The 19th Century Odyssey of Japan’s Nakahama Manjirō

The Tokugawa period of Japan limited foreign trade beginning in the 17th century. For example, Chinese traders were restricted to the port of Nagasaki or through indirect routes like the Ryūkū Islands. Dutch traders also became the only Europeans allowed to enter Japan. Similarly, Japanese people were not permitted to go abroad. Those who resided in another country and returned to Japan could face the death penalty. These policies lasted for over 200 years. Yet, at least one Japanese person made it to the United States and back again during this time.

Michael Mirra explains.

Manjiro Nakahama.

Five Fishermen from Japan

On Japan’s island Shikoku, a 13-year-old boy named Manjirō lived in a village called Nakanohama (now part of the city Tosashimizu). His father had died when he was eight or nine years old. To support his mother and siblings, Manjirō got a job on a fishing expedition. The crew consisted of three brothers named Fudenojo (37), Jusuke (24), and Goemon (15), and their neighbor Toraemon (25). They set sail on January 5, 1841 in search of either bonito, mackerel, or tuna. The trip was expected to last only a few days.

A storm hit the five fishermen on the second or third day. They were about twenty miles from the coast of Japan. Fighting the wind while trying to make it back to land, their sculling oarlock broke off and soon their sculling oar broke in half. Propelling the boat was no longer in their control.

The boat was blown off course for three or four days and the fishermen ran out of provisions. Around January 13th, they finally spotted an island. It was the small and uninhabited Izu-Torishima (also known as “Bird Island”) a few hundred miles from the mainland. They were unable to find a beach to land the boat and decided to swim for it. Right before jumping in, a high wave overturned the boat and injured Jusuke’s leg, but all made it to land.

Manjirō turned 14 years old a couple of weeks later as the crew attempted to survive on the island. Fudenojo cared for Jusuke in their cave shelter while the others searched for food. Shellfish and seaweed could be gathered. Albatross were also plentiful until their migration season began in late April or early May. However, there was no spring water or edible plants on land.

A Ship from New England

On June 27th, a whaling ship appeared near the island. The John Howland had sailed from New Bedford, Massachusetts and was now sending two boats to the island in search of turtles to eat. As the boats approached, its members noticed Goemon, Manjirō, and Toraemon waving their clothes attached to sticks and shouting for help. The whalers could not understand anything that the trapped fishermen were saying, but recognized that they were distressed and hungry. All five castaways were taken aboard.

From there, the John Howland sailed to the north Pacific in search of whales for oil and baleens. Unlike Japanese whalers, the Americans discarded the rest of the whale. Through attempted sign language and eventually learning some English words, the rescued fisherman were able to communicate with the whalers and were given chores aboard the ship. Manjirō was assigned to the crow’s nest to look for whales in the distance. He was successful at least once and was given a seaman’s cap as a reward from the ship’s captain, William H. Whitfield.

Heading east, the John Howland stopped at Oahu (then part of the independent Kingdom of Hawai’i ruled by Kamehameha III) on November 20th. It was still not known to the Americans where the fishermen were from. Whitfield brought them to a medical missionary, Dr. Gerrit P. Judd, who reasoned they were Japanese after showing them Japanese coins.

Arrangements were made for the fishermen to stay in Honolulu. However, Whitfield wished to take Manjirō with him to the United States. Accepting the offer, Manjirō left Oahu on December 1st. Whitfield renamed him “John Mung” with “John” coming from the ship’s name and “Mung” being a shortened version of Manjirō. The John Howland continued to hunt for whales and stopped in Guam in March of the following year before finally heading back to Massachusetts.

Life in America

It was on May 6, 1843 that the John Howland reached New Bedford. Whitfield led the now 16-year-old Manjirō to his home in the neighboring town of Fairhaven. Shortly afterward, Whitfield married his second wife, Albertina. The couple had become engaged before Whitfield’s whaling voyage. Whitfield’s first wife, Ruth, had died while he was at sea a few years earlier. The wedding to Albertina, however, was held at the home of Whitfield’s uncle in New York. He left Manjirō in the care of a friend named Eben Aiken until he returned. A teacher named Jane Allen also began tutoring Manjirō to prepare him for the upcoming school year.

Upon returning from the wedding, Whitfield bought a farm in the Sconticut Neck part of Fairhaven. Living there gave Manjirō the opportunity to learn how to ride a horse. Manjirō was then enrolled in the nearby Bartlett School where he studied math, navigation, and surveying. He went on to apprentice as a cooper–crafting and repairing barrels and casks–in New Bedford.

New Bedford was generally viewed as a place of acceptance partly because its people lived and worked with the inclusive whaling industry. It was also seen as a safe-haven for freed and escaped slaves–notably Frederick Douglass. Unfortunately, this sentiment was not always extended. Members of a Congregational church disapproved of Manjirō sitting in the Whitfield family pew. The Whitfields responded by joining a more accepting Unitarian church. Coincidentally, one of the Unitarian church’s members was Warren Delano Jr. who later spoke about Manjirō to his grandson, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

The Journey Home

After he had turned 19 years old, Manjirō was asked to join a whaling ship by Ira Davis who had been the harpooner on the John Howland and was now the captain of the Franklin. On May 16, 1846, they took an eastern route to the Pacific via the Cape of Good Hope to avoid impacts of the Mexican-American War on the Cape Horn route.

Almost a year later, in March of 1847, the Franklin stopped in Guam. It was there that Manjirō wrote to Whitfield about the ship’s plans to sail to the Ryūkyū Islands, which were not yet annexed by Japan but an independent vassal state. He expressed hope at opening a whaling port there. The Franklin arrived in May and Manjirō acted as an interpreter. However, he was unable to understand their dialect and returned to the ship.

In October of 1848, the Franklin stopped in Honolulu and Manjirō was reunited with the castaway fishermen. Fudenojo had changed his name to Denzo to make it easier for the locals to pronounce. He and Goemon had recently come back from an unsuccessful attempt at returning to Japan. Toraemon was working as a carpenter. Sadly, Jusuke had died five years earlier.

The Franklin arrived back in New Bedford on September 23, 1849. The three year plus trip had earned Manjirō $350. At this time, news of gold in California reached him. There was no doubt that Manjirō missed his mother. If he made enough money in the gold industry then he could afford to take a passenger ship to the Pacific and maybe find his way back to Japan. Two months later, he took a job on the Stieglitz, which was carrying lumber to San Francisco.

Arriving in the spring of 1850, Majiro began looking for gold near Sacramento. He earned $600 in about seventy days. Heading back to San Francisco, he booked a passenger ticket to Honolulu on the Eliza Warwick, which left on September 17th.

Manjirō met with his old friends in Honolulu. Denzo and Goemon agreed to go with him back to Japan. Toraemon, however, wished to stay in Honolulu since he was successful as a carpenter and had married a local woman.

The next step was to purchase a small boat. A friend of Whitfield’s named Reverend C. Damon spread the story of the three fishermen hoping to return home and asked for donations. With his help, the fishermen bought a boat that they named the Adventurer.

Now the fishermen had to get the Adventurer close to Japan. To do this, they brought their small boat onto the Sarah Boyd, which was headed for China on December 17, 1850. As the Sarah Boyd passed the Ryūkyū Islands on its way to China, the three fishermen lowered the Adventurer into the water. They rowed home on February 2, 1851.

The Adventurer landed on Okinawa, which was controlled by the daimyō of the Satsuma Province on Kyūshū. The three fishermen were soon taken by Satsuma officials to the city of Naha for interrogation. In the meantime, they were put under house arrest.

After this period of interrogation, the fishermen were moved from Okinawa to Kyūshū–in the city of Kagoshima and then Nagasaki–to be interrogated by Tokugawa officials. They were finally set free in June of 1852 and made it to their respective homes in October.

Manjirō found his mother still alive. Although, she had long thought he had died. Their reunion lasted for three days, for Manjirō was called to the city of Kochi to teach English to samurai among others.

Japan-United States Relations

The following year, the American Commodore Matthew C. Perry arrived at the harbor of Uraga with four warships. He was carrying a letter from President Millard Fillmore that demanded Japan open its ports to the outside world. The shogunate ordered Manjirō to Edo (Uraga is located at the entrance of Edo Bay–now Tokyo Bay) to provide information on the United States. In response to his service, Manjirō was given samurai status at the end of the year. He then adopted a surname, Nakahama, after his home village. Japan signed the Treaty of Kanagawa with the United States on March 31, 1854 putting an end to its isolation.

Manjirō put his English language knowledge to other uses. In 1857, he translated Nathaniel Bowditch’s The New American Practical Navigator into Japanese. He also authored the first English text to be published in Japan, A Shortcut To Anglo-American Conversation, in 1859. Around this time, he taught English to future leading dramatist Fukuchi Gen’ichirō.

1859 saw a story similar to Manjirō, but with the roles reversed. An American named John Mercer Brooke was commanding a surveying expedition in the Pacific aboard the Fenimore Cooper. This time it was the Americans that were shipwrecked as a typhoon destroyed the ship off the coast of Yokohama.

Japan happened to be looking for an experienced navigator to help bring an embassy to San Francisco on its way to Washington, D.C. Brooke accepted the job at Japan’s request. He chose nine American crew members and the draftsman Edward Meyer Kern from the Fenimore Cooper to join him.

Brooke boarded the Kanrin-maru, a Dutch ship that had been purchased by Japan two years earlier for approximately $70,000. It escorted an American warship, the Powhatan, that carried the embassy. The Kanrin-maru, however, carried a samurai “Magistrate of Warships” named Kimura Toshitake. Should something happen to the Powhatan, it would be Kimura’s responsibility to represent Japan in Washington. The translator on the Kanrin-maru was Manjirō.

Apart from Manjirō, none of the Japanese crew members had been on a sea voyage before. The ship faced a storm right after leaving Yokohama. Together, Brooke and Manjirō taught the inexperienced crew how to manage their vessel. The ship’s captain, another samurai named Katsu Rinatarō, soon became ill from seasickness and delegated the running of the ship. Despite these trials, both ships made it to San Francisco safely on March 17, 1860.

Japan treated this voyage as a test of their naval capabilities. Katsu would go on to become the chief architect of the Imperial Japanese Navy, which was formally created in 1869.

A Return to Whaling

Japanese whaling soon evolved in two ways. First, whalers searched for new shore stations. This indirectly aided colonial expansion, so the government offered financial backing to whalers. Second, foreign whaling techniques were incorporated, which eventually influenced modern Japanese whaling. These two evolutions intertwined around Korea where Japan competed with Russia and where fin whales were so fast that they could only be caught by Norwegian whaling technology.

The city of Hakodate welcomed foreign whaling ships into its harbor so the Japanese could observe their techniques. Around 1862, Manjirō started an American-style whaling operation out of Hakodate. He went on to help the government bring whaling to the Ogasawara Islands (known as the Bonin Islands to the British). He had previously visited the islands on a whaling expedition after the government grew concerned that American, European, and Hawaiian colonizers–who had encroached on the territory in 1830–were getting more use from the whales than Japan. This expedition was ultimately shortened by a typhoon. Manjirō returned in 1863 for more whaling. However, Japan abandoned its plans for a few years due to expenses and pressure from foreign powers.

Manjirō was sent on another diplomatic mission that stopped in the United States and Europe in 1870. While docked in New York City, Manjirō took a train to Massachusetts where he visited Whitfield. His American homes, both Fairhaven and New Bedford, became sister cities with his native home, Tosashimizu, in 1987.

On a final note, a 21-year-old Herman Melville left New Bedford on the whaling ship Acushnet two days before Manjirō went fishing in 1841. This trip was the genesis for his novel Moby-Dick in which he wrote, “If that double-bolted land, Japan, is even to become hospitable, it is the whale-ship alone to whom the credit will be due; for already she is on the threshold.” Moby-Dick was published the same year that Manjirō returned to Japan.

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

Works Cited

Arch, Jakobina. “Birth of a Pelagic Empire: Japanese Whaling and Early Territorial Expansions in the Pacific.” Across Species and Cultures: Whales, Humans, and Pacific Worlds, edited by Ryan Tucker Jones and Angela Wanhalla, University of Hawai’i Press, 2022, pp. 93–110. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/jj.13568102.8. Accessed 10 June 2025.

“Herman Melville.” National Park Service, https://www.nps.gov/nebe/learn/historyculture/hermanmelville.htm. Accessed 10 June 2025.

Huffman, James L. “The Clash of Two Worlds: 1841–1868.” Politics of the Meiji Press: The Life of Fukuchi Gen’ichirō, University of Hawai’i Press, 1980, pp. 1–31. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv9zckgw.5. Accessed 10 June 2025.

Kitadai, Junji. “The Saga of Manjirō.” Education About Asia, vol. 19, no. 2, 2014. https://www.asianstudies.org/publications/eaa/archives/the-saga-of-manjiro. Accessed 10 June 2025.

“The Manjiro Story.” Whitfield-Manjiro Friendship Society, https://whitfield-manjiro.org/the-manjiro-story. Accessed 10 June 2025.

“Nakahama Manjiro.” The Millicent Library, https://millicentlibrary.org/NakahamaManjiro. Accessed 10 June 2025.

Taketani, Etsuko. “Samurai Ambassadors and the Smithsonian Institute in 1860.” Journal of the American Oriental Society, vol. 115, no. 3, 1995, pp. 479–81. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/606225. Accessed 9 June 2025.

Uenuma, Francine. “The Shipwrecked Teenager Who Helped End Japan’s Isolationist Era.” Smithsonian, https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/the-shipwrecked-teenager-who-helped-end-japans-isolationist-era-180982199. Accessed 10 June 2025.

Yanaga, Chitoshi. “The First Japanese Embassy to the United States.” Pacific Historical Review, vol. 9, no. 2, 1940, pp. 113–38. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/3633080. Accessed 10 June 2025.

Young, Dana B. “The Voyage of the Kanrin Maru to San Francisco, 1860.” California History, vol. 61, no. 4, 1983, pp. 264–75. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/25158123. Accessed 10 June 2025.

The English Longbow: A Weapon that Changed the Course of History

The English longbow, a weapon of understated simplicity and devastating effectiveness, is synonymous with medieval warfare and English military dominance from the 13th to 15th centuries. Crafted from a single piece of yew, over six feet long, the longbow earned legendary status on bloody battlefields, such as Crécy, Poitiers, and Agincourt. Its impact, however, was not limited to the battlefield. The longbow influenced military training, legislation, and craftsmanship, and even left behind a lasting imprint in archaeological and osteological records.

Terry Bailey explains.

Archers at the 1356 Battle of Poitiers. By Loyset Liédet.

Origins and evolution

The English longbow's origins are often shrouded in myth, misinterpretation, and regional pride. While its fame is firmly rooted in English military history, the bow's development was a long process influenced by earlier designs, neighboring cultures, and battlefield necessity.

The exact origin is a much-debated subject, however, it is generally agreed that similar weapons were used by Welsh forces as early as the 12th century. The English first encountered the longbow in Wales during campaigns under Edward I. Impressed by its power and range, he incorporated it into the military forces. By the early 14th century, the longbow had become England's primary missile weapon.

Needless to say, bows of one design or another have been used in the British Isles since the Mesolithic period (circa 8,000–6,000 BCE), with archaeological finds such as the Starr Carr site in Yorkshire providing evidence of simple hunting bows made of elm. These early bows were primitive by later standards, likely used for hunting rather than warfare.

Nevertheless, by the time of the Iron Age and into the Roman period (1st century BCE – 4th century CE), archery was practiced but did not dominate British military tactics. The Roman legions themselves preferred the short composite bow, primarily used by auxiliaries from the East.

The bow of Gwent

The first true longbow-style weapons are believed to have been used by the Welsh, from the region of Gwent, in southeast Wales. Chroniclers such as Gerald of Wales (Giraldus Cambrensis) writing in the late 12th century observed the formidable power of Welsh archers:

"They do not use the arrow with the crossbow, but with a very strong bow… They do not discharge the arrow from the ear, like the English, but from the breast."

These bows, made from elm or ash, had impressive range and force. One story told by Gerald recounts a Welsh archer driving an arrow through a knight's thigh, via maille armor, and into the saddle, pinning him to his horse. This raw power left a lasting impression on the invading Normans.

