Vitus Jonassen Bering – Explorer of Siberia and Alaska

Vitus Jonassen Bering remains one of the most compelling figures of the great age of exploration, a navigator whose journeys helped redraw the world's map and whose legacy continues to shape the understanding of the northern Pacific. Born in 1681 in the small Danish town of Horsens, Bering grew up in a modest family but showed early ambition and aptitude for a life at sea. Denmark in the late seventeenth century was deeply connected to maritime trade and naval service, and like many young men of his region, Bering was drawn to the ocean. He entered naval service in his teens and soon began to sail widely, developing both technical skill and intellectual curiosity.

Terry Bailey explains.

A depiction of Vitus Bering's expedition being wrecked on the Commander Islands in 1741.

Vitus Bering’s decision in 1703 to join the Russian Navy, then being rapidly modernized by Peter the Great, proved the turning point of his life, opening the door to one of history's most consequential careers in exploration. Bering first gained the confidence of the Russian court through disciplined service and steady competence in naval operations, particularly during the Great Northern War. By the 1720s, Russia's ambitions had shifted toward the vast, unmapped territories of Siberia and the Pacific. The question of whether Asia and North America were connected by land remained one of the great geographic uncertainties of the era. In 1724, Peter the Great authorized what became known as the First Kamchatka Expedition, placing Bering in command. His mission was deceptively simple: travel across Siberia, build ships on the remote Kamchatka Peninsula, and set sail eastward to determine the relationship between the continents. The sheer logistical scale of this undertaking, thousands of kilometers of wilderness, extreme climates, and complex local interactions made it one of the most ambitious scientific programs of the eighteenth century.

The First Kamchatka Expedition lasted from 1725 to 1730 and tested every skill Bering possessed. After an arduous overland journey from St. Petersburg to Okhotsk, he supervised the construction of the small vessel Saint Gabriel and, in 1728, sailed north along the coast. Bering's most significant achievement during this voyage was his passage through what is now the Bering Strait, the narrow channel separating Asia from North America. Although he did not sight the coast of the American continent itself, fog and distance prevented the definitive moment, his careful observations confirmed that no land connection existed and that a navigable waterway separated the two continents.

This conclusion, though at the time somewhat understated, had enormous global implications, refuting long-held cartographic myths and opening new horizons for exploration, trade, and scientific inquiry. His success led to an even more ambitious undertaking: the Second Kamchatka Expedition, or Great Northern Expedition, launched in 1733. This was one of the largest scientific expeditions ever mounted, involving thousands of personnel, multiple ships, naturalists, cartographers, and scholars. Its purpose was nothing less than the comprehensive mapping of Russia's vast northern and eastern frontiers and the full exploration of the Pacific coasts of Siberia and the North American continent. Under Bering's command, the expedition produced some of the most detailed charts of the Arctic coastline to date and enriched science with vast collections of biological, geological, and ethnographic data. It also laid the foundations for Russia's later commercial presence in Alaska, expanding European knowledge of the region's peoples, fauna, and natural resources.

The pinnacle of Bering's exploratory achievements occurred in 1741, when he and Aleksei Chirikov each commanded vessels on a voyage east from Kamchatka. During this journey, Bering sighted the southern coast of Alaska, while Chirikov made landfall separately on the Alexander Archipelago. These discoveries confirmed the existence of a large North American landmass far to the northwest, ending centuries of speculation. Along the Alaskan coast, Bering's crew collected valuable geographical information and encountered wildlife unknown in Europe, including the now-extinct Steller's sea cow, first documented by the expedition's naturalist, Georg Wilhelm Steller. The scientific material gathered during this voyage—flora, fauna, coastal descriptions—became an enduring contribution to European knowledge of the Pacific world.

Yet Bering's later life was marked by hardship. On the return voyage from Alaska, his ship, the Saint Peter, was wrecked on what would later be named Bering Island. There, in the treacherous winter of 1741–1742, the stranded expedition struggled to survive. Ill, exhausted, and suffering from what was likely scurvy, Bering died on the island in December 1741. His companions buried him in the sands above the beach, and only in the twentieth century did archaeological excavations uncover what are believed to be his remains. Studies on Bering Island revealed traces of the expedition's encampment, artefacts from the shipwreck, and the physical toll the harsh conditions had taken on the men, adding a poignant material dimension to the historical record.

Although Bering himself wrote relatively little in the form of personal memoir, his official journals, reports, and navigational charts form a crucial part of the documentary legacy of his expeditions. These were carefully preserved in Russian archives and later studied by historians of exploration, providing insight into his methods and the organizational challenges he faced. Much of what is known about day-to-day events, wildlife observations, and interactions with Indigenous peoples comes from the writings of his companions, particularly Steller. Nonetheless, Bering's own meticulous documentation, his coastal measurements, bearings, and hydrographic notes remain indispensable for understanding the achievements of the Great Northern Expedition.

In the centuries since his death, Vitus Bering's influence has only grown. The naming of the Bering Sea, Bering Strait, and Bering Island stands as a testament to his significance, but his deeper contribution lies in transforming Europe's conception of the North Pacific. His voyages shifted the boundaries of known geography, inspired further scientific inquiry, and facilitated cultural and economic links across the northern ocean. Moreover, his expeditions demonstrated the potential of coordinated, state-sponsored scientific exploration on a grand scale, prefiguring the later exploratory enterprises of the Enlightenment and beyond. Bering's life, shaped by quiet determination and monumental purpose, continues to resonate as a story of human endurance at the edge of the known world, a record of the power of curiosity and the relentless pursuit of knowledge.

In reflecting upon the life and legacy of Vitus Bering, it becomes clear that his achievements extend far beyond the geographical features that bear his name. His voyages represent a decisive moment in humanity's ongoing effort to understand the planet, bridging the gap between myth and measurable reality. Bering operated in an age when large expanses of the globe remained uncharted, yet his approach to exploration was grounded in discipline, scientific observation, and a commitment to accuracy. He brought a quiet, methodical determination to endeavors that were anything but quiet or simple, and in doing so helped to usher in a new era of empirical discovery. His journeys across Siberia and the Pacific elevated Russia's geographical knowledge, enriched European science, and altered the world's cartographic worldview, ensuring that future generations would navigate with greater certainty and insight.

Bering's story also encapsulates the human cost of exploration, a reminder that progress often comes at great personal sacrifice. The challenges he faced, from perilous seas to the unforgiving winters of Kamchatka and Bering Island, underscore the resilience demanded of explorers who dared venture into the unknown with limited technology and fragile resources. His death, far from home on a desolate shore, stands as a solemn statement to the risks he willingly shouldered in the pursuit of knowledge. Yet even in death, his contribution did not fade. The archaeological discoveries on Bering Island and the careful preservation of his charts and journals give his work a lasting presence, allowing modern scholars to trace the contours of his expeditions and appreciate the precision of his observations.

Ultimately, Vitus Bering's legacy lies not only in the lands he charted but also in the intellectual landscape he reshaped. His expeditions expanded the boundaries of the known world and helped lay the foundation for future exploration, scientific inquiry, and international exchange across the northern Pacific. Through perseverance and skill, he transformed uncertainty into understanding and mystery into mapped reality. More than two centuries later, his life continues to inspire, proving a reminder that progress is built by those willing to push beyond familiar horizons. In charting the edges of continents, Bering charted the edges of human possibility, leaving behind a legacy as vast and enduring as the waters that now bear his name.

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A Historic Adjournment in Philadelphia

If you are visiting Philadelphia in anticipation of the birth of the U.S., a trip to Independence Hall is a must. That historic building is  loaded with 18th century artifacts as well as gorgeous displays and exhibits of some of the deepest history of our nation. But if you want to experience some of the true foundations around the initial conversations of self-governance free from the control of Monarchy that would lead to the country that we know today right here in Philadelphia,  one must experience one block south on Chestnut Street at our very own Carpenter’s Hall.

Michael Thomas Leibrandt explains.

A 1905 postcard of Carpenters' Hall, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Just over 250 years ago — concluded 51 days of deliberation by the first US Continental Congress at Carpenter’s Hall on Chestnut Street. The building itself — had come from another important vote. On January 1, 1770 — the Carpenter’s Company voted to construct the building. The design was the brain-child of one of the most talented architects in the colonies at the time — but unfortunately — Robert Smith’s career would tragically be cut extremely short. Smith was killed while building fortifications along the coast of the Delaware River in order to protect Philadelphia against the English fleet in 1777. The Georgian-style Carpenter’s Hall would be one of his last projects still surviving to this day.

The Carpenter’s Company formed in 1724 would be in existence for nearly forty-five years before they had a building of their own in proximity to Benjamin Franklin’s house. The guild of master builders would be the first of its kind in the colonies — based upon the Worshipful Company of Carpenters of London. The building that they would construct would end up being the birthplace of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.

