The Legend of James K. Polk – Did he really plan to make California and Oregon part of America?

James K. Polk, eleventh US President, has gone down in history as the man who finished the westward expansion of America through a great plan to acquire California and Oregon. And even more remarkably, he achieved this very rapidly.

But, did he really have a grand strategy to expand America and achieve a number of great measures? Or did events just play their course? William Bodkin returns to the site and explains the legend of James K. Polk.

A portrait of James K. Polk.

What if the one thing America remembered about a President was false?  James K. Polk, who seemingly came from nowhere to become America’s eleventh President, is remembered for the four “great measures” of his Administration: (1) obtaining California and its neighboring territories following the Mexican War; (2) negotiating the purchase of the Oregon territories from Great Britain; (3) lowering the nation’s tariff on imported goods to promote free trade; and (4) establishing an independent treasury to put an end to the nation’s money problems.  Polk is celebrated for stating, at the outset of his Administration, that he would accomplish these goals in four short years.

Polk’s bold prediction and follow through led another President, Harry Truman, to describe him as the ideal Chief Executive.  Truman famously opined that Polk knew what he wanted to do, did it, and then left.  Unfortunately, while these are unquestionably Polk’s accomplishments, there is little to no evidence that he predicted them.  Instead, the prediction seems to have been created after the fact by one of Polk’s top advisors, historian George Bancroft.

The President From Nowhere

How did Polk become President?  In 1844, John Tyler was winding down William Henry Harrison’s term of office.  Tyler, in becoming President on Harrison’s death, alienated the two dominant political parties in America, the Democrats and the Whigs.  Tyler had angered the Democrats prior to becoming President, when, although a Democrat, he agreed to run with Harrison on the Whig ticket.  When he became President, Tyler governed mostly as a Democrat, angering the Whigs.

Waiting in the wings for the Democrats was Martin Van Buren, yearning to avenge his loss to Harrison.  Van Buren, however, before even receiving the nomination, stumbled on one of the key issues of the day, admitting Texas to the Union.  Texas had declared its independence from Mexico in 1836, seeking to join the United States.  Tyler, in one of the last acts of his Presidency, pushed to admit Texas, but failed.

The presumed Presidential nominees, though, both opposed admitting Texas. Henry Clay, for the Whigs, opposed Texas because it would be admitted as a slave state.  Van Buren, in a political calculation that backfired, claimed he opposed admitting Texas because he didn’t want to insult Mexico.  In truth, Van Buren believed that supporting Texas’s admission into the Union would cost him his traditional, staunchly abolitionist Northeast electoral base.  The gamble failed.  It cost Van Buren the support of the political powerhouse who had actually propelled him to the Presidency: Andrew Jackson.

Jackson favored admitting Texas.  Furious over Van Buren’s position, Jackson summoned Polk, his Tennessee protégé, to The Hermitage.  Polk, still reeling from a run of bad political luck, had been eyeing the Vice-Presidency.  A former Congressman, he had been Speaker of the House of Representatives from 1835-39, largely through Jackson’s support.  He left the Speaker’s chair to become Governor of Tennessee, but served only one term before being ousted in 1841.  In 1843, Polk tried and failed to win back the governor’s mansion.

At his estate, Jackson made his views plain.  Van Buren’s Texas position must be fatal to him.   The nominee would be an “annexation man,” preferably from what was then the American Southwest, meaning, Tennessee.  Polk was the best candidate.  As usual, Jackson got want he wanted.  At the Democrats’ Baltimore convention, Van Buren’s support eroded and the Democrats turned to Polk who narrowly won election over Clay. 

‘Thigh-Slapping” Predictions

Polk, once in office, resolved that despite Jackson’s support, he would himself be President of the United States.  According to Polk’s Secretary of the Navy and Ambassador to Great Britain, historian George Bancroft, Polk set his goals early on.  Bancroft said that in a meeting with Polk during the early days of the Administration, the President “raised his hand high in the air,” brought it down “with great force on his thigh,” and declared the “four great measures” of his administration.  First, with Texas on the road to statehood, the question of Oregon would be settled with Great Britain.  Second, with Oregon and Texas secure, California and its adjacent areas would round out the continent.  Third, the tariff, which was crippling the Southern states economically, would be made less protective and more revenue based.  Fourth, an independent national Treasury, immune from the banking schemes of recent years, would be established. 

Bancroft’s tale is problematic in two respects.  First, such a display was uncharacteristic of Polk.  Polk has been described as peculiarly simple.  He was a straightforward man and not particularly outspoken.  Polk was a workaholic, with few friendships other than his wife, no children, and no interests other than politics.  By most accounts, he was phlegmatic in disposition at best, and unlikely to engage in any dramatic exclamation.

The second problem with this story is that it comes from Bancroft.  While a superb historian, Bancroft is unfortunately a dubious source. He served in Polk’s administration, wholeheartedly endorsed its expansionist policies, and burned to write Polk’s official biography.  Polk rejected Bancroft as administration historian, instead seeking to have his former Secretary of War, William Marcy, do the job. Marcy had been in Washington for the entire administration; whereas Bancroft had left for London in 1846.  Despite this, Bancroft remained loyal to Polk.  By the late 1880s, Bancroft was the only remaining living member of Polk’s cabinet.

This is significant because during the 1880s, a number of historians dismissed Polk as being controlled by events round him and having been bullied into his expansionist policies.  The young historian and future President Theodore Roosevelt took this view, finding Polk’s administration not to be particularly capable.  Other historians viewed the Mexican War as having led to the Civil War, and condemned Polk for it.

Bancroft was offended by these assessments.  By the late 1880s, despite Polk’s previous opposition, Bancroft resolved to write a biography of Polk.  The earliest known mention of the “thigh-slapping” conversation is in an unpublished manuscript located in Bancroft’s papers titled “Biographical Sketch of James K. Polk,” apparently written in the late 1880s.  Historian James Schouler, in his “History of the United States of America, Under the Constitution,” first published the story.  Schouler noted that Bancroft had relayed the anecdote to him in a February 1887 letter.  After its initial publication, the “thigh-slapping” story was re-published, gradually taking on a life of its own.

Recent scholarship, however, indicates that Bancroft might have manufactured the incident.  On August 5, 1844, Bancroft wrote an admiring letter to Polk where he inventoried all of the administration’s accomplishments, including the annexation of Texas, the post-war purchase of New Mexico and California, the establishment of the Treasury and the overthrow of the protective tariff.  Bancroft wrote to Polk that these accomplishments “formed a series of measures, the like of which can hardly ever be crowded into one administration of four years & which in the eyes of posterity will single yours out among the administrations of the century.”

Did Bancroft help the “eyes of posterity” look more favorably toward James K. Polk?  It seems likely.  However, an historian, when examining primary sources, can never truly know the intent of historical actors and what motivated their writings.  Despite seeming evidence to the contrary, the ”thigh-slapping” story could have happened as Bancroft said it did.  History, it has been said, is written by the victors.  There are times though, when the person who writes the history determines the identity of the victor and the extent of the victory.

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Finally, William's previous pieces have been on George Washington (link here), John Adams (link here), Thomas Jefferson (link here), James Madison (link here), James Monroe (link here), John Quincy Adams (link here), Andrew Jackson (link here), Martin Van Buren (link here), William Henry Harrison (link here), and John Tyler (link here).

References

• Anthony Berger, “2014 Presidential Rankings, No. 7: James K. Polk,” www.deadpresidents.tumblr.com
• Walter R. Borneman, “Polk: The Man Who Transformed the Presidency and America,” Random House, 2008.
• Tom Chaffin, “Met His Every Goal? James K. Polk and the Legends of Manifest Destiny,” University of Tennessee Press, 2014.
• Milo Milton Quaife, editor, “Diary of James K. Polk during His Presidency, 1845-1849.” A.C. McClurg & Co., Chicago, 1910.
• Sean Wilentz, “The Rise of American Democracy: Jefferson to Lincoln,” WW Norton and Company, 2005.
• Jules Witcover, “Party of the People, A History of the Democrats,” Random House, 2003.