Adoption

As outlined the longbow was formally adopted by the English military during the reign of Edward I (1272–1307), particularly during his campaigns against the Welsh and Scots. Edward's wars in Wales exposed his armies to the effectiveness of the native Welsh bowmen. Recognizing its potential, Edward began integrating the bow into his forces.

By the early 14th century, under Edward II and Edward III, the longbow had become central to English military doctrine. It was standardized in terms of length (around 6 feet) and draw weight (often exceeding 100 pounds). The introduction of massed ranks of longbowmen marked a tactical revolution, replacing the slower, heavily armored knight as the dominant force on the battlefield. The institutionalized archery through training, and laws, making it the skill of every Englishman, marked a turning point in medieval warfare, as England's military might shift from armored nobility to the shoulders of its yeoman archers. Something the French nobility felt was unacceptable to leave the defense of France to the common folk.

Scandinavian influences

Some historians have speculated on whether the longbow might have been influenced by earlier Norse or even Slavic designs. While composite and reflex bows were common in Eastern Europe and Asia, there is little direct evidence that such designs influenced the longbow's development. Unlike composite bows, which were shorter and made from multiple materials (wood, sinew, horn), the English longbow was a self-bow, crafted from a single stave of yew. Its simplicity and size distinguished it from most other contemporary bows.

The yew wood used to craft the English longbow was ideally imported from the Alps or Italy, where the climate produced staves with the right balance of sapwood (which resists tension) and heartwood (which resists compression). Measuring about six feet in length, it could draw weights of 80 to 150 pounds, requiring extraordinary upper-body strength and years of practice.

Specialist professions:

The Bowyer and Fletcher

The longbow's production was the work of highly skilled specialists. A bowyer was responsible for crafting the bow itself. Bowyers required an intimate knowledge of wood properties and curing processes. They often aged the yew for several years before shaping it, to prevent warping and ensure maximum power and flexibility.

Whereas, the Fletcher crafted the arrows. These were typically made from ash or poplar shafts, with goose-feather fletchings and bodkin or broad-head iron tips. Arrowheads were sometimes produced by specialist arrow-smiths, a further specialist subset of blacksmiths. Each arrowhead type served different purposes, bodkins for penetrating maille armor, and broad-heads for causing devastating wounds to unarmored opponents.

Legislative support: Archery mandated by law

Archery became not only a military skill but a civic duty. Recognizing its strategic value, English monarchs implemented laws to ensure a steady supply of trained archers. Most famously, in 1363 under Edward III, a royal decree ordered that:

"...every able-bodied man on Sundays and holidays shall practice archery, and all other sports are forbidden."

This law was enforced for centuries. Even during the reign of Henry VIII, archery was promoted over other recreational activities like ball sports. Towns and parishes were required to provide butts (archery practice fields), and boys as young as seven were trained in its use.

Devastation on the battlefield

The longbow's effectiveness was not merely theoretical, it was proven repeatedly in major battles.

Battle of Crécy (1346): The English, under Edward III, faced a numerically superior French army. The disciplined volleys of English longbowmen decimated the French cavalry and Genoese crossbowmen. Chroniclers describe tens of thousands of arrows darkening the sky, breaking the momentum of France's elite forces.

Battle of Poitiers (1356): English forces under Edward the Black Prince used longbows to repel successive French cavalry charges. The high rate of fire and armor-piercing ability of bodkin arrows disrupted French formations.

Battle of Agincourt (1415): Perhaps the most iconic use of the longbow, Agincourt saw Henry V's lightly armored troops defeat a much larger French force. English archers, protected by muddy terrain and stakes, unleashed continuous volleys that devastated the advancing knights.

Longbow-men could shoot 10–12 arrows per minute, with a range advantage over the crossbow, while a crossbowman might manage two bolts at a far lesser range. The psychological and physical toll on enemy forces was immense. Arrows penetrated armor, pierced horses, and created chaos in tight formations.

Out of the approximate 7,000 English troops at Agincourt 5,000 were skilled archers who faced up to 20,000 French.

Side note:- Various numbers exist for the French army but most historians have settled on a figure of around 20,000, although this is not a solid figure.

Archaeological and osteological evidence

The legacy of the longbow is preserved not only in chronicles and law codes but in the archaeological record.

The Mary Rose Archers

The Mary Rose, Henry VIII's flagship, sank in 1545 and was raised in 1982. Among the thousands of recovered artefacts were over 170 longbows and more than 3,500 arrows. The bows were between 6 and 7 feet long, with draw weights over 100 pounds confirming historical accounts.

Skeletons of the crew revealed that archers had significantly larger shoulder and upper arm bones than other sailors. Their asymmetrical skeletal development, especially enlarged left arms and bowed spines, proved the longbow's physical demands. These findings have given modern researchers an unprecedented glimpse into the training and physiology of medieval archers.

Victims of the longbow

On the receiving end, forensic evidence from battlefield mass graves also tells a story. At Towton (1461), the largest and bloodiest battle of the Wars of the Roses, skeletons showed arrow impact injuries consistent with longbow strikes. These include embedded arrowheads in bones, shattered skulls, and rib injuries, all confirming the arrow's ability to kill through armor.

Decline and legacy

Despite its effectiveness, the longbow declined in the late 15th and early 16th centuries with the rise of gunpowder weapons. Firearms were easier to train with and had increasing penetrative power. Nevertheless, English archery continued into the 16th century, and even into the early Elizabethan period, largely due to its symbolic and cultural significance.

The longbow's legacy endures in both folklore and national identity. Characters emerged from Ballards such as mythologized Robin Hood demonstrating his prowess with the longbow, while Shakespeare immortalized longbow-men in Henry V with the rousing speech at Agincourt.

The English longbow was more than a weapon; it was a cultural institution, a craft, a law, and a legacy. Its rise was driven by skilled artisans, sustained by legal mandate, and proven by historical battlefield success. The longbow reshaped medieval warfare and lives on in museums, skeletal remains, and the cultural memory of England. From Mary Rose's silent testimony to the moss-covered bones at Towton, the story of the longbow is one carved not just in wood, but in the annals of history.

In conclusion, the English longbow was not merely an instrument of war but a transformative force in the medieval world, shaping tactics, influencing society, and leaving an enduring mark on history. Its power lay not only in its deadly range or the thousands of arrows unleashed in thunderous volleys but also in the institutions, laws, and traditions it spawned. It turned commoners into crucial components of military might, brought about an entire economy of craftsmanship, and left traces in both physical remains and national myth.

Its ascendancy marked a rare moment in history when discipline, training, and technological efficiency briefly triumphed over brute force and feudal hierarchy. For nearly three centuries, the longbow tilted the balance of power on the battlefield, allowing outnumbered English armies to defy expectations and secure legendary victories. The skeletal remains of archers, the embedded arrowheads in battlefield graves, and the preserved weaponry from the Mary Rose speak to its lasting power, not just as a tool of destruction, but as a symbol of England's martial ingenuity and cultural pride.

Though eventually overshadowed by gunpowder, the English longbow continues to capture the imagination of historians, archaeologists, and the public alike, especially in Cinematography. It stands as a testament to how a simple weapon, in the hands of the skilled and determined, can alter the course of nations. Its story is one of craftsmanship, law, war, and identity, woven into the very fabric of English history.

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:

Comparing the English longbow with the crossbow

The medieval English longbow and the crossbow were two of the most significant ranged weapons of their time, each with distinct advantages and disadvantages that reflected differing military philosophies and battlefield roles.

The English longbow, made primarily from yew, was a powerful weapon with a long draw length that allowed it to shoot arrows at high velocity and over long distances. Its chief advantage lay in its rate of fire; a well-trained archer could loose 10–12 arrows per minute, significantly outpacing a crossbowman's 2–3 bolts over the same period.

The longbow was particularly effective in massed volleys, as indicated in the main text, famously demonstrated by English armies at battles such as Crécy (1346), Poitiers (1356), and Agincourt (1415). Furthermore, it was relatively light and did not require complex mechanical components, making it more resilient and less prone to failure in wet or muddy battlefield conditions thus easy to maintain.

However, the longbow also had notable drawbacks. Its effective use required years of intensive training and physical conditioning, as drawing a war bow often required a pull strength of over 100 pounds. This created a dependence on a professional or semi-professional class of archers, which not all nations could field. Additionally, accuracy with the longbow at long ranges was inconsistent compared to the more mechanically stable crossbow.

The crossbow, on the other hand, was easier to learn and required less physical strength to operate, making it ideal for militias or conscripted troops with limited training. Its bolts could penetrate heavy armor at shorter distances due to their high kinetic energy, especially with the use of windlass or cranequin mechanisms that allowed for stronger draw weights than a human arm alone could manage, making the crossbow an effective weapon in siege warfare and close-quarter skirmishes.

Yet the crossbow's slow reload time and heavier design made it less effective in fast-moving battlefield scenarios. In open-field combat, where rapid volleys could disrupt cavalry charges or inflict heavy casualties quickly, crossbowmen were often at a disadvantage unless protected by pavises or supported by infantry.

Needless to say, the longbow offered superior speed and range for trained forces, while the crossbow provided armor penetration and accessibility for less experienced troops. Each weapon reflected its society's military priorities and constraints, and both played pivotal roles in shaping the tactics and outcomes of medieval European warfare.

Rate of fire

The rate of fire for an English or Welsh longbowman during the medieval period was remarkably high compared to most other missile weapons of the time.

A well-trained longbowman could typically shoot between 10 and 12 arrows per minute in combat conditions, though in short bursts and under optimal circumstances, some accounts suggest rates as high as 15 arrows per minute. This rate was sustained not only by the physical strength and stamina of the archer but also by extensive training that began in childhood, legally mandated in England by royal decree to ensure a ready supply of skilled archers.

Unlike crossbows or early firearms, which required time-consuming loading and aiming processes, the longbow allowed for rapid nocking, drawing, and loosing of arrows. The technique was refined for speed and rhythm, often with archers carrying sheaves of arrows easily accessible in the ground before them or slung at their sides. In battle, longbowmen could unleash a volley of arrows capable of devastating enemy ranks before they even reached the front lines.

However, this high rate of fire came at a cost. The physical demands of drawing a longbow, often with draw weights of 100 to 150 pounds, meaning that longbowmen developed distinctive skeletal and muscular adaptations as detailed in the main text, especially in the shoulder and arm. Sustained shooting throughout a battle could lead to fatigue, gradually reducing the rate of fire. Despite this, the longbow's ability to deliver a rapid and continuous hail of arrows made it one of the most effective battlefield weapons of the Middle Ages, playing a key role in English victories such as already detailed, (Crécy (1346), Poitiers (1356), and Agincourt (1415)).

If we take Agincourt as an example, with approximately 5,000 archers each releasing 10 or 12 arrows a minute, the vast amount of missiles that were unleashed on the French army is hard to imagine yet that amount of missiles every minute would have had a devastating effect with a serious destructive force dealt to the enemy force.

Various arrowheads for the English longbow arrows

The formidable English longbow relied heavily on the type of arrowhead fitted to the shaft. The choice of arrowhead was not arbitrary, it was specifically tailored to the type of target the archer was expected to face. These arrowheads varied in design, material, and function, and they were integral to the success of English archers on the battlefield.

One of the most common arrowheads used with the English longbow was the bodkin point. This was a long, narrow, and often square-sectioned head, designed primarily for piercing armor. During the 13th to 15th centuries, as plate armor became more prevalent on the battlefield, bodkin points were refined to better penetrate the steel surfaces. Their shape allowed them to focus the force of the arrow into a very small point, enhancing their ability to slip between the joints of armor or even punch through mail or plate at closer ranges.

Another significant type was the broad-head, which had a wide, flat, and often barbed shape. These were primarily used for hunting, but in warfare, they could be devastating against un-armored or lightly armored foes, including horses and archers. The wide cutting edges inflicted serious wounds, making them effective for disabling or killing with a single shot. Their use against soft targets made them a versatile option in mixed-combat scenarios.

Additionally, specialized variants such as crescent-shaped or forked arrowheads existed, often for specific purposes such as cutting ropes or disarming sentries. Fire arrows were also available, which had special tips designed to carry burning material to ignite enemy structures or vessels.

Each arrowhead type was carefully crafted to suit the longbow's high draw weight and immense kinetic energy, ensuring maximum effect in battle or siege.

Thus, the success of the English longbow in warfare was not just a result of the bow's power and the archer's skill, but also the careful selection of arrowheads suited to particular tactical needs. This synergy between bow, arrow, and user helped define English military effectiveness during key conflicts such as the Hundred Years' War.

The English longbow is a symbol of freedom

The English longbow became more than just a battlefield weapon; it evolved into a potent symbol of freedom and agency for the common man in medieval England. Unlike the expensive warhorses and heavy armor that defined the knightly class, the longbow was a relatively inexpensive and accessible weapon. It could be wielded by yeomen, (freeborn commoners), who, with discipline and training, became the backbone of England's military strength.

This democratizing power of the longbow was reinforced by law. With monarchs, mandating longbow practice among the general population. Archery became not only a civic duty but also a shared national identity that cut across class boundaries. A skilled archer was a respected figure, and his ability to defend his homeland or influence the outcome of battle offered a rare form of empowerment in a rigidly stratified society.

The longbow thus stood as a tool of personal agency and patriotic contribution, binding the common man more closely to the English crown while subtly challenging the dominance of the feudal elite. As time passed, the longbow's symbolism persisted in English folklore and popular memory.

Legends of Robin Hood, the outlaw archer who defied tyranny and defended the rights of the poor, echoed these ideals. Whether fact or fable, such stories emphasized the longbow not merely as a weapon, but as a representation of fairness, resistance to oppression, and the valour of the ordinary Englishman. In this way, the longbow became etched into the national consciousness as a powerful emblem of freedom.

Shakespeare

Shakespeare's Henry V played a pivotal role in immortalizing English longbow-men.

KING HENRY V:

What's he that wishes so? My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin: If we are mark'd to die, we are enow to do our country loss; and if to live, the fewer men, the greater share of honour. God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires: but if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England. God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour. As one man more methinks would share from me for the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, that he which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart; his passport shall be made, and crowns for convoy put into his purse: We would not die in that man's company that fears his fellowship to die with us.

This day is call'd the feast of Crispian: He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, and rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, and say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars and say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.' Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot, but he'll remember with advantages what feats he did that day. Then shall our names, familiar in his mouth as household words—Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester—Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin day shall ne'er go by, from this day to the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remember'd; We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,This day shall gentle his condition: And gentlemen in England now a-bed shall think themselves accursed they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Ten African-Derived Names in the United States

American names come from all over the world – but did you know about these 10 African-derived names in the USA? Eddie Osborne explains.

Biddy Mason, a Los Angeles pioneer leader.

I’m guessing that you may be among the millions who watched Alex Haley’s TV mini-series, Roots, back in the day. If so, you’ll likely recall the episode in which the central character, Kunta Kinte, was whipped mercilessly for refusing to answer to the name Toby. As the lashing continued to the point where it appeared that Kunta might lapse into unconsciousness or death, you probably were among those viewers who shouted at the screen, “Hell, just say the name! It’s no big deal.”

Which would’ve missed the point altogether. It was a big deal. To a continental African, one’s name is no mere label to be cast aside at will. It is a meaningful expression of a person’s identity. To deny one the use of his or her name is to negate the bearer’s personhood so that s/he ceases to exist psychically. And this is precisely what planters sought to accomplish by depriving their African captives of their names and replacing them with European ones. Thus, symbolically alienated from their African identity, the enslaved would more easily be made to accept their new status as slaves.

The prevailing view among scholars and laypersons alike is that African names, like African languages, died out under slavery in the United States. The reality is that, though the use of African names was curtailed, an unbroken underground tradition of employing African names survives to this day. Some have pretty much retained their original forms, whereas others offer no hint of their African origin, either because they have been “masked” by similar-sounding European names, because their forms changed as a result of having been misunderstood, or because they masqueraded as nicknames.

The following are ten examples of the hundreds of African-derived names that survive among African Americans, and others, in the United States:

1. BayBay: This male nickname occurs among African Americans in both rural and urban areas of the country. BayBay appears to be an Anglicization of Bebey, a surname found in the West African nation of Cameroon. It was used in this manner by the late Cameroonian musician Francis Bebey.

