October 1975

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            "value" => "<p><span class="body"><span class="body"><span class="typestyle">There seems to be a paucity of ingenious Bicentennial projects, especially compared to the ones that flourished during the 1816 Centennial. Consider, for instance, Felix Meier, a Detroit clockmaker who, imbued with the spirit of the time, produced this masterpiece. He spent ten years constructing his clock, which stood eighteen feet high and weighed two tons. It indicated the time in thirteen cities, as well as the day, month, season, the signs of the zodiac, and the revolutions of the planets around the sun. There was one movement that was repeated only once every eighty-four years. But most remarkable was the scene enacted hourly. According to the sonorous prose that accompanied this engraving, a mechanical figure representing Washington “slowly rises from the chair</span> [ <span class="typestyle"> beneath the canopy</span> ] … <span class="typestyle"> extending his right hand, presenting the Declaration of Independence. The door on the left is opened … admitting all the presidents … including President Hayes. … Passing in file before Washington, they face, and raise their hands as they approach him, and walking naturally across the platform, disappear through the opposite door. … Washington retires into his chair, and all is quiet save the measured tick of the huge pendulum.…” This marvel was called to our attention by the president oj the Saul Ash Company of Madison Heights, Michigan. The company reproduces unusual and important graphics on cloth. Unfortunately the Detroit clock has vanished, and Mr. Ash has offered to supply a framed print to the ßrst five readers who can tell us of its fate or whereabouts</span> . </span></span></p> ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body"><span class="typestyle">There seems to be a paucity of ingenious Bicentennial projects, especially compared to the ones ▶"
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              <p>Of the British officers who served in America during the Revolution, the names Howe and Clinton, Burgoyne and Cornwallis, are the ones that echo across the years. There is some irony to this, since none of those captains—with the possible exception of Cornwallis—had any notable claim to posterity’s attention for their accomplishments on this side of the Atlantic. Yet just as they had in their day the perquisites of rank, so they were accorded the privilege of fame.</p>\r\n ◀<p>Of the British officers who served in America during the Revolution, the names Howe and Clinton, Burgoyne and Cornwallis, are the ones that echo across the y ▶
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              <p>The system of which they were a part virtually ensured that high-ranking officers would be aristocrats and men of considerable wealth—the sons of peers, the relatives, friends, and protégés of the rich and powerful. In the British army there were two routes to the top: one was influence, and the other was money. In fact, the route to the top <span class="typestyle">began</span> at the top, with His Majesty George in. The king, as captain general, might or might not appoint a commander in chief of the armed forces, and George— who took considerable pride in exercising his military prerogative—chose not to appoint one. As commander in chief he controlled the price of officers’ commissions, and commissions came dear. An ensign, for instance—the lowest rank in a regiment of foot—was obliged to pay £400 for his commission at a time when it was possible to maintain a family and two servants on £40 a year. Promotion was available as vacancies occurred—either in a man’s own regiment or in another—but all officers had to serve in grade for a period of time before they were entitled to advancement. Then, when opportunity was finally within reach, came the rub. Unless an officer possessed independent means, there was no way to purchase the next higher rank, since it was impossible to save money on the niggardly pay he received.</p>\r\n ◀<p>The system of which they were a part virtually ensured that high-ranking officers would be aristocrats and men of considerable wealth—the sons of peers, the  ▶
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              <p>All of which meant that advancement went to the wealthy. A lieutenant colonelcy in the infantry went for £3,500, and for the same rank in the elite foot guards £6,700 was the going rate—a sum nearly equivalent to the combined salaries of the first lords of the Admiralty and the Treasury. As a result wealthy officers advanced fastest. Lord Cornwallis, for example, who had money, was a lieutenant colonel at the age of twenty-three and a lieutenant general at thirty-eight.</p>\r\n ◀<p>All of which meant that advancement went to the wealthy. A lieutenant colonelcy in the infantry went for £3,500, and for the same rank in the elite foot guar ▶
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              <p>In that army, to be sure, there was another type of officer altogether. Unsung, given only a paltry reward for his services, he made up the backbone of what was for a time the finest fighting force in the world. He knew his limitations in terms of rank and accepted them as best he could, hoping for the one rare exception to the ironbound rule of purchased commissions—an opportunity to draw his superiors’ attention by distinguishing himself in battle.</p>\r\n ◀<p>In that army, to be sure, there was another type of officer altogether. Unsung, given only a paltry reward for his services, he made up the backbone of what  ▶
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              <p>The best of these officers were trained not only as soldiers but as observers. A man of this stripe had learned from experience the meaning and value of terrain and usually could draw a creditable map or sketch. Years of proximity to the men in the ranks gave him an insight into their capabilities under fire, their limits of endurance, their capacity for improvisation. He knew, or tried to know, his enemy; he discovered quickly enough the shortcomings and weaknesses of his superiors.</p>\r\n ◀<p>The best of these officers were trained not only as soldiers but as observers. A man of this stripe had learned from experience the meaning and value of terr ▶
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              <p>Happily for our knowledge of the Revolution, the eighteenth century was a time of abundant letter-writing and journal-keeping, and the historian may be grateful that some of these competent professional officers kept a record of their service in the American colonies. To them, as much as to anyone, we are indebted for insights into the minds of the Howes and Clintons and for our knowledge about the British conduct of the war.</p>\r\n ◀<p>Happily for our knowledge of the Revolution, the eighteenth century was a time of abundant letter-writing and journal-keeping, and the historian may be grate ▶
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              <p>A superb example of the breed is Frederick Mackenzie, who began writing his observations and thoughts in a diary in 1748 and kept at it faithfully until 1791. Alas, only eight volumes of that record survive—many, including all those antedating 1775, having been lost—but what remains is a remarkable account of some of the critical battles of the Revolution, as well as an astute, revealing commentary on eighteenth-century military life, on Mackenzie’s fellow officers and the rebels who opposed them. Spiced with philosophical asides, it is engaging, readable, and highly informative. Written with soldierly precision, his notes are clear, direct, knowledgeable, and consistently fair, for among his other qualities Mackenzie seems to have held no rancor toward the Americans. He related the facts impersonally, giving considerable thought to the problems confronting both his own army and that of the enemy.</p>\r\n ◀<p>A superb example of the breed is Frederick Mackenzie, who began writing his observations and thoughts in a diary in 1748 and kept at it faithfully until 1791 ▶
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              <p>The son of a Dublin merchant and his Huguenot wife, Mackenzie first appears in view about 1745, when he received a commission in the 23rd Regiment—the Royal Welch Fusiliers. Promoted to captain thirty years later in Boston, he became a major in 1780 and in 1787 transferred from his old regiment to become lieutenant colonel of the 37th Foot. (It would be interesting to know how he came into the wealth to purchase that commission. Did an unforeseen inheritance fall into his hands after all the lean years?) Sometime later he went on half pay and surfaces again in 1794, with England poised for the expected invasion by Napoleon’s troops, when Mackenzie raised and commanded the ist Exeter Volunteers. Subsequently he was Assistant Barrack-Master General at army headquarters and Secretary of the Royal Military College, and in 1824 he died. His birth date is not known, but if he was only fifteen years old at the time he received his first commission, he was an old, old man at his death—well into his nineties. We do not even know when his portrait was painted, but he was evidently a man of some years, and since the artist shows him in civilian clothes, the picture must have been done after his retirement from the army. Even so, this is still a face to make a subordinate leap to attention for fear of what those penetrating eyes might discern or of what that steel trap of a mouth might utter.</p>\r\n ◀<p>The son of a Dublin merchant and his Huguenot wife, Mackenzie first appears in view about 1745, when he received a commission in the 23rd Regiment—the Royal  ▶
