Gertrude Bell: The Mountaineer and the Four Impossibles of the Oberland

Gertrude Bell had many accomplishments. A polyglot, she translated 43 Persian poems from the collection The Divan of Hafiz (also written as Hafez) into English. She published her translations in June of 1897 alongside a study of the poems in context of Islamic Persia’s history. Much of her life leading up to 1914 was spent on archaeological digs with a focus on Byzantine architecture in Turkey and the palace at Ukhaidir in what is now Iraq. The chronicles of her travels brought her recognition. These experiences were deemed useful during World War I when she worked as an interpreter for the British in Egypt and mapped wells and paths in Arabia. Her contemporary T. E. Lawrence later acknowledged that her information had aided the Arab Revolt against the Ottoman Empire during the war. After the war, she championed Faisal, a key figure during the Arab Revolt, as the first king of Iraq. For the remainder of her life, Faisal helped her establish the Iraq Museum to protect the country’s past. Perhaps less discussed, however, is her accomplished career as a mountaineer. Specifically, her 1902 crossing of the Lauteraarhorn-Schreckhorn traverse.

Michael Mirra explains.

A 1916 meeting with Ibn Saud, Percy Cox, and Gertrude Bell.

Early Climbs in the French Alps

As a daughter of the sixth-richest family in Britain, Gertrude had the privilege of traveling extensively including two world tours; one with her brother Maurice and another with her half-brother Hugh (sometimes referred to as “Hugo”). Gertrude showed an interest in mountain climbing when her family visited the Dauphiné region of the French Alps in August of 1897. It was during that trip that she climbed minor peaks like Pic de la Grave and the Bec de l’Homme.

Gertrude returned to the region in August of 1899 to climb the larger La Meije and Barre des Écrins. Early in her visit, she encountered German mountaineer Helene Kuntze who had just completed a climb of La Meije’s summit peak before her. Gertrude’s expedition, however, would cross the complete traverse. This is considered Gertrude’s first climbing season.

For the 1900 climbing season, Gertrude went to the Chamonix commune in France. It was there that she enlisted Ulrich Fuhrer as one of her guides. Ulrich and his younger brother Heinrich would become her usual guides during the 1901, 1902, and 1904 (her last) seasons. In 1900, she climbed Mont Blanc, the Grépon, and the Grand Dru.

The 1901 Season in the Swiss Alps

In 1901, Gertrude came face-to-face with the Schreckhorn in Switzerland. After reaching the top via the southeast, which is the side she referred to as seen from the Grimsel Pass, she focused on the Engelhörner range where she achieved seven first ascents, three more ascents of old peaks or saddles, and the first traverse of the Urbachthaler Engelhorn. One of the seven virgin peaks was named after her, Gertrudspitze (or Gertrude’s Peak). Her attention then turned to the unclimbed northeast face of the Finsteraarhorn and the uncompleted traverse of the Lauteraarhorn and Schreckhorn. However, she was met with bad weather and returned to England unsuccessful.

At the end of the year, Gertrude wrote the article “Concerning Mountains: Die Engelhörner” for the National Review. Her description of Switzerland is worth quoting in detail:

You need not go farther afield than the much-trodden Bernese Oberland to find new peaks and new adventures; it is unnecessary to go farther in search of Alpine beauties, for in no region of mountains is there a greater variety of gorgeous scenery. Snowfield and rock would seem here to put on their finest aspects; a master hand hollowed out the thin shell-like ridge of the Schreckhorn and raised the pinnacle of the Finsteraarhorn, spread the white carpet of the Aletsch Glacier, and planted pine and willow gentian down the eastern slopes of the Great Scheidegg. No wonder (but great cause for thankfulness) that to the pioneers of Alpine adventure the Oberland was one vast magnet, drawing them irresistibly upwards.

Despite her successes, this article was the only time that she publicly wrote about her climbs. This tells us that she did not set out on these mountain expeditions for glory. Seeking adventure was simply how she lived her life.

The First Impossible

Gertrude returned to Switzerland in 1902. She got a glimpse of fame while on the Brünig railway line when a conductor asked her if she was the Miss Bell who had climbed the Engelhörner. At Rosenlaui, she once again encountered Helene Kuntze who had recently completed several Engelhörner first ascents with Ulrich as her guide. Ulrich had rejoined Gertrude the previous day to which she felt was Helene’s displeasure.

A couple of days later, Helene climbed the big gendarme on the Vorder Wellhorn. Gertrude woke up at midnight to attempt the same climb with a 1:00 a.m. start. She was halted by a storm half an hour later and took shelter in a deserted chalet, choosing one that did not have pigs in it. More rain at dawn led to her returning to her inn at 5:00 a.m., but she was still determined.

The next day, Gertrude started for the big gendarme at 9:50 a.m. She made it to the top by 1:00 p.m. Using a sling left by Helene’s guide, a German named Gustav Hasler, she let herself down the southeast corner.