2. Biddy: Though rare nowadays, Biddy formerly was a fairly common name among Black women. Perhaps its best-known bearer was Biddy Mason (1818–1891), a California entrepreneur and philanthropist. Born Bridget, she later became known as Biddy, a name that she retained for the rest of her life. Biddy may derive from Kikongo bidibidi, “a bird.” Another possibility is that it comes from Fulfulde biddo, “child,” a term in that language which may be coupled with other words to designate the young of humans, animals, and plants, as in biddo kokoji, “the fruit of the coconut palm.” In other words, “coconut.”

3. Bo: This survival occurs among some Black males in the southern United States as both a free-standing nickname and occasional given name. Examples are Bo Diddley and Bo Jackson, the names, respectively, of the late blues musician and the former football great. Bo might derive from Vai bo or bobo, used to refer to a male when his real name is unknown; from Fante Ebo, a name for a male born on Tuesday; or from Vai and Temne bo, which may translate as something like “friend.”

4. Bubba: This nickname occurs among both Whites and Blacks. Among the former, Bubba has the limited meaning of a Southerner, particularly one who fits the “redneck” stereotype. Among blacks, however, Bubba continues to be used pretty much as it was in its African homeland. There it occurs as an occasional male given name, as a nickname, and as an informal honorific term (meaning something like “brother,” “daddy,” or “friend”) used to address older male friends and relatives. Those West African languages with correspondences that perform at least some of these functions include Yoruba baba (“father”), Hausa bàbbā (“chief”), Fula baaba (“father”), Susu bab (“father”), and Serer (babā (“father”). Among these groups, as among U.S. Blacks, the term may occur as a free-standing name (as in Baaba Maal, the name of a Senegalese musician) or, as among the Yoruba, in combination with other forms to create the name of a male child believed to be the reincarnation of a deceased relative (e.g., Babatunde, “Father comes again”).

5. Buddy: As they had in Africa, early Fulfulde-speaking captives in the United States continued the practice of addressing their male elders not by name but rather by badi, a respectful term meaning “uncle.” Over time, the term became buddy, and its meaning shifted to something like “close friend” or “companion,” as in “my buddy.” Eventually, buddy came to serve as a nickname and occasional given name, functions which it retains to this day (e.g., Buddy Miles, Buddy Guy, Buddy Rich, and Buddy Ebsen).

6. Cudjo: Originally a male given name in the United States, Cudjo seldom is used as such these days. The name has a long history as a family name however, being used mainly among the Oklahoma and Texas descendants of Seminole Freedmen, runaways from South Carolina and Georgia, who, in the mid-1800s, were forcibly removed from Florida along with their Seminole allies. Notable bearers of the name are the families of brothers Lance and Lawrence Cudjo, leaders of a Freedman’s band in the Seminole Nation of Oklahoma. It also survives in the name of one of the islands lying off the southeastern coast of Florida — Cudjo Key. Cudjo derives from similar forms of ɛ-dadin, or “day names,” used among the Fante (Kudjo), Ewe (Kojo), and Asante (Kwadwó) peoples of Ghana and Togo for males born on a Monday.

7. Cuffe/Cuffie/Coffee: Another West African ɛ-dadin, or “day name,” that survives as a family name in some African-American communities (including among a band of Seminole Freedmen in Oklahoma) is Kofi, Anglicized variously as Cuffe, Cuffie, Cuffee, and Coffee. Among the Asante, Fante, Ewe, and Ga peoples of Ghana and Togo, Kofi is given to a male child born on a Friday. The name (in its various Anglicized forms) was a commonly used surname in the 18th-century United States, perhaps its most notable bearer being Paul Cuffee (sometimes rendered Cuffe). Born in Massachusetts in 1759, Cuffee became a wealthy shipowner and abolitionist and pioneered the back-to-Africa movement, which saw a number of people repatriated to the continent.

8. Mingo: This surname occurs among some Blacks in Georgia, Florida, the Carolinas, and perhaps other areas of the South. Possible sources include the Bamileke surname Mingo and the Tshiluba male name Mingo (also Minga).

9. Peewee: This nickname usually is used for a person of relatively small stature. People bearing the nickname Peewee include musicians Pee Wee Crayton and Peewee Kirkland; actor Peewee Herman (born Paul Reubens); and football great Peewee Reese (Harold Peter Henry). Peewee also is used in reference to small, non-human things, as in “peewee football” (a ball for small children). The word likely derives from Fon kpevi, “small,” but another possibility is Kikongo mpivi, meaning “orphan.”

10. Sonny: This nickname (and its variant Son) long has been a popular one among both Blacks and Whites. Notable bearers include bluesmen Son House (Edward James House) and Son Seals (Frank Seals), boxer Sonny Liston (Charles Liston), and Sonny (born Salvatore Phillip Bono) of the vocal duo Sonny & Cher. Sonny might derive from similar forms in several West African languages, including Sonny, Sonni, Sunni, Sani, Sanneh in Bamanan, Mandinka, Songhai, Yoruba, and Hausa, or the Vai and Kikongo personal names, respectively Soni and Nsoni.

E. Osborne is a Miami-based freelancer whose work has appeared in publications ranging from Essence and Writer’s Market ’85 to the now-defunct Sepia and Encore American & Worldwide News. This article first appeared in Medium.

Lessons Learned the Hard Way: The Penobscot Fiasco during the American Revolutionary War

The magnitude of the Patriot disaster at Penobscot Bay was fully realized when the bedraggled survivors staggered back into Boston.  An armada of 44 ships carrying Massachusetts militiamen had embarked from Boston on July 19, 1779,  to eliminate a small British detachment located 250 miles north on the Bagaduce Peninsula (which jutted into the bay).  The expedition was less than successful.  As acerbically reported by the Boston Independent Chronicle, “our irregular troops made an irregular retreat … without any loss excepting the whole fleet.”

James F. Byrne Jr explains.

Destruction of the American Fleet at Penobscot Bay, 14 August 1779. By Dominic Serres.

British military efforts had shifted to the mid-Atlantic and southern states following their defeat at Saratoga in October 1777.  However, His Majesty’s government needed a naval base on the New England seaboard to protect against American privateers and serve as a loyalist refuge.  To support this requirement, seven hundred Redcoats landed on the Bagaduce Peninsula in June 1779 and began constructing fortifications.

Determined to oust the British, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts organized an expedition with 1000 militiamen commanded by General Solomon Lovell.  Transporting Lovell’s force was a fleet of 44 ships commanded by Continental Navy Captain Dudley Saltonstall.   Neither Saltonstall nor Lovell were given overall command of the campaign – they were instead encouraged to cooperate with each other.

The hastily organized expedition arrived in Penobscot Bay on July 24th and found British fortifications half completed.  On July 28th American marines and militiamen successfully landed on the peninsula, and fighting both the British and the steep, forested terrain, drove the defenders back to their partially built fortifications.  The fort was ripe for the taking .  The British commander certainly thought so, later stating “ I only meant to give them one or two guns so as not to be called a coward, and then strike my colors.”  However, with victory within reach, General Lovell, who lost control of his force during the assault, ordered a halt and directed his flabbergasted subordinates (who had a clearer picture of the situation than their general) to initiate a siege.

Deterioration

The situation rapidly deteriorated for the Americans.  The militiamen soon tired of siege warfare, and many of them spent their time in the rear skulking in the woods.  Saltonstall and Lowell conducted over 10 councils –  described by one observer as “more like a meeting in a coffee house than a council of war”.  The Commodore insisted he could not engage the three enemy ships in the harbor until the British guns on the peninsula were silenced, and the General responded  this was not possible until the British ships were eliminated.   While the American commanders dithered, the British strengthened their fortifications and sent for help.  

It was soon forthcoming.  On August 13th, a seven ship  British relief squadron arrived, and the seeds of disaster planted by the ineffective American command structure now came to fruition.  Lovell was able to reembark his men on the transports and set sail up the Penobscot, intending to establish a defense upriver.  Saltonstall deployed his warships to protect the transports.

However, as the British squadron closed, Saltonstall (without informing Lovell) determined his  ad-hoc fleet would be no match for the enemy squadron.  Without firing a shot, he ordered his warships to retreat upriver, telling one of his captains, “we must all shift for ourselves.”  A John Paul Jones moment it was not.

Hope gone

The troops on the transports initially cheered the rapidly approaching American warships.  Cheering stopped when the warships sailed past the transports, leaving them to the tender mercies of the British frigates.  Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, the transport captains ran their ships aground, disembarked their passengers, and set their vessels afire.  The militia dispersed into the woods – without leadership, discipline, or any inclination to continue hanging around Penobscot.  The fleeing warship captains followed the example set by their transport vessel comrades, and the pursuing British marveled  as ship after ship went up in flames. 

There was to be no defensive stand along the Penobscot River.  Summing up the situation, Lovell later said “an attempt to give a description of this terrible day is out of my power.”

The majority of the 3,000 Americans participating in the ill-founded campaign survived the ordeal – over 2,500 of them eventually making it home.  The British suffered less than 100 casualties and occupied Penobscot Bay until the end of the war.  Commodore Saltonstall was cashiered from the Continental Navy in recognition of his loss of an entire 44 ship fleet – the worst disaster in U.S. Naval history until the 1941 attack at Pearl Harbor.

Lessons Learned:

1)     Committees should plan festivals, not military campaigns; the lack of a single overall commander set the stage for failure.

2)     Councils of war rarely lead to success in battle; especially when nothing of consequence is discussed or decided.

3)     Amphibious operations imply land-sea coordination; unfortunately, Saltonstall and Lovell could not even agree on an overall course of action.

4)     Few naval battles are won by sailing out of harm’s way; Saltonstall’s refusal to engage the British relief force sealed his defeat.

5)     Coordinated actions require a commander; Saltonstall effectively ceded command during the retreat up the river, allowing the fleet to be exterminated piecemeal.

6)     Discipline is a necessity; when the going got tough, the militia got going – home.

7)     Quality trumps quantity; the huge American fleet was poorly crewed, badly led, and disintegrated when faced by a smaller, but well trained enemy squadron.

8)     Force protection can be carried to extremes; Saltonstall saved most of his personnel but abandoned  his mission and sacrificed his fleet.

9)     Ad hoc military operations seldom succeed when facing competent professional foes.

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

Key Weapons in History: The Rise and Fall of the Trebuchet

In the long arc of military history, few siege engines have captured the imagination like the trebuchet. Towering over medieval battlefields with a grace that belied its destructive power, this marvel of pre-modern engineering hurled massive projectiles across moats, over walls, and into the hearts of enemy fortresses. At its height, the trebuchet symbolized the zenith of siege warfare, capable of toppling towers, breaching walls, and striking terror into defenders. Yet, its legacy is more nuanced than its awe-inspiring might. There were moments when even this mighty machine failed to tip the balance, crushed beneath changing tactics, terrain, and the march of technology.

Terry Bailey explains.

A Byzantine depiction of a siege, featuring a trebuchet.

Origins and engineering, from China to the Crusades

The trebuchet evolved from earlier traction-based siege engines. By the 4th century CE, traction trebuchets, operated by teams pulling ropes were already in use in China. These early machines were introduced to the Islamic world by the 7th century and to Europe by the 12th century, likely via Byzantine and Arab intermediaries.

However, the counterweight trebuchet, the one most associated with European castles and medieval sieges represented a giant leap forward in design. Rather than relying on human strength, this version used a massive counterweight to swing a long arm and hurl projectiles with extraordinary force and precision. The innovation allowed for heavier projectiles and more consistent performance, making it the king of siege machines from the 12th to the 15th centuries.

Constructed primarily from wood, reinforced with iron, and operated by large crews, trebuchets could lob 90 kg stones over 300 meters. They were capable of launching not just stones, but also incendiary devices, diseased carcasses, or even barrels of rotting refuse, early examples of biological warfare.

Triumphs on the battlefield

Siege of Acre (1191)

During the Third Crusade, the siege of the Muslim-held city of Acre witnessed extensive use of trebuchets. Richard the Lionheart famously ordered the construction of massive siege engines to batter the city's formidable walls. One trebuchet, named 'God's Own Catapult', was so powerful it contributed significantly to the breaching of Acre's defenses. Its presence demoralized the defenders and accelerated the fall of the city after nearly two years of siege.

Siege of Stirling Castle (1304)

Perhaps the most famous individual trebuchet ever built was 'Warwolf', constructed by the English during their campaign against Scotland. Ordered by Edward I during the siege of Stirling Castle, Warwolf was so large that it took five master carpenters and thirty additional laborers months to assemble.

Capable of hurling stones weighing over 140 kg it was reportedly so terrifying in its destructive force that the garrison inside Stirling Castle attempted to surrender before it was even used. Edward refused their surrender until Warwolf had been fired, showcasing not only the weapon's effectiveness but also its psychological impact.

Siege of Thessalonica (1383–1387)

In the Balkans, Ottoman forces employed trebuchets extensively in their campaigns, particularly during the long siege of Thessalonica. They used multiple trebuchets to breach parts of the city's impressive Byzantine walls. Though the siege dragged on for years, the persistent battering from trebuchets played a vital role in weakening the city's defenses and demoralizing the population.

When trebuchets failed

Despite their power, trebuchets were not infallible. Weather, terrain, and enemy tactics could all neutralize their advantage.

Siege of Château Gaillard (1203–1204)

This stronghold of Richard the Lionheart was considered nearly impregnable and was assaulted by the forces of Philip II of France. Despite having trebuchets, Philip's army found limited success battering the strong walls directly. Instead, the castle fell due to a combination of undermining the walls, exploiting a poorly defended latrine chute, and strategic patience. The siege demonstrated that siege engines alone could not guarantee victory without a complementary strategy.

Siege of Kenilworth Castle (1266)

During the Second Barons' War, royal forces laid siege to Kenilworth Castle in England, equipped with trebuchets and other siege engines. The siege lasted six months, the longest in English history despite constant bombardment. The defenders had fortified the castle against projectiles and had access to a well-stocked moat, which protected against mining and fire. Eventually, the castle was surrendered due to starvation rather than the success of siege weapons.

Siege of Constantinople (1453)

By the mid-15th century, the trebuchet's days were numbered. During the Ottoman siege of Constantinople, Sultan Mehmed II deployed several trebuchets, but the true stars of the siege were giant bronze cannons, including the massive bombard known as Basilica. The walls of Constantinople, long impervious to traditional siege engines finally crumbled under the weight of gunpowder and artillery shot. It marked a seismic shift in siege warfare and sealed the trebuchet's decline.

The trebuchet's legacy

While cannons would ultimately supersede the trebuchet, the latter's impact on warfare was profound. It brought mathematical precision and engineering excellence to the battlefield, serving as a precursor to modern artillery. Trebuchets required extensive knowledge of physics, especially lever mechanics, mass ratios, and projectile dynamics. In many ways, building and operating a trebuchet was a scientific enterprise as much as a military one.

Today, trebuchets live on in experimental and experiential archaeology, engineering competitions, and historical reenactments. Universities and hobbyists around the world build them to test hypotheses about medieval warfare and physics. They have even made brief comebacks in unconventional settings, for instance, launching pumpkins in contests or as props in demonstrations of alternative military history.

Power, precision and limits

The trebuchet was not just a machine of war, it was a symbol of power, ingenuity, and the relentless arms race of medieval siegecraft. It turned stone and gravity into weapons capable of altering the course of history. Yet, like all war machines, it was only as effective as the circumstances allowed. When paired with strategy and favorable conditions, it could break even the most daunting fortress. When isolated or poorly used, its might was wasted. Its legacy lies not only in the walls it breached but also in the enduring fascination it inspires, proof that in war, as in technology, the pendulum of advantage always swings.

Conclusion

Needless to say, in the grand narrative of military innovation, the trebuchet stands as a towering monument to human ingenuity, a symbol of the medieval world's mastery over materials, mechanics, and mathematics. It emerged not merely as a tool of destruction, but as the apex of pre-modern siegecraft, an elegant fusion of physics and force. Rising from its early beginnings in ancient China to dominate the battlefields of medieval Europe and the Islamic world, the trebuchet evolved into an unrivalled instrument of siege warfare, as formidable psychologically as it was physically.