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              <p>Mackenzie was obviously a fellow of considerable intelligence, with an orderly mind and a keen eye for details. He had the happy facility of reporting events candidly (probably because he intended the record only for himself and his family), and he set down what he had actually seen, sprinkling the account with personal observations, speculating on matters that concerned him as a soldier.</p>\r\n ◀<p>Mackenzie was obviously a fellow of considerable intelligence, with an orderly mind and a keen eye for details. He had the happy facility of reporting events ▶
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              <p>In addition to the diaries, a surviving letter to his father-suggests the range and detail of his interests. It is as full an account of the rigors of an Atlantic crossing by troopship as a parent or a historian could desire, filled with descriptive passages of the nightmarish seven-week voyage. Writing from New York on June 29, i773, Mackenzie tells his father that at least two children died during the voyage; that the ship sprang her mainmast; that they had only one day of fair winds between April 25 and June 9. Mackenzie’s wife and two daughters were obliged to share a cabin measuring 7x7x7 feet with two other women and another child. One of the women was seasick for the entire seven weeks; she exacted her vengeance on her maid, “a little, dirty, Scotch girl” who also shared the cabin, by throwing things at her and scolding her constantly, and on her husband by berating him every time he showed up to comfort her. Her child, who swung in a hammock eighteen inches above her head, cried violently every morning at four. The cabin had a single window one foot square, opening onto a stairway, and Mackenzie feared lest the occupants suffocate for lack of air.</p>\r\n ◀<p>In addition to the diaries, a surviving letter to his father-suggests the range and detail of his interests. It is as full an account of the rigors of an Atl ▶
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              <p>Describing his impressions of New York, Mackenzie tells of the extraordinary number of blacks he saw (“I believe one fourth of the Inhabitants are Negros, and Mullatoes”); he comments on the currency (all of it Spanish) and the price of lodging; then he lists in detail the meat, fish, poultry, vegetables, and fresh fruit available—complete with prices and comments on the quality (“Veal, 3d. some very fine as ever I saw … Ducks, is. a couple … Lobsters in surprizing quantities, for 1½d. per pound … Pine apples as large as a quart Mug, for 6d. each … Raspberries about 4d. a quart … Milk ud. a quart. No cream.”).</p>\r\n ◀<p>Describing his impressions of New York, Mackenzie tells of the extraordinary number of blacks he saw (“I believe one fourth of the Inhabitants are Negros, an ▶
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              <p>He was “pretty certain of remaining here two or three years,” Mackenzie observed, “unless something extraordinary happens; our future destination is quite uncertain.” The “something extraordinary” occurred long before the several years were out; in August of 1774 the Royal Welch Fusiliers were summoned to Boston by General Thomas Gage, who was increasingly alarmed by the activities of the rebels in that town.</p>\r\n ◀<p>He was “pretty certain of remaining here two or three years,” Mackenzie observed, “unless something extraordinary happens; our future destination is quite un ▶
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              <p>Although Mackenzie was personally involved in numerous engagements during the war, his significance lies more in what he can tell us than in what he did. As an eyewitness to the tumultuous scenes in Boston he provided, for example, the most complete and detailed account of Dr. Joseph Warren’s inflammatory oration commemorating the Boston Massacre, delivered in the Old South Church in 1775. As adjutant of the aSrd Regiment he saw action on the opening day of the Revolution and gave us the only narrative by a participant in the embarkation of the Concord expedition. On the night of April 18, 1775, Mackenzie led several of his companies to their appointed rendezvous with Lieutenant Colonel Francis Smith, who was to command the march on Concord. Smith was notoriously slow and incompetent; he and the other troops were late; and Mackenzie, a stickler for promptitude, was dismayed by the laggardly start of the expedition and by the lack of an embarkation officer to take charge of loading troops aboard the boats assigned them. He loaded his two companies; troops from other regiments followed his lead; and then the men floated idly about in the tidal basin of the Charles River until Lieutenant Colonel Smith made his appearance.</p>\r\n ◀<p>Although Mackenzie was personally involved in numerous engagements during the war, his significance lies more in what he can tell us than in what he did. As  ▶
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              <p>The next day word reached headquarters that Smith was in trouble, and Mackenzie went out with a relief force under Lord Percy. It was probably no accident that the able Mackenzie was given the most dangerous assignment of the afternoon—command of the rear guard in the long, galling retreat—and it was characteristic of the man that even after that gruelling, anxious day he should return to quarters and record his observations of the harried flight from Lexington and Concord while events were still fresh in his mind. It had been a costly, humiliating defeat, yet Mackenzie was not one to carp or blame; he noted simply that Gage had been the victim of faulty information and stated his conviction that “an Officer of more activity than Col<span class="typestyle"> o</span> Smith, should have been selected for the Command of the troops destined for this service.” To supplement his relation of the events the indefatigable Mackenzie copied a map drawn by a fellow officer, showing the positions of the armies at Concord, and pasfed this into his diary.</p>\r\n ◀<p>The next day word reached headquarters that Smith was in trouble, and Mackenzie went out with a relief force under Lord Percy. It was probably no accident th ▶
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              <p>After the British evacuated Boston, Mackenzie served as Major of Brigade under General William Howe in Halifax, returning to New York in August of 1776, where he was appointed deputy adjutant-general of the army. Here, again, he was to shed some light on events while participating in several of the great British victories of the war. After Howe landed troops at Kip’s Bay on Manhattan Island, threatening to trap the rebels still remaining in the city of New York, the general was delayed—the tale goes—by Mrs. Robert Murray, who invited Howe for luncheon at her house on Murray Hill. While the British general and his army were detained by this accomplished hostess Israel Putnam marched four thousand Americans up the west side of the island to safety. Or so legend has it. But Mackenzie tells a different story. After the Kip’s Bay landing the troops formed, according to Mackenzie, and “advanced to Murray’s hill (or Ingleberg) an advantageous piece of ground,” where they waited until the second division “were landed at Kipp’s Bay about 5 o’clock in the afternoon. General Howe [then] made a movement with the greatest part of the army towards Haerlem.” As he so often did, Howe took his own good time, waiting until all of his troops were ready; but the delay was his idea, not that of an attractive rebel sympathizer.</p>\r\n ◀<p>After the British evacuated Boston, Mackenzie served as Major of Brigade under General William Howe in Halifax, returning to New York in August of 1776, wher ▶
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              <p>By the fall of 1776 Howe had chased Washington’s army into Westchester, and the only rebel foothold on Manhattan Island was Fort Washington, where vast amounts of irreplaceable cannon, ammunition, food, and other supplies were stored, watched over by a garrison of several thousand soldiers. One night a rebel deserter named William Demont slipped through the British lines and was brought to Captain Mackenzie for an interview. As Mackenzie tells it, Demont described the “great dissensions in the Rebel Army, everybody finding fault with the mode of proceeding, and the inferior officers, even Ensigns, insisting that, in such a cause, every man has a right to assist in Council, and to give his opinion. … The people from the Southern Colonies declare that they will not go into New-England, and the others that they will not march to the southward.” Demont’s estimate of the situation was all too true, and after talking to the deserter Mackenzie concluded that the rebels “must soon go to pieces.” This was undoubtedly the burden of his report to Howe—a report that probably triggered the general’s decision to move against the fort at once.</p>\r\n ◀<p>By the fall of 1776 Howe had chased Washington’s army into Westchester, and the only rebel foothold on Manhattan Island was Fort Washington, where vast amoun ▶
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              <p>On November 16 the Fort Washington garrison surrendered after a heroic but unequal fight, and as the beaten rebels marched out they were stripped of their clothes by Hessians. Mackenzie, watching this scene, was ashamed of Britain’s allies. The rebels had no right to expect mild treatment, he realized, but he liked to think that “it is right to treat our Enemies as if they might one day become our friends.” He was a plain-speaking, honorable man who regarded magnanimity in victory as a distinguishing characteristic of British troops.</p>\r\n ◀<p>On November 16 the Fort Washington garrison surrendered after a heroic but unequal fight, and as the beaten rebels marched out they were stripped of their cl ▶