The First Continental Congress was convened in the very same Carpenter’s Hall between September 5th, 1774 until October 26, 1774. Two hundred and fifty-one years ago this fall — the first Continental Congress actually changed leadership — with Henry Middleton replacing the sick Peyton Randolph. The assembly included representation from only twelve colonies as Georgia was not represented. 

The First Continental Congress paved the way for America’s path to Independence. Among its accomplishments was the creation of the original Declaration of Rights and Grievances which detailed the rights of colonists as well as an Articles of Association which boycotted goods from England and they even petitioned King George III. Most importantly — it resolved to meet again in a year if the English Intolerable Acts were not repealed by that point. A few years later — Carpenter’s Hall would serve as a hospital during the American Revolution.

The mystic of Carpenter’s Hall can still be felt by tourists today — as is its importance to the birth of the U.S. It’s marvelous architecture and 18th century cupola stands as a monument to its nearly 255 years of existence. Amid a 2023 project in the historic hall — remains of oysters were uncovered in the basement. It turns out — while planning for independence — one works up quite an appetite. It turns out that the long days were well worth it.

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

A Brief History of the Polish Winged Hussars

The Winged Hussars of the Polish Lithuanian Commonwealth dominated the battlefields of Eastern Europe from the 16th to the 18th centuries. Sporting massive artificial wings on their armor, these aristocratic warriors were among the most feared and cohesive cavalry forces in European history.

Here, Brian Hughes tells us about the Polish Winged Hussars.

A Hussar formation at the 1610 Battle of Klushino. By Szymon Boguszowicz.

Origins

Eastern Europe has a deep equestrian and cavalry tradition, due in part to its topography. Active from the 16th to the 18thcentury. The Winged Hussars showed a consistently remarkable ability to seemingly defy the odds snatching victory from otherwise imminent defeat.

Eastern Europe has a rich history and tradition of elite horsemanship. Much of the region is comprised of plains and flat grassland advantageous to horse rearing. Successive waves of elite horse warriors such as the Huns, Magyars, and Tartars had raided and settled the area at various times. Likewise, much of the warfare that defined this region throughout the Middle Ages and early modern era involved larger cavalry forces than the more heavily populated and more urbanized parts of Western Europe.

Hussars derive their name from the Hungarian “Huserones” and originated in the Kingdom of Hungary sometime in the late 15th century as a light cavalry force. The name later became incorporated by a whole host of Central and Eastern European countries such as Serbia, The Holy Roman Empire and Poland becoming renowned as some of the best light horse units in all of Europe.

The Polish Lithuanian Commonwealth was one of the premier states in Early Modern Europe. Engaging with a host of enemies mainly the Ottoman Turks, Swedes and Russians, a series of drastic military reforms were undergone to bolster and safeguard its territory and people as the state grew and became more vulnerable. These included but were not limited to modernizing land and naval forces and modifying its already prolific cavalry.

Drawing on the litany of pre-established equine traditions, the Winged Hussars as they became known drew their ranks from the upper classes and nobility and adapting their role into a heavy shock cavalry instead of the more traditional nimble light horse tactics of their predecessors.

Riding in tight formation these heavily armored horsemen could smash into enemy formations with lethal efficiency thus enabling infantry and lighter cavalry units to exploit the gaps and gain tactical advantages ensuring victory. The Winged Hussars displayed impressive capability in the diverse geographical and climatic conditions from which they operated.

Arms and Armor

The Winged Hussars were well armored, well equipped and rode expertly bred war horses. One reason in which their ranks were filled almost exclusively by nobles was the sheer cost of such expenditures.

Wings: The signature and iconic wings worn by the Hussars were fashioned out of feathers from a variety of raptor birds, mainly Eagle and Falcon. Originally the wings were placed on their saddles before being fastened onto the backs of their armor. The purpose was twofold. In an era of extravagant military arms and uniforms the Wings were visually impressive on parade grounds and intimidating foes. The Wings also may have produced an odd and terrifying din when the Hussars charged, frightening enemy soldiers and horses in the process.

Armor: Hussars were clad in heavy steel armor typical of the era and often sported exotic animal furs such as leopards and saddles decked out with fine silk and lace. Beneath their armor and hides Hussars typically donned red or crimson short coats called zupans with helmets encrusted with gems or plumed with exotic feathers. The Winged Hussars took great pride in their appearance on and off the battlefield.

Horses: Expensive warhorses typically Polish-Arabian breeds were the predominant mount used by the Winged Hussars. These horses were both incredibly strong as they could carry a heavily armored rider in addition to their great endurance with long marches ranging across a variety of terrain in and around Central and Eastern Europe.

Weapons: They were well trained, well-armed and capable of wielding a lance, (kopia) saber, (szabla) and various firearms with expert lethality. The Hussars could combat a variety of foes. From conventual infantry and cavalry units which defined 16th and 17th century European armies to the expert light cavalry of the Tatars.

Notable Battles

Khlushino: One of the finest victories performed by the Winged Hussars was the Battle of Klushino fought on July 4th, 1610. The heavily outnumbered Polish-Lithuanian force of about 6,000 with the bulk of the army of 5,000 Winged Hussars crushed a Muscovite army of over 30,000. Over the course of a five-hour battle the Winged Hussars superior training, tactics, and troop cohesion made it possible to smash their adversaries’ lines, disintegrating their forces and routing them in the process.  

Vienna: The Winged Hussars most renowned moment came in September 1683 at the Siege of Vienna. For weeks the Ottomans under Mustapha Pasha had been battering the “Golden Apple of Europe” coming closer to victory with each passing day. Finally, a coalition of predominantly Catholic Holy League Forces arrived to lift the Siege. John Sobieski King of Poland an experienced soldier led a contingent of roughly 4,000 Winged Hussars. Devising a plan Sobieski outflanked the Ottoman Camp and along with his Winged Hussars led what was possibly the largest cavalry charge in the history of Europe at the head of some twenty thousand horsemen devasting the Ottoman expeditionary force and relieving the city in the process.

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The 166 Roman Envoy Mission to China

In 166 CE, an ambassador described in Chinese sources as having come from "Andun, King of Da Qin", almost certainly referring to a Roman ruler, traditionally identified as Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, arrived at the court of Emperor Huan of the Eastern Han Dynasty. Although modern historians debate whether these envoys were official Roman diplomats or merchants presenting themselves as such, their appearance in Chinese court records represents one of the most intriguing episodes of long-distance contact between the Mediterranean world and imperial China. The mission is described primarily in the Hou Hanshu (Book of the Later Han), which notes that the newcomers travelled by way of Rinan (in modern Vietnam), bringing ivory, rhinoceros horn, and tortoiseshell, luxury items more typical of Southeast Asian trade networks than of Roman industry. This mixture of goods has led scholars to argue that the delegation may have originated from Roman trading communities in the Indian Ocean rather than from Rome itself, yet the Chinese understood it as Rome's first formal attempt to open relations with the Han state.

Terry Bailey explains.

A Renaissance view of Ptolemy's 11th Asian regional map.

The commercial motive behind the ambassador’s extraordinary journey was unmistakable. By the 2nd century CE, Rome had an enormous appetite for silk, a commodity so prized that Seneca and other Roman writers complained that the elite spent too freely on it. Roman merchants already operated in Indian Ocean ports such as Barygaza, Muziris, and Arikamedu, where intermediaries brought silk from Central Asia and China. Direct access to China promised greater profit and prestige. From the Chinese perspective, Roman glassware, metalwork, Mediterranean wines, and high-quality woolen textiles were especially valued. Although the Hou Hanshu does not record a specific trade treaty resulting from the encounter, it emphasizes that the presence of the envoys was understood to signal Rome's wish to establish direct commercial relations, bypassing the Parthian Empire, whose control over the Silk Road had long restricted contact between the two great civilizations.

Chinese records further suggest that relations were warm, with the emperor receiving the envoys, accepting their tribute, and permitting them to trade. The Han state typically treated foreign embassies as part of a tribute-exchange system rather than as partners in bilateral treaties of the Roman type. Thus, while no formal treaty is mentioned, participation in the tribute system effectively functioned as a state-sanctioned trade agreement, allowing the envoys to exchange their offerings for Chinese goods at highly favorable rates. The mission therefore symbolized an official acknowledgment—at least from the Chinese perspective—of the desirability of regular exchange between the two imperial powers.

Documentary evidence for the expedition is strongest on the Chinese side. The Hou Hanshu entry is concise but unambiguous, describing Da Qin (Rome) as a powerful, wealthy empire and emphasizing the significance of the envoys' arrival. Roman sources, by contrast, are silent. This absence has various explanations: the original embassy may not have been dispatched by the imperial government at all; Roman historians may not have considered a distant eastern diplomatic venture noteworthy; or the mission may have been too commercially oriented to appear in official state records. Nevertheless, Roman coins have been found across India and Southeast Asia, including 2nd-century gold aurei of Marcus Aurelius, confirming extensive Roman presence and trade in the regions through which the so-called embassy would have travelled. At the opposite end of the route, excavations in China have uncovered small quantities of Mediterranean glass, Roman-style metal vessels, and even a few Roman coins, demonstrating that Roman luxury items did reach Han territory through long-distance exchange, even if not in large volume.