Its reign, however, was not absolute. Though capable of incredible power and precision, the trebuchet was ultimately bound by the limitations of its era, its size, construction time, dependence on terrain, and the slow pace of reloading. Against an unprepared or poorly fortified target, it could be devastating. Against a determined and strategically aware foe, it could be little more than an impressive showpiece. As warfare changed, so too did the needs of armies. The introduction of gunpowder and the development of cannons marked a fundamental shift that no amount of counterweight could reverse. In the thunderous roar of bronze bombards, the creaking wooden arms of the trebuchet fell silent.

Yet the story does not end with its obsolescence. The trebuchet endures in the imagination not because of the wars it won, but because of what it represents. It is a relic of an age when knowledge of balance, leverage, and timing could turn gravity itself into a weapon. It is a testament to what can be achieved with wood, stone, rope, and understanding, where craftsmanship meets calculation to form something greater than the sum of its parts. Even today, trebuchets are reconstructed in academic settings and public spectacles, their massive arms swinging once more not to bring down walls, but to bring history vividly to life.

In remembering the trebuchet, we reflect not only on a machine but on a mindset. It reminds us that behind every technological leap, whether in medieval siege engines or modern artillery lies a desire to master natural forces through insight and invention. The trebuchet, with all its triumphs and failures, was more than a weapon. It was an idea in motion, a parable of innovation in a world before engines, and a symbol of an age when human will harnessed the laws of physics to reshape the world, one stone at a time.

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:

Construction

At its core, the trebuchet is a machine that uses the principle of leverage to convert potential energy into kinetic energy, propelling a projectile with immense force. Its basic construction revolves around a large wooden frame that supports a long throwing arm mounted on an axle. The arm is asymmetrical: one end, much shorter, holds a massive counterweight, while the longer end serves as the throwing arm to which a sling is attached.

The difference in length between the two arms is crucial, it allows the counterweight's downward drop to translate into a high-speed swing of the longer arm. The counterweight is typically housed in a pivoting or fixed box filled with stones, lead, or sand.

In some designs, known as the hinged or floating counterweight trebuchets the counterweight is free to swing, which increases efficiency and allows for a smoother release of energy. As the counterweight falls, it pulls the shorter end of the arm downward, rapidly accelerating the longer end upward and forward. Attached to this longer end is a sling, often made of rope or leather, which cradles the projectile. One end of the sling is fixed to the arm, while the other loops over a release pin, allowing it to slip off at a precise angle and send the projectile on its arc.

The entire structure must be robust and precisely built. The frame, often made from large timbers lashed or pegged together, needs to be rigid enough to withstand repeated firings without warping or collapsing. The axle must rotate smoothly yet be strong enough to bear the torque generated by the counterweight's drop. Builders often adjusted the angle of release by tweaking the length of the sling or bending the release pin, fine-tuning trajectory and range.

Despite its apparent complexity, the trebuchet could be constructed using readily available materials and medieval carpentry techniques. When properly built and calibrated, it could hurl boulders weighing many kilograms over castle walls or smash through fortifications, an extraordinary feat of mechanical engineering for its time.

Warwolf

The Warwolf, also known as the Ludgar, stands as the most legendary trebuchet ever constructed and arguably the most powerful siege engine of the Middle Ages. Commissioned by King Edward I of England during the First War of Scottish Independence, Warwolf was built in 1304 to aid in the siege of Stirling Castle, one of the last remaining Scottish strongholds resisting English domination. Edward, determined to make an example of Stirling's defenders, spared no expense in constructing what was to be the most formidable trebuchet ever assembled.

Warwolf's construction was a massive undertaking. Historical records suggest that Edward brought a team of skilled carpenters and engineers to Scotland specifically for the project. It took them months to build the engine, with supplies and timber hauled from distant locations. The machine was so large that it had to be assembled in parts and reassembled on-site. While the exact dimensions remain unknown, estimates based on medieval accounts and reconstructions suggest that Warwolf may have stood over 20 meters tall and could hurl projectiles weighing up to 140 kilograms with devastating force and precision.

What truly set Warwolf apart, however, was not just its size but its psychological impact. As indicated in the main text, when the defenders of Stirling Castle saw the massive machine completed and ready to fire, they reportedly attempted to surrender to avoid the coming bombardment. King Edward, intent on showcasing his new weapon, refused their offer and ordered the attack to proceed. Warwolf's first volley reportedly shattered the castle's curtain walls, compelling a full and unconditional surrender shortly thereafter. The event exemplifies not only the mechanical might of trebuchets but also their role in psychological warfare.

Warwolf's legacy has endured as a symbol of medieval engineering ingenuity and royal determination. It demonstrated how a well-constructed trebuchet could dominate a battlefield, not just through brute force but through sheer intimidation. Even centuries later, Warwolf continues to fascinate military historians and engineers alike as a pinnacle of pre-gunpowder siegecraft.

A Defense of Duels

Duels in the Middle Ages occurred on many occasions. While authorities did not usually like them, they took place for a number of reasons. Here. Jeb Smith offers an explanation on why they occurred – and what they avoided.

A 1902 depiction of Alexander Hamilton fighting his deadly duel with Vice President Aaron Burr in July 1804.

Medieval duels derived from trial by combat. When evidence and witnesses could not decide a clear verdict in court, and both sides maintained their positions, they could defend their integrity and honor in combat. Often duels were considered an accurate method to determine truth; after all, David received help from God during his duel with Goliath, the Almighty was sure to intervene, and truth would prevail.[1]

Despite the Church outlawing them, duels remained popular and kept a level of respect between individuals. They made education in proper manners and politeness as vital as we believe teaching math or language is today. A society whose citizens insult each other is attacking God; it degrades man as an image bearer of the divine. Defending "honor" is defending God. People then took insults, swears, and degrading comments so seriously the guilty party could be fined for what we deem a common occurrence.[2]

While honor might have led to the death of some in duels, the current lack of honor and human value leads to our modern plague of bullying, depression and suicide.

Avoiding war?

Further, duels could prevent larger-scale wars from occurring. Lords could settle disputes in a duel and avoid more significant conflicts. For example, in 2002, Iraq offered their president and vice president to duel with their American counterparts to avoid the cost and bloodshed we know as the Iraq war.[3] Had a duel decided matters, we would have avoided thousands of deaths on both sides (including many innocent non-combatant lives) and the tremendous cost involved.

Part of our modern objection to dueling is it is very unselfish. It declares honor, integrity, societal standards, a good name, and justice are more vital than satisfying selfish desires.

Duels prevented wars, held people accountable, and did not let "barbarity" loose on society.[4] In contrast, today, "men" are supposed to have "tough skins" and accept insults and moral decay. The potential of duels cut down on insults, especially towards women. They reduced assassinations by providing an alternative to murder and allowing a cool-down period. Depending on the time and area, very few actually died in duels, especially when the weapon of choice was a sword. An injury or even showing up for the duel proved your honor, and the would-be adversaries could talk out their differences, retaining their integrity.

Those who believe the Middle Ages were violent due to duels, should know they were even more popular during the Renaissance and reached their height in the 18th century. As the medieval feudal lords morphed into aristocratic gentlemen and standing armies replaced them on the battlefield, they needed an "outlet." Duels provided the opportunity to show their courage. In addition, democracy extends politics through all members of society. Hence, duels became common among politicians, news editors, columnists, and anyone with a political opinion – and thus they became more frequent.

A more destructive evil?

While duels are undesirable, one could argue they avoid a more destructive evil. Barbara Holland wrote, "Currently, over 10,000 people in America die every year by firearms…most of the deaths are spur of the moment, and this is considered progress."[5] Many of these deaths, some would argue, could have been prevented by reinstating duels. Many murders result from various decays in our society and how we treat, speak, and act toward each other. In retaliation and anger, execution-style murders are committed in the dark in far greater numbers, where the victim does not have a fair chance. In other words, these crimes lack the equality of duels.

Further, while our murders have significantly risen, we still defend what we hold dear in society. But rather than the good name or reputation of a lady, family, and personal honor, it is now the nation-state. Just as modern murders have risen, so has the number of people who willingly defend their government and nation out of patriotic duty. They volunteer if the country's honor is contested or insulted like individuals used to for themselves. We have elevated the state, degraded the individual, and regard one kind of duel between gigantic governments run by politicians as acceptable and the other far less devastating duel between individuals as barbaric.

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.

[1] (Holland 2003, 9)

[2] (Singman 2013, 118-119)(Tierney and Painter 1983, 100)(Seebohm 1911, 376)

[3] (Holland 2003, 290)

[4] (Holland 2003, 24)

[5] (Holland 2003, 285)

The Peninsula Campaign and The Seven Days Battles: Part 1

The American Civil War had a number of critical junctures in 1862. Here, Lloyd W. Klein considers the 1862 Peninsula Campaign and The Seven Days Battles. In part 1 of a 2-part series, he looks at the Peninsula Campaign, including the Battle of Fair Oaks/ Seven Pines.

General Meagher at the Battle of Fair Oaks, Virginia. June 1, 1862.

‘If General McClellan is not going to use the army, I would like to borrow it for a time.’

Abraham Lincoln

As 1861 transitioned into 1862 without any notable military engagements in the Eastern Theater, President Lincoln's patience began to diminish in response to General McClellan's delays. In March 1862, hesitant to engage in a direct confrontation due to concerns about being outnumbered, General McClellan opted for a strategic flanking maneuver via water. His plan involved landing troops on the Yorktown Peninsula, situated between the James and York Rivers, while utilizing the Union Navy to safeguard his supply lines. From this position, he intended to launch an offensive against Richmond. Consequently, 70,000 Federal troops embarked on vessels bound for Fort Monroe, a Union stronghold at the Virginia Peninsula's tip, while an additional 35,000 troops under Irvin McDowell repositioned to Fredericksburg, located 50 miles north of Richmond. Furthermore, approximately 25,000 soldiers were available in the Shenandoah Valley under the command of Nathaniel P. Banks.

In the spring of 1862, General McClellan initiated an advance of Union forces westward from Fort Monroe. The Confederates, benefiting from their interior lines between General Johnston's army near Manassas and the Peninsula, effectively maneuvered their forces to bolster the troops stationed on the Peninsula. President Lincoln harbored doubts regarding this strategy, fully aware that Johnston would likely respond by mobilizing his army to protect Richmond, a movement that would occur more swiftly than McClellan's own. Nevertheless, recognizing that McClellan was finally taking action, Lincoln reluctantly acquiesced to the plan.

Yorktown & Williamsburg

By early April, McClellan was in position. At the campaign's onset, he faced approximately 20,000 Confederate troops near Yorktown, Virginia, the site of Cornwallis's surrender to Washington. The town is located on the York River. With a significant advantage of at least three to one, McClellan was poised for success, especially with an additional 30,000 Federal reinforcements expected to arrive shortly. However, he mistakenly convinced himself that he was up against 200,000 Confederates, leading to inaction on his part.

The Confederate field commander, Major General John Bankhead Magruder, a graduate of West Point, was acutely aware of his disadvantage. In a strategic move, he opted to deceive McClellan by frequently repositioning his troops and dispersing his artillery into single units that fired intermittently. This tactic created the illusion of a much larger force, successfully convincing McClellan to initiate a siege of Yorktown. This decision ultimately provided General Johnston with the necessary time to reinforce his beleaguered troops, effectively thwarting what could have been a decisive Union victory.

McClellan meanwhile awaited the reinforcements he deemed essential to beat an enemy he estimated to outnumber him by three times. Even a basic acquaintance with the 1860 Census would have made clear that was impossible. As McClellan awaited the reinforcements he believed were crucial to confront an enemy he grossly overestimated, he overlooked the opportunity. In reality, Magruder commanded only 11,000 men. Although escaped black slaves who reached Union lines provided accurate information regarding Confederate troop numbers, their accounts were dismissed and not taken seriously by McClellan.

In choosing to lay siege to Yorktown, McClellan miscalculated the situation, believing that Johnston's entire army was positioned against him. This decision resulted in a significant loss of momentum and tactical advantage for the Union forces. Between April 18 and May 2, the Union Army established fourteen distinct positions. McClellan offered various justifications for his reluctance to engage in battle, citing the inexperience of his troops, inadequate supplies, and the necessity of securing Washington from potential surprise attacks. Finally, Magruder abandoned Yorktown after 2 weeks of delaying McClellan.

Following the Confederate withdrawal from Yorktown, the Union division under Brigadier General Joseph Hooker encountered the Confederate rearguard in the vicinity of Williamsburg. Williamsburg is positioned on elevated terrain between the York and James Rivers. Hooker launched an assault on an earthen fortification situated along the Williamsburg Road; however, his forces were repelled. Confederate counterattacks, orchestrated by Major General James Longstreet, posed a significant threat to the Union's left flank. Fortunately, a Union division arrived in time to reinforce the position, marking the Battle of Williamsburg as the first major engagement of the Peninsula Campaign.

Brigadier General Philip Kearny's 3rd Division of III Corps played a crucial role in stabilizing the Federal position, with Kearny famously leading his men onto the battlefield with his sword drawn and reins clenched in his teeth, a technique he had mastered during his training with the French cavalry. Kearny was a seasoned veteran, having distinguished himself in the Mexican War and served in Napoleon III’s Imperial Guard at Solferino, despite having lost his left arm in combat.

In a strategic maneuver, a Union brigade advanced to threaten the Confederate left flank by occupying two abandoned redoubts. Despite receiving multiple orders to withdraw, the brigade's commander resolutely held his ground against enemy attacks and subsequently led a bayonet charge in a counteroffensive. This courageous brigade was led by Brigadier General Winfield Scott Hancock, who earned a reputation for his steadfastness and refusal to retreat. General McClellan praised Hancock's performance as “superb,” a commendation that led to his enduring nickname, “Hancock the Superb.” His leadership and bravery during the battle solidified his status as a remarkable figure in the Union Army.

The battle saw approximately 41,000 Union troops face off against 32,000 Confederates, resulting in an inconclusive outcome that allowed the Confederates to continue their retreat.

Movement up the Virginia Peninsula: McClellan and the Slows

‘If he had a million men, he would swear that the enemy has two millions, and then he would sit down in the mud and yell for three.’

Secretary of War Edwin Stanton

With Richmond as his primary objective, McClellan recognized that a direct land route would necessitate traversing swamps and wetlands during the late spring season. Consequently, he opted to navigate along the Pamunkey River, which flows northward and runs approximately parallel to the Chickahominy River, until he reached the point where he needed to cross it to approach Richmond.

The pace of McClellan's advance was notably sluggish. A significant factor contributing to this delay was his anticipation of support from McDowell’s Corps, which was advancing southward from Fredericksburg to assist in the offensive. However, McDowell was ultimately redirected to the Shenandoah Valley, creating what appeared to be a favorable opportunity for McClellan to initiate his own movements.

McClellan's reliance on inaccurate intelligence reports, provided by his associate Allan Pinkerton, who was the founder of a prominent private detective agency, led him to consistently overestimate the size of the Confederate forces across the Potomac River. He believed that the enemy was now twice as numerous as his own troops. However, the reality was quite the opposite; the Union army outnumbered the Confederate forces by a ratio of at least two to one and perhaps three to one.

In hindsight, it is evident that these delays yielded no strategic advantages.  Particularly regarding the situation at Yorktown, the postponement allowed Johnston to reposition his army effectively. Consequently, McClellan lost the chance to secure an unobstructed route to Richmond and failed to outmaneuver Johnston, resulting in the forfeiture of any potential benefits that could have arisen.

McClellan's tendency to exaggerate the size of enemy forces was so consistent that it suggests a deliberate, possibly psychological, motivation behind his actions. This pattern of inflating enemy troop numbers was a defining characteristic of McClellan's military career. For instance, he claimed to have defeated double the actual number of troops at Rich Mountain, thereby enhancing the perception of his victory. Furthermore, he tripled the count of opposing forces across the Potomac, which contributed to a heightened sense of urgency and ultimately led to his promotion to commander-in-chief. The culmination of this behavior was evident during the Peninsula Campaign, where he significantly overstated enemy numbers, expressed concerns about the resources needed for victory, and when unable to secure those resources, proceeded with operations while attributing any failures to his superiors. This strategy allowed him to portray himself as a victor against overwhelming odds or to deflect blame in the event of defeat.