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              <p>Late that fall Mackenzie boarded ship along with some six thousand British under the command of Henry Clinton and set sail for Newport, Rhode Island, which they took without opposition. For three years this force remained there—surely a frustrating experience to a man like Mackenzie. As the English historian George Trevelyan described the operation, “For any effect which they produced upon the general result of the war, they might have been as usefully, and much more agreeably, billeted in the town of the same name in the Isle of Wight.” Even so, Mackenzie’s record of that time and place is of considerable interest; everything he saw is described in remarkable detail, and his is one of the few existing personal narratives written from a British perspective, including maps, drawings of landmarks, and a full account of the rebels’ capture of the British general Richard Prescott—who was to be exchanged for General Charles Lee.</p>\r\n ◀<p>Late that fall Mackenzie boarded ship along with some six thousand British under the command of Henry Clinton and set sail for Newport, Rhode Island, which t ▶
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              <p>In 1781 Mackenzie was back in New York—still removed from the scenes of climactic action but dutifully recording the news of headquarters and the tidings from Virginia, where Lord Cornwallis found himself abandoned in the sleepy village of Yorktown.</p>\r\n ◀<p>In 1781 Mackenzie was back in New York—still removed from the scenes of climactic action but dutifully recording the news of headquarters and the tidings fro ▶
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              <p>As military history is customarily reckoned, Frederick Mackenzie was not a figure of much significance in the American Revolution. Yet he deserves a higher place in those annals for the understanding of the conflict he bequeathed to succeeding generations. Even on those rare occasions when his lines betray a trace of chauvinism, Mackenzie is invariably interesting. At a time when the rebel cause was at low ebb, during the demoralizing retreat across New Jersey, Mackenzie was preoccupied with the dilemma of the American command, a command that might soon have no men left in the ranks. Fascinated by the problem, he came to the rather unusual conclusion that the only sure, reliable troops Washington could count on were the former Europeans—Irishmen in particular. These fellows, he believed, were “much better able to go through the fatigues of a Campaign, and live in the manner they at present do, than the Americans.” Mackenzie knew his Irishmen, and he judged their tenacity and fighting spirit as far superior to those of the average American. They would, he said, fight “for the sake of a present subsistence, Clothing, &amp; plunder; and the prospect of acquiring some property, and becoming men of some consequence, in case they are successful.” All things considered, it is not a bad description of rank-and-file revolutionists, then and now.</p>\r\n ◀<p>As military history is customarily reckoned, Frederick Mackenzie was not a figure of much significance in the American Revolution. Yet he deserves a higher p ▶
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            "value" => "<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Our forebears were much given to singing. They sang themselves through revolution with “The Liberty Song” and “Yankee Doodle,” and afterward each struggle of the young nation inspired songsters to extol in music and lyric the virtues of freedom. Political songs were also common, so perhaps it is not surprising that the Presidential campaign of 1840 turned into a songfest— at least for the Whig candidate, William Henry Harrison.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The odds against Harrison’s winning were formidable: he was running against an incumbent, Martin Van Buren, who had already beaten him in 1836; his nomination had divided his own party; and he was nearing his sixty-eighth birthday. There was some question whether Harrison’s health would stand up to the long (nine-month) campaign. The hero of Tippecanoe (a battle fought nearly thirty years earlier) was wishy-washy on issues and not a deep thinker, which prompted a Democratic newspaper to suggest that Harrison would be happy with nothing more than a log cabin and a barrel of hard cider. Whig politicians seized the insult and made it a virtue. Harrison—born of a wealthy Virginia family (father Benjamin was a signer of the Declaration) —ironically became the log-cabin-and-hard-cider candidate, the ordinary man’s friend. The outpouring of banners and slogans (“Tippecanoe and Tyler, Too” in tribute to running mate John Tyler), the numerous logcabin headquarters (where of course hard cider was dispensed), and the flood of musical compositions (from waltzes and marches to songs) were without precedent in American politics—and drove Van Buren supporters to distraction. “Some of the songs I shall never forget,” said a Democratic editor. “They rang in my ears wherever I went, morning noon and night. … Men, women and children did nothing but sing. It worried, annoyed, dumfounded, crushed the Democrats, but there was no use trying to escape. It was a ceaseless torrent of music. … If a Democrat tried to speak, argue, or answer anything that was said or done, he was onlysaluted with a fresh deluge of music. …” As diarist Philip Hone remarked after the overwhelming Whig victory, Harrison had been “sung into the Presidency.”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Here then is a selection of Harrison campaign song sheets, adapted from <span class="typestyle"> Music for Patriots, Politicians, and Presidents</span> by music historian Vera Brodsky Lawrence, which Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc., will publish later this month. The book is also the basis of a musical play by Pulitzer Prize-winner Edward Albee that is scheduled to open on Broadway in the near future. — <span class="typestyle"> N.B.</span> </span></span></p><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div> ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Our forebears were much given to singing. They sang themselves through revolution with “The Liberty Song” and “Yankee D ▶"
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Shortly past noon on April 30, 1789, a tall, somber man, dressed in a simple brown suit, was inaugurated as the first President of the United States at Federal Hall in New York City. For the people who watched the ceremony it was a day of celebration and of enthusiastic confidence in the man who now led them. But the emotion that stirred the crowd, the cannon salutes, the cheers, could not soothe the anxiety of the new President. The future promised only crisis in every area of national life, and the agitated and nervous bearing of George Washington that April afternoon suggested the dread he felt as he contemplated the “Ocean of difficulties” that lay before him.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Shortly past noon on April 30, 1789, a tall, somber man, dressed in a simple brown suit, was inaugurated as the first P ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">That spring few problems of state demanded more immediate attention than those related to the western frontier. It was not merely the inevitable conflict between white man and red that cried for solution. In the years since the War for Independence the presence of Spain in the Southwest and the continued loitering of British troops and trading interests in the Northwest had encouraged Indian harassment of the frontier and fomented political intrigue and threats of secession in the hinterlands. Washington knew the western problem. He understood the dissatisfaction and frustration of frontiersmen and the success of foreign agents. “The Western Settlers,” he had warned in 1784, “stand as it were on a pivot—a touch of a feather would turn them away.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">That spring few problems of state demanded more immediate attention than those related to the western frontier. It was  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The government under the Articles of Confederation had failed to cope with frontier problems, and attempts to restrict settlement had only enraged land-hungry settlers and speculators, while divergent interests made the East unsympathetic to western needs. Nor had American diplomats obtained the free navigation of the Mississippi River so vital to American commerce in the West from Spanish ministers delighted with American discomfiture and keenly aware of the importance of their position at New Orleans.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The government under the Articles of Confederation had failed to cope with frontier problems, and attempts to restrict  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">By the time Washington was inaugurated, the American position in the Northwest Territory seemed to dictate a military solution to quell the divided tribes of the area. Affairs in the Southwest, however, were much more complicated and demanded a more cautious approach. Spain continued to use the Indians as an effective buffer against the United States in the Yazoo Strip, an area along the Georgia-West Florida boundary, north of the thirty-first parallel, claimed by both nations. Here the Indian question took on added significance. If the United States could woo the southern tribes away from their attachment to Spain, Spain’s claims in the Southwest would be seriously weakened and western disloyalty might be curtailed.