Slavery and the Fourth of July: Is This the Land Your Fathers Loved?

Frederick Douglass was born a slave, but his life was to later move into a different world. He became an important figure in the US abolitionist movement in the mid-nineteenth century. Here, Christopher Benedict looks at Douglass’ views on the Fourth of July and whether slaves could really appreciate Independence Day when they were not free.

Frederick Douglass in 1856.

From Plantation to Platform

The Douglass family, which in 1848 consisted of Frederick and his wife Anna, not to mention their five children Rosetta, Lewis, Frederick Jr., Charles, and Annie, settled into their new nine room home at 4 Alexander Place in Rochester, New York.

From here, Douglass contributed to and edited the abolitionist newspaper North Star, embarked upon speaking engagements in New England, New York, Ohio, and Pennsylvania, made the acquaintances of John Brown and Elizabeth Cady Stanton (whose suffrage movement benefitted from his being the sole public voice of assent), lobbied for the desegregation of Rochester’s learning institutions when Rosetta was forced to leave her private school, supported Free Soil candidates Martin Van Buren and Charles Francis Adams, and sheltered numerous fugitive slaves while assisting them with safe passage to Canada.

These surroundings and circumstances may have been a far cry from the Maryland of his birth thirty years earlier, but his youth spent on Holme Hill Farm in Talbot County, and particularly his year as a rented resource to farm owner and brutal overseer Edward Covey, would never fade into distant memory. His mother was an indentured servant named Harriet Bailey and it was believed by fellow slaves, though never confirmed nor denied, that Frederick’s father was also his white master, Aaron Anthony, which would hardly have been an uncommon occurrence.

After escaping Baltimore for Wilmington, Delaware by train in 1838 using protection papers given to him by a merchant seaman, he first sets foot in free territory after reaching Philadelphia by steamer. A second locomotive journey lands Frederick in New York City where he is reunited with Anna after their engagement back in Maryland and abandons his birth name of Bailey in favor of the alias Johnson. It would be at the urging of the welcomed and securely protected black community in New Bedford, Massachusetts that he then dropped the all-too-common Johnson for Douglas, inspired by the character of the Scottish lord from Sir Walter Scott’s The Lady of the Lake (and adding the additional ‘s’).

Because he had become proficient at the trade of caulking at the Baltimore shipyards of his mostly benevolent former possessors Hugh and Sophia Auld, where he began as bookkeeper after Sophia had taught him to read and write (which was then frowned upon and discouraged, necessitating his own covert self-education), Douglass easily finds work in the storied whaling village, joins the congregation of the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church, and subscribes to William Lloyd Garrison’s The Liberator.

Invited to appear before an abolitionist fair in Concord, MA which was attended by Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson, he then began what would become his hugely successful autobiography Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave, Written By Himself, published in 1845 (as an aside, this is still celebrated in New Bedford every February with a community read-a-thon sponsored by its Historical Society, which I proudly got to participate in while an unfortunately short-lived resident of the Bay State in 2011-12).

It begged reason for many to accept that an uncultured black man, one that the bulk of white society took on face value to be an exchangeable and disposable commodity rather than a human being with hopes and dreams and love and hurt in his heart, could compose without generous assistance such a thoughtful, highly articulate work of literature.

Nonetheless, the man born into bondage had not only endeavored toward his liberation, but was now embraced within the most illustrious intellectual circles, walking freely and proudly into their literary salons and halls of academia.

Now a distinguished citizen of Rochester, Douglass was asked to deliver a speech from the stage of Corinthian Hall on July 5, 1852 commemorating the anniversary of America’s independence. The irony, if it was not intentional or, for that matter, even at first apparent to some, would be manifested brilliantly and manipulated scorchingly.

As With Rivers, So With Nations

Treading lightly while wading toward troubled waters, Douglass begins on a misleadingly modest note, offering apologies for “my limited powers of speech” and “distrust of my ability”, professing to have thrown “my thoughts hastily and imperfectly together” owing to “little experience and less learning”.

Douglass compares the deliverance of the country’s political freedom to the Passover celebrated by the emancipated children of god, noting the buoyancy inherent to the Republic’s relatively youthful age, 76 years, which he remarks is “a good old age for a man, but a mere speck in the life of a nation.” Perhaps, Frederick suggests, “Were the nation older, the patriot’s heart might be sadder, and the reformer’s brow heavier. Its future might be shrouded in gloom, and the hope of its prophets go out in sorrow.” 

Interestingly, Douglass refers to the free and independent states of America through the use of feminine pronouns, whether as a repudiation of their former British fatherland and/or the noble words and deeds of the nation’s Founding Fathers he feels are now being bastardized, or as an unspoken remembrance of his own birth-giver, the mother he last saw at the age of 7 or 8 when she presented him with a heart-shaped ginger cake and the pet name “Valentine”. 

“Great streams are not easily turned from channels, worn deep in the course of ages,” says Douglass. “They might sometimes rise in quiet and stately majesty and inundate the land, refreshing and fertilizing the earth with their mysterious properties. They may also rise in wrath and fury, and bear away on their angry waves the accumulated wealth of toil and hardship.”

While the river “may gradually flow back to the same old channel, and flow on serenely as ever,” Douglass begins the shift in his discourse with the warning that “it may dry up, and leave nothing behind but the withered branch, and the unsightly rock, to howl in the abyss-sweeping wind, the sad tale of departed glory.”

Dastards, Brave Men, and Mad Men

Conceding that “the point from which I am compelled to view them is not, certainly, the most favorable”, the nation’s founders were, in Douglass’ estimation, “brave men” and “great men”, also “peace men” who nonetheless “preferred revolution to peaceful submission to bondage”, “quiet men” who “did not shrink from agitating against oppression”, and men who “believed in order, but not in the order of tyranny.”

Likewise, they had intentionally not framed within their Declaration and Constitution the idea of an infallible government, one which Douglass believed had since become fashionable, while falling out of repute was the deliberate action of “agitators and rebels...to side with the right against the wrong, with the weak against the strong, and with the oppressed against the oppressor.”

Douglass’ assertion was that the natural clash of these contemporary ideologies culminated in the 1850 Fugitive Slave Act, which made legalized sport of hunting down and returning runaway slaves to their masters, and a grotesquely profitable one at that.

George Washington, Douglass pointed out, “could not die until till he had broken the chains of his slaves. Yet his monument is built up by the price of human blood, and the traders in the bodies and souls of men.”

He drives this point home by quoting from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, “The evil that men do lives after them. The good is oft interred with their bones.”

Inhuman Mockery

Now comes Douglass’ direct confrontation of the question pertaining to why he was called upon to give this address on this occasion, the answer to which lay in the larger matter of whether the “life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness” Thomas Jefferson bequeathed to America’s countrymen were rights that extended to him, as well as his kith and kin. If there remained any doubt about the reply, Douglass demolished it.

“The sunlight that brought light and healing to you, has brought stripes and death to me. This Fourth of July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn.”

Unable to equivocate or excuse the great blasphemy of human slavery which made a mockery not only of the Constitution but of the Bible, Douglass declared to his “Fellow Americans” that “above your national, tumultuous joy, I hear the mournful wail of millions whose chains, heavy and grievous yesterday, are today rendered more intolerable by the jubilee shouts that reach them.”

He raises next the hypothetical argument of whether he and fellow abolitionists would be better served to “argue more and denounce less...persuade more and rebuke less.”