Despite being provided with accurate assessments of troop strengths, McClellan chose to disregard critical intelligence. He was given correct numerical information by escaped slaves. General John Wool at Fortress Monroe thought he was too slow and gave him more precise numbers Thaddeus Lowe and the Balloon Corps, stationed near Gaines’ Farm, consistently reported the movements of Confederate forces near Fair Oaks, delivering precise information even up to June 1. The reasons behind McClellan's dismissal of these reports remain speculative, but they align with the psychological tendencies previously discussed, suggesting a disconnect between the available intelligence and his strategic decisions.

In a controversial move, Lincoln opted to redirect McDowell's forces from a southern advance to the Valley to support Fremont, despite objections from both McClellan and McDowell. This decision, while aimed at addressing the vulnerability of Washington and providing necessary assistance to Fremont, may have had adverse consequences. Lincoln's judgment was sound in recognizing the threat posed by Jackson's movements, which ultimately led to Jackson retreating further into the Valley to join forces with Lee. However, had McDowell continued his advance, he would have positioned himself advantageously alongside Porter’s V Corps along the Chickahominy River, potentially countering Lee's strategic plans effectively.

The Peninsula Campaign: March to May 1862. Source: Hlj, available here.

Battle of Fair Oaks / Seven Pines (May 31 and June 1, 1862)

General Joseph E. Johnston, known for his cautious approach, conducted a methodical retreat through the Peninsula, engaging in inconclusive skirmishes along the way.  Recognizing his numerical disadvantage, the Confederate army executed a retreat to the northwest, successfully crossing the Chickahominy River, which served as the sole natural barrier separating the Peninsula from Richmond. A Union naval expedition aimed at advancing up the James River toward Richmond had been halted at Drewry’s Bluff, a situation that Johnston adeptly exploited by positioning his right flank at that location. Additionally, he stationed A.P. Hill at the extreme left flank along a bend in the Chickahominy, compelling McClellan to cross the river to reach Richmond. While a segment of the Union army managed to cross, other units remained stationed to the east of the river.

Until this point, President Davis had perceived Johnston's caution as a liability, urging him to take the offensive against McClellan. However, Johnston, fully aware of his inferior numbers, was strategically waiting for an opportune moment to strike an isolated portion of McClellan’s army. At this juncture, two Union corps had successfully crossed the Chickahominy River and were positioned alarmingly close to Richmond, just four miles away, where they could hear the ringing of church bells.

As the Union forces positioned themselves on either side of the seemingly tranquil river, a deluge of rain ensued, resulting in severe flooding that rendered the river and surrounding swamps nearly impassable. This natural disaster effectively divided the Union army; despite the proximity of the two factions, their only means of communication was a bridge located several miles away. Seizing the opportunity presented by the fragmentation of McClellan's forces, Johnston planned to strike the contingent of the Union army stranded south of the river. In a calculated move, he could potentially deploy 22 of his 29 brigades, totaling approximately 51,000 troops, against the III and IV Corps, which together comprised 33,000 soldiers.

During the Battle of Seven Pines, also known as Fair Oaks, which took place from May 31 to June 1, 1862, General Johnston launched an assault against the vulnerable corps stationed there. The offensive occurred at two key locations: the railroad station at Fair Oaks and the crossroads of Seven Pines, situated approximately one mile apart. Although the attacks lacked coordination, they proved to be effective, with General D.H. Hill spearheading the offensive and directing all available reinforcements to the front lines.

The resultant attack was uncoordinated. Johnston launched an offensive against two Union corps that were positioned separately across the Chickahominy River, effectively cut off from the main body of the Union army. His strategy was intricate, yet he failed to provide clear instructions to his commanders regarding the intended sequence of events. The plan involved a demonstration by his left flank while Longstreet was to approach from three different directions, one of which included DH Hill’s division tasked with assaulting a critical crossroads near a cluster of seven large pines, known as Seven Pines.

However, Longstreet deviated from the intended route, mistakenly taking the Williamsburg Road instead of the Nine Mile Road. While some of his troops found themselves in the correct location, they were uncertain about the timing of their assault. Ultimately, only DH Hill’s division, comprising approximately 10,000 soldiers, engaged Silas Casey’s brigade of merely 6,000, resulting in a significant breakthrough. Despite Johnston being a mere 2.5 miles from the front lines, he was unable to hear the sounds of battle due to an acoustic shadow, which hindered his ability to send reinforcements in a timely manner.

Amid this pivotal confrontation, General Johnston was wounded while actively leading his troops. A veteran present at the scene recounted the chaos, stating, "… every deadly projectile which could take a human life and maim and disfigure were showered upon us." As bullets and artillery shells flew around him, a bullet struck Johnston in his right shoulder, followed by a shell explosion that sent a fragment into his chest, causing him to fall unconscious from his horse. He suffered a broken shoulder and two fractured ribs, and his aides promptly transported him to safety, where he eventually regained consciousness.

Upon regaining consciousness, Johnston immediately requested the retrieval of his sword and pistols, which had fallen during his fall. He expressed the sentimental value of the sword, stating, “The sword was the one worn by my father in the Revolutionary War, and I would not lose it for ten thousand dollars.” Drury Armistead of the 3rd Virginia Cavalry bravely ventured back to recover the items. In the meantime, Major General Gustavus Smith assumed command, but the renewed attack lacked the necessary vigor. The following day, General Lee took over leadership, with McClellan expressing a preference for Lee over Johnston.  This misapprehension was due to Lee's early struggles at Cheat Mountain, which led McClellan to question Lee's decisiveness under pressure.

The outcome of the battle was indecisive. The Union forces managed to hold their ground, allowing McClellan to continue his advance toward Richmond. The casualties were substantial, with Union losses totaling 5,031 (including 790 killed, 3,594 wounded, and 647 captured or missing) and Confederate losses amounting to 6,134 (with 980 killed, 4,749 wounded, and 405 captured or missing). This engagement was the second largest and bloodiest battle of the war thus far, following the Battle of Shiloh just eight weeks prior.

Brig Gen OO Howard lost his right arm at Fair Oaks. General Philip Kearny famously quipped that they’d now be able to shop for gloves together, as General Kearny had lost his left arm. Brig Gen Robert Rodes was wounded, and Col John B Gordon took command. Rodes would return to lead his brigade at Gaines’ Mill.

Seven Pines could have been a decisive Confederate victory, but several things went wrong.

Confederate General Joseph E. Johnston had an opportunity to achieve a decisive victory, but a combination of poor planning, miscommunication, and logistical challenges prevented him from doing so. While Johnston’s plan had the potential for success, its execution fell short, and the battle ended inconclusively. The Union advance was stopped but Seven Pines was a missed Confederate opportunity.

Why Johnston Could Have Won Decisively. The Chickahominy River divided the Union Army, with two corps (approximately 33,000 men) on the south side near Seven Pines and the rest of McClellan’s army on the north side. Johnston’s plan aimed to overwhelm the isolated Union corps south of the river before McClellan could reinforce them. This was a sound strategy that could have inflicted a crippling blow on the Union army. Johnston had massed about 51,000 Confederate troops against the Union forces south of the Chickahominy. This gave him a significant numerical advantage in the immediate area, which he hoped to exploit. Johnston planned to strike early on May 31, taking advantage of heavy rains that had swollen the Chickahominy River and delayed Union reinforcements from crossing.

Why Johnston Failed to Achieve a Decisive Victory. Johnston's strategy for the attack required meticulous timing and effective coordination among various Confederate divisions. Unfortunately, the execution of this plan was hampered by ambiguous orders and failures in communication, which resulted in considerable delays and confusion on the battlefield. Additionally, prominent Confederate generals, including James Longstreet and D.H. Hill, misinterpreted their directives, leading to fragmented and disorganized assaults instead of a unified offensive. Longstreet's absence from the battle maps exemplifies this miscommunication, as he mistakenly directed his troops down an incorrect route, inadvertently encountering Benjamin Huger's forces and contributing to the overall chaos. If General Huger had led his division into action at the appointed time and supported Smith Longstreet and Hill, Keyes' Union Corps would have been destroyed. Consequently, the planned morning attack was postponed until the afternoon of May 31, affording Union forces additional time to fortify their defenses.

Johnston should have made better use of Magruder's division. If the Chickahominy had remained high enough to stop Union reinforcements, a different outcome would be expected. If there had been no delay of Longstreet's troops at Gilles Creek, or on the Williamsburg road, or if, at least, if Johnston had been informed when Longstreet did go into action, perhaps the victory could have been more complete. Good staff work and prompt reports would have offset the acoustic shadow and enabled the timely advance of the Confederate left.

The Union troops, under the command of Generals Erasmus Keyes and Darius Couch, demonstrated considerable resilience despite being outnumbered. Their steadfastness allowed them to hold their positions long enough for reinforcements to arrive from the northern side of the Chickahominy River. The timely intervention of Union General Sumner with additional troops played a crucial role in stabilizing the situation. Although the Confederates succeeded in pushing back Union forces in certain sectors, they failed to take advantage of openings in the Union lines, resulting in a missed opportunity for a decisive breakthrough. Instead, the conflict devolved into a protracted and bloody stalemate, undermining the initial Confederate objectives.

A decisive Confederate victory could have severely disrupted McClellan's Peninsula Campaign. Had McClellan been compelled to retreat, the subsequent Seven Days Battles might have been averted, further hindering Union advances toward Richmond. However, the inconclusive nature of the battle ultimately paved the way for General Lee's ascension to command and the ensuing series of confrontations known as the Seven Days Battles, which would shape the course of the conflict.

McClellan continued to cross the river, bringing all of his troops except V Corps and he continued to plan on a siege. His emotional reaction, told in a letter to his wife, was "I am tired of the sickening sight of the battlefield, with its mangled corpses & poor suffering wounded! Victory has no charms for me when purchased at such cost."

After the battle, mosquitos surrounded the area from the rains and floods. Soldiers on both sides became severely ill with an infection whose origin has never been entirely explained. Chickahominy Fever had symptoms of both typhoid fever and malaria, so it is officially classified as a typhomalarial fever, but has at times also been called bilious fever.  It was most likely a form of malaria with GI predilection, or both malaria and typhoid fever, hence the name. It may also have included cases of dengue fever and perhaps shigellosis.

Lee Takes Command

Jefferson Davis encountered numerous challenges during his presidency, often making questionable decisions. However, on the evening of May 31, 1862, as he accompanied General Lee from the battlefield to Richmond and entrusted him with command of the army, Davis undoubtedly made the most astute choice of his presidency.

On June 1, 1862, General Lee assumed command amidst the ongoing battle at Seven Pines. Lee prioritized the long-term strategy over immediate victory, focusing on conserving his remaining forces and devising a new plan. He utilized the battle as an opportunity to reorganize his command structure, removing two brigadiers and rearranging the brigades to enhance their effectiveness.

This period marked the Union Army's closest approach to potentially concluding the war for the next two years. Despite the demoralization of Johnston's troops and the inadequately fortified defenses of Richmond, the well-equipped Union forces under Major General George B. McClellan, who outnumbered Lee's army, failed to mount a serious assault on the Confederate capital. With McClellan positioned between the defenses of Richmond and the Chickahominy River, Lee and Davis engaged in discussions to determine the most effective course of action, with Lee outlining three strategic options: abandon Richmond, prepare for a siege, or launch an attack. His recommendations aligned perfectly with President Davis's expectations.

In the three weeks after taking command, Lee undertook a comprehensive reorganization of his forces and reinforced the defenses of Richmond. He recognized that a purely defensive strategy would be inadequate against the formidable Federal army. Rather than passively waiting for an inevitable attack that he might not withstand, Lee also deemed it unwise to precipitate a siege, a decision that would later contrast sharply with his actions two years hence. Instead, he devised an audacious and strategic plan to take the initiative.

On June 23, Lee convened a meeting with his generals to unveil his intentions for an offensive operation. He articulated his strategy in General Order No. 75, which was disseminated to his commanders the following day. Lee's approach to dislodge the largest army ever assembled in the New World was grounded in a keen assessment of the Federal forces and their vulnerabilities. He posited that the sheer size of the Federal army could be turned into a disadvantage.

The primary goal of Lee's plan was to separate McClellan's main army, which was concentrated south of the Chickahominy River, from its supply lines. McClellan's forces required over 600 tons of provisions daily, presenting a significant logistical challenge akin to sustaining a small city. To execute his strategy, Lee stationed a minimal force to defend Richmond's eastern perimeter while moving the majority of his troops northward across the Chickahominy. His objective was to overwhelm the Union forces near Mechanicsville, whose responsibility was to safeguard the critical Federal supply base. By disrupting their resupply efforts, Lee aimed either to secure a decisive victory over McClellan or compel him to retreat from Richmond.

Lee ordered three separate columns to commence their march on the same morning. Each column was to utilize its own designated route, and engagement in combat would only occur if the commander identified a strategic advantage. This advantage was inherently linked to the performance of the other columns; however, the failure of one column did not obligate the others to engage. General Magruder was tasked with leading 25,000 troops stationed to the east of Richmond, who would serve as defenders should the offensive strategy falter. Major Generals James Longstreet, A.P. Hill, and D. H. Hill were to concentrate their divisions on the left flank of the Confederate line, preparing to assault the right side of the Union forces. The offensive at Mechanicsville aimed to push the enemy southward. Meanwhile, General Jackson's Army was to conduct a covert march to join Lee's forces and target the right rear flank. Brigadier General W. N. Pendleton was given the directive to deploy the reserve artillery and to thwart any attempts to advance on Richmond.

Lee's efforts extended beyond mere planning; he utilized the time to assess the viability of his strategy. He instructed JEB Stuart to conduct a reconnaissance mission to evaluate the vulnerability of the Union army's right flank. On the morning of June 12, Stuart embarked with 1,200 cavalrymen and confirmed the flank's susceptibility. After a comprehensive 150-mile journey around the Union forces, he returned on June 15 with 165 captured Union soldiers, along with 260 horses and mules, in addition to various quartermaster and ordnance supplies. The Union cavalry, which was more decentralized and commanded by Stuart's father-in-law, Col. Cooke, posed little serious resistance, resulting in only one casualty among Stuart's men. This successful maneuver not only bolstered morale but also elevated Stuart's status to that of a celebrated figure within the Confederacy, comparable to Stonewall Jackson, as he was welcomed in Richmond with flower petals strewn in his path.

Concurrently, McClellan grew increasingly apprehensive about the fragility of his supply line. The intelligence gathered from Stuart's raid proved invaluable to Lee. Although the threat to the Union supply line was not as immediate, the reconnaissance revealed that the right flank was indeed vulnerable. Consequently, Stuart's findings guided Lee to recognize that the most strategically advantageous option was also the most tactically feasible, allowing him to capitalize on the Union's weaknesses effectively.

McClellan's Army of the Potomac remained inactive in their positions on the eastern fringes of Richmond. The three weeks that ensued after Seven Pines were largely uneventful. It is perplexing to understand why McClellan chose to remain idle for such an extended period, especially considering the recent change in Confederate leadership.

The 22 days that elapsed between Lee assuming command and formulating his strategy proved disastrous, primarily due to McClellan's inaction during this critical timeframe. He had various courses of action available to him, yet he hesitated in his campaign to capture Richmond during the latter half of June. His misjudgment regarding the strength of Confederate forces in the city deterred him from launching an assault. Instead, he sought additional troops, missing a significant opportunity between June 18 and June 25, when the Confederate defenses around Richmond were relatively vulnerable. McClellan's focus on establishing a new supply route from Harrison's Landing to the James River, intended to bolster his base on the Pamunkey River, ultimately allowed Lee the necessary time to implement his strategy effectively.

McClellan’s Psyche

General George B. McClellan was a charismatic yet arrogant individual, characterized by his diminutive stature and dapper appearance at the age of 34. Before he was appointed the commanding general of the Army of the Potomac, he had achieved victories in two minor skirmishes against Confederate forces in West Virginia. His self-assuredness in his capabilities was evident as he sought to emulate Napoleon, often posing for photographs with his hand tucked into his jacket and surrounding himself with French officers on his staff.

