Prince Paul Wilhelm of Wurttemberg leaves St. Louis and heads up the Missouri River. This was actually the second exploration of the American wilderness by the scientifically inclined German prince.
But a side note is what I find fascinating… Several years earlier, in 1822, the Prince had undertaken his first expedition into the west. To do so he needed the permission of the Superintendent of Indian Affairs in St. Louis, William Clark of “Lewis and Clark” fame, who had originally explored the West.
Clark had a foster son, the son of an Indian girl who had greatly assisted the Lewis and Clark Expedition: Sacagawea. Her son, Clark’s foster son, was Jean Baptiste Charbonneau.
Clark was so impressed with the Prince that when the Prince completed his first expedition in 1822, he allowed Jean (age 16) to accompany the Prince to Europe.
The young Jean was the Prince’s constant companion as they toured Europe and North Africa. Jean learned French, German and Spanish and became quite cosmopolitan. The trip back to the wild of America in 1829 was taken in order to bring Jean back to his home with Clark.
An interesting story, and what I take from it is the impact of decisions we make on our fate and the fate of those around us. Sacagawea could have led out her life quietly; but she made a decision that led her son on an odyssey she likely could never have imagined.
Today in History, July 16, 1885: Sam finishes his book.
Sam had led a bit of a rough life. He saw great success, no doubt, but he was also an alcoholic. His father struggled with the demon for a time, and his grandfather had succumbed to it. In those days they didn’t realize it was often a family trait or a disease…it was simply a weakness. Sam had fought the demon his entire adult life. He was brilliant at is chosen profession. He quit it for a time because of his drinking and tried other jobs…farmer, realtor, shopkeeper…none worked out. As brilliant as he was, he had another weakness; he had a big heart and was much to quick to trust people with his money. So Sam spent most of his life broke.
Even with this, events in his life led him in a round about way to the pinnacle of success. He succeeded where others failed miserably due to his tenacity, his organizational skills and his ability to see the big picture. Yet through it all, no matter how much he achieved, his detractors never forgot, and certainly never let him forget, his demons.
Sam had made his fortune at last…but then, in his older years when there was little to no chance of building success anew, his other failure reared its ugly head again. The people he trusted with his money were scoundrels, and he found himself…and more importantly to him, his family, destitute once again.
Living on borrowed money, things got worse. One day while eating a peach his wife had given him, he felt as if he had been stung by something within it. He had no time for doctors and stubbornly toiled for months until the pain was unbearable to relent to his wife’s demands to see his physician. By then, it was too late. The mouth and throat cancer was advanced, and all that could be done was to provide him with pain killers until the end would come.
Sam’s father had been an inveterate braggart, a schemer and an incessant talker. It embarrassed Sam so that he became the exact opposite. Quiet and humble to a fault, it took everything he had to do what he had refused for years…to blow his own horn and tell his own story. But now it was the only way he could leave his wife and children with a means of support. So he threw himself into the task.
For over a year he wrote. He wore a muffler to cover the baseball sized tumor at his throat. Typical of his demeanor, he never complained of the excruciating pain that wracked him day and night…his family only saw him grimace from the pain when he was asleep and unable to hide it.
Sam worked with a purpose…he amazed his publisher by finishing 10,000 words in a day, written out. Mark couldn’t believe it…Mark was one of the most prolific story-telling authors of his time, and could never match Sam, who disliked the task of telling his own story. But now he had to…for his family…for his legacy because his old detractors were only too happy to repeat their own refrain, “See, we told you so.”
Fighting past the pain and past the fog of his medications, he toiled even when he could no longer write, and tortured himself to dictate his story to others.
Finally on July 16, 1885, Sam completed his autobiography. Mark had promised to publish it for a handsome price which would see to it that Sam’s family did not want for anything. It was suspected that Mark had ghostwritten the work…which he adamantly and angrily denied. His friend Sam had written the work…brilliant and surprising as usual.