Again, his condemnation of these tactics arrives swift and decisive as a lightning strike.

“Am I to argue that it is wrong to make men brutes, to rob them of their liberty, to work them without wages, to keep them ignorant of their relations to their fellow men, to beat them with sticks, to flay their flesh with the lash, to load their limbs with irons, to hunt them with dogs, to sell them at auction, to sunder their families, to knock out their teeth, to starve them into obedience and submission to their masters?”

To do so, Douglass insisted would “make myself ridiculous and to offer an insult to your understanding.”

Unholy License

If the “peculiar institution” of slavery was upheld by American religion in addition to American politics, was it to be viewed as somehow supernal?

That the church largely ignored the Fugitive Slave Act as “an act of war against religious liberty”, how else could its rituals be regarded, Douglass wonders, but as “simply a form of worship, an empty ceremony and not a vital principle requiring benevolence, justice, love, and good will towards man?”

To this says Douglass, “welcome infidelity, welcome atheism, welcome anything in preference to the gospel as preached by those Divines.”

Using the word of god against itself with incendiary righteousness, he recites from the book of Isaiah. “Your new moons, and your appointed feasts my soul hateth. They are a trouble to me, I am weary to bear them, and when ye spread forth your hands I will hide mine eyes from you. Yea, when ye make many prayers, I will not hear. Your hands are full of blood. Cease to do evil, learn to do well. Seek judgment, relieve the oppressed. Judge for the fatherless, plead for the widow.”

Among the exceptionally noble men that Douglass gives name to are Brooklyn’s abolitionist firebrand Henry Ward Beecher, Syracuse’s Samuel J. May, and Reverend R. R. Raymond who shared the platform with him that day. Douglass charges them with the task of continuing “to inspire our ranks with high religious faith and zeal, and to cheer us on in the great mission of the slave’s redemption from his chains.”

Penetrating the Darkness

The Constitution will always remain open to the interpretation of those whose will is to bend and stretch the wording of its amendments one way or another to the advancement of a specific agenda. Regardless, Frederick Douglass maintained that it is “a glorious liberty document” in which “there is neither warrant, license, nor sanction of the hateful thing” that is slavery.

Similarly, he drew encouragement from the Declaration of Independence, “the great principles it contains, and the genius of American institutions.”

Knowledge and intelligence, time and space, were colliding in many wonderful ways which gave Douglass, ultimately, reason for hope and optimism.

“Notwithstanding the dark picture I have this day presented...I do not despair of this country. There are forces in operation which must inevitably work the downfall of slavery. No abuse, no outrage whether in taste, sport, or avarice, can now hide itself from the all-pervading light.”

And, despite the fact that they would shortly thereafter experience a bitter falling-out, Douglass ended on a conciliatory note, courtesy of a passage from William Lloyd Garrison:

In every clime be understood

The claims of human brotherhood

And each return for evil, good

Not blow for blow

That day will come all feuds to end

And change into a faithful friend

Each foe

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Sources

• What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?, speech delivered by Frederick Douglass July 5, 1852 in Rochester, NY
• Autobiographies: Narrative of the Life, My Bondage and My Freedom, and Life and Times by Frederick Douglass, edited and with notes by Henry Louis Gates Jr. (Library of America, 1994)

You thought you were having a bad day? Bad days from May in history…

We’ve just found out about an intriguing book that tells tales of bad days in history. In fact it has one bad tale for every day of the year - from the weird to the terrible. And as we enter May, we thought we’d share a few of these with you… From trouble in the American South to Mary Lincoln, and a clash between a communist and somebody who was very rich! So, following is an excerpt from BAD DAYS IN HISTORY: A Gleefully Grim Chronicle of Misfortune, Mayhem, and Misery for Every Day of the Year by Michael Farquhar!

May 1, 1948 and May 14, 1961 and 1963

Raging Bull Connor

There must have been something about the merry, merry month of May that got Theophilus Eugene “Bull” Connor’s blood boiling. With spring in the air, and racial inequality to be maintained at all costs, the super-segregationist public safety commissioner of Birmingham, Alabama, seemed extra-energized by the season.

Bull Connor in 1960. Source: City of Birmingham, Alabama. Available here. 

Start with May 1, 1948, when Glen H. Taylor, U.S. senator from Idaho, came to Birmingham—“the most segregated city in America,” as Dr. Martin Luther King later called it—and tried to enter a meeting of the Southern Negro Youth Congress through a door reserved for blacks, rather than the “Whites Only” entrance. The senator, then running for vice president on the Progressive Party ticket, was promptly seized by the police under Connor’s control. “Keep your mouth shut, buddy,” they ordered, before hauling Taylor away to jail.*

Then came more invigorating May days in the early 1960s, when Connor’s bigotry blossomed furiously in the face of new challenges to white supremacy. The Freedom Riders were coming to town, and Connor was good and ready for them. He had arranged with the Ku Klux Klan a memorable greeting party for May 14, 1961— Mother’s Day. According to one Klan informant, the terrorists had been assured by Connor’s Birmingham Police Department that they would be given 15 minutes “to burn, bomb, kill, maim, I don’t give a goddamn . . . I will guarantee your people that not one soul will ever be arrested in that fifteen minutes.” The Klansmen used the allotted time well, unleashing a savage assault on the riders with iron pipes, baseball bats, and chains.

Two years later, during the first week of May, Birmingham’s children inflamed Bull Connor further when thousands took to the streets in peaceful protest. Mass arrests were followed by a full-on assault on demonstrators with fire hoses and attack dogs—images that were captured on film and sent throughout the world. The media glare and national outrage that accompanied it made Birmingham too blistering hot for Connor that May. Unwelcome change was in the air, change he had inadvertently unleashed. By the end of the month, he was out of a job. Worse, his viciousness had pushed the previously inattentive Kennedy Administration to finally address the gross injustices in the South that Connor so viciously represented in Birmingham.

“The civil rights movement should thank God for Bull Connor,” President Kennedy said. “He’s helped it as much as Abraham Lincoln.”

* Connor had already given vent to his feelings about racial mixing a decade before, when he halted the integrated meeting of the newly formed Southern Conference for Human Welfare with this delightfully oxymoronic declaration: “I ain’t gonna let no darkies and white folk segregate together in this town.”

May 4, 1933

Immural Acts? Rockefeller vs. Rivera

Had it not been for Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, the lobby of New York’s RCA building at Rockefeller Center might still be graced by the work of the world-renowned muralist Diego Rivera. The Rockefellers, capitalists to their core, commissioned Rivera, an avowed Communist, to paint a dramatic centerpiece for the new building. The lofty theme: “Man at the Crossroads Looking With Hope and High Vision to the Choosing of a New and Better Future,” which, in the midst of the Great Depression, would feature two opposing views of society, with capitalism on one side and socialism on the other. Perhaps some might have thought twice about such a potentially explosive topic, but family matriarch Abby Rockefeller was a big fan of the artist, despite, perhaps, his political views, and the fact that he had already ridiculed John D. Rockefeller in another work. Thus, Rivera set about his creative task—with a great big surprise up his sleeve.

A recreated version of Man at the Crossroads. It is by Diego Rivera and called Man, Controller of the Universe. Source: Gumr51, available here.

With work on the mural well under way, future New York governor and U.S. vice president Nelson Rockefeller went on one of his frequent visits to check on Rivera’s progress. This time, however, he saw something entirely unexpected incorporated into the work: a portrait of Lenin himself. Rockefeller was appalled, and on May 4, 1933, he shared his feelings with the artist in a letter asking him to change Lenin’s face to that of an unknown person.