It was not long before Gertrude took her ambitions a step further. The very next morning, she returned to the Vorder Wellhorn and, while making a five minute halt to undo her rope, viewed a chamois run up the arête above her, knocking down stones as it climbed. Gertrude described the Wellhorn arête as one of four “impossibles” of the Oberland. She ascended it that day. Her expedition ended by crossing the Rosenlaui Glacier under the seracs. Two days later, while crossing the couloir between King’s Peak and the Princes, she wore climbing shoes for the first time.

The Lauteraarhorn

A few days after conquering the Vorder Wellhorn, Gertrude left Rosnelaui for the Grimsel Pass to tackle her next “impossible.” She wrote to her father describing plans for a midnight climb of the arête between the Lauteraarhorn and the Schreckhorn on an unclimbed side. These were secret plans because there were assumptions that Helene was focused on the same expedition from the other side.

Thunderstorms pushed Gertrude’s climb to a 3:00 a.m. start. After walking up the glacier for three hours, the sun rose and Gertrude noticed the light shine on the Finsteraarhorn. She reached the bottom of the Lauteraarhorn arête around 9:00 a.m. Climbing through mist and then snowfall, she reached the top around 2:15 p.m. She, Ulrich, and Heinrich put their visiting cards in a bottle that they found there.

In another letter to her father, Gertrude wrote that it was all to be done again. However, she noted that all agreed not to climb the Lauteraarhorn from the Grimsel side again. She described the arête to the summit as “made by the devil” and “one of his happiest inspirations.” The gendarmes and snow cornices made it feel as though they were never getting any closer to the end. Instead, they would attempt it from the Grindelwald side.

The Lauteraarhorn-Schreckhorn Traverse

One week later, Gertrude set off for the Lauteraarhorn again. She woke up at 10:20 p.m. and set off at 11:10 p.m. Helene went to the Schrekhorn saddle. Gertrude followed the glacier toward the Strahlegg on the southwest ridge of the Lauteraarhorn. Once again she noticed the Finsteraarhorn, this time shining in the moonlight. She put out her lantern to take in its full brilliance. Just before 2:00 a.m., she made it to the Strahlegg and faced wind coming from the Schreckfirn bergschrund on the southwest ridge of the Schreckhorn. On the way up the arête toward the summit, she felt the bitter wind whenever she turned toward the Schrekfirn side. She made it to the top of the arête at 4:10 a.m. and watched the dawn come while she ate breakfast. The Matterhorn now received her admiration in the pink sky.

Now traversing across the mountain, Gertrude reached the saddle at 6:35 a.m. The wind was cruel. Ulrich half-suggested not going to the top of the Lauteraarhorn, but Gertrude insisted. Onto the gendarmes they went, reaching the summit at 8:50 a.m. After a second breakfast, she returned to the saddle. She then went up a tall gendarme and waited for Helene at the top, who joined her at 10:45 a.m. Together, they reached the top of a smooth arête at 11:35 a.m. From then on, there was a sharp arête, hard gendarme, and a gendarme with an overhang. Ulrich unrolled a thin rope for them to go up the overhang above a 25-30 foot drop. After Gertrude went up, she climbed to the top of a smooth face. Helene did not follow up the overhang. Instead, she went around the bottom and up the other side of the gendarme. She then followed the ordinary route back down the Lauteraarhorn and over the Strahlegg. Gertrude, however, made her descent to the saddle, reaching it at 2:00 p.m., and back across the glacier at 4:30 p.m. She reached a community used hut at 5:30 p.m. just before Helene. Both teams slept in the hut that night and Gertrude complained about Helene rolling onto her all night. The next morning, Gertrude returned to Grindelwald at 10:00 a.m. This was the first crossing of the Lauteraarhorn-Schreckhorn traverse and, according to the Alpine Journal, her most important climb.

The Finsteraarhorn

Gertrude’s attention returned to the unclimbed northeast face of the Finsteraarhorn. It is unclear in her letters if her second “impossible” was the Lauteraarhorn-Schreckhorn traverse or the Finsteraarhorn. However, the Finsteraarhorn would prove impossible for her. A storm, inability to light matches, shelterless glacier, facing unknown ground, and eventual frostbite would cause her to turn back 57 hours into the expedition. Gustav Hasler called this the “first real attempt” of the northeast face and a “most gallant and determined attack on it.” He praised her endurance and performance. Gustav and his friend Fritz Amatter successfully climbed what Gertrude could not in 1904, grabbing a rope ring left by Gertrude at her turning point as a souvenir.

In 1903, Gertrude spent some time climbing in Vancouver while on her world tour with Hugh. Her final climb was the Matterhorn the following year. The remaining two “impossibles” of the Oberland were the Jungfrau from the Jungfrauhjoch saddle (first traversed in descent by C. F. Meade, guided by Ulrich and Heinrich in 1903) and the northeast arête of the Eiger (first ascended by Yuko Maki, guided by Fritz Amatter in 1921).