McClellan's Peninsula Campaign was characterized by an overabundance of caution. Despite possessing a numerical superiority, he exhibited a slow pace and hesitated to capitalize on his advantages, which allowed Confederate generals Johnston and Lee to strengthen their forces and successfully counter McClellan's efforts. His persistent indecision and reluctance to engage the enemy enabled the Confederates to summon reinforcements. This hesitance in command proved detrimental, as it enabled the Confederate forces to regroup and repel the advances of the Union army.

The primary shortcoming of McClellan as a military leader was his procrastination. His habitual delays in launching attacks were harmful, as they provided the Confederates with opportunities to regroup and fortify their positions. During the Seven Days Battles, General McClellan's cautious approach resulted in the withdrawal of his troops in response to General Lee's assaults, despite the Union's numerical advantage. This decision ultimately enabled Lee to mount a successful defense of Richmond, thereby avoiding a significant defeat that could have altered the course of the conflict.

McClellan's persistent belief that Lee commanded a much larger force than he did contributed to his overly cautious strategies. His inclination to prioritize the preservation of his army over seizing critical opportunities for decisive engagement allowed Lee to control the tempo and direction of the campaign. Furthermore, McClellan's absence from the battlefield during pivotal confrontations hindered effective communication with his subordinates, which in turn diminished the Union Army's capacity to capitalize on its strengths. While General Johnston sustained severe injuries in battle, McClellan remained detached from the frontline.

McClellan's propensity to postpone attacks suggests a tendency to over-plan rather than act decisively. These delays proved neither advantageous nor justifiable in the context of the campaign. His psychological disposition seemingly impeded his ability to take the initiative, revealing the inherent limitations of the Peninsula Campaign strategy. The operation required maneuvering a substantial army through challenging terrain, including swamps and rivers, and adverse weather conditions further hampered the Union's progress. McClellan's focus on securing supply lines and constructing necessary infrastructure, such as bridges, took precedence over swift movement, leading to significant logistical challenges for the Union forces on the Virginia Peninsula. The fact that he was now positioned to the east of Richmond meant that Washington, DC, to the north, was somewhat uncovered. McClellan faced political pressures and disagreements with President Abraham Lincoln and Secretary of War Edwin Stanton over this issue. Lincoln withheld some reinforcements, particularly the troops under General Irvin McDowell, to protect Washington, D.C. McClellan argued that this decision weakened his ability to launch a decisive offensive.

McClellan’s offensive strategy centered on a methodical siege of Richmond rather than a quick assault. He dedicated significant time to strategically placing his troops and mobilizing heavy artillery, aiming for a gradual and calculated campaign to seize the Confederate capital. In response, the Confederates, led by General Joseph E. Johnston, established formidable defensive structures surrounding Richmond. McClellan exercised caution regarding assaults on fortified positions, prioritizing the thorough preparation of his forces for what he anticipated would be a challenging confrontation.

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.

Vlad the Impaler: Tyrant, Defender, or Monster?

Vlad III: The Impaler Prince of Wallachia – Tyrant, Defender, or Monster?

Vlad III, more infamously known as Vlad the Impaler or Vlad Țepeș, was one of the most feared rulers in Eastern Europe during the 15th century. Born between 1428/1431 in Transylvania into the noble House of Drăculești, a branch of the Basarab dynasty, Vlad's life and rule became the stuff of both nationalist legend and macabre folklore. His reputation for extreme cruelty, his iron-fisted rule, and his penchant for impalement left an indelible mark on European history, so much so that his persona helped inspire Bram Stoker's iconic character, Count Dracula.

Vlad the Impaler from the "Gallery of Ancestors", House of Esterházy, Forchtenstein Castle. Available here.

A Prince in the shadows of power and betrayal

Vlad was the second son of Vlad II Dracul, a member of the chivalric Order of the Dragon, a secret society sworn to defend Christendom against the Ottoman Turks. Vlad III spent part of his youth as a hostage in the Ottoman Empire alongside his brother Radu. These formative years exposed him to the realpolitik of empires and possibly planted the seeds of his deep-seated hatred of the Ottomans. When he eventually ascended the throne of Wallachia, a region now in modern-day Romania, Vlad inherited a deeply unstable principality plagued by noble infighting, foreign interference, and relentless Ottoman pressure.

The iron will of a ruthless leader

Vlad the Impaler was a fierce defender of Wallachian independence, relentlessly resisting Ottoman domination throughout his reign. His most celebrated military campaign occurred in 1462 when he launched a daring night attack on the invading Ottoman forces led by Sultan Mehmed II. Though ultimately unable to stop the full force of the invasion, Vlad's guerrilla tactics and mastery of psychological warfare, most notoriously exemplified by the infamous "forest of the impaled", left a profound impression on even the most battle-hardened Ottoman soldiers.

In a region plagued by feudal corruption and rampant crime, Vlad enforced a brutal legal code that brought a degree of order and centralized control to Wallachia. He demanded absolute loyalty and justice, punishing crimes such as theft and dishonesty with death, often by impalement. While undeniably draconian, his harsh policies reportedly transformed Wallachia into one of the safest places in Eastern Europe for law-abiding travelers.

Vlad also waged a ruthless campaign to diminish the power of the boyars, the regional nobility he viewed as treacherous and self-serving. His approach to administrative reform was unapologetically violent, frequently involving mass executions and purges of the elite. One notorious tale recounts how, in 1457, he invited hundreds of boyars to a banquet, only to have them all impaled or sentenced to forced labor rebuilding his mountain stronghold at Poenari. Through fear and bloodshed, Vlad established a strong, if brutal, centralized authority.

The ruthlessness that was borderline madness

One of the most glaring weaknesses of Vlad the Impaler was his ruthless nature, which often bordered on madness. His penchant for cruelty did not distinguish between foreign invaders and his people, leading to the alienation of allies. While some neighboring rulers admired his fierce resistance against the Ottomans, many were deeply wary of his unpredictable and brutal methods. This mistrust extended to powerful figures such as the Hungarian king Matthias Corvinus, who, despite being a former supporter, ultimately imprisoned Vlad for 12 years. This action was driven not only by political considerations but also by Vlad's fearsome reputation and his unreliability as a diplomatic partner.

Vlad's excessive paranoia manifested in a disturbing readiness to employ violence against his subjects. Rather than addressing dissent or poverty through reform or governance, he viewed these conditions as direct threats that needed to be eradicated. His brutal policies and campaigns of fear against his people created a climate of terror, undermining any sense of unity or national strength.

Despite moments of military brilliance and his undeniable ability to instill fear, Vlad failed to secure a lasting legacy. His reign was marked by instability, with multiple depositions and eventual violent death—either in battle or by ambush—in 1476/1477. The region of Wallachia, far from being solidified under his rule, remained vulnerable and fragmented. No enduring institutions or systems of governance arose from his leadership, leaving behind a legacy steeped in blood rather than sustainable statecraft.

The theatre of horrors

Nailing headwear to heads

Vlad III was infamous for his brutal and theatrical methods of punishment, which he used to instill fear and assert his authority. One of the most notorious stories recounts how he received foreign envoys, Ottoman messengers, who refused to remove their headwear in his presence, citing religious custom. Offended by what he perceived as an act of disrespect, Vlad ordered that their turbans be nailed to their skulls, effectively executing them in a gruesome display of power and a warning to others. This act exemplifies his reputation for ruthless, symbolic violence and helped cement his legacy as one of history's most terrifying rulers. However, this act paled in comparison to many of the other acts of violence committed by Vlad III.

The Forest of the Impaled

Perhaps the most notorious act of cruelty was the "Forest of the Impaled." When Sultan Mehmed II marched into Wallachia with over 100,000 troops, he found the road to Vlad's capital lined with thousands of rotting corpses on stakes, men, women, and children. The psychological effect was so powerful that it reportedly helped convince the Sultan to withdraw.

The poor and the sick

In a horrifying attempt to "cleanse" his realm, Vlad invited all of Wallachia's poor, sick, and disabled to a grand feast in Târgoviște. After feeding them, he locked the doors and set the building ablaze. His stated goal: to rid the land of "burdensome" people who could not contribute to society, was an early form of ethnic, racial and demographic cleansing.

Punishing dishonesty and laziness

Merchants who were caught cheating customers were impaled. One legend recounts a foreign merchant whose goods were stolen in Vlad's capital. Upon hearing this, Vlad ordered the thief to execute and restore the stolen money, adding extra coins to test the merchant's honesty. When the merchant returned the extra coins, Vlad rewarded him. If he had kept it, he likely would have died violently.

Infidelity and adultery

Needless to say, Vlad's punishments extended into moral policing. Women accused of adultery were often impaled or mutilated. Some were disemboweled or had their breasts cut off and then were skinned alive. These acts were not only barbaric but served as cruel public warnings.

His notorious brutal and uncompromising enforcement was not just reserved for women guilty of moral and social codes. His punishments extended to men guilty of infidelity and adultery.

Vlad viewed such acts as not only personal betrayals but also as threats to social order and divine law. Men found guilty of adultery were subjected to severe and often fatal punishments similar to women, including impalement.

As in the case of women, the men found guilty would often be mutilated and then skinned alive or executed in ways designed to match the nature of their crimes, such as dismemberment or being forced to witness the execution of their partners, before receiving their punishment.

Vlad's iron-fisted morality reflected his broader strategy of ruling through fear and terror, aiming to maintain absolute control and discipline in Wallachia.

Execution of the lazy peasants

In another chilling episode, Vlad observed some peasants resting under a tree during working hours. Outraged, he ordered all of them impaled to set an example about the value of labor.

Hero or monster?

To Romanians, particularly during the wave of nationalism in the 19th and 20th centuries, Vlad the Impaler emerged as a powerful folk hero. He was celebrated as a staunch defender of the homeland, a resolute leader who stood firm against Ottoman expansion and became a lasting symbol of national sovereignty and defiance. His reputation in Romania, especially in the region of Wallachia, remains largely positive. There, he is remembered as a just, if harsh, ruler who used brutal methods to preserve order and protect his people from foreign domination.

Outside of Romania, however, the image of Vlad took a far darker turn. In Western Europe, early printed pamphlets, particularly from German sources, depicted him as a monstrous sadist, reveling in torture and impalement. These lurid accounts, though often exaggerated, were not entirely without basis in historical events, and they cemented Vlad's reputation in the West as a figure of almost supernatural cruelty. Similarly, Ottoman chronicles portrayed him as a barbaric enemy whose methods inspired fear even among the seasoned soldiers of the empire.

In popular culture, Vlad's legend evolved even further. Stripped of historical nuance, his name and deeds were absorbed into the gothic imagination, ultimately inspiring Bram Stoker's fictional character: Count Dracula. This transformation into a vampire lord propelled Vlad into the realm of horror fiction, where he has remained for more than a century, not as a ruler, but as a mythic monster, feeding the fears and fascinations of countless generations. His legacy, therefore, remains deeply polarized, a hero to some, a monster to others, and an enduring legend to all.

Therefore, Vlad III, known both as "The Impaler" and as a fierce defender of Wallachia, occupies a unique and paradoxical place in history, a figure who defies easy categorization. His life and reign were marked by a brutal determination to secure his principality's independence in a perilous geopolitical landscape dominated by powerful enemies and internal treachery. As a ruler, Vlad wielded cruelty as a tool of governance, enforcing law and order through terrifying punishments that simultaneously quelled disorder and sowed fear. His iron will and military cunning earned him a reputation as a relentless protector of his homeland against the Ottoman Empire's encroachment. Yet, the same methods that carved out his power base also isolated him politically and socially, undermining prospects for lasting stability and cooperation with neighboring states.

The duality of Vlad's legacy, hero to some, monster to others, reflects the complexities of his era and the challenges faced by a small principality trapped between empires. To his people, particularly in Romanian national consciousness, Vlad is a symbol of resistance and patriotism, a man who chose ruthless means in pursuit of sovereignty and order in a world where weakness invited annihilation. His harsh justice system arguably brought relative safety to a land otherwise rife with lawlessness, and his uncompromising stance against the boyars highlighted his commitment to centralizing authority in the service of the state rather than individual greed.

Conversely, to the outside world, especially Western Europe and the Ottoman Empire, Vlad was a figure of terror, his cruelty amplified into legend and myth, obscuring the political context of his actions.

His penchant for theatrical, often grotesque, punishments became the basis for a narrative of sadistic barbarism that eclipsed his role as a political and military leader. The transformation of Vlad into the vampiric Count Dracula further distanced the historical man from his mythologized image, casting him forever in the shadows of horror fiction rather than history.

Ultimately, Vlad III's life underscores the blurred lines between tyranny and heroism, justice and brutality, order and chaos. His reign did not produce enduring institutions or peace, and his legacy is irrevocably stained by the bloodshed that accompanied his rule. Yet, the endurance of his legend, whether as a national hero or a nightmarish villain, attests to the profound impact he had on the cultural and historical imagination. Vlad the Impaler remains a potent reminder that history's most memorable figures are often those whose lives reveal the complexities and contradictions of the human condition in times of conflict.

In evaluating Vlad III, it is crucial to move beyond simplistic labels and appreciate the full spectrum of his character and actions. He was neither purely a tyrant nor an unblemished defender, but a product of his turbulent time: a man whose ruthless pursuit of power and protection left a legacy as lasting as it is divisive, shaping not only Wallachian history but the cultural landscape of Europe for centuries to come.

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.

Extensive Notes:

The Forest of the Impaled in more detail

As outlined in the main text, one of the most infamous and terrifying acts attributed to Vlad III was the creation of the so-called "Forest of the Impaled." This macabre display occurred during the 15th century in Wallachia, where Vlad ruled with a brutal sense of justice and an iron fist. According to both Ottoman and European sources, during one of the Ottoman incursions into his lands, Vlad captured thousands of prisoners, soldiers, suspected traitors, and local collaborators. Instead of executing them quietly, he had them impaled on long wooden stakes and arranged the corpses in a vast field near Târgoviște. This gruesome spectacle reportedly stretched for kilometres and was meant as a horrifying psychological message to his enemies: this was the fate awaiting those who dared cross him.

The display was not only a military tactic but also a statement of Vlad's absolute authority and cruelty. When Ottoman Sultan Mehmed II arrived and saw the field, it is said that he turned back rather than face such a foe, so disturbed was he by the scale of death and suffering. Some chronicles estimate the number of impaled corpses to be as high as 20,000, though the exact number is uncertain and may be exaggerated for effect. Regardless, the "Forest of the Impaled" entered history as one of the most chilling acts of terror warfare in medieval Europe.

A particularly dark anecdote is often included in retellings of this episode, highlighting Vlad's merciless nature. As the story goes, while he was dining among the impaled corpses, one of his servants, overcome by the stench of decay, commented that the smell was unbearable. Vlad, displeased by what he saw as weakness or disrespect, ordered the man to be impaled himself, saying he would be better off above the stench than breathing it. Whether apocryphal or not, this tale serves to reinforce Vlad's terrifying reputation and the message that loyalty and silence were the only ways to survive under his rule.

Modern psychological analyses of Vlad III

Modern psychological analyses of Vlad III often attempt to understand the complex interplay between his historical context, personality traits, and his notorious brutality. Vlad lived during the 15th century in a time marked by political instability, constant threats of invasion, and brutal power struggles, particularly involving the Ottoman Empire. Psychologists and historians today frequently view him through the lens of trauma and survival, suggesting that his extreme cruelty may have been a response shaped by early childhood experiences and the violent environment in which he was raised.

Vlad's early life was marked by trauma and psychological stress. As a political hostage, taken by the Ottoman Empire to guarantee his father's loyalty, Vlad spent years away from his homeland under harsh conditions. This period likely exposed him to significant psychological distress, including feelings of powerlessness and abandonment. Modern trauma theory would suggest that such formative experiences could contribute to the development of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), or at least deeply impact his worldview, fostering a heightened vigilance and a ruthless approach to threats. His subsequent reign, characterized by extreme punishments and public displays of impalement, can be interpreted as exerting absolute control, deterring enemies through fear, thereby compensating for his earlier vulnerabilities.