Archaeological evidence from Central Asia enriches this picture of indirect but persistent contact. Finds of Roman glassware and silver in sites along the Tarim Basin and in Gansu province echo the Hou Hanshu's descriptions of Da Qin goods. Meanwhile, discoveries in Roman Egypt—including papyri from the Red Sea ports of Berenike and Myos Hormos—record thriving trade with India, where Chinese goods were already appearing by the 1st and 2nd centuries CE. This network of merchants, brokers, and maritime middlemen produced the logistical conditions that allowed the 166 CE envoys to reach the Han court, whether as imperial ambassadors or ambitious traders seeking official recognition.

The benefits of this encounter were largely symbolic, yet they had real economic implications. For China, the visit confirmed Da Qin as a prosperous and orderly counterpart at the other end of the world, one worthy of direct ties. For Rome—or at least the Roman merchants operating in the Indian Ocean—the embassy provided access to China's tribute-exchange market, which offered silk, lacquerware, and fine ceramics unattainable elsewhere. The long-term impact was limited, partly because both empires soon faced internal crises—the Marcomannic Wars and plague in Rome, and the weakening of Han authority in China—but the 166 CE contact remains a remarkable moment in ancient global history. It represents the closest documented diplomatic interaction between the westernmost and easternmost great empires of antiquity, an episode that highlights the sophistication, ambition, and connectivity of the ancient world.

The encounter of 166 CE stands as a moment when two vast imperial spheres—Rome and Han China—briefly became aware of one another not merely as distant rumors but as tangible participants in a shared, if fragile, network of exchange. Whether the envoys were official diplomats or merchants cloaking commercial aims in the language of statecraft, their presence at the Han court demonstrates the remarkable reach of long-distance travel and trade in the ancient world. The episode underscores how economic desire, particularly the Roman pursuit of silk and the Chinese appreciation for Mediterranean luxury goods, drove interactions across thousands of kilometers of land and sea. It also reveals how differently the two empires conceptualized diplomacy: Rome through formal treaties, China through the fluid but highly structured tribute system that simultaneously affirmed hierarchy and facilitated commerce.

Although the immediate outcomes of the mission were modest, the event's significance lies in its symbolic power and the archaeological traces that corroborate its plausibility. Roman coins in India, Mediterranean artefacts in China, and evidence of thriving Indo-Roman trade networks together paint a vivid picture of the interconnectedness that made such a journey possible. In this light, the 166 CE embassy becomes less an isolated curiosity and more a visible crest in a broader tide of Afro-Eurasian exchange.

Ultimately, the mission's legacy is one of potential rather than transformation. Political upheaval soon curtailed any sustained effort at direct engagement, yet the recorded meeting between Da Qin and the Han remains a testament to the ambitions of traders, the curiosity of distant courts, and the permeability of ancient borders. It highlights a world far more cosmopolitan and commercially intertwined than earlier scholarship often assumed, reminding us that even at the farthest edges of their domains, Romans and Chinese were participants—however intermittently—in a shared antiquity shaped by movement, commerce, and the enduring human impulse to bridge the unknown.

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Notes:

The Han dynasty's tribute-exchange system

The Han dynasty's tribute-exchange system was a central mechanism through which China managed foreign relations, trade, and diplomacy. Rather than treating other states as equal partners in bilateral agreements, the Han court conceptualized the world as a hierarchical order with the emperor—"the Son of Heaven"—at its apex. Foreign envoys who arrived at the imperial court were therefore understood not as negotiators from sovereign states, but as representatives of peripheral regions seeking recognition and favor. Their offerings were formally described as tribute, gestures symbolizing respect for Han authority. Yet this ritual submission was only part of the process. Once tribute was presented, the Han court customarily returned gifts of far greater value. This exchange produced an officially sanctioned economic interaction embedded within a diplomatic framework that reinforced imperial prestige.

In practice, the tribute-exchange system functioned as a highly regulated form of international commerce. For many foreign groups, especially those from Central Asia, Southeast Asia, and beyond, participation in the system was motivated as much by economic opportunity as by diplomacy. The Han state maintained strict controls over who could trade, what goods could be exchanged, and the scale of the transactions, often limiting commercial contact to the moments when an embassy formally arrived. Because the gifts issued by the court in return for tribute were exceptionally valuable—silk, lacquerware, metalwork, and other refined goods—foreign envoys frequently profited from their participation. The Han state, meanwhile, benefited from controlling the flow of luxury goods, securing access to rare products from distant regions, and projecting an image of universal kingship.

The system also served strategic purposes. By incorporating nomadic tribes, oasis kingdoms, and distant polities into a structured network of ritual exchanges, the Han dynasty established a buffer of cooperative or dependent states along its borders. This helped stabilize frontier regions and reduce the likelihood of conflict. The economic incentives embedded in the system encouraged peaceful interaction and often tied the interests of foreign elites to the continued strength of the Han court. Even powerful states like the Kushan Empire—and, as Chinese records suggest, the Roman Empire (Da Qin)—were described within this conceptual framework, not as rivals on equal footing, but as distant participants acknowledging the splendor of the Han.

In essence, the tribute-exchange system blended diplomacy, trade, ideology, and economic policy into a single structure. It allowed the Han dynasty to engage in far-reaching commercial networks while upholding a worldview in which China was the cultural and political center of civilization. Although the system did not resemble Western notions of international treaties, it effectively enabled vibrant long-distance exchange, demonstrating the flexibility, confidence, and sophistication of Han statecraft.

Boshin and Satsuma: The Fall of Feudal Japan

Gabriele Esposito’s book, Japanese Armies 1868-1877: The Boshin War and Satsuma Rebellion (Osprey Publishing 2020), is an excellent summary of two significant conflicts that forever transformed Japan. A short but informative read, it covers historical events adapted for the famous movie The Last Samurai, starring Tom Cruise and Ken Watanabe.

Jeb Smith explains.

Japanese troops at Yokohama, prior to fighting the Satsuma Rebellion in 1877.

For hundreds of years Japan had been ruled by a mere figurehead —an emperor with a religious function but little genuine authority—with all real power in the hands of the shogun, the hereditary military leader of Japanese society. The shogunate, as the central authority was known, implemented an extreme isolationist policy, keeping Japan religiously and culturally pure from Western barbarian influences.

Maintaining a decentralized feudal society, “Japan” as an institution could barely be said to exist. It was separated into 250 domains ruled almost autonomously by local lords as independent feudal states. Families of daimyo warlords parceled out lands to samurai warriors who could be called upon in times of war or for policing. Feudal Japan was a highly hierarchical society, with peasants as always at the bottom of the pile.

However, Japan was forced to open to Western nations in the 1850s due to American intimidation, bringing in new ideas and new goods. Disagreement and dissent arose within Japan over whether to modernize to protect itself and maintain its independence, or to isolate itself further. Beginning in 1860, isolationists began making moves within Japan to bring down the shogun and place the emperor in full authority. In 1863, the emperor called for the expulsion of all foreigners from Japan, and many Westerners were murdered. The shogunal forces received aid from the West, seeking to modernize their navy and army. Various feudal clans supported either the shogun or the emperor, leading to the Boshin War.

Jules Brunet (played by Tom Cruise in the movie as the American officer Nathan Algren), a western military advisor and trainer, was ordered to return to France but disobeyed, instead fighting with a small contingent for the shogunal forces even after their eventual defeat. The imperial forces led by Saigō Takamori (who later became famous for defending the samurai against the centralized, modernized Japanese government during the Satsuma Rebellion) were victorious, pushing their opponents into northern Japan. Now with modernized weapons, the shogunal forces continued the fight as it raged back and forth, but the feudal clans and Brunet were forced out of Japan’s main and largest island Honshu, fleeing to the northern tribal island of Hokkaido, where all those still loyal to the shogun gathered.

In 1868, Brunet helped form a new government and trained the army on Hokkaido. But the imperial forces' naval supremacy and technological advantages helped capture the island, and Japan became united under the emperor in 1869. Brunet escaped.

Japan became a centralized, unified country and opened to the west (initially, the emperor had been opposed to western intervention) and began dismantling the decentralized local lordships, as well as any remaining elements of hierarchy or inheritance. The military was modernized, and the samurai were left behind. Public education, national tax, industrialization and more transformed Japanese life, while outlawing the samurai weapon of swords.  Class distinction vanished, at least in theory, hierarchy replaced with equality.

Traditionalists were once more outraged, especially the Samurai clans, leading to the secession of the traditionalist Satsuma territory, led by "The Last Samurai," Saigō Takamori, and other dissident samurai. They openly rebelled in 1877. Samurai wore traditional outfits and armor, and used swords as a protest against their being illegal and outlawed. Most fought and died this way.