Did you find that piece interesting? If so, join us for free by clicking here.

Works Cited

Bell, Gertrude. A Woman in Arabia: The Writings of the Queen of the Desert, edited by Georgina Howell, Penguin, 2006.

Bell, Gertrude. “Concerning Mountains: Die Engelhörner.” Alpine Journal, vol. 41, 1929, pp. 21-34.

Bell, Gertrude. “Diary entry by Gertrude Bell.” 7 August, 1897. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/d/GB-2-5-2-1-9

Bell, Gertrude. “Diary entry by Gertrude Bell.” 6 July, 1902. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/d/GB-2-7-4-6-2

Bell, Gertrude. “Diary entry by Gertrude Bell.” 7 July, 1902. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/d/GB-2-7-4-6-3

Bell, Gertrude. “Diary entry by Gertrude Bell.” 9 July, 1902. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/d/GB-2-7-4-6-5

Bell, Gertrude. “Diary entry by Gertrude Bell.” 10 July, 1902. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/d/GB-2-7-4-6-6

Bell, Gertrude. “Diary entry by Gertrude Bell.” 11 July, 1902. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/d/GB-2-7-4-6-7

Bell, Gertrude. “Diary entry by Gertrude Bell.” 12 July, 1902. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/d/GB-2-7-4-6-8

Bell, Gertrude. “Diary entry by Gertrude Bell.” 14 July, 1902. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/d/gb-2-7-4-6-10

Bell, Gertrude. “Diary entry by Gertrude Bell.” 15 July, 1902. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/d/GB-2-7-4-6-11

Bell, Gertrude. “Diary entry by Gertrude Bell.” 16 July, 1902. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/d/GB-2-7-4-6-12

Bell, Gertrude. “Diary entry by Gertrude Bell.” 17 July, 1902. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/d/GB-2-7-4-6-13

Bell, Gertrude. “Diary entry by Gertrude Bell.” 24 July, 1902. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/d/GB-2-7-4-6-20

Bell, Gertrude. “Diary entry by Gertrude Bell.” 25 July, 1902. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/d/GB-2-7-4-6-21

Bell, Gertrude. Letter to Dame Florence Bell. 21 September, 1901. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/l/gb-1-1-1-1-11-19

Bell, Gertrude. Letter to Dame Florence Bell. 7 July, 1902. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/l/gb-1-1-1-1-12-16

Bell, Gertrude. Letter to Dame Florence Bell. 10 July, 1902. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/l/gb-1-1-1-1-12-17

Bell, Gertrude. Letter to Dame Florence Bell. 13 July, 1902. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/l/gb-1-1-1-1-12-18

Bell, Gertrude. Letter to Sir Hugh Bell. 8 September, 1901. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/l/gb-1-1-2-1-6-8

Bell, Gertrude. Letter to Sir Hugh Bell. 10 September, 1901. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/l/gb-1-1-2-1-6-9

Bell, Gertrude. Letter to Sir Hugh Bell. 15 September, 1901. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/l/gb-1-1-2-1-6-10

Bell, Gertrude. Letter to Sir Hugh Bell. 16 July, 1902. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/l/gb-1-1-2-1-7-3

Bell, Gertrude. Letter to Sir Hugh Bell. 18 July, 1902. Gertrude Bell Archive, New Castle University. https://gertrudebell.ncl.ac.uk/l/gb-1-1-2-1-7-4

Harding, J. G. R. “The Other Gertrude Bell.” Alpine Journal, vol. 124, 2020, pp. 168-178.

Hasler, Gustav. “The North-East Face of Finsteraarhorn.” Alpine Journal, vol 34, 1922, pp. 268-280.

Megasthenes – A Bridge Between the Classical Mediterranean World and Early Imperial India

Megasthenes, (Μεγασθένης), remains one of the most fascinating bridges between the classical Mediterranean world and early Imperial India: a Greek diplomat, ethnographer and writer who, as ambassador of Seleucus I Nicator, lived at the Mauryan court of Chandragupta and composed what became the first sustained Western account of the subcontinent. Exact details of his birth and upbringing are slim; later sources and modern scholars conventionally place his life in the fourth–third centuries BCE (often cited as born c. 350 BCE and dying c. 290 BCE), and describe him as an Ionian Greek who had served in the eastern satrapies before being dispatched to Pataliputra (modern Patna) in the decades after Alexander's campaigns.

Terry Bailey explains.

A Bust of Seleukos I Nikator, Bronze, Roman, 100BCE-100CE at the Museo Archeologico Nazionale Naples AN 5590. Source: Allan Gluck, available here.