From a personality perspective, some psychological profiles speculate that Vlad might exhibit traits consistent with what is now understood as psychopathy or narcissistic personality disorder. His relentless pursuit of power and control, combined with a lack of empathy toward his enemies and even his subjects, aligns with characteristics such as grandiosity, manipulation, and cruelty. However, it is crucial to contextualize these traits within his historical and cultural milieu, where brutality was often a necessary political tool. Moreover, Vlad's actions might also reflect a form of authoritarian leadership style, driven by a rigid worldview that prioritized order and loyalty above all else.

Insofar as modern psychology offers useful frameworks to understand Vlad III's behavior, any analysis must balance the line between clinical diagnosis and historical context. His brutality may be seen both as a product of personal psychological trauma and as a strategic response to the chaotic and dangerous world he inhabited. Thus, Vlad the Impaler's psychological profile remains a complex mosaic of trauma, personality, and historical necessity rather than a straightforward case of madness or evil.

Examples of similar behavior in other historical figures

Ivan IV of Russia (Ivan the Terrible):

Like Vlad III, Ivan IV grew up in a violent and unstable environment marked by political intrigue and personal trauma. Both rulers are infamous for their cruelty and brutal tactics to consolidate power. Psychologically, Ivan's reign is often interpreted as driven by deep-seated paranoia and a desire for control, much like Vlad's ruthless punishments. Both may have experienced childhood trauma that contributed to their authoritarian styles and violent methods. Yet, like Vlad, Ivan combined this cruelty with a strategic vision for strengthening their states, making their brutality part of a broader political calculus.

Genghis Khan:

While Vlad's cruelty was often personal and punitive, Genghis Khan's ruthlessness was strategic and expansionist. Psychologically, both figures display traits associated with dominance, high resilience, and fearlessness. Genghis Khan's early life hardship and exile arguably shaped his relentless ambition and capacity for extreme violence. Similar to Vlad, his reputation for cruelty functioned as a psychological weapon to instill fear and maintain control. Both illustrate how trauma and environmental harshness can forge leaders who employ terror as a tool of governance.

Caligula (Roman Emperor):

Caligula's rule is frequently cited as an example of erratic and cruel leadership, often attributed to possible mental illness or extreme narcissism. Vlad's behavior sometimes parallels this in its intensity and apparent lack of empathy, though Vlad's brutality was more systematic and politically motivated, whereas Caligula's was often erratic and self-indulgent. Psychologically, both may exhibit signs of narcissistic personality traits, but Vlad's actions were arguably rooted more in trauma and pragmatic statecraft than pure caprice or madness.

Richard III of England:

Richard III's historical reputation is complex, sometimes painted as a ruthless usurper but also as a capable, if ruthless, leader. Like Vlad, Richard operated in a violent political environment and was accused of eliminating rivals to secure power. Psychologically, both might be understood as leaders shaped by insecurity and the brutal necessities of dynastic politics, employing fear and strategic cruelty. However, unlike Vlad's extreme physical punishments, Richard's ruthlessness was more politically calculated and less theatrical.

These comparisons highlight that Vlad III's psychological profile shares common threads with other rulers shaped by trauma and violent contexts, who used cruelty and fear as political tools. Yet, each leader's specific behaviors and motivations were influenced by their unique personal histories and the demands of their times.

Modern psychological analysis theories and concepts

Modern psychological analyses of Vlad III (The Impaler) often draw upon several established psychological theories and frameworks to understand his behavior, personality, and leadership style. Here are some key psychological theories commonly referenced in such analyses:

Trauma Theory and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

Vlad's early life experiences, being held as a political hostage by the Ottoman Empire and exposed to harsh imprisonment, are analyzed through the lens of trauma theory. This theory suggests that severe traumatic experiences, especially in childhood, can profoundly impact emotional regulation, worldview, and behavior. PTSD symptoms might include hypervigilance, emotional numbness, and aggression, which some scholars believe help explain Vlad's extreme ruthlessness and preemptive cruelty as mechanisms to regain control and prevent vulnerability.

Psychodynamic theory

Rooted in Freudian psychology, psychodynamic theory looks at unconscious motivations and early childhood experiences as drivers of adult behavior. Vlad's behavior may be seen as an expression of unresolved internal conflicts stemming from his traumatic upbringing and feelings of abandonment. His extreme punishments and displays of power could be interpreted as overcompensation for feelings of helplessness and fear during his youth, along with a need to assert dominance to maintain a fragile sense of control.

Personality disorder framework

Some modern analyses speculate about personality disorders such as Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) or Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD) (sometimes associated with psychopathy). Traits like grandiosity, lack of empathy, manipulativeness, and ruthless exploitation of others fit these frameworks. Vlad's combination of charisma, strategic thinking, and cruelty can align with these personality disorder models, although diagnosing historical figures remains speculative and cautious.

Authoritarian personality theory

Developed by Theodor Adorno and others, this theory explains how certain personalities are predisposed to favor strict hierarchical order, conformity, and obedience to authority, often accompanied by intolerance for dissent. Vlad's governance style, characterized by harsh punishments and absolute control, can be examined as an authoritarian personality in action, someone who employs fear and brutality to maintain social order and eliminate perceived threats.

Evolutionary psychology and leadership theories

From an evolutionary perspective, Vlad's cruelty may be seen as adaptive behavior in a brutal, survival-driven environment. His use of fear as a deterrent aligns with the idea that displaying dominance and ruthlessness can secure loyalty and discourage rebellion in high-risk political contexts. Leadership theories emphasize how strong, even ruthless, leaders can arise in times of crisis to stabilize society, suggesting Vlad's behavior, while extreme, served an evolutionary function for his principality's survival.

Needless to say, psychological analyses of Vlad III synthesize insight from trauma theory, psychodynamic concepts, personality disorder frameworks, authoritarian personality theory, and evolutionary psychology. These combined approaches help build a nuanced picture of Vlad as a historical figure shaped by personal trauma, cultural context, and political necessity, not merely as a villain but as a complex individual with both pathological and pragmatic traits.

How a Stolen Diamond Necklace Helped Destroy the French Monarchy

Forged letters, stolen jewels, a gullible cardinal, a cunning conwoman and an innocent queen left with a shattered reputation … the affair of the diamond necklace had it all. In fact, after Marie Antoinette’s guillotining, Napoleon pinned her downfall on the scandal declaring “perhaps the death of the Queen dated from that.”

Samuel Mee explains.

A presumed depiction of Jeanne de la Motte. Available here.

The root of the problem

The diamond necklace at the heart of the scandal was commissioned by King Louis XV in the early 1770s as a gift for his latest official mistress, Madame du Barry. The jewellers, Charles Boehmer and Paul Bassenge, spent years making a masterpiece with more than 600 diamonds and at enormous cost.

They took too long, though. Louis XV died of smallpox in 1774 and his grandson Louis XVI banished du Barry. Desperate to recoup their investment, they tried to sell it to Queen Marie Antoinette but she reportedly declared “we have more need of ships than of diamonds.”

By the early 1780s Boehmer and Bassenge were desperate. At this point Jeanne de Valois-Saint-Rémy, a self-styled countess known as Jeanne de la Motte, came up with an elaborate plan. 

The start of the con

Jeanne had already ingratiated herself with Cardinal Prince Louis de Rohan. He was out of favour with the Queen due to previous insults to her mother, and was desperate to restore his standing. Jeanne convinced Rohan that she was in the Queen’s inner circle as a way of getting money from him and began forging letters from Marie Antoinette. Promises of forgiveness were eventually mixed with hints that the Queen wanted to discreetly buy the diamond necklace. The letters were signed "Marie Antoinette de France" even though French royals signed with only their given names but Rohan did not realise this. (This mistake later helped convince the King that Rohan was involved, as he didn’t believe he would be unaware of this etiquette).

Rohan agreed to act as intermediary and signed a contract with the jewellers Boehmer and Bassenge to buy the necklace on the Queen’s behalf.

To persuade him the whole setup was genuine, Jeanne had arranged a night time meeting in the gardens of Versailles. She hired a prostitute, Nicole Le Guay d’Oliva, who resembled Marie Antoinette. Nicole greeted Rohan in the dark, dressed in a white gown and plumed hat, and gave him a rose as a mark of her favour. This encounter in the Queen’s private grounds, convinced Rohan he was truly back in her favour. Luckily for the conspirators, he had never had a private audience with Marie Antoinette and knew her only by sight and from a distance at court functions. He was also desperate to believe.

Once Cardinal de Rohan secured the necklace from Boehmer and Bassenge he gave it to Jeanne, who assured him she would discreetly deliver it to the Queen. Instead, she and her husband Nicolas de la Motte immediately smuggled it out of Paris. It was dismantled and the individual stones sold across Europe, many in London.

In the following months, Boehmer made repeated attempts to secure payment, first discreetly and then more forcefully.

Boehmer approached Rohan directly, pressing him for the money or confirmation that the Queen would soon pay.

Then, in desperation, he sent a letter directly to Queen Marie Antoinette in the summer of 1785, asking for payment. Unsurprisingly, the Queen demanded an investigation .Only then did Rohan realise he may have been duped - he was summoned to court on 15 August 1785 to explain himself. Up to that point, he still believed he had acted on the Queen’s behalf.

The fraud made public

Rohan turned up at Versailles in his full ecclesiastical regalia, preparing to officiate Mass in the Royal Chapel. Instead, he was confronted by King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette.

Rohan produced the forged letters from "Marie Antoinette" and described the midnight garden meeting with the woman he believed had been the Queen. She of course denounced it all as lies and fabrications and King Louis XVI ordered Rohan's arrest. This was a bold move, given Rohan’s status as a cardinal and member of one of the most powerful noble families. He was imprisoned in the Bastille that same day.

But the Queen’s insistence he be arrested in public backfired. Instead of publicly clearing her name, the arrest gave the impression that she was embroiled in plotting and intrigue.

The aftermath in court

Meanwhile, Jeanne de la Motte fled, was caught and tried. Again, the Queen thought she would be vindicated. But it quickly became a referendum on her character and fuelled anti-royalty sentiment.

Rohan was tried by the Parlement of Paris, not a royal court, which made it more sympathetic to him and less controlled by the monarchy. Sympathy shifted away from the monarchy and toward Rohan, who appeared gullible but not malicious. He was acquitted. The court found he had acted foolishly but not criminally and he was stripped of his court positions but remained free. His acquittal was seen as a rebuke to the Queen.

Jeanne de la Motte claimed she was simply a go-between and scapegoat. She denied the forgeries and blamed everyone else, especially the Queen. She was convicted. She was publicly whipped, branded with a V (for voleuse – thief), and imprisoned in the Salpêtrière, a supposedly inescapable prison. She still managed to escape and fled to London (this is a tale in its own right).

Nicole d’Oliva was also acquitted, as she had been only a pawn in the deception.

The end result was that trial was seen as a symbol of royal corruption, even though the Queen had been 100% innocent. And the scandal hardened public cynicism - it was, as Napoleon noted, the first step on Marie Antionette’s path to the guillotine. 

About the author

Samuel Mee is founder of The Antique Ring Boutique (https://www.antiqueringboutique.com/), based in London. He’s a member of LAPADA and the Society of Jewellery Historians.

Further reading

The story of Jeanne de la Motte in London: https://englishhistoryauthors.blogspot.com/2013/11/the-diamond-necklace-affair.html

Affair of the diamond necklace: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Affair_of_the_Diamond_Necklace

Madame du Barry: https://en.chateauversailles.fr/discover/history/great-characters/madame-barry

Cardinal Rohan:https://queensransom.wordpress.com/2009/06/15/cardinal-rohan/

To What Extent had a Personality Cult Developed Prior to Lenin's Death in 1924?

Lenin became the most influential person in what was to become the Soviet Union, following the 1917 Bolshevik Revolution. But, to what extent had his cult of personality been developed prior to his death in 1924? Ed Long considers this question.

Lenin with a cat in 1922.

Stalin v Lenin

This topic has received far too little direct attention since two articles in the early 1980s by Nina Tumarkin, and although referred to in passing by many of the more recent texts that deal with post-Tsarist Russia, it deserves a more in-depth treatment than it has received thus far. By comparison with the far more well-known and well-documented Cult of Stalin, Lenin has lost out by being considerably less well documented, and as a result far less well known. Based on the number of words penned on the use of the Lenin Cult as part of Stalin’s apparatus in order to cement his position as Vozhd, the evidence is overwhelming that a Cult of Personality centred around Lenin was in existence after the latter’s death in January 1924. However, what is less certain is to what extent such a Cult predated Lenin’s demise, and was then constructed by Stalin in order to portray himself as the "high priest [... and] theorist"[1] of Leninism, thereby driving the ideals of the October Revolution and The Civil War forward. In fact, a Lenin 'Cult' did not exist in any meaningful way prior to his death at the age of 53. Instead, I will argue here that whilst a certain level of 'mystique' may have surrounded Lenin prior to his death, starting perhaps from the time of the failed attempt on his life in 1918, this did not constitute a fully formed Cult of Personality.

A posthumous Cult of Personality?

The evidence to suggest that the Lenin Cult was “posthumous”[2] as Fitzpatrick accurately describes, is truly overwhelming.  "[T]he Lenin cult [that was] so evident in the immediate aftermath of his death"[3] was the creation of Krupskaya and, to a far greater extent, Stalin, both of whom had a vested interest in erecting the Lenin Cult in order to ensure a smooth succession of power. As the "high priest" and "high priestess of the Lenin cult"[4] their ability to determine the ideological shape of post-Lenin Russia was central to stability and particularly Stalin's rise to power. Tumarkin describes the work also undertaken by others beyond Stalin and Krupskaya to ensure that Lenin took his rightful place as the "Man-God of Communism"[5] in the Communist pantheon. Indeed, by the beginning of February 1924, the cult had already reached "nationwide"[6] proportions. To effect this end, Bonch-Bruevich had made "many of the arrangements for the portraits, sculptures, photographs and movies depicting the leader during the brief period of his active rule"[7], "Lunacharskii [...] immortali[sed] Lenin as a genius and Creator [...] when he took charge of the competition for the design of a permanent mausoleum of stone that would enshrine Lenin forever"[8] which would "surpass Mecca and Jerusalem in its human significance"[9]. Lenin's funeral was the centerpiece in rolling-out the new cult to the Russian people, and Tumarkin is right to emphasize its unifying effect on the Russian people as "an organi[s]ed system of rituals and symbols whose collective function was [...] to induce the public to go through the motions of revering Lenin as an outward sign of solidarity"[10]. Crucially, it was 'organized' and orchestrated and as I shall argue below, this was not the case to any great extent prior to the Lenin’s death. Whilst it may have been designed to unify the Russian public, it divided many in Sovnarkom. Stalin got to work as soon as he was able, throwing Trotsky off the scent immediately by establishing himself front and center during Trotsky's vacation and convalescence at the moment of Lenin's funeral. Service's view that "Stalin's leadership of the funeral commission put him at a crucial advantage"[11], due to the fact that Stalin was in many senses coming from behind in order to establish his position as a leading Bolshevik, reveals how important this leadership opportunity was for Stalin and hence how crucial it was that he took full advantage of it. Trotsky's prominence as the facilitator of the October Revolution, Chairmanship of the Petrograd Soviet and leadership of the MRC and Red Guards allowed him to portray himself as a greater defender of the revolution than Stalin. As leader of the Red Army and Commissar for War during the Civil War from 1918 his position as de facto right hand man to Lenin was solidified even more. Whilst this is not to denigrate Stalin's importance in these events, nonetheless he had significant ground to make up relative to Trotsky and so it was crucial that he took immediate advantage of the situation in January 1924. Furthermore, as Stalin "had no time to write a lengthy piece of work before 1917"[12] about Lenin's work, he clearly realized that the time was right to do so. Thus, his Foundations of Leninism, published by 1924 and in that year also delivered in the form of nine lectures at the Sverdlov University[13] established Stalin not only as the rightful heir to Lenin's throne, but also as the chief arbiter of Leninist doctrine thereafter. Montefiore's view that "Lenin was a tower and Stalin a little finger"[14] accords perfectly with Service's contention that Stalin was "a mere pupil of the great man"[15]; the torchbearer shining the light of Lenin's example for all to follow. This light promised a brighter future in Russia, and in following Lenin's lead, Stalin's role as benevolent and selfless disciple was indisputable. In much the same way as Hitler was able to use Mein Kampf as the blueprint for the new Germany after January 30th 1933, having of course formulated his ideas in and after his incarceration in Landsberg Prison after the failed Putsch in November 1923, Stalin was able to use the Foundations of Leninism in precisely the same way. He was the keeper of Lenin's legacy, "a village sorcerer who held his subjects in his dark thrall”[16], and as such had supreme ideological control over the Russian people, and even more crucially against 'wreckers', 'deviationists', and any others within and without the party who presumed to challenge his control. Those who stood in his way stood in Lenin's way. Such sacrilege would be punished in the strongest possible terms; Yagoda, Yezhov and later Beria awaited with their torture chambers primed and tools sharpened. The bloodshed here, justifiable in Lenin's own words by the epithet: “Even if 90% of the people perish, what matter if the other 10% live to see revolution become universal”[17], makes the icepick to the back of Trotsky's head seem humane by comparison. In the later 1920s, this method of relentlessly guarding Lenin's legacy was key to Stalin's rise from party notable to Vozhd. The claim, then, that the Lenin cult was only constructed after his death has a lot of merit. This was indeed a powerful tool that allowed Stalin to claim that his policies were being promulgated only in accordance with Lenin's wishes, and therefore to distance himself from much of the chaos that prevailed in the later 1920s and 30s[18]. As such, we can conclude with certainty that the cult existed after Lenin's death. However, to do so is not to say anything new; what is both more prescient and controversial is the extent to which the cult existed prior to his death.

