served as the site of a Confederate camp a few days before. It was there that the infamous envelope was discovered. Two Union soldiers, Corporal Barton W. Mitchell and First Sergeant John M. Bloss of the 27th Indiana Volunteer Infantry, found an official-looking envelope wrapped around 3 cigars. Around noon on September 13, a Union soldier on a skirmish line found an envelope. On opening it, Corporal Barton W. Mitchell of the 27th Indiana Volunteers, part of the Union XII Corps, found 3 cigars inside wrapped in a note. Mitchell did not read every word, but he noticed that it concluded with the phrase "By command of General Robert E. Lee” and was signed “R.H. Chilton, Assistant Adjutant General".

Mitchell recognized the significance of the document and showed it immediately to Sergeant John M. Bloss. The note was elevated up the 27th Indiana's chain of command: to Captain Peter Kop, Colonel Silas Colgrove, then to Brigadier General Alpheus Williams, commander of the 1st Division,  XII Corps. I told you we would hear from him again. And we are not yet done with his contributions.

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