Megasthenes' embassy must be read against the turbulent political map that emerged after Alexander: in the 320s–300s BCE the Macedonian successor states and the rising Mauryan power negotiated borders, alliances and exchanges. Seleucus I, having consolidated power in the west and east, sent envoys to the new Mauryan ruler; Megasthenes is usually identified as the Greek who represented Seleucus at Chandragupta's court, sometime around the opening years of the third century BCE (classical accounts often place the mission in or near 302–300 BCE). While Greek authors disagree about details and chronology, there is broad agreement that Megasthenes lived for a period in Pataliputra and had access to court circles and local informants.

What secured Megasthenes' long-term reputation was his written work, the Indica (Greek: Ἰνδικά) — a multi-book description of India that combined geography, ethnography, political organization, natural history and curious anecdotes. The original Indica is lost, but substantial fragments and paraphrases survive embedded in later authors such as Arrian, Strabo, Diodorus Siculus and Pliny; from those citations, scholars have been able to reconstruct large portions of his themes and claims. His account ranged from pragmatic observations, fortified layout and wooden palisades of the Mauryan capital, the scale of rivers such as the Ganges, commercial products, and administrative practices, to more exotic reports (stories of ancient invaders rendered as Dionysus or Heracles, fabulous creatures, and social arrangements unfamiliar to Greeks). The composite picture is of a careful observer who also relied on local informants and existing oral traditions, which accounts for a mix of reliable detail and mythic accretion.

Scholars and ancient critics have long debated how much of Megasthenes to trust. Arrian, the second-century CE historian who quotes Megasthenes sympathetically, treats him as an important firsthand source; by contrast, Strabo and Pliny accuse him of exaggeration and fantastical reporting. Modern historians tend to take a middle way: many of Megasthenes' topographical and administrative notes, the scale of Pataliputra, references to markets and ports, the prominence of philosophers in court life, and certain demographic or economic observations, find independent support or at least plausibility, even when his mythic or secondhand claims require skepticism. In short, Indica is invaluable as the earliest sustained ethnographic encounter between Greece and India, but it must be handled critically and compared with other evidence.

One important way Megasthenes' descriptions have been tested is by archaeological work at the site he called Palibothra (Pataliputra). Excavations in the Patna region, notably at Kumhrar, Bulandi Bagh and other spots have revealed extensive Mauryan-age remains: large wooden palisade foundations, signs of monumental timber architecture, and evidence for an unusually large and administratively complex urban center in the third century BCE. Those discoveries do not prove every specific claim in Indica, but they corroborate the broad outline of a heavily fortified, sprawling Mauryan capital whose scale and administrative character impressed foreign visitors. When combined with indigenous literary references (Buddhist and Jain texts that mention Pataliputra) the archaeological record strengthens the view that Megasthenes recorded real, observable features of Mauryan urban life.

Beyond topography and economy, Megasthenes' notes on society, his listing of social groups (sometimes translated later as "seven castes" or "classes"), his statements about the role of philosophers and the presence or absence of slavery, and his remarks about trade routes and commodities have been influential (and controversial) in modern reconstructions of early Indian institutions. Some of these formulations reflect Greek categories forcing themselves onto Indian realities; others appear to preserve local administrative distinctions that match evidence from inscriptions and later Indian sources. Thus Indica functions simultaneously as an ethnographic snapshot shaped by cross-cultural translation and as a repository of useful data that historians weigh against Indian textual traditions and material finds.

The Indica's afterlife in the classical tradition is also part of Megasthenes' achievement: later geographers and historians in the Greco-Roman world even when skeptical used his material as the baseline for European knowledge of India well into late antiquity. That transmission made Megasthenes an intellectual conduit: Mediterranean readers learned about Indian rivers, cities, products, and philosophical schools primarily through his fragments and their later epitomes. At the same time, the fragmentary preservation of Indica has posed chronic editorial problems: nineteenth- and twentieth-century scholars produced reconstructions and critical editions, but disagreements persist about which quoted passages genuinely derive from Megasthenes and which were later interpolations.

What we know of Megasthenes' later life is sparse. Classical compilations usually report that he died around 290 BCE and they place his productive period, the embassy and the composition of Indica in the early third century BCE, after which his text circulated among Greek writers. There are no surviving personal letters or an archaeological "archive" that preserves Megasthenes' own voice beyond the Indica fragments; his passport into history is therefore the composite testimony of those later authors and the material traces of the Mauryan world that those fragments describe. Modern scholarship treats him as an essential, if imperfect, eyewitness: a man whose curiosity and court access opened up India to the Mediterranean imagination and whose mixed reliability reminds us how every cross-cultural encounter is a dialogue between observation, report, and interpretation.