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">By the time Washington was inaugurated, the American position in the Northwest Territory seemed to dictate a military s ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">In order to accomplish this, however, Washington had to contend not only with Spain but also with opposition from within the United States itself. Unlike the Northwest Territory, which was nominally controlled by the federal government as the result of western land cessions by the states and federal land policies in force there, the disputed territory south of the Tennessee River was still claimed by the state of Georgia. Washington was anxious to extinguish Georgia’s claims and extend federal jurisdiction to the troubled area, but national intervention was certain to arouse a storm of disapproval from Georgia politicians and their supporters among speculators and settlers. Georgia’s aggressive land policies and attitudes toward the southern Indians had already precipitated a continuing war with the powerful Creek confederacy, which was the primary obstacle to the state’s westward expansion as well as the focus of Spanish attention in dealing with the Indians. Moreover, the summer of 1789 saw Georgia legislators sedulously courted by speculators anxious to acquire lands in the disputed zone for sale to settlers. If Georgia succumbed to the pressure of the land companies and ceded lands not yet surrendered by the Creeks, both Spain and the Creeks could be expected to regard the act as deliberately provocative. So long as Georgia maintained her claims, the other states were in danger of being dragged into a war with Spain. To avoid disaster Washington prepared to assert federal power by negotiating directly with the southern tribes. His task might have been much simpler had it not been for the masterful manipulations of an Indian statesman named Alexander McGillivray, <span class="typestyle"> Hoboi-Hili-Miko</span> , the “Good Child King” of the Creek confederacy. </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">In order to accomplish this, however, Washington had to contend not only with Spain but also with opposition from withi ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">For more than two decades McGillivray enjoyed political success never equalled by any other leader of the American Indians. Yet he lacked the quality most often associated with Indian leadership—physical courage. Once, according to his brother-in-law, a French soldier of fortune named Louis Milfort, McGillivray donned war paint, stripped to breechcloth and moccasins, and joined a war party “to witness” a foray against the Americans. When the skirmish began, McGillivray was so unnerved that he hid himself in the bushes until the fighting was over. Then he stole a cloak from the body of a dead soldier to cover himself from the cold. Milfort recalled that McGillivray often laughed about the incident but added: “When one has so much administrative capacity and so many qualities of heart as had Alexander McGillivray, he does not need the military virtues to be a great man.” If he was not a warrior chief, he was a superb diplomat who achieved eminence among a warrior people and directed the Creek nation through a period of momentous importance to the major nations vying for power in the Old Southwest.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">For more than two decades McGillivray enjoyed political success never equalled by any other leader of the American Indi ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Alexander McGillivray was in fact not more than half Indian. He was the son of Lachlan McGillivray, a shrewd Scot who ventured into the southern wilderness and stayed to extract a fortune from trading along the Creek frontier. Meanwhile, Lachlan met a young girl of extraordinary beauty whose name was Sehoy. Accounts differ as to whether she was a half-breed; it is known for certain that her mother was a full-blooded Creek of high rank in the powerful and aristocratic Wind clan. The young Scot wooed and married Sehoy, adhering to Creek tribal ritual, and in 1759 Alexander was born to them. The child’s future seemed bright, tradition says, for Sehoy dreamed often of ink and quills and paper during her pregnancy.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Alexander McGillivray was in fact not more than half Indian. He was the son of Lachlan McGillivray, a shrewd Scot who v ▶
              \r\n
              <div class="insertable">\r\n
              <div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div>\r\n
              </div>\r\n
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Alexander’s childhood was a peculiar mixture of red and white. His father built a fine log house on the Hickory Ground near the Creek town of Little Tallassie and not far from where the Coosa and Tallapoosa rivers pour their waters into the Alabama River a few miles north of the present city of Montgomery. As years passed an apple grove was planted, and a row of cottages housing a complement of Negro slaves attested to McGillivray prosperity. Nor was the young Alexander denied his father’s tongue, since knowledge of white language was invaluable to a people increasingly encircled by white men. Even so, Alexander was never far from his Indian relatives, and the dominant forces of his youth were Indian.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Alexander’s childhood was a peculiar mixture of red and white. His father built a fine log house on the Hickory Ground  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Among the Creeks child rearing was left to the mother and her family. Even the manly skills were taught by the uncles rather than the father. So it was that Alexander learned the ways and life values of the Creeks from Sehoy and her brothers, including the leader of the Wind clan, Red Shoes. Lachlan McGillivray must have restrained himself as much as his Scottish temperament and fatherly pride would permit. Doubtless he chafed under the Creek system, and when the boy reached his teens, the elder McGillivray took him from the woodland home of his youth and thrust him into the white man’s world of books and manners and counting houses. For three years the youth studied at Charleston and Savannah under the tutelage of a minister cousin. Numbers bored him, but he demonstrated a voracious appetite for history, and he acquired a remarkable facility for expressing himself in writing. But when the thunderings of revolution drove his loyalist father back to the British Isles, the younger McGillivray returned to the Coosa and to his people, the Creeks. His three years among the whites had uniquely prepared him for the task that would be his. They gave him his greatest weapon—the pen- but the turbulent Creek frontier provided the ambitious young man the opportunity to achieve the place in history that he desired.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Among the Creeks child rearing was left to the mother and her family. Even the manly skills were taught by the uncles r ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">McGillivray rarely left the Creek country thereafter. When Louis Milfort found him there at the town of Coweta in 1776, sitting on a bearskin among his warriors, there was nothing to suggest that he was anything.more than a savage. He was only seventeen then, but already his rise to power had begun. Before long he had obtained a commission in the British service, and Creek warriors were pillaging the Georgia frontier.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">McGillivray rarely left the Creek country thereafter. When Louis Milfort found him there at the town of Coweta in 1776, ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">In the career that followed, Alexander McGillivray acquired a sophisticated understanding of international affairs but continued to baffle those with whom he dealt with Indian subtlety and capriciousness. He had the qualities of leadership that the Creeks needed more than military might, and, in the words of Theodore Roosevelt, he was “perhaps the only man who could have used aright such a rope of sand as was the Creek confederacy.” Much of his success may be attributed to his ability to write, and the existence of a large body of his correspondence provides a unique opportunity to see those years from the Indian point of view.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">In the career that followed, Alexander McGillivray acquired a sophisticated understanding of international affairs but  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The end of the American Revolution saw McGillivray’s leadership of the Creeks assured, but although he was the pre-eminent man of his nation, his position was far from enviable. The British withdrawal left the Creeks without trade and under the guns of the <span class="typestyle"> E-cun-nau-nux-ulgee</span> (“Peoplegreedily-grasping-after-land”), as the Creeks derisively called the Georgians. McGillivray’s personal fortune was gone, his landholdings in Georgia confiscated by the patriots. Moreover, Great Britain had ceded away much of the Creek country without the consent of the Indians. </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The end of the American Revolution saw McGillivray’s leadership of the Creeks assured, but although he was the pre-emin ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">In addition, dissipation and disease were serious impediments for McGillivray. Often he was so beset with pain that he could not rise from his bed for weeks, his fingers so stiff he could not lift a quill. Much of his suffering apparently resulted from venereal disease and drunkenness. Contemporary sources suggest that he had several “wives,” and David Humphreys, Washington’s former aide-decamp, who dealt with him in 1789, described him as “so much addicted to debauchery that he will not live four years.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">In addition, dissipation and disease were serious impediments for McGillivray. Often he was so beset with pain that he  ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Even so Alexander McGillivray was a striking man, with dark eyes that burned from a handsome face made odd by a peculiarly prominent forehead. He was tall but unusually thin. One striking feature was his long fingers, with which he wrote at prodigious speed. His manner of dress was sometimes Indian, sometimes white, but most often a mixture of the two. Observers agree that he was witty, charming, and polite. At his plantation, the Apple Grove, he entertained guests graciously. His wife there bore him two children, Alexander and Elizabeth. From his quiet retreat on the Coosa this strange man turned himself to the problems of his people.