Predictably, Rivera balked at the idea of altering his artistic vision. The same day he received Rockefeller’s letter, the artist responded: “Rather than mutilate the conception, I should prefer the physical destruction of the conception in its entirety.” With that, what Rivera called the “Battle of Rockefeller Center” was on. The artist was ordered to stop work on the project, and his fee was paid in full.

Amid the ensuing uproar from the art world, Nelson Rockefeller suggested the plywood-covered mural be removed and donated to the Museum of Modern Art. But the museum’s timid trustees wouldn’t touch it. Then, the following February, Rivera’s work was suddenly and unexpectedly smashed to bits and tossed into barrels—an act one critic described as “art murder.” The family claimed the destruction was inadvertent, the result of an unsuccessful attempt to remove the artwork intact. But Rivera didn’t buy that, nor did many art connoisseurs. In a wire sent from Mexico City—where he eventually reproduced the destroyed mural—the artist seethed: “In destroying my paintings the Rockefellers have committed an act of cultural vandalism. There ought to be, there will yet be, a justice that prevents the assassination of human creation as of human character.”

May 20, 1875

The Son Sets on Mary Lincoln

Abraham Lincoln tolerated his wife’s wild extravagances and occasional fits of fury with benign chagrin; his son Robert, much less so. On May 20, 1875, just over a decade after the president’s assassination, the younger Lincoln had his mother committed to an insane asylum. It was an ambush, really, one for which Mary Todd Lincoln was entirely unprepared.

The day before her forced confinement, Leonard Swett, a lawyer and adviser to the late president, arrived unexpectedly at the Chicago hotel where Mrs. Lincoln had taken a room. Accompanied by two guards, Swett escorted her to a packed courtroom where a judge, a previously empaneled jury, and an array of witnesses awaited her. Robert Lincoln was also there, having orchestrated the entire proceeding. The son had been long mortified by the eccentricities of his mother, who had endured the tragic loss of two young sons and witnessed the assassination of her husband. But mostly he was concerned about money—and how much of it she was spending.

The former first lady sat in the courtroom that day, by turns bewildered and infuriated, as a parade of experts—many of whom had never met her—testified as to her unbalanced mind, based solely on reports they had received from Robert. Hotel maids and others were called as well, offering such damning evidence as “Mrs. Lincoln’s manner was nervous and excitable.”

Then Robert took the stand. “I have no doubt my mother is insane,” he declared before the court. “She has long been a source of great anxiety to me. She has no home and no reason to make these purchases.”

The defense rested without ever raising an objection or offering a witness of its own. Robert had his mother’s appointed lawyer in his pocket, and he wouldn’t have stood for any rebuttal. While the all-male jury retired to determine Mrs. Lincoln’s fate, her treacherous son approached and tried to take her hand. Rejecting the transparent gesture, Mary Lincoln made her only statement of the day: “Oh, Robert, to think that my son would do this to me.”

Ten minutes later, the verdict of insane was rendered, and the next day Mary Todd Lincoln was locked away. 

We hope you enjoyed the article! There is a bit more on the book below:

BAD DAYS IN HISTORY: A Gleefully Grim Chronicle of Misfortune, Mayhem, and Misery for Every Day of the Year by bestselling author Michael Farquhar is available for purchase on Amazon. It offers a compendium of the 365 most dreadful, outrageous, and downright disastrous days in human history, all shared with Farquhar's trademark wit. 

The Southern Belle… And Spy in the American Civil War

During the American Civil War, one bold woman in the heart of the Confederacy dared to support the Union cause by freeing her slaves, aiding captured soldiers, and leading a spy ring that extended into the Confederate White House itself. Though her story may be obscure, her boldness and courage during the toughest years in American history tell the tale of a true American hero. Chloe Helton explains.

The Battle of Seven Pines, Virginia May 31, 1862. The battle took place near Richmond where Elizabeth Van Lew was from.

John Van Lew, Elizabeth’s father, was the owner of a wildly successful hardware store when he married Eliza Baker, the daughter of a former Philadelphia mayor. No doubt the prominence and wealth of the Van Lew family created the circumstances which allowed for Elizabeth’s successes in aiding the Union during the war. A well-rounded education and cushy wealth made for an outspoken and independent young woman in Elizabeth, and the distaste for these traits among the Richmond elite may account for some of the reason for an attractive, wealthy young woman like Elizabeth having never married. That is not to say, however, that she did not use her charms: often she was able to persuade high-ranking Confederate men to heed her requests, which allowed the success of many of her anti-Confederate actions during the Civil War.

When Virginia announced its secession from the Union, a celebratory parade marched through Richmond, the capital of the Confederacy. Perhaps every citizen in the whole city was present for the festivities except Elizabeth and her mother, Eliza. Elizabeth, an ardent Union supporter who after her father’s death had used her considerable inheritance to buy and free the families of her emancipated slaves, soured at the prospect of secession and considered fleeing the city. Not one to flee from unfriendly situations, and much too attached to her beloved family home, she eventually decided to stay, vowing to instead help the Union in any way she could.

Growing opposition

At first her actions were not hotly opposed within the city. Southerners expected swift victory in the war and initially Northern prisoners were treated well, so even when Elizabeth requested that a captive Northern Congressman who had fallen gravely ill be treated in her own home it was easily allowed, and not much suspicion was aroused. The Congressman, Calvin Huson, Jr., died soon after his relocation despite tender care from the Van Lew ladies, but Elizabeth received a thank-you letter from Union soldiers in Richmond which she kept with her until her death. As the war dragged on supply shortages ravaged the South, and when Elizabeth requested permission to visit the infamous Libby Prison she was told - by the First Lady’s half-brother (a Confederate officer), no less - that a lady like her should not be fraternizing with the enemy. Elizabeth redirected her plea to the Secretary of the Treasury, C.G. Memminger, and after she turned some of his own famous arguments about Christians proving their love for each other through aid even to those who did not deserve it he did grant her request. She used her considerable fortune to buy produce for enemy prisoners in a time when most common city folk could scarcely afford to eat, and the result among her peers was social isolation and death threats.

Van Lew’s induction into espionage did not begin intentionally. Many of the prisoners had acquired pieces of information from the Southerners they came into contact with - guards, doctors, and deserters mostly - and when these bits of hearsay were all compiled it was considerably useful. Elizabeth simply passed it on to Union officers, and because part of her family’s farm was outside the city walls she was easily able to pass on information there without arousing suspicion. Some issues did arise: at one point her pass to visit the prisons was rescinded, but with more manipulation she was able to receive permission again. The prison guards also became wary of her and banned her from speaking to the prisoners. However, this did not discourage her from soliciting information: she poked messages into cloth with pins and slipped pieces of paper into the bottom of a food dish.

Supporting the other side

Despite her valiant and charitable efforts in the prisons, Elizabeth’s real claim to fame began when Jefferson Davis, the Confederate President, began asking for reliable servants for the Southern White House. Van Lew was apparently unable to pass up this opportunity and offered one of her freed slaves for hire, and Davis, who had known her father, accepted. When Mary Bowser began work in the White House, Davis didn’t think she even knew how to read, much less that she had been educated in the North and had photographic memory, so he was careless with his papers around her - too careless. Word soon got out that there was a leak in the White House, but nobody ever suspected the unassuming former slave.

Elizabeth did see other excitement during the war. In 1862 Union forces were tantalizingly close to capturing Richmond, and the feisty Southern belle even prepared a room in her house for General McClellan to stay as her guest. After a powerful speech from Robert E. Lee, however, the Confederates were able to drive them away. Until the next and final invasion of Richmond, Elizabeth bided her time by directing the spy ring she was now leading, which ran so smoothly and efficiently that despite frequent house checks by a suspicious Rebel officer no evidence could be found of her treason. She did protest these annoying visits, eventually housing a Confederate officer as a guest in order to ease suspicion. Van Lew also helped Colonel Paul Revere (a descendant of the Revolutionary Paul Revere) escape certain execution by helping him escape and housing him in her attic.