In the end Megasthenes matters less as a flawless chronicler than as the first sustained Greek interlocutor to try to comprehend and describe a large part of the Indian subcontinent for a foreign audience. His Indica remains a foundational text for reconstructing Mauryan urbanism, trade networks and aspects of social organization; the archaeology of Pataliputra and the mirrors of indigenous literary traditions have validated many of his broad claims while also exposing the limits of any single ancient eyewitness. For historians of cross-cultural contact, Megasthenes is therefore indispensable: not because every line is true, but because his mixture of careful description, secondhand story and interpretive framing is exactly the kind of source that, when read critically, can illuminate how two great ancient worlds first began to see one another.

Megasthenes' legacy endures because his work represents one of the earliest and most ambitious attempts to translate an unfamiliar civilization into terms accessible to his own. Although filtered through the perceptions of a Greek diplomat shaped by the political tensions and intellectual categories of the Hellenistic world, the Indica remains the earliest extended window onto Mauryan India as viewed by an outsider who sought, however imperfectly, to observe rather than simply imagine. The survival of his account only in fragments and paraphrases has inevitably obscured parts of his original vision, yet what remains is striking in its breadth: geography, economy, administration, philosophy and the daily rhythms of a thriving imperial capital all find a place in Megasthenes' narrative.

Taken together with archaeological discoveries at Pataliputra and the testimony of Buddhist and Jain traditions, his observations gain depth and credibility, allowing modern historians to reconstruct with greater confidence the scale, sophistication and cosmopolitan nature of early Mauryan society. At the same time, the tensions within his work, the blend of sober description with mythic elements, and the temptation to map Greek concepts onto Indian realities serve as a reminder of the challenges inherent in any cross-cultural encounter. Megasthenes was neither a naïve recorder of wonders nor a wholly reliable scientific observer; instead, he was a pioneer navigating the uncertain ground between cultures, translating what he saw and heard into the intellectual language of his own world.

For that reason, Megasthenes stands as a crucial figure in the history of ancient knowledge. His Indica-shaped Greco-Roman conceptions of India for centuries, influenced later geographers and historians, and continues to serve today as an indispensable, if occasionally problematic—foundation for understanding the Mauryan Empire at its height. His work invites individuals to read critically, compare sources, and recognize the interpretive layers that accompany any ancient report. Yet it also invites admiration: for his curiosity, his willingness to engage deeply with a foreign court, and his attempt to make sense of a vibrant society undergoing rapid political and cultural transformation. Ultimately, Megasthenes' significance lies not only in the information he preserves, but in the very act of cultural translation he undertook, a reminder that the earliest bridges between civilizations were built as much by storytellers and observers as by diplomats and kings.

The site has been offering a wide variety of high-quality, free history content since 2012. If you’d like to say ‘thank you’ and help us with site running costs, please consider donating here.

The 1858 Lincoln-Douglas Debates

The Lincoln-Douglas Debates were a series of 1858 debates between Abraham Lincoln of the Republican Party and Stephen Douglas of the Democratic Party. Laureen Vernon explains.

An 1958 postage stamp commemorating the debates. 

Now, as in then there can be but one supreme issue, that between right and wrong. In our country there are no ruling classes. The right to direct public affairs, according to his might and influence and conscious belongs to the humblest as well as the greatest… But it is times of danger, crucial moments, which bring into action the high moral quality of the citizenship of America. The people are always true. They are always right, and I have the abiding faith that they will remain so Robert Todd, Lincoln, speaking at the Galesburg, celebration 1896. (A, 314)

The weather was so extremely dusty due to the preceding drought that the streets resemble the vast smoke houses because of the dust picked up by the thousands of spectators, economic recession, deflated land values brought railroad construction to a halt as Illinois Central and Michigan Central Railroad; and reduced the money supply of the banknotes from $215 million to $115 million. Money grew suddenly so scarce with us that a man possessing $10 in coins or in notes of a solvent bank might call himself a capitalist, Carl Scharz, a German, immigrant (a,XI) When considering the series of 1858 debates between Abraham Lincoln of the Republican Party and Stephen Douglas of the Democratic Party I think of civility and decorum. In reality the discussions were quite the opposite. They both used a lot of sarcasm did a lot of name calling to the degree that it most likely would be unable to be aired on network television. Until 1913, senators were elected not by popular vote, but by the General Assembly made up of their Representatives. Lincoln and Douglas were trying to win the votes of the State Legislator of the two chambers of the Illinois General Assembly. This was the first time debates were held between Senate candidates (B).

Debates

Originally, Lincoln proposed a series of 50 debates. Douglas agreed to 7 “joint discussions” because there were nine congressional districts in Illinois (B).    He was frustrated that in the two districts he already spoke in, Lincoln would arrive two days after he left and defend his views. This left Douglas unable to rebuke. With crowds ranging from 1,000 to 20,000 spectators, it was a huge media story. Two rival newspapers in the Chicago area hired shorthand stenographers to capture every word of the candidate’s debates. From the articles published, Lincoln prepared scrapbooks that he had published by an Ohio printer to assist in his later bid for the Presidency of the United States.