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Even so Alexander McGillivray was a striking man, with dark eyes that burned from a handsome face made odd by a peculia ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The outcome of the Revolution left the Creeks hemmed in by white settlement—Americans to the north and east, Spaniards to the south. As settlement pressed in on the Creeks and as game disappeared, trade with the whites became essential to survival. It was a fatal weakness, and only genius could accomplish the double magic of obtaining recognition of Creek sovereignty and establishing satisfactory trade with one of the powers on their borders. McGillivray had little faith in the “distracted republick” of the United States, which he viewed as hopelessly divided. So he turned to Spain, winning for himself a position as commissary of the Creek nation, which garnered for him the dual responsibility of representing the Spanish among the southern tribes and enforcing trade regulations established by the Creeks and the Spanish governor at New Orleans. With somewhat more difficulty he was able to persuade the Spanish to grant a trading monopoly to the British firm of Panton, Leslie, &amp; Co., operated by McGillivray’s friend William Panton, a notorious Georgia Tory who shared his hatred of the Americans. With this accomplished, McGillivray could closely oversee Creek trade, and his power was assured. These successes countered most of his difficulties, and in the spring of 1786 he daringly turned to the major problem remaining. On April 2, 1786, the council of the Creek nation declared war on the state of Georgia.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The outcome of the Revolution left the Creeks hemmed in by white settlement—Americans to the north and east, Spaniards  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The origin of the conflict lay in the insistence of Georgia that Creek lands had been ceded by authorized representatives of the Creeks at Augusta in 1783 and at Galphinton in 1785. Both claims rested on very shaky foundations. In the autumn of 1783 Georgia had called a conference with the Creeks. The invitation was ignored by the Indians with the exception of two minor civil chiefs whose names translated as “Tame King” and “Fat King.” On November 1, 1783, these two chiefs signed over a relatively small tract of land between the Oconee and Tugaloo rivers to the commissioners of Georgia. The main result was to ensure McGillivray’s ascendancy among the Creeks, who repudiated the treaty at his urging.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The origin of the conflict lay in the insistence of Georgia that Creek lands had been ceded by authorized representativ ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">In February, 1785, the Georgia legislature inflamed the volatile Indian question even more by organizing a huge area of the Yazoo Strip into Bourbon County, precipitating war with the Creeks. Congress, fearful of war with Spain, appointed a commission to deal with the southern tribes; the Creeks were to meet the commissioners at Galphinton. McGillivray refused to attend but sent four chiefs as his representatives. When only a few Indians appeared, the United States commissioners abandoned treaty plans and departed. The Georgia agents did not share their reluctance to deal with only a part of the tribe, however, and negotiated the Treaty of Galphinton on November ia, 1785, not with the deputies of McGillivray but with the same two dissident chiefs responsible for the Augusta cession. The Galphinton treaty gave Georgia claim to Creek lands south of the Altamaha River from its junction with the Oconee to the Saint Marys River, but it too was repudiated almost before the ink was dry. Both the Creeks and the Georgians continued to claim the Oconee Strip, as the disputed area was called, as their own. Soon fighting was begun in earnest.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">In February, 1785, the Georgia legislature inflamed the volatile Indian question even more by organizing a huge area of ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">McGillivray did not loose his warriors to raid the settlements indiscriminately. He wisely concluded that unrestricted attacks would bring American retaliation of great force. He tempered his war, confining sorties to territory still claimed by the Creeks. Attacks were balanced with truces that lasted until the settlers encroached again on Creek lands. Thus by an application of the principles of limited war McGillivray prevented an outriffht American invasion.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">McGillivray did not loose his warriors to raid the settlements indiscriminately. He wisely concluded that unrestricted  ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Even so, there remained elements of the tribe opposed to McGillivray. In the fall of 1786, at a conference with Creek dissidents at Shoulderbone Creek, the Georgia commissioners blundered badly by seizing ‘fame King and Fat King as hostages. Instead of the results expected by Georgia, the incident united the Creeks under McGillivray’s leadership. At the year’s end the Creeks had stalled settlement on the Georgia frontier and pushed the Cumberland settlers back into the Carolinas. Moreover, McGillivray’s alliance with Spain was still in force. With prudence and skill McGillivray had entrenched the Creeks in a strong position.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Even so, there remained elements of the tribe opposed to McGillivray. In the fall of 1786, at a conference with Creek d ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Despite their support of him, however, the Spanish grew increasingly fearful that McGillivray’s war with Georgia would precipitate a wider struggle that would result in American domination of the buffer zone. By 1788 the Spanish ministry urged the Creeks to seek “terms of accomodation with the United States of America.” McGillivray resisted Spain’s prodding at first, but he soon realized the need for rapprochement with the new federal government. In the summer he grudgingly advised Estevan Miró, the Spanish governor at New Orleans, that he would hegin negotiations with “these Americans who are a sett of crafty, cunning republicans, who will endeavor to avail themselves of every circumstance in which I cannot speak or act with decission.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Despite their support of him, however, the Spanish grew increasingly fearful that McGillivray’s war with Georgia would  ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">This was the man with whom Washington was determined to deal in 1789. On August 7 of that year, after careful study of the Indian problem, the President urged the “immediate interposition of the General Government” into Indian affairs. Before the month was out, three commissioners—Benjamin Lincoln, Cyrus Griffin, and David Humphreys—were appointed to treat with the Creeks. It was a distinguished commission. Benjamin Lincoln had an impressive record as a soldier during the Revolutionary War and had commanded the forces that suppressed Shays’ Rebellion in 1787; Griffin had been the last president of the Articles of Confederation Congress; and Humphreys was a member of Washington’s household, with some experience in diplomatic affairs. With high hopes Humphreys advised Washington that Georgia approved the commission and that “it is pretty well ascertained that McGillivray is desirous of peace.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">This was the man with whom Washington was determined to deal in 1789. On August 7 of that year, after careful study of  ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The commission thereupon hurried “through a dreary wilderness in which there was not a single house,” to Rock Landing on the Oconee near the present site of Milledgeville, Georgia. Initially the federal agents felt certain of success. On September 21, 1789, Humphreys, who assumed the leading role in the negotiations, assured Washington that the Creeks wished “to brush our faces with the white wing of reconciliation” and provided the President with his impressions of McGillivray. “His countenance has nothing liberal or open in it,” he wrote. “It has, however, sufficient marks of understanding. In short he appears to have the good sense of an American, the shrewdness of a Scotchman, and the cunning of an Indian. … He dresses altogether in the Indian fashion &amp; is rather slovenly than otherwise.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The commission thereupon hurried “through a dreary wilderness in which there was not a single house,” to Rock Landing o ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">As the negotiations proceeded, however, the optimism of the commissioners faltered. Their impatience was agitated by the Georgians, anxious to convince Humphreys, Griffin, and Lincoln of McGillivray’s perfidy. “I apprehend that we can never depend upon McGillivray for his firm attachment to the United States,” Humphreys wrote Washington on September 27. “If I mistake not his character, his own importance and pecuniary emolument are the objects which will altogether influence his conduct.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">As the negotiations proceeded, however, the optimism of the commissioners faltered. Their impatience was agitated by th ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The letter reflected the attitude that doomed the council to failure. The delegation completely misunderstood McGillivray. Negotiations were clumsy, and the proposed treaty failed utterly to recognize Creek grievances. Acting as spokesman, Humphreys threatened, cajoled, tried to bribe, and thoroughly antagonized McGillivray, even questioning his right to speak for the Creeks. Finally, as McGillivray later wrote a friend, the Creek chief angrily told “that puppy Humphries” that “by G— I would not have such a Treaty cram’d down my throat.” He was so angry that he almost ordered an attack on the commissioners, but encouraged by word that Spain had finally ratified the treaty of 1783, he gathered his warriors and simply departed.