At the conclusion of the Civil War, as Richmond prepared for the march of Union soldiers into the city, Elizabeth proudly raised the American flag above her home. This bold action caused a mob to descend upon her mansion and she quashed it with feasible threats. After the war, though, Elizabeth’s pro-Union actions were revealed and she faced social isolation throughout the rest of her life. After a stressful stint as postmaster in Richmond and the death of her mother she fell into a depression which lasted the rest of her life. Her bold actions and unrelenting dedication to her cause cemented her in history as one of the most famous spies during the war, however, and her story is an inspiration.

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Reference

• Karen Zeinert - Elizabeth Van Lew: Southern Belle, Union Spy

John Tyler - The Accidental President

John Tyler assumed office after William Henry Harrison died. But how would the American Republic react? Would there be anarchy? Or would the system remain strong? William Bodkin explains the story of how John Tyler took office in 1841…

A portrait of John Tyler.

The president was dead.

For the first time in American history, but sadly not the last, a president had died in office.  One short month after his inauguration, on April 4, 1841, William Henry Harrison was no more.  Not a soul in the United States of America was quite sure what it meant.

The Constitution, on its face, seemed clear.  Article 2, Section 1 stated that in the event of the president’s “death, resignation or inability to discharge the powers and duties of the said office, the same shall devolve on the Vice-President.”  But what did that mean?  The “same shall devolve”?  Was it merely the powers of the presidency?  Was the vice-president merely “acting” as the president for the remainder of the dead president’s term?  Or was it something else?   Did the vice-president inherit the office, as generations of princes, and too few princesses, had when kings breathed their last?

The future of the Presidency was in the hands of one man, vice-president John Tyler.  But his decision would have to wait.  Tyler was not in the nation’s capital, but home in Williamsburg, Virginia.  Tyler had left Washington, D.C. soon after his inauguration.  In those days, the vice-president’s sole responsibility was to preside over the Senate.  That august chamber was in recess until June.  Tyler had known about Harrison’s illness, but elected to stay in Williamsburg lest he be seen as a vulture perched over Harrison’s bedside, waiting for his demise.

Two messengers were sent on horseback from Washington, D.C. to Williamsburg to inform the vice-president.  One was Fletcher Webster, son of Harrison’s Secretary of State, Daniel Webster. The other was Robert Beale, doorkeeper of the U.S. Senate.  The men galloped through night and day to summon the future of the Republic.  It was dark when the men arrived on the morning of April 5, 1841.  The young Webster pounded on the door, but received no response.  The Tyler family was asleep.  Beale, used to rousting intoxicated Senators, gave a try, pounding more vigorously then his friend.  Finally, John Tyler opened the door.  Recognizing the men, he invited them in.  Webster handed over the letter the cabinet had prepared:

“Washington, April 4, 1841

Sir:

It becomes our painful duty to inform you that William Henry Harrison, late President of the United States, has departed this life.  This distressing event took place this day, at the President’s mansion in this city, at thirty minutes before one in the morning.

We lose no time in dispatching the chief clerk of the State Department as a special messenger to bear you these melancholy tidings.

                  We have the honor to be with highest regard,

Your obedient servants.”

Well-qualified?

Tyler accepted the news solemnly.  Letter in hand, he woke his family to tell them.  He dressed, had breakfast, and by 7AM departed with his son, John Jr., who often acted as his personal secretary.  The two took every means of transportation available in 1841: horse, steamboat, and train.  Tyler and his son arrived in Washington, D.C. just before dawn on April 6.

Oddly enough, John Tyler was quite possibly one of the more qualified men to assume the presidency.   No previous vice-president had his resume of political accomplishment: state legislator, governor of Virginia, United States Congressman, U.S. Senator, and vice-president.  Tyler’s father had been also been Governor of Virginia, and had been friends with Thomas Jefferson.  One of the pivotal moments of young John Tyler’s life was when the great Jefferson visited Tyler’s father in the Governor’s mansion for dinner.  Tyler saw himself as not just the successor of William Henry Harrison, but the heir of the legendary Virginia dynasty: Washington, Jefferson, Madison and Monroe.  There was, however, one small problem.  Tyler, true to his origins in the Virginia aristocracy, wasn’t quite a Whig, like Harrison.  But he wasn’t quite a Democrat either, as he had been a fierce opponent of Andrew Jackson.  He was, quite simply, a Virginian.

The former presidents were not about to let Tyler, or the nation, forget it.  Andrew Jackson derided Tyler as the “imbecile in the Executive Chair.”  John Quincy Adams, finding in rare agreement with his old nemesis, blasted the new president as “a political sectarian of the slave driving, Virginian, Jeffersonian school, with all the interests and passions and vices of slavery rooted in his moral and political constitution.”  Adams lamented that Harrison’s death had brought “a man never thought for it by anybody” to the presidency.  Many feared that Tyler would simply be steamrolled by Congress, led by perpetual presidential striver Henry Clay of Kentucky, then a U.S. Senator.  They believed that Tyler lacked the strength of character to deal with the nation’s roiled factions.

They were wrong.  When Tyler arrived in Washington, he seized command.  Tyler tolerated no debate over whether he was the acting president.  He was president in word and deed.  Tyler immediately convened Harrison’s cabinet, declaring that he was not the vice-president acting as president.  He was the President of the United States, possessing the office and all its attendant powers.  Secretary of State Webster, himself one of the other great presidential strivers of pre-Civil War America, told Tyler that President Harrison and the cabinet had cast equal votes in reaching decisions and that the majority had ruled.  Webster did not, of course, explain what decisions had been made by Harrison in the month of his presidency that he had spent on his deathbed.  Tyler firmly rejected the “democratic” cabinet.  He advised the Cabinet that he was very glad to have them. They were a true assemblage of able statesman.  But he would never consent to being dictated to.  He was the President of the United States, and he would be responsible for his administration.  Tyler told the Cabinet he wished them to stay in their posts, but if they would not accept what he said, he would gladly accept their resignations.  No one resigned.

More powerful than any person

Webster suggested that Tyler take the Oath of Office as President to quell any uncertainties.  Tyler asserted that it was unnecessary. He believed that the oath he had sworn as Vice-President was sufficient.  However, he saw the wisdom in putting the nation’s doubts to rest.  William Branch, Chief Justice of the United States Circuit Court of the District of Columbia, was summoned.  Tyler took care to advise Judge Branch that he was qualified to assume the presidency with no further oath, but asked that the judge administer it to him again, “as doubts may arise and for the greater caution.”  The Presidential Oath was administered. 

One of the more enduring attributes of the American Republic is the idea that no one is indispensible to its functioning.  Presidents, Generals, Senators, and Governors come and go. The Republic marches on.  George Washington set the tone by leaving the presidency after two terms in office.  And thanks to John Tyler, the nation knew that if a president should leave office before his term expired, the Republic’s leadership could change hands between elections, even arguably moving from one political party to another, without unrest in the streets, or shots being fired.  It would happen simply by operation of the Constitution and the laws of the land.

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William's previous pieces have been on George Washington (link here), John Adams (link here), Thomas Jefferson (link here), James Madison (link here), James Monroe (link here), John Quincy Adams (link here), Andrew Jackson (link here), Martin Van Buren (link here), and William Henry Harrison (link here).

Sources

Gary May.  John Tyler: The American Presidents Series: the 10th President: 1841-1845 (Times Books, 2008).

Witcover, Jules.  Party of the People: A History of the Democrats (Random House 2003).