While their primary focus was on slavery, they also debated popular sovereignty, the implication of the Dred Scott decision, the morality of enslavement, and the potential of a fractured union. Douglas chose to speak first in four of the seven debates. He was allowed sixty minutes to present his point with the challenger being (Lincoln) given a ninety-minute response followed by thirty-minute rejoinder by the first candidate. Douglas argued his belief that residents should decide if the state is free or not (Popular Sovereignty), and that the Supreme Court ruled in the Dred Scott case the slaves aren't people and could be brought into a free state and remain slaves. He was worried about the possibility of a fractured union.  However, he believed that Popular Sovereignty would solve that.

Slavery

Lincoln argued against slavery on moral grounds. He avoided stating that the races are equal, he just argued that slavery shouldn't be expanded into new territories. If the territory already had slaves, they would be able to keep them. He felt that the Dred Scott decision had critical implications on the expansion of slavery, and he too was concerned about the division of the union, but felt only keeping slavery where it existed while not expanding into new territories would solve it. He spoke of the “eternal struggle’ between right and wrong when speaking of slavery, he mentioned “two principles that stood face to face since the beginning of time. The one of the common rights of humanity and the other the divine right of kings.” Lincoln used the house divided metaphor as early as 1843. He shared the biblical phrase “a house divided cannot stand” as a warning to unify the members of his political party.  The names of parties are the same, but their principals and positions have flipped in the last one hundred fifty years.

As the debates drew to a close, an observer noted that Douglas had lost his voice when Lincoln's voice and spirit were intact.  Lincoln won the popular vote, but lost the vote in in the General Assembly, Lincoln was confident even though he had lost because he had won the popular vote. Lincoln had gained notoriety and used the debates to help propel him into the White House. Lincoln and Douglas had disagreed for many years. However, Douglas supported Lincoln during the war.

Did you find that piece interesting? If so, join us for free by clicking here. 

References

A.  Lincoln and Douglas, the debates, define America, Allen C.  Guelza, Simon and Schuster, New York, New York, 2008

B. The Lincoln Douglas debate of 1858, nps.gov, February 16, 2017, https://www.nps.gov/liho/learn/historyculture/debates.htm

C.  Lincoln Douglas Debates, britannica.com, October 27, 2025, https://www.britannica.com/event/Lincoln-Douglas-debates

The Significance of the 1777 Battle of Fort Mercer in the American Revolutionary War

Called upon to surrender the Delaware River fortification of Fort Mercer, Patriot Colonel Christopher Greene responded, “We ask no quarter and will give none.”  Pointing to the American ramparts, Hessian Colonel Carl von Donop of the besieging force made a bold proclamation of his own declaring, “Either that will be Fort Donop or I will be dead.”  Before nightfall on October 21, 1777, both commanders would make good on their stirring words.

Here, James F. Byrne Jr look at the 1777 Battle of Fort Mercer in the American Revolutionary War.

Patriot Colonel Christopher Green. Painting by James Sullivan Lincoln.

Following the defeat of the Continental Army at Brandywine, the British occupied Philadelphia.  British General Sir William Howe controlled the American capital, but not the supply route needed to support his large force.  Howe needed the Delaware River to move supplies.  Unfortunately for his plans, the Patriots controlled a section of the river four miles south of the capital with two forts and a small fleet.  Howe’s operations to clear the river resulted in a strategic victory, but not before his forces suffered a humiliating tactical disaster in one of the most lopsided American victories of the Revolutionary War.

Patriot defenses at Red Bank (a strategic bend in the river) consisted of Fort Mercer on the New Jersey shore and Fort Mifflin located on a nearby island.  Fort Mifflin boasted 28 guns mounted in a log palisade.  Fort Mercer consisted of earthen ramparts supporting 14 guns and manned by 400 Continentals under the command of Colonel Greene. 

An eclectic but formidable naval squadron of sloops, schooners and row galleys protected the forts.  The squadron also overwatched significant obstacles consisting of iron tipped timbers anchored to the river bottom.

Howe elected to launch a joint naval and land assault to clear his riverine supply line.

Two thousand Hessians under the command of Colonel von Donop would seize Fort Mercer.  Von Donop had the misfortune to be in charge of the Hessian garrisons in New Jersey when Washington crossed the Delaware and captured the outpost at Trenton.  He eagerly viewed the coming assault as an opportunity to reburnish his tarnished reputation.

Offense

On October 22nd the British offense commenced.  A fleet which included six ocean going vessels made its way up the Delaware and ran into shallow waters, underwater obstacles, and a hornet’s nest of small, maneuverable, Patriot warships.  Two of the British behemoths ran aground and were destroyed the next day. 