The imperial, modernized Japanese army greatly outnumbered the rebels and maintained significant technological advantages. Despite this, massive battles raged with heavy losses on both sides, before the samurai and their allies were forced to retreat and engage in guerrilla tactics while hunted down by imperial forces. Eventually, they lost all their gunpowder units and their numbers dwindled, yet they kept fighting for months on end. Then, the final 3,000 or so chose Mount Enodake as a last defensible position. Surrounded and vastly outnumbered, their defeat was inevitable; many committed seppuku (ritual honorable suicide) rather than surrender to their foes.

However, as he had done multiple times before, Saigō escaped, and with the last 500 samurai armed with swords and traditional weapons chose a literal last hill to die on; opposing him was an imperial army of 30,000.

Saigō was among the last 40 or so samurai in the battle who made a final headlong charge at the enemy, was wounded multiple times, and committed seppuku with the help of an aide. All of them died in battle, preferring death to dishonor.

Jeb Smith is an author and speaker whose books include Defending Dixie's Land: What Every American Should Know About The South And The Civil War written under the pen name Isaac C. Bishop,  Missing Monarchy: Correcting Misconceptions About The Middle Ages, Medieval Kingship, Democracy, And Liberty and he also authored Defending the Middle Ages: Little Known Truths About the Crusades, Inquisitions, Medieval Women, and More. Smith has written over 120 articles found in several publications.

The Founding of the Bank of England: Accidents, Storytelling and Deceits

The opening lines of Sir John Clapham’s authoritative history of the Bank of England (1944) articulate a general and particular truth: ‘The establishment of the Bank of England (1694) can be treated like so many other historical events both great and small, either as curiously accidental or as all but inevitable’.[1] It is a wonderfully paradoxical sentence balancing accident and inevitability, chance and intention. ‘Curiously accidental’  conjures an intriguing sense of the uncanny, suggesting that the accidental may not be quite so accidental - was it really accidental or was there an invisible hand at play? There is no doubt that a central bank of some kind would have emerged eventually. But this particular bank was helped into being by a sequence of accidents, chance events and encounters. These are part of its story. So too are deceit, political conniving and sophisticated skills in telling a good story.

Val Hamilton explains. Val is the author of a recently published book on the subject (Amazon US | Amazon UK).

The Age of Projecting

The Governor and Company of the Bank of England was founded in 1694 by William Paterson. He was a remarkable man and his story is representative of this remarkable period, dubbed ‘The Age of Projecting’ by Daniel Defoe. This was a period of extreme instability set in motion by the political strife of the century. Traditional sources of authority, i.e. the monarchy and the Church, had been challenged. The brute facts tell the story. The execution of Charles I in 1649 somewhat conclusively challenged the divine right of kings, and ushered in the republicanism of Cromwell resulting in the growth of Parliament’s power.  In 1660, the English, rather apologetically, restored the monarchy, crowning Charles II King. But the genie was out of the bottle. Authority could no longer be seen as ‘invested’ in a person by God but was understood to have been created, or at least given, by some form of ‘the people’. Thus, when Catholic James II succeeded Charles and began to modernize the state, centralizing power, the English organized a rebellion. The protestant William III from Holland and his English wife Mary II, took the throne. England became part of Dutch history, constantly at war with France over control of Europe and the Americas.  By the 1690s William was desperate for money to fund this war. This can be seen as the primary driver for the founding of a bank at this time. But this particular bank came about because of a Spanish shipwreck, and the vision of William Paterson.

La Señora de la Concepcion

The Bank of England could not have emerged without a storm off the Bahamas in 1641. The Señora de la Concepcion, a Spanish galleon, had set sail from Havana, weighted to the gunnels with gold and silver looted from the Americas along with a myriad of treasures from the Orient. It was returning to Spain. However,  the galleon was not in great condition; it had already been forced to turn back once for repairs. This had delayed its departure and brought its journey into the risky hurricane season. The Señora was caught in a terrible storm which split the ship asunder; the wreckage and its treasures sank to the bottom of Silver Banks, north of what is today the Dominican Republic. Over the next 45 years many treasure hunters tried to find it, including a Captain Phips from Maine, New England. But with no success. Then Phips came into some new information and decided he was going to give it another go. He needed financial backing - an expedition would be expensive. He sailed to England to raise funds for this venture. It was a hugely risky project, with very little hope of success. Daniel Defoe singles this project out as one of the riskiest ventures: ‘it was a mere project; a lottery of a hundred thousand to one odds; a hazard which had it failed Everybody would have been ashamed to own themselves concerned in; a voyage that would have been as much ridiculed as Don Quixote’s adventure upon the windmill.’[2]

Phips struggles to find backers for such a long shot until he comes across Christopher Monck, a dissolute aristocrat who had gambled away the fortune left to him by his father, the Duke of Albermarle. Monck was on his uppers and in one last throw of the di, backed Phips’s venture to find shipwrecked treasure. Without this money, the voyage could not have taken place. Phips organized the venture as a joint-stock company, a relatively new model of business. Everyone who put money in would, hopefully, receive a percentage of the profit to match.

Phips and his crew set sail in 1686. At first they had no luck, searching in vain. Apparently they were using the latest technology, a diving bell, which was little more than an upturned barrel which trapped air allowing the explorers to stay underwater a little longer. By the beginning of 1687 they had exhausted their resources. Phips had to admit defeat. They would head for home. It would be another ignominious return. Andrew Forrester shares a lovely account of their final day:

‘On that last day, some of the divers went looking for mementoes of the trip. As they explored a relatively shallow reef close to the shore they chanced upon a spectacular plume of coral reef…they decided to take pieces of it home…But when they dived to look more closely they saw beneath it the unmistakable shape of a large cannonball…The Señora de la Concepcion had been found’.[3]

The treasure

It was sheer chance that the treasure was found, as always. An enormous amount of gold and silver was brought to the surface. We will never really know how much. There are wildly differing claims. Clapham reports that ‘the company paid 10,000 percent and divided a sum equal to a fifth of the national revenue’.[4]  It flooded London with gold and silver and ‘pieces of eight’ minted in Mexico. The success of this project set in motion a chain of events which led to the formation of the Bank of England. Firstly, it emphasized the need for a Bank. The goldsmiths in London who had traditionally stored gold and silver could not cope with such large amounts. Secondly, the success of such a risky project fired up the imagination and the frenzy of projecting, symptomatic of this age, increased even further. A bank was needed to fund these projects which were too large for individuals or even wealthy families to fund. A bank was needed to provide credit. Thirdly Phips was knighted for his success and propelled onto the public stage. He seems to have been a charismatic and ‘colorful’ character. It is at this point that a friendship between Phips and William Paterson becomes significant in the history of the Bank.

William Paterson

Paterson was born in Skipmyre, Dumfriesshire in 1658, the son of a small scale farmer. Little is known of his early life; he attended a local parish school and then as a young man was sent to live with an aunt in Bristol.  Paterson’s father was a covenanter, a type of religious dissenter in Scotland. After the Restoration Charles II tried to restore the Bishops to the Church of Scotland. Those who resisted were known as Covenanters. They refused to cross the door of any Church run by a government appointed Bishop and instead held services in secret in the hills.  Such action put William’s father and his family at risk. It also meant that his son would have to find his own way in life. Paterson would have been blocked from attending University, for example. Like so many other dissenting young men, Paterson made his own way in trade.

He turns up in Jamaica in 1673 although in what capacity is not clear - speculation ranges through merchant, pirate, buccaneer and missionary. There is a degree of prejudice exhibited in these early accounts of Paterson. He is referred to as an ‘upstart’ and, the historian Macaulay comments, that  some may have disliked him simply for being a Scot. By the 1670s he appears to have a home in the Bahamas and be married to Elisabeth Turner, the widow of Thomas Bridge, a minister of the Gospel in New England. Elisabeth died in the Bahamas. Andrew Forrester suggests that Paterson would have acquired a reasonable dowry and ‘nest-egg’ from the marriage.

During this time Paterson was sailing or trading between the Bahamas and New England and came into contact with William Phips. There are similarities between the two men. Phips was one of 12 children and began his career as a ship’s carpenter. He sailed between the Bahamas, New England and London. He married a widow and also came into a reasonable dowry. Paterson and Phips were later to be co-projectors, trying to find investment for various enterprises in both England and America. At this time, these men would have been known as projectors, the modern equivalent being entrepreneurs. Their friendship was to facilitate  the founding of the Bank.