Schlesinger, Arthur M., ed. Running for President, the Candidates and Their Images: 1789-1896.

Miller Center of the University of Virginia: U.S. Presidents series: John Tyler (http://millercenter.org/president/tyler).

What if Napoleon Bonaparte had won the Battle of Waterloo?

Napoleon Bonaparte was famously defeated at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815 by British and Prussian forces. But what if that never happened? How would European history have changed if Napoleon had won? Here, Nick Tingley explores why history may have ended up repeating itself…

A picture of Napoleon Bonaparte.

The battle between France and Prussia in 1870 was all but decided at the Battle of Sedan on September 1. As Napoleon III was led through the French countryside for the nearest port, he knew that this battle would spell the end of the Empire. As he was sailed across to England for exile, a unified Germany was created off the back of French territory - and the landscape of Europe would be forever changed.

Had he been more like his uncle, Napoleon Bonaparte, the fall of Napoleon III’s government might never have happened. Bonaparte had known when to give up. Even as the British troops of Wellington and Blucher’s Prussians fled from the Battle of Waterloo in 1815, Bonaparte had known that he had to pursue peace in order to survive. Bonaparte had even offered clemency to the British troops by aiding their evacuation from France after the battle, essentially bringing about a new era of peace in Europe championed by the two enemy nations. Bonaparte had developed so much since 1813 when he had refused a favorable settlement in defeat that he was able to bring about the longest lasting peace that Europe had seen in centuries…

But Napoleon III had not learnt from his uncle’s mistakes and the horrendous defeat at the Battle of Sedan would haunt him until his death in 1873…

When ‘What If’ Collides with History

Ironically, for a ‘What If?’ scenario, this version of history is not remarkably unlike our own. Whilst Napoleon Bonaparte did not win the Battle of Waterloo on June 18, 1815, his nephew did eventually become Emperor of France as a result of the 1848 revolutions that sprung up around Europe. His last act as Emperor was to lead French forces against Prussia in the War of 1870. He was captured at the Battle of Sedan and forced into exile in Britain, where he was forever haunted by the destruction of his Empire. His actions that year effectively allowed the creation of Germany that was, in no small part, responsible for much of the tension between the two countries over the next seventy-five years.

And yet, this event in history may well have occurred regardless of whether Bonaparte had won the Battle of Waterloo. If we suppose, for a moment, that Napoleon had managed to defeat the British and Prussian forces at the battle and maintain control of France thereafter, it is not beyond reason to suppose that, as Bonaparte’s nephew and heir, Napoleon III would have inherited the Empire anyway. Had that happened, the Battle of Sedan would almost certainly have occurred in the same way, leading to his downfall and the beginning of the tensions that would contribute to the outbreak of the First World War.

But what scenario would allow such a divergence from historical fact and yet still arrive at the same point fifty-five years later? Rather than looking to Napoleon III, our attention must be drawn to Bonaparte, the man whose decisions would ultimately determine the future of France and the rest of Europe.

Bonaparte the Warrior

At first we must address Bonaparte’s character. The Bonaparte of 1796, the year that he began his conquest of Europe, was a war leader to the greatest degree. Had he managed to defeat Wellington and Blucher at Waterloo, he would almost certainly have urged his officers to press after Wellington and Blucher’s scattered armies until every last one of them had been captured or killed. He would have then have turned his attention to the armies of Russia and Austria who, whilst not involved in Waterloo, were slowly advancing across Europe to address this resurgence of power.

This would have presented Bonaparte with a serious problem. In the first instance, Austria and Russia had armies of approximately 200,000 men working their way across Europe. In the second, Alexander I, the Tsar of Russia, was particularly keen to eliminate Bonaparte, as he believed that Europe would never remain at peace with him alive. Finally, French conscription, from which Bonaparte had been gathering troops during his previous campaigns, was not currently a policy in France. This meant that he didn’t have access to the same amount of reserves that he had previously.

In this scenario, Bonaparte would probably not have enjoyed any significant success for more than a week or two. With the arrival of the Austrians and Russians, Bonaparte’s armies would have stood little chance at all, and history would have certainly continued down the path that we are most familiar with.

Bonaparte the Stubborn

The Bonaparte of 1813 may have lasted even less time. In 1813, Bonaparte had refused any kind of settlement at all, even though he had been completely defeated at the Battle of Leipzig that year. In that battle, Bonaparte’s armies were effectively expelled from the rest of Europe and forced to retreat back in to France. Had Bonaparte sued for a peace at that time, he might well have retained his title and control over France. The result of his failure to do so was the invasion of France by the Coalition of Russia, Austria and Prussia and his own removal from the throne.

Had he treated his victory at Waterloo with the same refusal to negotiate, Bonaparte would have probably attempted to retake parts of Central Europe immediately following the Battle of Waterloo. Once again, Bonaparte’s failing would have been signaled by the arrival of Russian and Austrian troops which would have led to yet another disastrous retreat back in to France, if not the destruction of his entire army.

Bonaparte the Diplomat

There is, however, one scenario by which Bonaparte may have been able to win at Waterloo and still maintain control of France. If Bonaparte had granted clemency to the retreating British forces of Wellington, history could have taken a completely different turn. The British forces had granted something similar seven years previously at Sintra, where French forces had been allowed to evacuate from Portugal after several disastrous battles. Such an act of honor, whilst completely removed from Bonaparte’s character, may well have been enough to convince the British that there might be a peaceful solution to the French problem.

In the event that Bonaparte had sued for some sort of peace, before the arrival of the Russian and Austrian armies, they may well have found a new ally in the form of Britain. With the two former enemies working together to bring about a new era of peace, it is not beyond reason to suggest that the rest of Europe might have been tempted to follow suit. The Congress system that was prevalent in Europe for the years following Bonaparte’s downfall may well have still existed but with a stronger leader speaking on behalf of France.

However, all of this would rely heavily on Bonaparte being able to disregard all the previous behaviors that had come to define his reign. In order for this scenario to work, Bonaparte would have had to cease behaving like some sort of power-hungry megalomaniac and become a reasonable diplomatic presence in Europe. One can even imagine that, had Bonaparte become the diplomat that Europe needed him to be, the rise of Germany might have been significantly delayed.

The revolutions of 1848 might have been a significantly smaller affair as there would have been no antagonism towards a French monarchy, which would have disbanded with Bonaparte’s renewed rise to power, and therefore no revolution in France. The French revolution, which was one of the larger and more explosive of the 1848 revolutions, would not have existed to encourage the others across Europe. Without the discontent across Europe, we can easily see a scenario in which a united Germany never comes in to being, effectively removing the threat of World War One in 1914 and, therefore, the subsequent World War twenty-five years later.

The Likely Scenario

Unfortunately, Bonaparte’s actions were, by and large, a result of his psychological compulsions and the environment in which he came to power. He was very much a child of the French Revolution; his rise to power had been as a result of one of the bloodiest events in French history. The idea that a man, who owed so much of his power to man’s compulsion towards war, would be content at sitting around a conference table with the other leaders of Europe is improbable at best.

Had he been given the opportunity to make this decision, it is unlikely that he would have taken it, opting instead for the allure of battle. In the event that he had sued for peace, it would almost have certainly been a blind to allow himself time to build up his armies before making another attempt at conquering the continent. In all likelihood, rather than delaying the onset of a World War in Europe, he would almost have certainly caused one in his own right.