Simultaneously with the Royal Navy’s fiasco, the Hessians entered the fray.  Approaching Fort Mercer from the Jersey shore von Donop launched an assault after only a cursory reconnaissance.  Colonel Greene, a veteran of both Bunker Hill and Quebec, was well served by his scouts and knew of the Hessian advance.  He withdrew his men from the outer walls into an internal redoubt protected by a ditch and extensive abatis (sharpened, felled trees).  Observing the abandoned outer positions, von Donop assumed the Americans were withdrawing and launched an immediate attack.

The Hessian scaled the abandoned outer parapets and found themselves blocked by extensive abatis, a wide ditch, and American artillery and infantry positioned along the main walls of the fort.  The Hessians lacked the tools to cut through the abatis or cross the ditch and milled around helplessly while the Americans poured fire into their ranks.  Perhaps the final straw, ships of the American squadron moved into position to join in the bloodletting.  In less than 30 minutes the Hessians retreated, having suffering 700 casualties.  American losses were less than 40.

Context

Three weeks later, the British deployed additional artillery, infantry, and warships around Red Bank, leading the Americans to scuttle their fleet, destroy their fortifications, and withdraw.  Their logistic waterway secured British supply vessels reached Philadelphia on November 26th.  The British (now well supplied) spent the winter of 1777-78 in the relative comfort of Philadelphia.  However, it had taken seven weeks to clear the American defenses from the Delaware and required the commitment of much of the British force.  While Howe orchestrated this operation, Washington was able to rest and resupply his bedraggled army in relative peace, and move into austere but safe winter quarters at Valley Forge. 

As for the commanders who fought at Fort Mercer, they were remarkably prescient.  Colonel Greene’s brilliant defense ensured he had no need to seek quarter.  As for Colonel von Donop, he was not able to grace Fort Mercer with his name, but he did indeed fall while leading the assault, and subsequently died of his wounds.

Lessons Learned

Combined Arms do not Guarantee Victory – The British assault included overwhelming artillery, infantry, and naval forces, and failed overwhelmingly.

Don’t Forget Nothing – The Hessians lacked the tools needed to breech Patriot obstacles and suffered accordingly.

Weapons Deployed Must Meet Tactical Requirements  - Large British warships were unable to adapt to river conditions or the highly maneuverable Patriot squadron.

Obstacles Covered by Fire may be Insurmountable -  Patriot fires converted their obstacle belt into a death trap.

Deception is a Combat Multiplier – Patriot withdrawal from the outer defenses led to the Hessian ill-planned, disastrous assault.

Know What You are up Against – Inadequate reconnaissance resulted in the overwhelming defeat of the Hessian attack. 

Courage is Necessary but not Sufficient -  von Donop led his troops from the front, but his leadership skills did not match his bravery.

The site has been offering a wide variety of high-quality, free history content since 2012. If you’d like to say ‘thank you’ and help us with site running costs, please consider donating here.

A Review of The Paradox of Freedom: A History of Black Slaveholders in America

Jeb Smith recently read Larry Allen McCluney, Jr.’s book, The Paradox of Freedom: A History of Black Slaveholders in America. Here, he discusses his views of the book.

City of New Orleans, 5 March 1818. Order from the Mayor's office to the City Treasury to reimburse Rosette Montreuil, a free woman of color, for the work of her slave, Michel, "mulatto". Signed by mayor Augustin Macarty.

An Instructor of American History at Mississippi Delta Community College and an American Civil War Living Historian since 1995, Larry Allen McCluney received his bachelor’s and master’s degrees in history at Mississippi State University, and his research into original data for this book is extensive (he even utilized a History Is Now article). He cites and quotes many historians, as well as original sources, to bring to life a fact of American history: African Americans were slave owners too.

A mix of various “free peoples of color”—various mixed race and African Americans —owned people of their own race from colonial times up until after the Civil War. In some extreme cases slaves owned slaves. Some free African Americans even engaged in slave trading. This should not surprise us, as Africa has always been the center of slavery, where just as every other race in the world has been enslaved, and continues to enslave their own people. In fact, it was outside pressure from European nations that forced abolitionism on Africa.

African American slaveowners in America at times became some of the wealthiest planters and businessmen in the entire South. McCluney writes they became one with “the upper crust of the economic level in the pre-war South.” They entered into and at times mingled, intermarried, and associated with the white southern aristocratic class. These wealthy included many African American women.

For example, he quotes Steven J. Niven, who wrote of “Marie-Thérèse Coincoin, who lived for eight decades in Natchitoches Parish, La. She would help to found a family dynasty of Free, Colored planters, the Metoyers, who by 1830 owned over 200 slaves—8 percent of all enslaved people in the parish.” In Charleston City, South Carolina, 123 African American women owned slaves and were the “heads” of households, including Maria Weston, who by 1860 owned 14 slaves and owned property amounting to $40,000; the average white earned around $100. Marie Thérèse Metoyer of New Orleans owned around 11,000 acres of land, manufactured medicine, trapped animals, and grew tobacco.