By the late 1680s Paterson was based in London; there is a record of him having been admitted to the livery of The Merchant Taylor’s Company on 21st October, 1689. By the early 1690s he is a prosperous and recognized merchant in the City. His ardent biographer Saxe Bannister reports that he lived in a well-appointed house in Queen Square, Westminster and had a handsome horse and carriage with his own emblem.[5] During these years Paterson was trying to find investment to establish a trading route through the area we now call Panama in order to fulfil his life’s ambition of facilitating trade between the East and the West. This ambition was later to prove his downfall in the Darien Enterprise (Hamilton, 2025). In the early 1690s he recognized the need for a Bank as a reliable source of credit:

‘The want of a Bank, or public Fund, for the convenience and security of great payments, and the better to facilitate the circulation of Money, in and about this great and opulent City, hath in our time, among other Inconveniences, occasion’d much unnecessary Credit, to the loss of several Millions, by which Trade hath been exceedingly discourag’d and obstructed’.[6]

Paterson had invested in Phips’ venture to find the Señora de la Concepcion. He made a great deal of money which further enhanced his status in London as a projector; he had been clever or lucky, either would do. Paterson’s confidence and influence must have grown. He managed to pull together a group of people who met in the Sun Tavern close to The Exchange to try to get a bank off the ground. Paterson called it ‘the Society’. Some high-profile people were needed to give the Society clout. Paterson co-opted his old friend Phips. He was the first titled person to join the Society.

With Paterson’s increased wealth and status, and with Sir William Phips on board, The Society  was gaining a foothold.  On 21 October 1691 Paterson made a real breakthrough and recruited six new members into the Society, among them another knight of the realm, Sir John Houblon. He was a highly respected merchant and was to become the first Governor of the Bank of England. The Society was being taken seriously.

Luck and accident had set the scene and the conditions for a possible bank, now Paterson and the Society needed to employ pure deceit, political conniving and persuasive storytelling to get the actual Bank up and running.

Deceit

All innovative projects require at the very least a certain fictionality and necessary deceit. They are, initially, fictions that will only work once we believe in them. The entrepreneurs or projectors are, after all, making them up as they go along. Paterson and the Society were making the Bank up as they went along. Paterson’s first plan had failed - it had been too daring.  In 1694 the Society put forward a second plan for the Bank of England.  Some sleight of hand, some devious doings, were required to get this plan across the line. Paterson himself later confesses that the situation ‘produced certain narrow and sinister designs no way becoming so noble and universal a work as this’. [7] One of the most sinister strategies was to remove all mention of a bank from the Bill that was put before parliament to approve the creation of the Bank. The proposal was tagged on to the end of an ordinary finance bill and bears the following title:

‘An Act for granting to their Majesties several Rates and Duties upon Tunnage Of ships and vessels, and upon Beer, Ale  and other Liquors: for securing certain Recompenses and Advantages, in the said Act mentioned, to such persons as shall voluntarily advance the sum of £1,500,000 towards carrying on the War against France’.[8]

This is a deceit; the Bank is slipped in under the disguise of taxes on beer and wine to fight the French. The subscriptions were to be lent to the King to fight the war and the interest on the loan would be paid out of beer and wine taxes. They failed to mention that a bank would be established to manage the subscriptions and much more. There is no mention at all in the Act of any Bank. As Paterson later explains:

‘the very names of a bank or corporation was avoided, though the nature of both was intended, the proposers thinking it prudent that a design of this nature should have as easy and insensible a beginning as possible, to prevent…and remove the prejudices and bad impressions commonly conceived in the minds of men against things of this kind before they are understood’.[9]

The bill was put forward at the end of the parliamentary session when many MPs had retired to the country and had to be summoned back. Parliament was appeased by the insertion of a clause in the bill to say that the Bank could not provide funds for the King without the assent of Parliament.

When it comes to the actual opening of the Bank it is sheer theatre and storytelling.  The stage is set at Mercer’s Hall, where the Book of Subscriptions is opened. Commissioners have been appointed by a Bank, which does not yet exist, to monitor the subscriptions and provide detailed accounts. The first subscribers are the King and Queen who subscribe £10,000. This is something of a boomerang subscription as the new Bank is going to lend the money to the King to fight France. They are followed by 1,267 individuals. Their subscriptions are written down on vellum paper and signed by the Commissioners. The seal uses a newly invigorated image of Britannia to stamp these dealings with truth and authority.

It is hard looking back now to comprehend what a huge risk this project was. The Bank could have failed at any time. It could have been challenged by other banks, and indeed was. The King could have reneged on the promise to support the Bank. England could have lost the war with  France. But it did succeed, against very high odds, and continues to be, as Adam Smith noted, a great engine of state. The Bank of England is the oldest most continuously operating central bank in the world and is one of the UK’s most prestigious institutions.

This brief glimpse into its beginnings suggests that accident and chance played their part in its creation and should not be left out of the story. Deceit, political conniving and the skills of the storyteller were required to get the Bank up and running, and are still required to keep it running. William Paterson appears to have ridden the waves of a chance storm and of the Projecting Age in which he lived, combining ability and eloquence with a determined will to achieve his vision. He did, and this institution sits at the heart of our financial, economic and political systems.

This article is drawn from Pirates, Punters and Politicians, How the Bank of England was Founded, Val Hamilton. London: Chronos Publishing, 2025. (Amazon US | Amazon UK)

And from

Daniel Defoe and the Bank of England, The Dark Arts of Projectors,  Valerie Hamilton and Martin Parker. Winchester UK: John Hunt Publishing, 2016.

[1] Clapham, John. The Bank of England, A History, Volume 1 1694-1797. Cambridge: University Press, 1944, p1.

[2] Defoe, Daniel. An Essay Upon Projects. London: Bibliobazaar, 2008 (1697), p26.

[3] Forrester, Andrew. The Man who saw the Future. US:Thomson, 2004, p53.

[4]

[5] Bannister, Sax. ( ed.) The Writings of William Paterson, Founder of the Bank of England, 3 vols. British Library. 1858. Preface.)

[6] Paterson, William.’A Brief Account of the Intended bank of England’,1694, E.Huntingdon Library and Art Gallery, EEBO, 2012.

[7] Paterson, William, ‘A Brief Account of the Intended Bank of England’, London, 1694, Accessed EEBO Warwick University 2012, p5.

[8] Giuseppi, John. The Bank of England, London: Evans Brothers Ltd., 1966, p11.

[9] Bannister, Saxe. ‘A Brief Account of the Intended Bank of England’, London: Randall Taylor, near Stationers Hall. 1694 accessed EEBO, Warwick University, p5.

History Through the Lens of Children's Literature: What Fairy Tales Reveal About the Past

Fairy tales enchant with their fantastical elements, yet they also expose harsh realities of the past. You might wonder how these seemingly simple stories encapsulate complex societal norms and historical contexts. As you explore the origins and evolution of these narratives, you'll uncover the cultural reflections they offer, revealing much about gender roles, moral lessons, and the fears that shaped societies. What hidden truths lie within these tales that continue to resonate today?

Adam Ferraresi explains.

The Origins of Fairy Tales

Fairy tales have captivated audiences for centuries, with their origins tracing back to oral traditions that predate written language. You can see how these stories evolved as they were passed down through generations, often adapting to the cultural contexts of their tellers. The earliest forms of fairy tales likely emerged as a way to convey moral lessons, entertain, and explain the inexplicable.

As you explore their history, you'll notice that many tales blend the fantastic with the everyday, reflecting the realities of the societies that spawned them. Characters like cunning tricksters or valiant heroes illustrate the values and fears of their time.

Over the years, these narratives transformed, influenced by the literary movements, societal changes, and even the emergence of printed texts.

While the Brothers Grimm and Charles Perrault are often credited with popularizing fairy tales, countless variations existed long before their collections. These tales serve as a mirror, revealing the hopes, dreams, and struggles of the people who told them. These narratives are also useful educational tools today, especially in an online school K-12setting, where fairy tales help students explore history, ethics, and cultural change through engaging, age-appropriate storytelling.

Cultural Reflections in Stories

How do stories reflect the cultures from which they emerge? When you plunge into fairy tales, you uncover a tapestry of beliefs, values, and social norms that define a society. These narratives often encapsulate the daily lives of their characters, showcasing the customs, traditions, and struggles of the people.

For instance, a story set in a specific historical context might reveal gender roles that were prevalent at the time, allowing you to see how societal expectations shaped individual destinies.

As you explore various fairy tales, you might notice recurring motifs, such as the hero's journey or the triumph of good over evil. These themes aren't just entertaining—they mirror the hopes and fears of the culture that birthed them.

You'll find that stories often serve as a lens for understanding cultural identity, illustrating how communities view themselves and their place in the world.

Additionally, fairy tales can highlight regional differences, showcasing local legends and folklore that enrich cultural heritage. By examining these narratives, you gain insight not only into the values of the time but also into the evolution of those values as societies change.

Through this exploration, you see how deeply interconnected stories and culture truly are.