However, Bonaparte would not have had long to enact his plans. Barely six years after his victory at Waterloo, he would have succumbed to the pain of stomach cancer and his throne would have been left to his then thirteen-year old heir and nephew, Napoleon III. What chaos would have gripped France as a result of his death is almost unfathomable and not within the remit of this discussion. However, two scenarios present themselves. Either, under the influence of the rest of Europe, France would have returned to a monarchy-led government and once again would have continued down the course that we already know from history, or else the young Napoleon III would have taken to the throne, probably starting a civil war in the process. If Napoleon III were to survive such a period of unrest in France, he could have reigned for nearly fifty years, never having the opportunity to learn from his uncle that the best direction for Europe was towards peace…

Did you enjoy this article? If so, tell the world! Tweet about it, like it or share it by clicking on one of the buttons below!

You can also read Nick’s previous articles on what if D-Day did not happen in 1944 here, what if Hitler had been assassinated in July 1944 here, and what if the Nazis had not invaded Crete in World War Two here.

Sources

• Blucher: Scourge of Napoleon - Michael V. Leggiere (2014)
• If Napoleon had won the Batter of Waterloo - G. Macaulay Trevelyan (1907)
• Napoleon: The Last Phase - Lord Rosebery (1900)
• Napoleon Wins at Waterloo - Caleb Carr (1999)
• The Face of Battle: A Study of Agincourt, Waterloo and the Somme - John Keegan (2004)
• Trafalgar and Waterloo: The Two Most Important Battles of the Napoleonic Wars - Charles River Editors (2014)

The Roots of the American Red Cross

Clara Barton was a pioneer of the nineteenth century. But who was this amazing lady? Well, she played a key role to wounded soldiers in the US Civil War and was instrumental in the formation of the American Red Cross. C.A. Newberry explains.

Clara Barton, circa 1897. By Charles E. Smith.

Where would we be without the Red Cross today? Since the International establishment of the organization in 1864 it has been a consistent lifeline for people in need. Vital in aiding during disaster relief efforts, supporting military families, and providing essential health and safety training. Yet, how did this incredible organization begin?

Born on Christmas Day in the year 1821 in the town of Oxford, Massachusetts, Clara Harlowe Barton was the youngest of five children. As a young girl Clara was painfully shy. Nonetheless, her passion to serve others and help people started at an early age. When her brother David suffered an accident, she stayed home from school to tend to his needs, administering medications and even learning the art of “leeching” after the family doctor suggested it may help.

During her teenage years she was encouraged to pursue a career in teaching, potentially helping her to overcome her shyness. Years later she opened a free public school in New Jersey where anyone rich or poor could attend. During the mid 1850s, after a successful career, Clara made the move to Washington, D.C. It was here that she worked in the US Patent Office, granting permits for inventions.

Civil War

However, it was the US Civil War that proved to be a defining period of Clara’s life.  When war broke out in 1861, Clara, sensing an immediate need, swiftly volunteered. She tended to wounded soldiers and then began to bring supplies to the troops and the medical teams who were exhausted and over-worked.  At one point supplies were so scarce that they were trying to make bandages out of corn husks.

Clara did her best to organize supplies but also to gather volunteers. She led the training to prepare them so they could perform first-aid, carry water, and prepare food for the wounded. Barton continued with her quest to deliver supplies, utilizing some help funded through the army quartermaster in Washington, D.C., but many were purchased with donations that Clara was able to secure. However, if those choices were unavailable she would use her own funds, most of which were later refunded to her through Congress. Through all of this tireless and selfless volunteering, she earned the nickname, “The Angel of the Battlefield”.

After years of serving through the war, she followed up by embarking on a brutal travel schedule where she spoke to countless groups recalling her time in the field. Soon Clara became ill and was encouraged by her doctors to travel to Europe. The hope was that she would have a certain amount of anonymity while there, allowing her to rest and recuperate.

Meanwhile, in Europe, Henry Dunant, founder and creator of the global Red Cross network, had the idea that there should be international agreements to protect the sick and wounded during wartime. There should also be the formation of national societies to give aid voluntarily, but on a neutral basis. The first treaty to encompass Dunant’s ideas was negotiated in Geneva during 1864. It was then ratified by twelve different European nations. This treaty is known by several titles, including the Geneva Treaty, the Red Cross Treaty, and the Geneva Convention.

During her lecture tour and the vivid recreations of her war experiences, Barton had become incredibly well known, and was brought to the attention of Dunant. And during 1869, while in Geneva, Clara met both Dunant and another supporter Dr. Louis Appia. Being familiar with Clara’s work in the states they wanted to share the vision of the International Red Cross, hoping to gain Clara’s support and further encouraging her to get the United States on board.

Bring the Red Cross to the US

During Clara’s stay in Europe the Franco-Prussian War started.  She was asked to serve with the International Red Cross providing assistance and, after seeing the benefits, Clara was determined to return to the United States and establish the Red Cross at home. When Clara first approached President Rutherford B. Hayes in 1877 she was met with resistance, as he feared a possible “entangling alliance” with the other European nations. However, his successor, President James Garfield, saw the value in the program and was supportive. Sadly, before it could become official, President Garfield was assassinated.

Frustrated, Clara, with the help of friends and neighbors in New York, funded and established the first local society of the American Red Cross in 1881.  Just a short month later they had their first call to action. Responding to a disastrous forest fire in Michigan, they collected $300 for the victims.

Clara continued to seek government support and, after years of passionate pleas, the Geneva Treaty (the International Red Cross) was signed in the US in 1882. Within a few days the Senate was able to ratify it. Not surprisingly, Clara Barton was named president.

While the mission of the International and now American Red Cross were important, Clara truly believed that the assistance needed to be expanded beyond wartime needs.  She was also passionate about helping with disaster relief, peacetime emergencies and directing charitable support. So during its first twenty years the American Red Cross was largely devoted to disaster relief. Even though Henry Dunant had originally suggested that the Red Cross provide disaster relief, it hadn’t been widely embraced until Clara Barton advocated it. In fact, during the Third International Red Cross conference in 1884, the American Red Cross suggested an amendment to the original Geneva Treaty, asking for an expansion to include relief for victims of natural disasters. The resolution was passed and became known as the “American Amendment” to the Geneva Treaty of 1864.

Clara Barton served as president until 1904. After her retirement she continued with her philanthropy until she passed away in 1912, at the age of 91. She will be forever remembered as a pioneer, passionate about the Red Cross and one of the most celebrated figures of her time.

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References

• History’s Favorite Nurses, Maryville University, February 9 2015
• Founder, Clara Barton, The Red Cross, February 9 2015
• Clara Barton, The Civil War Trust, February 9 2015

History Books – Episode 7 – A War in the American Southwest

In episode 7 of our podcast series History Books, we look at how a great war broke out in the American south-west

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 The podcast is on a book called The Wrath of Cochise by David Mort.

The book is about the disputes that led the outbreak of the Apache Wars. The Apache Wars were a series of conflicts between the United States and a number of Apache nations fought in the American Southwest from the mid-nineteenth century until the 1880s.

And as we shall soon see, a key factor in their starting was that in February 1861, the twelve-year-old son of Arizona rancher John Ward was kidnapped by Apaches. Ward followed their trail and reported the incident to patrols at Fort Buchanan, blaming a band of Chiricahuas led by the infamous warrior Cochise.

The book then tells the story of how events dramatically escalated, leading to the death of many and the destruction of parts of the states of Arizona and New Mexico. As well as the devastation of a way of life.

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If you enjoy the podcast, you can purchase the book here: Amazon US | Amazon UK

Take care,

George Levrier-Jones

email: info@itshistorypodcasts.com

web: www.itshistorypodcasts.com

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History Books – Episode 6 – A Crime in Victorian London

In episode 6 of our podcast series History Books, we look at a terrible crime in 1850s London.

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 The podcast is on a book called The Secret Life of Celestina Sommer – Victorian Child Killer by David J. Vaughan.