Wealthy slave owners

Many African American slave owners owned hundreds or thousands of acres of land and were wealthier than the vast majority of whites. McCluney writes:

 “In 1860, there were at least six free Blacks who owned 65 or more slaves. The largest number, 152 slaves, was owned by sugar cane planters, the widow C. Richards and her son P.C. Richards. Another slave magnate from Louisiana was Antoine Dubuclet, who owned over 100 slaves. He had an estate worth $264,000 in 1860 dollar value. This was in comparison with the wealth of White men of that time, averaging $3,978."

William Ellison Jr. of South Carolina, a free man of color, was one of the wealthiest plantation owners in the state. He was the largest slave owner in his area, with 171 slaves, and over 900 acres of land producing massive amounts of tobacco. He donated large sums of money and foodstuffs to the Confederate Army, offered the military 53 of his slaves, and his mixed race grandson fought in the Confederate Army.

Many of the slave owners were born in bondage but were later freed and, through either inheritance, gifts, or work ethic, improved their situation, eventually moving into the profitable business of slavery. It was not uncommon for free African Americans to own slaves. Thousands did so. According to the 1860 census, only 1.4% white people owned slaves in 4.8% of southern slave states, but 28% of free African Americans in New Orleans owned slaves. McCluney wrote, “In South Carolina, where forty-three percent of the free African American families owned slaves, the average number of slaves held per owner was about six. Similarly, in Louisiana, forty percent of free African American families owned slaves, twenty-six percent of those in Mississippi held slaves, twenty-five percent of those in Alabama, and this was also true for twenty percent of those in Georgia.”

Status

Their wealth elevated the status of these slaveowners of color, gaining them status among the highest in the white community, intermingling with, socializing, even marrying (even when it was illegal), and becoming some of the most well-respected people in their community. McCluney wrote of Justus Angel, born a slave in South Carolina but who became “a wealthy Black master who lived in Colleton District, South Carolina, in 1830. Angel was a plantation owner who owned 84 slaves, a staggering number even for a Black master. He was a man of great wealth and influence, which allowed him to amass such a large number of enslaved individuals under his control.” Of this wealthy planter class, he wrote, “These individuals often took steps to associate with the White elite, viewing themselves as an extension of this class. In doing so, the Black slaveowners were able to carve out a place for themselves within the ruling class.” Then there is William Johnson in Mississippi, who:

“Became a successful entrepreneur with a barbershop, bath house, bookstore, and land holdings. Though a former slave, in 1834 he would own three slaves and about 3,000 acres of property and would eventually own sixteen slaves before his death. He even hired out his slaves to haul coal and sand. Throughout his life, the white community in Natchez and Adams County held Johnson in high regard. He associated with and was close to many of Adams County’s most prominent white families. Following Johnson’s untimely death at the hands of a “free black, Baylor Winn, the Natchez Courier was moved to comment that Johnson held a “respected position [in the community] on account of his character, intelligence and deportment.”

Further, McCluney argues that it was the common opinion of slaves that African American masters made harsher masters, and they generally preferred white masters to their own color, for example, William Ellison had a reputation for harsh treatment of his slaves. One interviewed slave said, “You might think, master, dat dey would be good to dar own nation; but dey is not. I will tell you the truth, massa; I know I ‘se got to answer; and it’s a fact, they are very bad masters, sar. I’d rather be a servant to any man in de world, dan to a brack man. If I was sold to a brack man, I’d drown myself. I would dat—I’d drown myself! Dough I shouldn’t like to do dat; but I wouldn’t be sold to a coloured master for anything.”

Conclusion

Frederick Law Olmsted traveled south and told of the many wealthy African American planters he saw and interviewed a slave who said the African American masters “bought black folks, he said, and had servants of their own. They were very bad masters, very hard and cruel . . . If he had got to be sold, he would like best to have an American master buy him. The French [black Creole] masters were very severe, and ‘dey whip dar n****** most to deff—dey whipe de flesh off of ‘em.”

Far from abolitionists, these rich masters were reluctant to let their slave labor go as many whites had done. McCluney Quotes B. F. Jonas, of New Orleans who said “I have never heard of a case where a free African American owner of slaves voluntarily manumitted his slaves. On the contrary, they were as a rule considered hard task masters, who got out of their slave property all that they could.” And as has been recorded in Defending Dixie's Land, many of these southern masters supported the preservation of slavery and the continuation and protection of the Confederacy, to maintain bondage of their own brothers.

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.

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.

The site has been offering a wide variety of high-quality, free history content since 2012. If you’d like to say ‘thank you’ and help us with site running costs, please consider donating here.

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.

The site has been offering a wide variety of high-quality, free history content since 2012. If you’d like to say ‘thank you’ and help us with site running costs, please consider donating here.

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.

The site has been offering a wide variety of high-quality, free history content since 2012. If you’d like to say ‘thank you’ and help us with site running costs, please consider donating here.

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.