Folklore or cult?

That a 'cult' existed prior to Lenin's death is shrouded in uncertainty not only from an historic, but also a semantic point of view. It is not the purpose of this work to deny the existence of tales and myths about Lenin prior to his death. Panchenko discusses the existence of such "folklore"[19] and the extent to which it was in fact "fakelore"[20] but confines his analysis to the period "in the first decades after the Revolution"[21] - clearly this also encompasses the years 1917-24, and therefore could imply that Lenin mythology was in existence prior to his death, however on two levels this is not compelling evidence. First of all, Panchenko's own words are revealing: Whilst discussing such rhymes as came out about Lenin, for example "Il'ich's red arse"[22] and the 'Voronezh tale' in which Lenin "chops them like a cabbage [w]ith his sharp sword"[23] (them being the whites), he states that these forms of eulogising Lenin are far more difficult to classify on the same level as the much more obvious Cult of Stalin established later on; "the cultural forms themselves, ranging from rhetoric to rituals and representing the distinctive character of the veneration of Lenin in the Soviet Union are not as homogeneous, simple and transparent"[24]. The clear implication here, then, is that its scale relative to Stalin would immediately lead us to conclude that the use of the word 'cult' is not appropriate. By extension, the instances that Panchenko describes seem, at least at their inception, to have no official sanction by Sovnarkom. As such, the use of the word 'cult' is totally misleading by this yardstick. Secondly, the latter half of Panchenko's article deals with further instances which he describes once again as "folktales"; the 'Muzhitskii skaz o Lenine', published in 1924, the 'Khitryi Lenin' by Akul'shin, published in 1925, and 'Lenin ne umer - on zhiv' published in 1925-6[25]. Whilst the dates given are only those of publication, not necessarily inception, and indeed Panchenko himself claims that many were heard by the authors as early as 1918, this is scant evidence on which to claim that a cult, or even a well-established folk tradition, was in existence prior to Lenin's death. However, Panchenko gives us a vital clue as to the nature of Lenin's aura that pre-dated his demise, and is especially important as tales such as those examples above were a hugely important precursor to the later, fully-fledged cult that was built by Stalin after 1924, whose "contours were shaped by traditional peasant culture"[26]. These tales, then, were the early building blocks of Stalin's cult of Lenin, but before 1924 had yet to be organized into any coherent structure.

White's analysis develops the idea that the cult was in existence before Lenin's death, and indeed over-extends to the point where credibility is lost. He claims, in contradiction to the ideas set-out earlier in this argument, that “Stalin did not create the Lenin Cult. He found it already in existence and propelled by the momentum that Lenin himself had given it”[27]. Perhaps the basis of White's claim owes something to ideas such as those outlined by Panchenko above. However, by doing so we have jumped from the concept of 'folklore' to a 'cult' far too quickly. We have seen that there were indeed seeds for Stalin to nourish once the ideal situation presented itself on Lenin's death. However, for us to accept White's position we would have to accept two equally difficult claims. First, that Stalin's role in creating what we would recognize as a bona-fide 'cult' was much less than we have already established, either before or after Lenin's death, and second that Lenin himself played an active role in creating the cult of his own personality during his lifetime. The former claim has already been shown to be indefensible, but the latter is worthy of further discussion. Prior to the October revolution, it was in Lenin's, and other leading Bolsheviks', best interests to remain incognito. His previous encounters with the Okhrana, in the wake of his brother's execution in 1887 and after 1903 as part of the clandestine revolutionary underground, had shown him the value of anonymity. Indeed, applying for a passport in 1917 he was forced to shave of his facial hair in order to be successful, and even after the October revolution it took some time for him to grow it back completely. Being totally unrecognizable had its advantages but also its disadvantages it seems. Nonetheless, up to late 1917 Lenin was clearly playing an active role in preventing himself from being widely known, in direct contradiction of White's views. Lenin's attempts were so effective, indeed, that "even in the Civil War he had difficulty in getting recognized by the general public"[28]. This goes directly against Tumarkin's assertion that "the Lenin cult [...] developed in the context of the Russian Civil War"[29] - this seems unlikely, except insofar as Lenin was the acknowledged supreme leader of the Reds, and perhaps some echoes of the attempt on his life (see below) were still being felt but not by the Russian population at large. By 1920 when the Civil War was drawing to a close, then, the majority of Russia did not know what Lenin looked like and so to claim that a personality cult existed at this point and that Lenin himself had played a key role in its inception is to exaggerate the situation wildly.

Lenin’s role in creating his own Cult of Personality

Figes also contends that the cult was in existence prior to Lenin's death but diverges from White's analysis as he is careful to point out that Lenin played no role in creating it himself (indeed Lenin railed against such an outcome, trying to "put a brake on it when he recovered" from the assassination attempt[30]). The failed attempt on Lenin's life by Fanny Kaplan on August 30th 1918 after he had spoken at the Hammer and Sickle armaments factory is seen by Figes as the key moment where the cult sprang into existence; "Lenin's quick recovery was declared a miracle in the Bolshevik press. He was hailed as a Christ-like figure, blessed with supernatural powers, who was not afraid to sacrifice his own life for the good of the people"[31]. Whether, of course, the press beyond the Bolsheviks' own took as much notice and elevated the attempt so highly seems unlikely. Figes then goes on to say that "[i]t was the start of the Lenin cult - a cult designed by Bolsheviks, apparently against Lenin's will, to promote their leader as the 'people's tsar'"[32]. Figes is therefore in broad agreement with Tumarkin, who more plausibly states that "the first stage of its formation was the spontaneous mythologi[s]ing of Lenin that followed upon an attempt on his life [... o]n 30 August 1918"[33]. They differ importantly, as we have already noted on the use of the word 'cult'. Here, Figes goes too far but Tumarkin only refers to the reaction only being a first step towards its construction - "the cult of Lenin had been set on its course "[34]. Nonetheless, as a result of Lenin's virtual resurrection, photos of him appeared in the 'Lenin Corner' also known as the 'Red Corner' or 'Holy Spot' in peasant dwellings[35] (broadly agreeing with Panchenko's ideas as discussed above). Service corroborates Figes' assertion that the cult started to be established in the wake of the assassination attempt[36] but without putting a timescale on precisely when. All of these three accounts suffer from a common weakness - none go beyond asserting that a cult existed as early as August 1918, and proceed to provide only scant evidence to prove that this was actually the case. Figes' account suffers from this fault the least. It seems plausible, but not especially likely, that the Bolshevik press (over which Lenin had tight rein, crucially so as a propaganda weapon against first the Provisional Government and later The Whites in the October Revolution and Civil War respectively) and the Bolshevik leadership (above whom Lenin resided atop the Sovnarkom pyramid, his power here shown for example in pushing through the NEP in 1921 amidst huge opposition and earlier forcing the pace of the seizure of power from the April Theses to the October Revolution itself 6 months later) were able to create such a cult in spite of Lenin's express wishes. From the point of view of the latter, this would have been hugely insubordinate, and perhaps betray not only the ideals of the revolution itself (eg in creating a quasi-religion which would contradict Marxist principles and also in elevating Lenin into a 'class' of his own) but also exacerbate Lenin's worries about, and later explicit orders against, factionalism[37]. Perhaps, though, we can arrive at a middle ground. If an aura did surround Lenin, from the assassination attempt and later mystical stories which resulted from it, then it was not as part of an officially sanctioned ideology. Instead, it was merely an invention along the lines of Panchenko's thinking as outlined above. Once again, to claim that a 'cult' existed from the point of the assassination onwards is hugely problematic.

Timing

Finally, let us look more closely at the timing of the alleged establishment of the Lenin Cult. We have already found that by the end of the Civil War, Lenin was not well enough known to be said to be surrounded by a Personality Cult. An important effect of Fanya Kaplan's attempt against Lenin's life was the legacy of medical difficulties bestowed upon him - she did succeed in killing him, it just took a long time to play out. As a result of one of the three shots fired lodging in Lenin's neck and leading to multiple strokes, Lenin was often wheelchair-bound. After his second stroke in December 1921, he was allowed to dictate for only '5 to 10 minutes a day'. As a result, Lenin had become Stalin's prisoner[38]. He had also become a prisoner insofar as he was isolated from not only the central party leadership, allowing Stalin crucial opportunities to subvert his wishes, but also from the Russian people themselves. For the next two years or so, Lenin's health prevented him from interacting effectively with either of these groups, and indeed was so ill and unbeknown to Russians in general and his own Guards in particular that he was denied entry to the Kremlin in 1923[39]! Under such circumstances, it would have been undesirable for 'the real' Lenin to be well known but it is possible that at this point it did become desirable for thoughts of how to secure Lenin's legacy to start forming in the minds of leading Bolsheviks in general and Stalin in particular. For this reason, it is highly plausible that a sanctioned and sanitized version of Lenin was starting to be effected, and the previous concern raised by Figes that Lenin was averse to such a development became moot. “The Cult of Lenin, which Lenin himself opposed and managed to keep in check until incapacitated by a stroke in March 1923”[40] could now start to coalesce for two reasons - firstly because Lenin's health was so critical that the regime needed to be safeguarded, and that secondly this could, indeed had, to take place now that Lenin was no longer an obstacle to its establishment, being too ill to mount any effective opposition to such a scheme. Tumarkin, therefore, is vindicated in stating that "the elevation of Leninism to the status of holy writ [...] developed in 1923 in response to this concern [about life after Lenin] and reached national proportions after Lenin's death"[41], i.e. the process started during his profound illness but was only fully realized upon his death. Prior to this, it was merely "piecemeal"[42]and disorganized. Only at this point were steps taken to try to safeguard his legacy by, for example, the Moscow Committee setting up a 'Lenin Institute' in 1923 to organize, catalogue, preserve and conserve many of Lenin's documents[43]. Only at this point was a concerted effort made by the regime to "organi[s]e[...] and promote[...]" a cult to act as a "stabili[s]ing and legitimi[s]ing force in Soviet political life"[44]. Between March 1923 and January 1924, therefore, the Cult of Personality of Lenin started to take shape mostly due to Lenin's inability to stop it. As such, it picked up and started to put together the pieces that we have already examined; Panchenko's myths, tales and folklore that developed in the wake of the 1918 assassination attempt being the key components. Only at this point were they put together to form the 'cult' that Stalin used from that point on.

Lenin as a stepping-stone for Stalin’s rise to power

Therefore, a 'Cult' of Personality of Lenin did not exist prior to his death. Events during his premiership may have facilitated planning for the after-Lenin zeitgeist by Stalin and Krupskaya, in particular, and these took on a more urgent aspect in the last ten months of his life. Prior to this, no 'cult' existed. This was for a number of reasons. Lenin was not well known enough by the end of the Civil War for us to term what Lenin legends that did exist sufficient for us to accept the existence of a 'cult'. After 1921, Lenin was so ill that it was undesirable for him to be well known as he actually was, but crucially he was able to retain enough control over his own affairs that he was able to withstand any attempts to create a 'cult' against his will. It was only once he was unable to safeguard his own reputation that leading Bolsheviks did so on his behalf. Therefore, Stalin was able to start building his own “cult of impersonality"[45] as a testimony to Lenin's life and work in the months prior to the latter's death, but this only started to take full expression as Stalin led the funeral oration to Lenin, crucially with Trotsky absent, on January 28th 1924. In the same way that in Stalin's regime, “Kirov's murder provided an ideal pretext [to] solidify[] the power of the dictator [...] The bonds of institutional and clan loyalties, along with the vestiges of collective leadership and intraparty democracy, were the last impediments to sole and unquestioned power”[46], Stalin's construction of the Lenin Cult after his death was the first crucial step to removing the first 'impediments' to Stalin's path to power as Lenin's sole successor.

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

Bibliography

Figes, O 1996: “A People’s Tragedy”. Pimlico, London.

Fitzpatrick, S 2008: “The Russian Revolution”. OUP, Oxford.

Khlevniuk, O 2015: "Stalin: New Biography of a Dictator". Yale University Press, New Haven.

Lenin, V 1922: "Continuation of the notes" to the "Last Will & Testament".  Accessed online from https://www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1922/dec/testamnt/congress.htm

Lenin Q IN Dewey, J. 1929: "Impressions of Soviet Russia and the revolutionary world". New Republic Inc, New York.

Montefiore, S 2014: “Stalin: Court of the Red Tsar”. Phoenix Books, London.

Panachenko, A 2005: “The Cult of Lenin and ‘Soviet Folklore’”. Folklorica X (1); 18-38.

Service, R 2000: “Lenin”. MacMillan, London.

Service, R 2004: “Stalin”. MacMillan, London.

Tucker, R 1979: “The rise of Stalin’s Personality Cult”. The American Historical Review 84 (2); 347-366.

Tumarkin, N 1981: “Religion, Bolshevism, and the Origins of the Lenin Cult”. The Russian Review 40 (1); 35-46.

Tumarkin, N 1983: “Political Ritual and the Cult of Lenin”. Human Rights Quarterly 5 (2); 203-6.

White, D 2001: “Lenin – The Practice and Theory of Revolution”. Palgrave, Basingstoke.

[1] Service 2004; 221

[2] Fitzpatrick 2008; 111

[3] Tumarkin 1981; 38

[4] Service 2000; 483

[5] Tumarkin 1981; 46

[6] Tumarkin 1983; 205

[7] Tumarkin 1981; 39

[8] Tumarkin 1981; 46

[9] Tumarkin 1981; 44

[10] Tumarkin 1983; 204

[11] Service 2004; 218

[12] Service 2004; 221

[13] Service 2004; 221

[14] Montefiore 2014; 66

[15] Service 2004; 357

[16] Service 2004; 309

[17] Lenin Q IN Dewey 1929; 145

[18] Khlevniuk2015; 39

[19] Panchenko 2005; 19

[20] Panchenko 2005; 20

[21] Panchenko 2005; 19

[22] Panchenko 2005; 21

[23] Panchencko 2005; 22

[24] Panchenko 2005; 21

[25] Panchenko 2005; 24

[26] Tumarkin 1981; 37

[27] White 2001; 185

[28] Service 2000; 9

[29] Tumarkin 1983; 204

[30] Figes 1996; 628

[31] Figes 1996; 627

[32] Figes 1996; 628

[33] Tumarkin 1983; 204

[34] Tumarkin 1983; 205

[35] Figes 1996; 629

[36] Service 2000; 393

[37] Lenin 1922; 3

[38] Figes 1996; 797

[39] Service 2000; 476

[40] Tucker 1979; 347

[41] Tumarkin 1981; 36

[42] Tumarkin 1983; 204

[43] Tumarkin 1983; 205

[44] Tumarkin 1981; 37

[45] Service 2004: 357

[46] Khlevniuk 2015; 137