Celestina Sommer had a tragic upbringing. Pregnant at seventeen, with no support and little more compassion, she relinquished her infant to the baby-farmers. Eleven years on and married, she endured not only vilification but domestic abuse - the man she trusted turning on her with misogynistic cruelty endorsed by a society turning its blind, masculine eye.

The book tells the story about the awful truth of Celestina’s short, tragic life and reveals exactly why she avoided the hangman's noose. Her heart-rending story follows the world's reaction to her crime: parliamentary debates, press outrage, allegations of royal collusion, garishly explicit reports of her trials at the Old Bailey and, finally, her collapse into madness as she struggles through a harsh Victorian penal system and, at the very end, Britain's foremost criminal lunatic asylum of the age.

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If you enjoy the podcast, you can purchase the book here: Amazon US | Amazon UK

Take care,

George Levrier-Jones

PS – just to inform you, this podcast is of a darker nature than many of our other podcasts.

email: info@itshistorypodcasts.com

web: www.itshistorypodcasts.com

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Biography as not quite Destiny - The William Henry Harrison Story

William Henry Harrison has the shortest presidency on record.  The oldest elected president at the time, he died after one month in office.  But was he an unlikely president or destined for the greatest office? Here, William Bodkin explains the story of this fascinating president…

A William Henry Harrison campaign poster.

Part Andrew Jackson and part Martin Van Buren, William Henry Harrison was a successful general who had lusted after higher office for decades, only to have death take him from his greatest achievement.  For the United States, it may have been fortunate.  Harrison’s pre-presidential career showed that while he may have had Jackson’s military talent, he lacked Van Buren’s political talent. Harrison fell upward into the presidency, almost by accident.

Harrison was the first “Dark Horse” candidate for president.  His 1836 candidacy seemed to come from nowhere.  In fact, the opposite is true.  Harrison’s father, Benjamin, signed the Declaration of Independence and served three terms as Governor of Virginia.  The Harrisons were close to the Washingtons.  For his career in the army, Harrison used his Washington connection to secure an officer’s commission.  Harrison was sent to Fort Washington in the Northwest Territory and showed real ability as a fighter against Native Americans.  He was given command of the Fort and steadily promoted by a succession of presidents: Adams, Jefferson and Madison.  As his administrative duties increased, Harrison continued leading men into battle, mostly against the Indian leader Tecumseh.  Tecumseh sought to rally the Middle West’s native tribes into a force that would resist Americans.  One such battle, in November 1811 at the confluence of the Tippecanoe and Wabash rivers in Indiana, was against Tecumseh’s brother.  When Harrison’s forces won, Harrison proclaimed “The Battle of Tippecanoe” a great victory.  It was, at first, little noted. But by December 1811, newspapers were reporting the story along with accusations by Andrew Jackson that the British were stirring up the tribes to rebel against the America.  As the controversy raged, Tippecanoe became the powder keg that eventually ignited the War of 1812.

Harrison and the War of 1812

The War of 1812 gave Harrison his greatest pre-presidential fame. Harrison led the army that recaptured Detroit and then hotly pursued the Native Americans, led by Tecumseh, and the British into Canada.  In the Battle of Thames River, Harrison’s forces, aided by a corps of Kentucky marksman, bested the tribes and killed Tecumseh.  Harrison then retired from the army and went on a victory tour to New York City, Philadelphia, and Washington, D.C., soaking in the adulation of the crowds as the great general who killed Tecumseh. 

Upon his return to Ohio, Harrison became a professional office-seeker.  He ran and won election to Congress, serving from 1817-1819.  As Congressman, he spent much of his time seeking more prestigious posts, trying and failing to become James Monroe’s Secretary of War and Ambassador to Russia.  After this term in Congress ended, he was elected to Ohio’s State Senate.  Harrison then tried and failed to become Governor of Ohio, and twice to become a Senator.  Finally, in 1824, he won election to the U.S. Senate from Ohio.  On his return to D.C., Harrison began lobbying immediately for a better position.  With the help of Henry Clay, Harrison was named John Quincy Adams’ Ambassador to Colombia, despite Adams’ discomfort with what he described as Harrison’s “rabid thirst for lucrative office.” But ambassador was no role for Harrison.  He embroiled himself in controversy by choosing sides in Colombia’s internal politics against the ruling government.  When Andrew Jackson won the presidency, Harrison was recalled.  He went back to Ohio, where he took a job as recorder of deeds in his home county just to make ends meet.

While Harrison was in Colombia, another man took on the role of the great slayer of Tecumseh.  Richard Mentor Johnson was a Congressman from Kentucky and a former member of the team of Kentucky marksman who had fought alongside Harrison’s men.  Johnson won election to Congress and became famous throughout the West by claiming that he had fired the bullet that killed Tecumseh.  Johnson’s supporters decided that if Andrew Jackson could catapult himself to the presidency on the strength of War of 1812 success, perhaps Johnson could too. 

The surprise president?

By 1834, a movement coalesced around Johnson, with engravings, pamphlets, songs, and a five-act play based on the Battle of the Thames.  Reenactments of the battle were staged around the country, with Johnson’s legend growing from expert marksman to mastermind of victory, usurping the role of one William Henry Harrison.  Harrison was invited to one of these celebrations and was so offended by the antics that he issued a firm public rebuke of Johnson.  The statement reminded many of the old General.  Many of his fellow Ohioans decided to push Harrison for the presidency in 1836.  One newspaper editor declared that the fact that Harrison’s name ended in “-on” was of great importance.  The nation had had Washington, Jefferson, Madison, and Jackson, why not Harrison?  It was just the right name.  No one was perhaps more surprised than Harrison himself, who had planned to retire.  But the Harrison boom was off and running.  Engravings of the battle of Tippecanoe were struck, reenactments were staged, and a big commemorative celebration was held on the battle site.  Harrison, hero of Tippecanoe and the general who beat Tecumseh became a candidate for president.

Martin Van Buren, never one to miss a political movement and running for the presidency himself, made Richard Mentor Johnson his vice-president.  Ultimately, in 1836, the Anti-Jackson, or, in this case, the anti-Van Buren votes were split among too many regional Whig party candidates.  Van Buren eked out the presidency, only to face a tumultuous four years and William Henry Harrison again in 1840.

Ignoring Harrison’s aristocratic Virginia roots, the Whigs adopted as their symbol a log cabin.  Harrison had briefly lived in one in Ohio, but quickly remodeled it into a more stately home.  The image had started as a joke.  One newspaper printed that Harrison would drop out of the presidential contest for a modest pension and a barrel of hard cider, so he could spend his days at home in his log cabin.  The Whigs by this point had learned a thing or two from observing Van Buren, and leveraged Harrison’s war hero status and this remark to give Harrison a rough hewn image, making him the Whig’s answer to Andrew Jackson.  The “Log Cabin and Hard Cider” campaign worked, helped by a weariness of the Democratic Party.  Harrison swept to the presidency.  For his inauguration, perhaps believing his own hype, Harrison marched in his inaugural parade on a wet, freezing day with neither hat, nor coat, nor gloves.  He also delivered what stands to this day as the longest inaugural address in presidential history at 8,445 words.  

A month later, Harrison was dead.

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William's previous pieces have been on George Washington (link here), John Adams (link here), Thomas Jefferson (link here), James Madison (link here), James Monroe (link here), John Quincy Adams (link here), Andrew Jackson (link here), and Martin Van Buren (link here).

References

Feller, Daniel.  “1836” Running for President, the Candidates and their images.  Arthur M. Schlesinger, Editor.  Simon and Schuster, 1994.

Wilentz, Sean. “1840”  ” Running for President, the Candidates and their images.  Arthur M. Schlesinger, Editor.  Simon and Schuster, 1994.

“William Henry Harrison” Miller Center of the University of Virginia (http://millercenter.org/president/harrison).