Morals and Lessons Over Time

Stories not only reflect cultural identities but also impart morals and lessons that resonate across generations. Fairy tales, in particular, serve as vehicles for these timeless teachings, adapting their messages to fit the evolving social landscape. As you explore these narratives, you'll notice how lessons about virtues like honesty, bravery, and kindness remain relevant, even as the specifics of each tale shift.

Take, for instance, the classic tale of Cinderella. Originally, it emphasized the importance of virtue and patience, highlighting the rewards of good behavior. Over time, adaptations have shifted focus, incorporating themes of empowerment and self-advocacy, which mirror contemporary values. This evolution showcases a society's changing priorities.

Similarly, stories like Little Red Riding Hood caution against naivety, reflecting historical concerns about trust and safety. As you analyze these tales, you'll see how the underlying morals adapt to address the fears and aspirations of their time, providing a rich tapestry of lessons that inform both children and adults.

Ultimately, these narratives endure not just for their entertainment value, but for their ability to convey essential life lessons, ensuring that each generation learns from the past while looking toward the future.

Historical Context of Popular Tales

Understanding the historical context of popular tales enriches our appreciation of their narratives and themes. When you investigate these stories, you notice they often mirror the societal values and challenges of their time. For example, tales like "Cinderella" and "Little Red Riding Hood" emerged during periods of significant social change, reflecting anxieties about class mobility and the dangers lurking in the world.

As you explore the origins of these tales, consider how they were shaped by the cultural norms and expectations of their respective eras. The oral tradition of storytelling often meant that these narratives evolved with each retelling, adapting to the audience's needs and the prevailing attitudes.

By analyzing the historical context, you can identify the underlying messages about resilience, morality, and social hierarchy. The way these stories address conflicts—like poverty, betrayal, or love—reveals much about the human experience and societal structures.

Ultimately, understanding the historical backdrop allows you to grasp why these tales have endured through generations, resonating with audiences across cultures and time periods. You'll find that fairy tales offer more than just entertainment; they serve as a compelling lens through which to view history itself.

Gender Roles and Stereotypes

When you plunge into children's literature, it's crucial to ignore the influence of gender roles and stereotypes woven throughout these narratives. These tales not only entertain but also shape societal perceptions of what it means to be male or female.

Consider the following common themes:

• Damsels in Distress: Female characters often need rescuing, reinforcing dependency.

• Brave Heroes: Male protagonists typically embody strength and courage, driving the action.

• Domesticity vs. Adventure: Women are frequently portrayed in domestic roles, while men undertake quests.

• Appearance Matters: Female beauty is often emphasized, impacting self-image and expectations.

• Emotional Expression: Boys are usually depicted as stoic, while girls express emotions freely.

These patterns reflect historical contexts where rigid gender norms prevailed. By examining these narratives, you can uncover the underlying messages that influence young readers.

While some stories have evolved, many still perpetuate outdated stereotypes. It's crucial to critically engage with these texts, recognizing their role in shaping identities and societal roles.

As you explore, consider how modern retellings challenge these norms, offering a more balanced representation of gender that empowers all children.

Fear and Cautionary Elements

Children's literature often embeds fear and cautionary elements that serve as powerful tools for moral and social instruction. When you explore tales like "Little Red Riding Hood" or "Hansel and Gretel," you notice how these narratives evoke fear to teach essential lessons. The lurking dangers in the woods symbolize real-life threats, encouraging you to be cautious and aware of your surroundings.

These cautionary tales often reflect societal anxieties, mirroring the fears of the times they were written in. For instance, the consequences faced by disobedient children highlight the importance of listening to authority figures. By illustrating the potential dangers of ignorance or rebellion, these stories compel you to reflect on the repercussions of your choices.

Moreover, the use of fear isn't merely for shock value; it provides a framework for understanding complex social dynamics. You can see how these elements foster resilience and critical thinking, urging young readers to navigate their world with care.

Ultimately, the fear embedded in children's literature acts as a guide, steering you toward moral development while echoing the broader historical context from which these tales emerge.

Timeless Themes and Human Nature

At the heart of children's literature lies a tapestry of timeless themes that resonate with human nature, transcending generations and cultural boundaries.

These stories reflect fundamental truths about our existence, often revealing the complexities of human behavior and emotion. When you investigate these narratives, you'll discover themes that continue to shape our understanding of ourselves and each other.

Consider these enduring themes:

• Good vs. Evil: The classic struggle that defines moral choices.

• Coming of Age: The journey from innocence to experience.

• Friendship and Loyalty: Bonds that withstand trials and tribulations.

• Courage and Resilience: Overcoming obstacles in pursuit of dreams.

• Love and Sacrifice: The lengths to which we go for those we cherish.

These themes aren't just for children; they're mirrors reflecting your own life experiences. They challenge you to confront fears and hopes, and they provide insight into societal values.

Conclusion

In delving into fairy tales, you've unraveled a tapestry woven with the threads of history, culture, and human nature. These stories aren't just whimsical tales; they're mirrors reflecting the societal norms and values of their times. As you navigate the enchanting worlds of these narratives, you discover how they shape and challenge our perceptions. Ultimately, fairy tales invite you to reexamine your own beliefs and fears, proving that stories have the power to transform both hearts and minds.

How the U.S. Civil War Made Christmas a National Holiday

We take for granted that the Christmas Season entails children are home from school, festive meals are being prepared, airports are crowded as people rush home to their families and parties are in full swing, all in anticipation of the jolly old elf Santa Claus’s arrival. Not many people realize though that all of those traditions have their origins in the Civil War.

Lloyd W Klein explains.

The religious nature of the holiday season upon us aside, this time of year has been a time of celebration and gift giving for centuries. The Twelve Days of Christmas and many other traditional songs, as well as Dickens’s Christmas Carol, show that this is a celebration time that goes way back in the European culture. This week we are going to trace how the Civil War led to the making of Christmas as a secular, national holiday.

Unsurprisingly, the story is at base a political one. On Christmas Day 1861, President Lincoln chose to host a party at the White House. It was a crucial political moment because Mr Lincoln had a brewing international crisis that he had to stop before it got out of hand.

On Christmas Day 1862, the country was in a national panic. Setbacks in the war had made it anything but a happy season. On this day, Mr and Mrs Lincoln did something that seems so much a part of the responsibility of the POTUS on this holiday that its astounding that it hasn’t always been traditional. And on Christmas in 1863, the Lincoln’s made yet another gesture of good will to the soldiers in the field.

In 1861 President Lincoln sought to limit an international crisis by throwing a Christmas Party at the White House. The Trent Affair had led to the capture of the appointed Confederate representatives to Britain and France, John Slidell and James Murray Mason. War clouds had started to collect as the British Prime Minister insisted that the US had no right to capture these men on open seas. The capture occurred on November 8 and had become an international scandal after November 18. By Christmastime, there were rumors of British preparations for war and also significant diplomatic efforts were in progress. There were rumors of an invasion from Canada .So, there was a lot for Lincoln to “soft shoe” that day.

In 1862, the Lincoln Family began a tradition to counter the public effects of The Battle of Fredericksburg, which had been a military disaster that spawned a political and public relations catastrophe. “What will the country say?” Lincoln asked. But the POTUS was a political mastermind, and he turned crisis into opportunity, The Lincolns pointedly went the various hospitals around Washington and visited and spoke with the wounded. No president had ever done this before. It showed that Lincoln the commander in chief was a sensitive leader who felt the people’s pain.

The hospital visits were so popular, and so necessary, that Lincoln continued them. He brought his son Tad with him on many such days. Tad was deeply moved by the soldiers. So on Xmas 1863, wounded soldiers received gifts of books and clothing from the White House, with a covering note that said, “From Tad Lincoln”.

And in 1864, General Sherman telegrammed Lincoln on December 22, 1864 announcing the capture of Savanah. By 1865, as the image above shows, Christmas was a celebration of victory in. the war.

The soldiers on the battlefield were far away from home, many had never been outside their county in their lives let alone their state. Union soldiers used salt pork and hardtack to decorate Christmas trees. Others were treated to special meals; a captain from Massachusetts treated his soldiers to foods such as turkey, oysters, pies, and apples; Singing carols was popular, ones that remain popular today, but Christmas cards would not become popular until the 1870s.

When we fly or drive home to Grandmothers House for Christmas, the origin of that tradition is the Civil War Fathers on both sides of the war were often given furloughs to return home for the holiday.

Christmas originates with a significant religious meaning and yet it has become secular in its celebration. Almost no one knows that this trend began in the Civil War. And even more surprising to many, without Thomas Nast, Christmas as we know it probably wouldn’t exist. But Nast wasn’t interested so much in Christmas. He was interested in a much bigger issue.

Nast was a cartoonist for Harper’s Weekly during the Civil War. If Nast wasn’t so interested in Christmas, why the recurrent theme? The 2 Nast cartoons depict Christmas experiences during the war. Identify the subjects of each and what was groundbreaking about them.