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The letter reflected the attitude that doomed the council to failure. The delegation completely misunderstood McGillivr ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The Creeks’ withdrawal, particularly as portrayed in the report of the commissioners, disappointed Washington. Yet if he approved the report, he would be placed in the difficult position of accepting Georgia’s obviously invalid treaties and consequently forced to defend them militarily if the CreekGeorgia war continued. This course was fraught with danger. It meant that he could scarcely avoid a war in disputed territory. Spain’s claims in the Southwest and the financial situation of the yearling government argued cogently against such an outcome. The standing army was only six hundred strong and scattered among frontier garrisons located primarily north of the Ohio. A campaign against the northern tribes seemed imminent. The cost of outfitting an expedition against the Creeks would be prohibitive. The President was also forced to consider the widespread ill feeling toward Georgia because of her failure to surrender her western lands, like other states.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The Creeks’ withdrawal, particularly as portrayed in the report of the commissioners, disappointed Washington. Yet if h ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">On December 21, 1789, Georgia further antagonized the President by ceding 25,400,000 acres of land in the present states of Alabama and Mississippi to the South Carolina Yazoo Company, the Virginia Yazoo Company, and the Tennessee Yazoo Company. It was the move Washington had feared. The thought of hundreds of settlers pouring into lands so close by the Creeks and within territory claimed by Spain chilled him. If the claims were successfully planted, the Creeks would be faced by enemies on three sides, and chances of bringing peace to the turbulent southern frontier would be even less likely.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">On December 21, 1789, Georgia further antagonized the President by ceding 25,400,000 acres of land in the present state ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The Yazoo cession was not merely provocative. Washington doubted its legality, since the Indians had not surrendered the lands in question. His advisers agreed, and herein lay his justification for intervening. Georgia did not have title to the land and could not secure it, Thomas Jefferson, the Secretary of State, and Henry Knox, the Secretary of War, argued. Jefferson pointed out that there were but two means of acquiring title to native land, namely war and treaty—both powers granted expressly to the federal government by the Constitution of 1787, which Georgia had ratified. On this basis Jefferson and Knox concluded that the whole Yazoo transaction was unconstitutional.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The Yazoo cession was not merely provocative. Washington doubted its legality, since the Indians had not surrendered th ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">In January, 1790, Washington conferred with his closest adviser, Alexander Hamilton, Secretary of the Treasury, and Knox. Reliable information from south of the Ohio suggested that McGillivray was still interested in negotiations. By March, Washington was ready. Existing conditions and past experience argued cogently for persuading McGillivray to visit New York rather than sending another commission to the Indian country. Yet because of Georgia’s bellicose attitude toward federal intervention—and to avoid a recurrence of the embarrassment of Rock Landing should the attempt fail—Washington proceeded with as much secrecy as possible. In order that the government would not “suffer in its dignity” if something went wrong, he proposed to send one man to McGillivray without the knowledge of the people of Georgia. Such a plan required not only someone with courage enough to face the Creek frontier without an escort, but also a person who could deal with a man of McGillivray’s intellectual powers. Knox suggested Colonel Marinus Willett, a Revolutionary War hero who had won distinction for his daring in western New York, and Washington agreed.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">In January, 1790, Washington conferred with his closest adviser, Alexander Hamilton, Secretary of the Treasury, and Kno ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">On the morning of March 10, 1790, Colonel Willett accepted the assignment. Washington had made every effort to ensure the success of the mission. Now he briefed Willett on the arguments to be used to persuade McGillivray of the dire consequences of a rupture with the United States. Apparently Washington believed the stories that McGillivray was motivated by “his own pecuniary emolument,” as Humphreys had suggested at Rock Landing. To capitalize on this he provided Willett “with such lures as respected McGillivray personally and might be held out to him.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">On the morning of March 10, 1790, Colonel Willett accepted the assignment. Washington had made every effort to ensure t ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">On March 15, 1790, Colonel Willett set sail on a sloop bound for Charleston, South Carolina, with written instructions to induce McGillivray to visit New York. He carried a formal letter of introduction and a passport that guaranteed the safety of McGillivray and other chiefs should they accept Washington’s invitation. If Willett reached McGillivray, these would be most useful, but if he fell into the hands of McGillivray’s less civilized cousins, the prospects were grim.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">On March 15, 1790, Colonel Willett set sail on a sloop bound for Charleston, South Carolina, with written instructions  ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Willett’s brief sojourn at Charleston did not pass without notice, and he departed for the Indian country amid speculation about his purpose. He paused at the plantation of General Andrew Pickens to take advantage of that gentleman’s knowledge of McGillivray. Then he pushed westward through the pinelands of central Georgia to the stronghold of McGillivray with the assistance of a servant and a Cherokee guide named Young Corn. He was well received in the Cherokee towns, and on April 30 he reached the first Creek town. He learned that McGillivray was expected at the home of a trader named Grierson. That evening his search came to an end. McGillivray received him warmly, and Willett recorded in his diary: “After delivering my introductory letter, I had some conversation with him; and after a good supper, and most kind entertainment, I went to bed, happy in being under the same roof with the man I have travelled thus far to see.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Willett’s brief sojourn at Charleston did not pass without notice, and he departed for the Indian country amid speculat ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Willett spent two pleasant days at the Grierson cottage, observing Creek life. On May 3 McGillivray escorted him to his own home at Hickory Ground. Willett was especially impressed with the Apple Grove, McGillivray’s plantation. Instead of a council fire, Willett found himself in a drawing room beside a fireplace. McGillivray was the gracious host, the easy conversationalist, all the things that Indians were not supposed to be. His “open, candid, generous mind … good judgment, and very tenacious memory” impressed Willett. But McGillivray was also impressed. He found Willett to be “a Candid and Benevolent character, possessing abilitys but without Show or parade.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Willett spent two pleasant days at the Grierson cottage, observing Creek life. On May 3 McGillivray escorted him to his ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Spain had not been pleased with the Creek’s abrupt walkout on the three American commissioners at Rock Landing, fearing, as Mir’f4 wrote McGillivray, that his action would be interpreted as proof that McGillivray was not “really disposed toward peace.” He was still smarting from that rebuke when Willett arrived. Washington’s offer provided the means of complying with Spanish demands for conciliation with the Americans. He saw that if he failed to take advantage of the offer, “Georgia would reap the whole advantage” of the war that would surely follow. He also saw that Spain might be more generous with her support if it appeared that his negotiations with the United States were serious. Once again he discerned the possibility of improving his circumstances at the expense of the major powers. Shortly he dispatched runners to call the Creek chiefs to council.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Spain had not been pleased with the Creek’s abrupt walkout on the three American commissioners at Rock Landing, fearing ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">At the Creek town of Ositchy on May 17, 1790, Willett stood before the assembled leaders of the Creek nation. Through an interpreter he assured the Indians that the American government was not interested in Creek lands and that Washington was as anxious as they to jettison the designs of Georgia and the Yazoo companies. The President was prepared to yield great concessions to the Creeks to demonstrate the supremacy of the federal government. He invited them to “repair with me to the council fire that is kindled in our beloved town [New York], that we may form a treaty, which shall be as strong as the hills, and lasting as the rivers.