Having won his last battle, he could let go now. Seven days later on July 23, 1885, Hiram Ulysses Grant, “U.S. Grant” due to an Army administrator’s error in his youth, Sam to his friends, a drunk to his detractors, an amazing horseman and hero of the Mexican-American War, General of the Army and President of the United States, passed from this earth.
Mark Twain saw that “The Personal Memoirs of U.S. Grant” was published and the family was treated fairly and well. Sam had found someone trustworthy this time. I’ve read General Grant’s memoirs, and they would be impressive if written by someone in perfect health. They are nothing less that heroic considering the suffering he endured during his final work.
He lay staring up at the sky, though the sun was hidden from his sight by smoke and dust and powder. The mini-ball had shattered his left thigh… he could not stand. The pain was excruciating, his hands were covered in blood from where he attempted to feel his injuries.
He could hear the rifles firing, accompanied by the cannon and rallying cries. What horrified him most… he could hear the crackling of the fire. He knew it was coming closer very fast, fueled by the trees in the Wilderness. A forest was no place for so much weaponry.
He looked one direction, then the other. Dozens of men lay in similar condition to him. Many of them screaming for help that could not come. Closest to him, he saw Tommy. He grew up with Tommy… with all these men. Their regiment all signed up from the same town. Tommy was the strongest of them, always steadfast and quiet.
When the fire reached Tommy, it caught his clothing first, but soon it engulfed him entirely. Tommy’s terrified screams echoed in his ears until Tommy’s powder went up, and Tommy was silent.
He rasped out a plea for help. He tried to crawl. He knew he was going to die. But he had to get away from the fire. He and the others had sewn tags with their names on them to their shirts. If he died in the fire, mama would never know what happened to him. He had to save that tag.
He felt his strength leaving him, and lost consciousness. Maybe he would not feel the flames.
He woke suddenly. They must’ve found him. He lay on his back on a table. Above him stood a man covered in blood and grime. The man spoke to others, “Hold him down.”
Then he felt the saw begin to bite into his flesh, he screamed and mercifully, lost consciousness again.
The leg that wasn’t there anymore hurt all the time, as if it were still present. All these years later, he stood on that damned crutch, looking out on a field full of markers.
He could hear their voices. He could hear their screams and feel their pain. The men that weren’t there anymore, that hurt all the time, as if they were still present.
⁃ Battle of the Wilderness, Civil War, 1864.
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She was playing in the street, kicking a ball with her friends. Her momma watched with a smile.
She was 13 that year. Her body was changing, and she noticed the boys looked at her differently. She was filling out, having to become accustomed to full breasts and wide hips, amongst other things. Momma had explained things to her. How someday she would have children of her own.
That was the day the soldiers came.
She wished she could talk to momma now. And papa. It had been months since that long ago day in the street. She knew she would never have her own children. It was all gone. Her womanly features were gone. What little flesh she had left hung from her bones loosely. She looked into the hollow, lost eyes of the people around her and understood she looked the same. Everything hurt. Her joints actually rubbed together.
When the door clanged shut, she looked at the shower heads. A warm shower would be such a relief. It would feel good on her filthy flesh.
She knew in her heart this was not a shower room. She heard the hiss of the gas. That would be a relief too, she thought.
⁃ Nazi concentration camp, 1940’s.
These accounts may be from my imagination, however they are based on actual events. Similar incidents happened many times.
As depressing as these events are, knowing history provides perspective. Knowing so many people never got to live their lives makes you appreciate yours all the more, even when things are bad.
James Longstreet is born in near Edgefield, South Carolina.
Longstreet is an excellent example of the paradox of the 19th century. He graduated West Point, fought gallantly in the Mexican-American War at the Battle of Chapultepec; he was close friends with Ulysses Grant, serving as best man at Grant’s wedding.
After such loyal service to the US Army, in 1861 he resigned his commission and joined the Confederacy.
He fought in most of the major battles in the eastern area and some in the west. Aside from Robert E. Lee, he was likely the most respected and successful Southern General.