The fact is that Nast was a first class political cartoonist who was a Union sympathizing propagandist using Christmas to draw on the emotions of the season to bring the country together.

In the top cartoon, "Christmas Eve" (1862), a wreath frames a scene of a soldier's praying wife and sleeping children at home; a second wreath frames the soldier seated by a campfire, gazing longingly at small pictures of his loved ones.

Another illustration features Santa in his sleigh, then going down a chimney, in the top left of the cartoon. Somber scenes below remind of a grimmer reality--an army marching through snow and a row of frozen graves that refers to the Union's recent failure to take Fredericksburg. But there is hope: Santa is coming!

the January 3, 1863 issue of Harper's Weekly, Nast has an early caricature of Santa dressed in an American flag, with a puppet with the name "Jeff" written on it, Nast was inspired by the Belsnickel, part of the folklore in southwestern Germany, You’ll notice his sleigh is drawn by 2 scrawny reindeer.

Nast’s 1864 Christmas cartoon in Harper’s. You can clearly see Lincoln beckoning men outside the door into the Christmas feast. But once again, he is making a political point. . Lincoln is seen ushering in the Confederates to re-join the US in a celebratory setting. of a holiday held in common. It is, of course, pure propaganda, but consistent with the war goal of reunification.

Nast’s Christmas cartoons were so successful that he essentially created much of the holiday we know. Nast was not the only one to use Christmas as a propaganda tool. On the Union side, The New York Herald also engaged in propaganda. One illustration published in the paper included Santa Claus fuming that he could not reach southern children, due to the northern blockade. On the Confederate side, The Richmond Examiner described Santa to its young readers as "a Dutch toy monger" who was a New York/New England "scrub" and Hottentot that had nothing to do with traditional Virginian celebrations of Christmas. Nast had successfully made Christmas a Union holiday, and that is propaganda at a very high level.

“In these two drawings, Christmas became a Union holiday and Santa a Union local deity,” writes Adam Gopnik in a 1997 issue of the New Yorker. “It gave Christmas to the North—gave to the Union cause an aura of domestic sentiment, and even sentimentality.” Nast’s 1863 Christmas cartoon showed the couple shown in 1862 reunited.

Use of a Santa-like figure for propaganda purposes would eventually lead after the war to the elf myth of the jolly old Saint Nick. Between 1862 and 1886, Nast created thirty-three Santa Claus drawings. The iconic version of Santa Claus as a jolly man in red with a white beard and a sack of toys was immortalized in 1881, depicted by Nast in the cartoon attached, But he also gave the definitive appearance to Uncle Sam, America personified. Notice how they both have white beards, but one is tall and thin and the other short and plump. Nast didn’t invent Uncle Sam, as many people believe, but he did standardize his appearance and affect. Santa Claus derives from Sinterklaas, the Dutch rendering of St Nicholas, which was popularized in the 1823 poem “A Visit From St. Nicholas”.

DGCC: Notice that the Santa in the 1881 cartoon is smoking an old-style Dutch clay pipe and has a Civil War saber (?toy) hanging from his waistband. He is carrying a knapsack on his back, not filled with clothes and war supplies anymore, but with toys. These details are deliberate; Nast is immortalizing a new personification: the former Union soldier is now older, happily smoking an old pipe, and raising a family 16 years after the war’s end. But the old soldier is still in him. Nast knew his business.

It was also Thomas Nast who decided that Santa and his reindeer lived at the North Pole. After the war Nast purposely made the North Pole the home of Saint Nick so that no one else could use him for nationalistic propaganda like Nast himself did.

It’s hard to imagine today, but Christmas was not always considered a “national” holiday.

Because of the recognition that soldiers on both sides of the war, and of all religious backgrounds, found end of the year celebrations as fostering community and country, that view began to change. Politicians started to recognize in the post war period that if they wanted to bring the country together and heal wounds, Xmas was a natural solution.

Puritans and Lutherans viewed non-sectarian celebrations of Christmas during the war as sacrilegious. They believed the day should be dedicated to fasting and prayer, and looked askance at such practices.  In Massachusetts, such parties were considered a waste of money and could be fined.

The legal recognition of Christmas as a national holiday occurred when Representative Burton Chauncey Cook of Illinois introduced a bill in the U.S. Congress after the war. It passed in both houses of Congress, and President Ulysses S. Grant signed it on June 28, 1870. On June 26, 1870, Congress — led by Northern legislators — passed a law that made Christmas (along with New Year’s Day, Independence Day, and Thanksgiving) a federal holiday for federal employees in Washington, D.C. This was later extended nationwide. Ulysses S. Grant signed the law, partly as a gesture of reconciliation between North and South during Reconstruction.

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David Livingstone - An Inspiring Victorian

David Livingstone stands as one of the most celebrated figures of the Victorian age, a missionary, explorer, and abolitionist whose name became synonymous with Africa's vast, unmapped interior. Born on the 19th of March, 1813, in Blantyre, Scotland, Livingstone's early life was one of humble beginnings. The second of seven children, he grew up in a small tenement room above a cotton mill where his father worked as a tea salesman and Sunday school teacher. From the age of ten, Livingstone himself worked twelve-hour shifts at the mill, his small wages helping to support the family. Yet even amid such hardship, he displayed an unrelenting thirst for learning, studying Latin and theology late into the night with the aid of a single flickering candle. His self-discipline and curiosity earned him a place at Anderson's University in Glasgow, where he trained in both medicine and theology. It was during this time that he became inspired by the writings and appeals of the London Missionary Society (LMS), whose vision of combining medical work with Christian mission would become the cornerstone of his life's endeavor.

Terry Bailey explains.

David Livingstone in 1864.

In 1840, Livingstone was ordained as a missionary doctor under the LMS and sailed for Africa, a continent largely unknown to Europeans beyond the coastal regions. His first posting was in the Bechuana country (modern-day Botswana), where he worked alongside the veteran missionary Robert Moffat. There, Livingstone quickly distinguished himself not only for his medical skills and fluency in local languages but also for his belief in establishing missions far inland, away from European colonial influences. His early travels introduced him to the harsh realities of African geography and the challenges of crossing vast deserts such as the Kalahari. Livingstone's marriage to Moffat's daughter, Mary, in 1845 marked the beginning of a partnership often tested by the dangers of exploration and illness.

Livingstone's first great achievement came in 1849 when he crossed the Kalahari Desert to reach Lake Ngami, a body of water previously unknown to Europeans. His reports of this journey captured the imagination of the British public, eager for tales of adventure and discovery. Determined to find new routes for legitimate trade as an alternative to the brutal slave routes that scarred the continent, Livingstone pushed further north. Between 1851 and 1856, he traversed thousands of miles, becoming the first European to cross the African continent from west to east. His expedition from Luanda on the Atlantic coast to Quelimane on the Indian Ocean was a feat of endurance that won him worldwide fame.

It was during these years that Livingstone made one of his most famous discoveries: the great waterfall on the Zambezi River, which he named Victoria Falls in honor of Queen Victoria. The native name, Mosi-oa-Tunya—"The Smoke That Thunders"—he preserved in his writings, noting its grandeur and spiritual significance to local peoples. His detailed journals and maps from this period were meticulously kept, later forming the basis for his book Missionary Travels and Researches in South Africa (1857), a major publication that enthralled readers and established his reputation as both a scientist and a man of faith. The Royal Geographical Society awarded him its gold medal, and his observations contributed significantly to the European understanding of African geography, geology, and ethnography.

Livingstone's later expeditions, particularly the Zambezi Expedition (1858–1864), were less successful but no less ambitious. Appointed by the British government to explore the navigability of the Zambezi River and its tributaries, he hoped to open up routes for trade and Christian missions that would undermine the slave trade. However, the journey was plagued by disease, logistical failure, and tragedy, including the death of his wife Mary from malaria in 1862. Despite these setbacks, his scientific work remained meticulous. He recorded flora, fauna, and mineral deposits, and his notebooks, many of which survive in archives such as the National Library of Scotland bear witness to a disciplined observer driven by both humanitarian and scientific motives.

In the later years of his life, Livingstone became increasingly preoccupied with finding the source of the Nile, a mystery that had fascinated explorers for centuries. His travels took him deep into Central Africa, where he lost contact with the outside world for several years. Rumors of his death circulated widely in Europe until, in 1871, the Welsh-born American journalist and explorer Henry Morton Stanley was dispatched by the New York Herald to find him. Stanley's long and arduous search ended in the town of Ujiji on the shores of Lake Tanganyika, where he greeted the weary, bearded missionary with the now-legendary words, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?"