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">At the Creek town of Ositchy on May 17, 1790, Willett stood before the assembled leaders of the Creek nation. Through a ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The chiefs argued the proposal for an hour before reaching a decision. What McGillivray said to them is unknown, but it may be surmised that he impressed upon them the manifold possibilities. When Willett was recalled, Hollowing King, a great orator, told him that “the road is very long, and the weather is very hot; but our beloved chief will go with you. … All that our beloved chief shall do we will agree to. … We will count the time our beloved chief is away; and when he comes back, we shall be very glad to see him, with a treaty that shall be as strong as the hills, and last as long as the rivers.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The chiefs argued the proposal for an hour before reaching a decision. What McGillivray said to them is unknown, but it ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Alexander McGillivray set about making preparations for the journey to New York with obvious pleasure. He greatly admired George Washington, and the opportunity to meet and treat with him as an equal appealed to his sense of history and his own place in it. He mused in a letter to a friend that “a Treaty concluded on at N. York ratified with the signature of Washington and McGillivray would be the bond of Long Peace and revered by Americans to a very distant period.” Even so, he did not lose his skepticism of Washington’s motives. To another correspondent he confided that “all the eagerness with which Washington shows to treat with me on such liberal terms is not based … on principles of justice and humanity. Rather, I believe that his true end is that of restraining the malevolence of the northern and eastern states against the southern.” Letters to the Spanish officials at New Orleans assured them that he would watch out for their interests and give a full report upon his return. “Tho I do not pretend to the ability of a Machiavel in Politics,” he wrote Miro, “Yet I can find out from my Slender abilities pretty near the disposition of the American Politics so far as they respect the Spanish Nation. …”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Alexander McGillivray set about making preparations for the journey to New York with obvious pleasure. He greatly admir ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">McGillivray did not post these letters until he was certain that they could not be answered before his departure for New York. The belated news of the venture was not received graciously by the Spanish at New Orleans. “Terms of accomodation” arrived at in the Creek country were one thing. A treaty concluded so far away from Spanish intelligence was quite another. Moreover, an international crisis loomed between Spain and Great Britain over the Nootka Sound controversy. McGillivray was sure to learn of this, and the Spanish feared that he might transfer his loyalty to the Americans in the belief that an Anglo-Spanish war would cut off his source of supply and leave him helpless against the Georgians. Diego de Gardoqui, Spanish minister to the United States, was at home in Spain. Accordingly Carlos Howard, a Spanish secret agent, was dispatched from St. Augustine to New York to remind McGillivray of his commitments. For the moment that was all that could be done.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">McGillivray did not post these letters until he was certain that they could not be answered before his departure for Ne ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">On June 1, 1790, Willett and McGillivray, with the chief’s nephew, eight warriors, and two servants, departed from Little Tallassie for New York. At Stone Mountain they were joined by other chiefs, and Willett could not resist the temptation to climb the huge granite rock. By June 14 the procession had reached General Pickens’ plantation, where they waited for Chinabie, the great Natchez warrior, and Hopothle Mico, the Tallassie king. Finally, on June 18, the journey to New York resumed.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">On June 1, 1790, Willett and McGillivray, with the chief’s nephew, eight warriors, and two servants, departed from Litt ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The original plan had been to conduct McGillivray to New York by ship, but the Creek claimed a “mortal aversion” to water, so the trip was made overland. The journey had all the appearances of a tour of state for a visiting monarch. For most of the time McGillivray rode a horse at the head of the column, laughing and jesting with Willett and the military escort provided for the chiefs. But there were times when his ill health forced him to retire to Willett’s sulky. Twenty-six Creek chiefs bounced along in three wagons, and four others rode on horseback.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The original plan had been to conduct McGillivray to New York by ship, but the Creek claimed a “mortal aversion” to wat ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Curious crowds gathered in the hamlets and towns along the route. No incidents marred the journey, although many of the Carolina settlers had suffered from the forays of McGillivray’s warriors. Indeed, at Guilford Courthouse, North Carolina, a woman broke from the spectators and approached the chief. Recognizing her as a captive he had freed, McGillivray embraced her tearfully to the applause of the crowd. “The meeting was truly affecting,” recorded Willett. At Richmond, Virginia, the company dined with Governor Beverley Randolph and other dignitaries. At Fredericksburg the chiefs sat stoically through a theatre performance, and Willett and McGillivray were shown Washington’s birthplace. At Philadelphia more public dinners awaited, and the chiefs were forced to endure yet another play.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Curious crowds gathered in the hamlets and towns along the route. No incidents marred the journey, although many of the ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Despite McGillivray’s aversion the last lap of the trip was made by water. OnJuIy 21, 1790, the delegation disembarked at Murray’s Wharf to gun salutes, church bells, and cheering crowds. Not since Washington’s inauguration had New York enjoyed such a holiday. The newly organized Society of St. Tammany acted as the official welcoming committee, and the Indians, decked out in savage finery for the occasion, must have been startled by the “Indian” regalia of their hosts. Secretary of War Knox conducted the procession up Wall Street, past Federal Hall, where Congress was in session, to the home of President Washington, where they were subjected to a grand levee. Afterward a visit to the home of New York’s governor, George Clinton, was in order.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Despite McGillivray’s aversion the last lap of the trip was made by water. OnJuIy 21, 1790, the delegation disembarked  ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">In the evening the Indians were entertained at the City Tavern. McGillivray was made an honorary member of the St. Andrews Society, an organization of true Scotsmen, and- most amazing of all—the Creek chieftain ate at the same table with the somewhat uncomfortable senators and representatives of Georgia. A festive evening was assured by a series of seven toasts that left, according to the <span class="typestyle"> Gazette of the United States</span> , “an apparent satisfaction … on the brows of all present.” Further activities were planned, including a reception aboard a ship recently returned from Canton, China, and a religious service at Christ Church. The Creek delegation was appropriately lodged at the Indian Queen Hotel, while McGillivray was entertained at the home of Knox. </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">In the evening the Indians were entertained at the City Tavern. McGillivray was made an honorary member of the St. Andr ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Washington’s impressions of the chief have not survived, since his diaries for this period have been lost, but other sources suggest that McGillivray made a favorable impression upon his hosts. Abigail Adams, the wife of Vice President John Adams, found McGillivray to be “grave and solid, intelligent and much of a gentleman,” but in very bad health. She described him as dressed in white man’s fashion, not dark-skinned, and capable of discussing “politics, philosophy, art and literature—and in several languages.” Even the mordant Fisher Ames, the archconservative Massachusetts congressman, remarked, “He is decent and not very black.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Washington’s impressions of the chief have not survived, since his diaries for this period have been lost, but other so ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Observers were equally fascinated by McGillivray’s companions. “These are the very first savages I ever saw,” Mrs. Adams wrote excitedly to her sister. “They are very fond of visiting us. We entertain them kindly, and they behave with civility.” She found them to be “very fine looking men, placid countenance and fine shape. Mr. Trumble says they are many of them perfect models. …” “Mr. Trumble” was the noted artist John Trumbull, who was devoting his life and talent to commemorating the people and events of the American Revolution on canvas. He was in New York in connection with this work when McGillivray and his chiefs arrived. Trumbull had never painted Indian subjects, nor did he afterward, but he was fascinated by the Creek chiefs. Later he declared that they “possessed a dignity of manner, form, countenance and expression, worthy of Roman senators.” The artist was so impressed by the Indians that he desired to paint portraits of some of them, but he was prevented from doing so by President Washington’s curiosity.