Yet after the war, he determined to do the best he could by his countrymen. He joined the Republican Party and returned his loyalty to the government.
The Republican party had been the entity that had pursued the war in the North, so his detractors excoriated him for this act…but in his statements he wanted to use the power of the Republican party to maintain Southern rights and desires.
Jubal Early and others claimed he was responsible for the loss at Gettysburg (he was not).
Much like Lee, whether you agree with what he fought for or not, Longstreet appeared to be a “Southern Gentleman”, and gained the admiration of the soldiers that served with him.
Gangster and racketeer Dutch Schultz and several of his crew were gunned down in his “headquarters”, the Palace Chophouse in Newark, New Jersey by 2 hit men from Murder, Inc.
I find the interesting part of the story in why he was killed, and the future of another man involved.
Schultz had been prosecuted twice by a very talented and aggressive US Prosecutor, Thomas Dewey. Schultz had gone to his fellow Mafioso and sought permission to assassinate Dewey. When they declined, afraid the full weight of national law enforcement would be brought to bear on them, Schultz was furious and made plans to kill Dewey anyway.
That’s when the decision was made that Schultz had to be eliminated.
Schultz’s death and Dewey’s survival meant that Dewey would become the NY DA, NY Governor, and would run for President 3 times.
In 1948 it was so much assumed he would win that the Chicago Tribune ran the headline “Dewey Defeats Truman”, a paper that the real victor, Truman, held up for a famous photo…relegating crusading prosecutor Thomas Dewey, known for his photographic mind that helped him tear apart suspects on the stand, who so angered the Mafia that they wanted to kill him, to a punchline for most.
The War of 1812 had been raging for two years. The British had burned DC and had set their sights on Baltimore. During the siege, a local doctor was taken prisoner and was being held onboard a British warship.
A lawyer friend of his journeyed to Baltimore to negotiate his release, and succeeded.
However, the British will not release them until the next day.
Thus attorney Francis Scott Key had a front row seat to a lengthy bombardment of Ft. McHenry in an attempt to reduce the fort.
Key was inspired by the fact that the American flag was still standing after the failed attack, and sat to pen a poem, “The Defense of Ft. McHenry”.
Today we know his poem as “The Star Spangled Banner”.
Today in History, September 4, 1886:
Apache Warrior Geronimo surrenders to US Army General Nelson Miles in Skeleton Canyon, Arizona.
As a young man living with his family in the Mexican state of Chihuahua, Spaniards brutally murdered his wife and children in a raid.
Geronimo would have a hatred for Mexicans from then forward. Leading raids against non-Indian settlers, he prevented settlement of Apache lands for years.
After nearly 30 years of fighting, he came to the conclusion that further fighting was pointless due to the endless numbers of settlers.
After his surrender, he ended up in Ft. Sill, Oklahoma Territory where he converted to Christianity and became a successful farmer. He became quite the celebrity, even riding with President Theodore Roosevelt in his 1905 inaugural parade.
Today in History, July 18: 1792 – “”I wish to have no connection with any ship that does not sail fast for I intend to go in harm’s way.” John Paul Jones dies in Paris, France. John Paul was born in Scotland and went to sea with British merchant ships at 13. In the West Indies he killed another sailor whom he said was a mutineer and had to flee. He settled in the American colonies and changed his name to John Paul Jones. He joined the Continental Navy when the Revolution began and became famous for his daring and courage; capturing several ships as prizes, raiding the English coast and fighting a horrific battle with his ship “Bonhomme Richard” (French for Poor Richard in honor of Benjamin Franklin) during which he responded to a demand for surrender with “I have not yet begun to fight!” After the war he served briefly in the Russian Navy as an admiral, but wanted to return to American service. The “Father of the US Navy” died without fanfare in Paris and was buried in an unmarked grave. Over 100 years later, in 1905, US Ambassador to France Gen. Horace Porter led the search to find Jones’ body, and with the help of the French, succeeded. Jones was taken back to America aboard the cruiser USS Brooklyn and was escorted into port by 7 battleships and 2 other cruisers. President Theodore Roosevelt, a naval power and history enthusiast, spoke at a ceremony at the US Naval Academy honoring Jones. Jones was eventually moved to his current tomb in the chapel at the Academy. An interesting aside; Gen. Porter had quite a history of his own. He was a Medal of Honor recipient for valor during the Civil War, was aide-de-camp to Gen. US Grant, was present in the room at Appomattox when Lee surrendered, and was Grant’s personal secretary during his Presidency.