The meeting between Livingstone and Stanley became one of the most famous encounters in exploration history. Livingstone, though weakened by illness and years of hardship, was still resolute in his mission. Stanley, impressed by the older man's determination and moral conviction, provided supplies and encouragement. The two men explored parts of Lake Tanganyika together before Stanley returned to the coast with news that Livingstone was alive. Stanley's own life, though often overshadowed by this single encounter, was remarkable. Born John Rowlands in Denbigh, Wales, in 1841, he endured a harsh childhood before emigrating to the United States, where he served as a soldier, sailor, and journalist. His transformation into Henry Morton Stanley came after being adopted by a wealthy merchant of that name. His later explorations, including the charting of the Congo River, would establish him as one of the most controversial and driven explorers of the 19th century.

David Livingstone, however, never returned home. His final years were spent in relentless pursuit of the Nile's source, often under conditions of extreme suffering. His final journals, preserved on fragile paper and sometimes written in berry juice when ink ran out, reveal both his physical decline and his enduring spiritual faith. On the 1st of May, 1873, he died in the village of Chitambo (in present-day Zambia), likely from malaria and dysentery. His African attendants, loyal to the end, buried his heart beneath a tree at the site and carried his embalmed body over a thousand miles to the coast. From there, his remains were returned to Britain and interred in Westminster Abbey, where he was honored as both a national hero and a symbol of humanitarian courage.

The documents, letters, and diaries Livingstone left behind remain invaluable to historians. They not only chronicle a vast and challenging period of exploration but also offer rare insight into the cultural, geographical, and ethical dimensions of 19th-century Africa. Modern projects such as the "Livingstone Online" digital archive have preserved and analyzed these records, revealing details of his linguistic studies, medical observations, and even his evolving views on imperialism and slavery.

David Livingstone's legacy endures not simply as that of a man who charted rivers and crossed continents, but as one who sought to bring moral reform to a world divided by greed and ignorance. His life's work combined faith, science, and compassion, leaving a mark that transcended geography. The image of Livingstone emaciated, resolute, and holding fast to his ideals in the heart of Africa became a powerful emblem of the Victorian spirit of exploration and remains an enduring chapter in the intertwined histories of Britain and Africa.

David Livingstone's life formed a remarkable reflection of the transformative power of perseverance, conviction, and moral purpose. Emerging from poverty in industrial Scotland, he fashioned himself through relentless study and unyielding discipline into one of the most influential figures of the 19th century. His journeys across Africa created some of the most significant geographical and scientific records of his age, expanding European understanding of a continent too often approached with ignorance or prejudice. Yet Livingstone's work was never solely about mapping rivers or tracing mountain chains. It was underpinned by a profound humanitarian mission: to challenge the slave trade, to encourage what he called "legitimate commerce," and to foster cross-cultural understanding at a time when imperial attitudes frequently bred exploitation rather than empathy.

Though his later expeditions were marked by hardship, loss, and controversy, Livingstone's commitment to his principles never wavered. His meticulous notes, journals, and correspondence reveal a man constantly searching for knowledge, for justice, for the elusive headwaters of the Nile, and for ways to improve the lives of the people he encountered. These documents, preserved today in archives and digital collections, allow modern readers to glimpse the complexity of his character: a scientist shaped by faith, a missionary shaped by science, and an explorer shaped by an abiding respect for the African landscapes and communities that defined his career.

His celebrated meeting with Henry Morton Stanley, and the deeply human story behind it, further cemented his image in the Victorian imagination but it was Livingstone's death, and the extraordinary devotion of his African companions who carried his body across vast distances that most clearly demonstrated the depth of the relationships he forged. In life and in death, he crossed boundaries of culture and geography that few Europeans of his era attempted to bridge.

Ultimately, David Livingstone stands not only as a pioneer of exploration but as a symbol of a broader moral struggle. His efforts against the slave trade, his insistence on recording African voices and customs with respect, and his belief that knowledge could serve humanitarian ends distinguish him from many of his contemporaries. While modern interpretations rightly place his achievements within the wider context of imperial history, his intentions and contributions remain significant and enduring. His story continues to resonate because it speaks to universal themes: resilience in the face of adversity, integrity in purpose, and the pursuit of understanding across cultural divides. In this way, Livingstone's legacy extends far beyond the maps he drew or the rivers he traced, it endures as a reminder of the profound impact one determined individual can have on the course of history.

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Can the Treatment of the Native Americans be Considered Genocide?

During the movement of settlers west across America, a number of bloody and violent encounters took place with Native Americans. Here Shubh Samant considers whether such actions can be considered genocide.

Native American prisoners from the Red River War. In Fort Marion, Florida in 1875.

The Indian Wars were a tragic and violent period in American history, filled with death, suffering, and forced displacements of many Native American people. However, according to the United Nations definition of genocide, which requires intent “to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial, or religious group”, I would argue that the actions of the US government during these wars cannot be considered a genocide. While many military campaigns caused significant losses to Native communities, most evidence suggests that the government’s primary intent was territorial expansion and economic growth, rather than a complete destruction of the Native American people.  This distinction between intent and outcome is crucial when analyzing historical atrocities. While the consequences of these wars were undeniably devastating, the legal classification of genocide hinges on deliberate, documented intent.

The Sand Creek Massacre in Colorado from the year 1864 CE is regarded as one of the most famous atrocities during the Indian Wars. On November 29, 1864, Colonel Chivington led militia forces in an attack on a peaceful camp of Cheyenne and Arapaho people, killing over 150 non-combatants. The brutality of this event, including the mutilation of bodies, fits a part of the UN definition - “killing members of the group.” However, to meet the legal threshold of genocide, such acts must be part of a wider, intentional policy aimed at the group’s destruction. This massacre was not ordered by the Federal government as part of a national anti-Native American movement, but was rather done by a small local force. The US Congress later condemned the attack themselves, calling it a ‘massacre’. Thus, while the event was undeniably horrific and anti-human, the absence of a federal order or coordination to intently eliminate the Cheyenne and Arapaho group weakens its classification as genocide under international law. The Sand Creek Massacre remains a haunting reminder of how local actions, driven by prejudice and fear, can result in catastrophic violence. It also highlights the importance of accountability, as Congress’s condemnation set a precedent for recognizing and denouncing such acts.

The Red River War was a series of US army campaigns against several Southern Plains tribes. The army destroyed villages, food supplies, and horses. Such acts could relate to another part of the UN definition - “inflicting conditions of life calculated to bring about physical destruction.” Yet, the destruction was strategically aimed at forcing surrender, not extermination. Rather, the purpose of these military actions was to force the Native tribes to surrender and relocate to reservations, not their extermination. Once these tribes relocated to the reservations, the government continued to provide them with ration supplies, in complete contrast to extermination, as defined in the UN definition. This provision of aid, however inadequate, suggests a policy of containment and assimilation rather than extermination.

It’s important to note that while these campaigns were tactically designed to break resistance, they also dismantled centuries-old ways of life. The loss of horses, food stores, and mobility had long-term cultural impacts that extended beyond physical survival.

Wounded Knee Massacre

The Indian Wars, just as violent and horrific they had been, ended in a similar tone. On December 29, 1890, the US 7th cavalry surrounded a Lakota camp near Wounded Knee Creek, and opened fire. This led to the deaths of roughly 300 Natives. Yet again, in contrast with the UN definition, this violence was not a result of an intentional plan to destroy the Lakotas. It rather erupted from a misunderstanding surrounding the Ghost Dance movement, which the soldiers misinterpreted as a rebellion. While the scale and indiscriminate killings can clearly be considered crimes against humanity, the lack of any documented intent by the US federal government to eliminate the Lakota as a group weakens the claim of genocide.

The Wounded Knee Massacre has since become a symbol of Native resistance and remembrance. Annual commemorations and historical reinterpretations continue to challenge the narrative of “misunderstanding,” urging deeper reflection on the militarization of fear and prejudice.

The UN definition emphasizes intent, a deliberate goal to destroy/exterminate a group. Although the US government engaged in destructive practices throughout the Indian Wars, there is little evidence that there was an official policy intending to annihilate Native Americans. Historical records and military correspondence show the goals were primarily land expansion and assimilation, not extermination. While these goals caused immense suffering and destruction, they differ from the genocidal intent defined by the UN. 

This distinction has legal implications, but it doesn’t absolve the moral responsibility. The legacy of these wars continues to shape Native American communities today, from land rights battles to cultural preservation efforts.

Conclusion

In conclusion, while the Sand Creek Massacre, the Red River War, and the Wounded Knee Massacre were horribly violent/had terrible consequences, they do not fully meet the United Nations definition of genocide, which requires proven intent to destroy a group of people. The US government actions during the Indian Wars were driven more by expansionism, forced relocation, and assimilation than by a systematic/official effort to exterminate Native Americans as a race. Therefore, these actions can be considered as genocidal by effects, but not by the legal criteria.

Understanding this nuance is essential, not to diminish the suffering, but to accurately frame the historical record. As we continue to confront the past, we must also amplify Native voices, support reparative justice, and ensure that such tragedies are never repeated.

All quotations in this article have been taken from https://www.un.org/en/genocide-prevention/definition.

Article dedicated to Mr. Kopitar.