As most know, on April 12, 1912, RMS Titanic struck an iceberg and sank within 4 hours.
The nearest ship to receive her distress signal was the RMS Carpathia, which sped at full speed for two hours to the disaster scene. Upon her arrival, she rescued 705 survivors from the freezing waters of the North Atlantic. The Carpathia’s crew became heroes, being awarded medals. Her Captain, Arthur Henry Rostron, was knighted and was a guest of President William Taft in the White House. During WWI the Carpathia served as a troop ship, transporting thousands of American soldiers across the Atlantic to the war in Europe. Amongst them was Frank Buckles, who would become the last surviving American Soldier from WWI before his death in 2011. He was a prisoner of war in the Philippines during WWII (as a civilian) and a strong advocate for a WWI Memorial, which…led him to be a guest of President George W. Bush in the White House. On this date in 1918 the Carpathia was sunk by German U-Boat U-55. All but 5 of her crew managed to escape to lifeboats. They were in turn saved by the Sloop HMS Snowdrop, which arrived and drove off the German sub before it could machine gun the crew in their boats. Everything is connected in history…you just have to find it.
On the evening of the first day out from Goliad we heard the most unearthly howling of wolves, directly in our front. The prairie grass was tall, and we could not see the beasts, but the sound indicated they were near.
To my ear it appeared that there must have been enough of them to devour our entire party, horses and all, at a single meal.
The part of Ohio I hailed from was not thickly settled, but wolves had been driven out long before I left. Benjamin was from Indiana, still less populated, where the wolf yet roamed over the prairies. He understood the nature of the animal and the capacity of a few to make believe there was an unlimited number of them. He kept on towards the noise, unmoved. I followed on his trail, lacking the moral courage to turn back…but Benjamin did not propose turning back.
When he did speak it was to ask, “Grant, how many wolves do you think are in that pack?”
Knowing where he was from, and suspecting he thought I would over-estimate the number, I determined to show my acquaintance with the animal by putting the estimate below what possibly could be correct, and answered, “Oh, about twenty,” very indifferently. He smiled and rode on.
In a minute we were close upon them, and before they saw us. There were just TWO of them. Seated upon their haunches, with their mouths close together, they had made all of the noise we had been hearing for the last ten minutes.
I HAVE OFTEN THOUGHT OF THIS INCIDENT SINCE, WHEN I HAVE HEARD THE NOISE OF A FEW DISAPPOINTED POLITICIANS WHO HAVE DESERTED THEIR ASSOCIATES. THERE ARE ALWAYS MORE OF THEM BEFORE THEY ARE COUNTED.
Personal Memoirs of U.S. Grant, December, 1845 near Goliad, Texas.
“The General directs that all fatigue and working parties cease for to-morrow the SEVENTEENTH instant,” read the orders, “a day held in particular regard by the people of [Ireland].”
General George Washington’s Army was bedded down amidst 6 foot snow drifts, suffering through the worst winter on record…even worse than Valley Forge.
Recently the Irish, who were also in rebellion against the Crown, had declared themselves AMERICANS in solidarity with the American colonists that were fighting for their independence.
At least a quarter of Washington’s army was Irish…and a vast majority of his commanders shared that distinction.
So GW decided that St. Patrick’s Day…(not Christmas, nor Easter)…would be a day of rest and celebration for his army.
Mark Loves History! 