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Observers were equally fascinated by McGillivray’s companions. “These are the very first savages I ever saw,” Mrs. Adam ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">One of Trumbull’s projects was a life-size, full-length portrait of the President. It was finished while the Creeks were in New York, and Wash- ington was “curious to see the effect it would produce on their untutored minds.” One evening he entertained a group of them at dinner. The President was dressed in full military uniform, and after dinner he invited the Indians to take a walk that, by prearrangement, took them to the portrait room. Washington opened the door and stepped back to allow the chiefs to enter. Then they stopped short. There in the middle of the room stood another “Great Father” dressed exactly like the one who stood beside them. “They were for a time mute with astonishment,” Trumbull wrote years later. “At length one of the chiefs advanced toward the picture, and slowly stretched out his hand to touch it, and was still more astonished to feel, instead of a round object, a flat surface, cold to the touch. He started back with an exclamation of astonishment— ‘Ugh!’ Another then approached and placing one hand on the surface and the other behind, was still more astounded to perceive that his hands almost met.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">One of Trumbull’s projects was a life-size, full-length portrait of the President. It was finished while the Creeks wer ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Humorous as the incident must have been to Washington, it had one unfortunate result. The Creeks were so awed by the painting that Trumbull was unable to do portraits of them, because “they had received the impression that there must be magic in an art which could render a smooth, flat surface so like to a real man.” McGillivray was not mentioned by Trumbull, so it is impossible to know if he was present, although it would be incredible to suppose that with his background he would have been awed by a portrait, however lifelike. The artist did succeed in making pencil portraits of five of the Indians “by stealth,” providing the only pictorial record of the meeting. Unfortunately McGillivray was not one of them.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Humorous as the incident must have been to Washington, it had one unfortunate result. The Creeks were so awed by the pa ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">As early as July 1, 1790, Washington had received word of possible attempts by foreign powers to thwart the proceedings. Consequently McGillivray was carefully “protected” against the Spanish agent, Carlos Howard, and British representatives from Canada. It was impossible to prevent all contact with foreign diplomats, however, and McGillivray was convinced that their presence assisted him in obtaining favorable terms from the Americans.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">As early as July 1, 1790, Washington had received word of possible attempts by foreign powers to thwart the proceedings ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">By August 7 McGillivray and Knox had agreed upon the conditions of the treaty. The adroitness of the Creek was clearly reflected in the terms. The treaty recognized American protection —but not suzerainty—over the Creek country north of the Georgia-West Florida boundary <span class="typestyle"> when Spain and the United States established a permanent line</span> . The Oconee Strip was surrendered by the Creeks, except for a small section Georgia claimed under the Treaty of Galphinton and had established as Tallassee County. McGillivray had not demanded the Oconee lands, for he realized the impossibility of uprooting the Georgia settlers already implanted there. Even so an annuity of fifteen hundred dollars was granted to the Creek nation for this land. </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">By August 7 McGillivray and Knox had agreed upon the conditions of the treaty. The adroitness of the Creek was clearly  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Of greater significance were certain secret articles. Throughout the negotiations McGillivray stubbornly refused to betray the Spanish and resisted efforts on the part of Washington and Knox to undermine their trade monopoly with the Creeks. The best the Americans could do was to obtain a secret article to the treaty by which McGillivray agreed to a trading arrangement <span class="typestyle"> on his terms</span> if circumstances upset his present arrangement. He considered this a polite way of declining trade while leaving the door open in case the Creeks were forced to some other source of supply. By other secret articles McGillivray was commissioned a brigadier general at twelve hundred dollars a year, and several of the lesser chiefs were granted hundred-dollar annuities. </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Of greater significance were certain secret articles. Throughout the negotiations McGillivray stubbornly refused to bet ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The treaty was an impressive victory for McGillivray. It was negotiated practically cm his terms. He acquired formal recognition from the United States and assurances that American military forces would prevent further encroachments by Georgia, the Cumberland settlements, and the Yazoo companies. From every perspective his position in the Southwest was greatly strengthened.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The treaty was an impressive victory for McGillivray. It was negotiated practically cm his terms. He acquired formal re ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">On August 7, 1790, the treaty was laid before the Senate, which ratified it by a vote of fifteen to four. Four days later Washington voiced his conviction to the Senate that the treaty would provide “the main foundation of the future peace and prosperity of the Southwestern frontier of the United States.” On August 13 Washington, Knox, Willett, and numerous dignitaries gathered with the Creek delegation for the formal signing at Federal Hall. At noon President Washington read the treaty and addressed the Indians through an interpreter. Then he signed the treaty and, according to the Savannah <span class="typestyle"> Georgia Gazette</span> , “presented a string of beads as a token of perpetual peace, and a paper of tobacco to smoke in remembrance of it.” McGillivray replied for the Creeks. When he had finished, he and all the Creeks gave Washington “the shake of peace.” The ceremony was concluded with a “song of peace” by the Indians. Then McGillivray signed the treaty, twenty-three other chiefs made their x’s, and the Treaty of New York was fully ratified. That evening, according to Mrs. Adams, the Creeks “had a great bonfire, dancing around it like so many spirits, hopping, yelling, and expressing their pleasure in true savage style.” </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">On August 7, 1790, the treaty was laid before the Senate, which ratified it by a vote of fifteen to four. Four days lat ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Predictably, the state of Georgia reacted angrily to the news of the treaty. “I scarcely ever knew any matter so generally objected to, &amp; yet in which the people disagree so much in their objections,” Joseph Clay, a Savannah merchant, confided to a friend. The animosities of the past overflowed, and Georgia’s newspapers were flooded with invective against the treaty. “Is it not ludicrous to mention, that a power who would not think herself too much honored by the alliance of the greatest monarch on earth, should condescend to enter into a formal treaty with a <span class="typestyle"> halfbreed Spanish Golonel</span> ?” thundered a newspaper correspondent, with dubious reference to McGillivray, “and shall America conclude negotiations with tour and twenty Creek plunderers and hope for national respect?” </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Predictably, the state of Georgia reacted angrily to the news of the treaty. “I scarcely ever knew any matter so genera ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Even the secret provisions were soon published in the public press in an anonymous letter signed “Mentor.” Mentor’s identity cannot be established with certainty, but judging from his knowledge of the treaty negotiations and his familiarity with the Georgia situation, the chances are great that the author was a member of the Georgia congressional delegation, probably James Jackson. The disclosure of the secret articles caused letter writers to envision McGillivray in the blue and buff of an American general at the head of Creek armies, marching against Georgia with the sanction of the federal government. Mentor summarized Georgia’s arguments by saying that the “dignity of the state of Georgia, the friendship of her citizens, and the state rights have been sold to purchase a detestable Indian connexion.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Even the secret provisions were soon published in the public press in an anonymous letter signed “Mentor.” Mentor’s ide ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The most persistent theme in Georgia’s protest was states’ rights. “It is not the Gonstitution we complain of, but the stretch and attempt to violate it,” cried one author. “The late Indian treaty made at New-York, will … become now a <span class="typestyle"> test</span> , whether the United States have any separate territorial rights or privileges at all,” declared another. “The same power which can separate the Talassee county from Georgia can separate the state of Georgia, or any other state from the Union,” warned a writer for the Augusta <span class="typestyle"> Chronicle</span> . In December the Georgia legislature published a report that, while recognizing the binding character of the treaty, severely criticized every provision as a violation of states’ rights. </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The most persistent theme in Georgia’s protest was states’ rights. “It is not the Gonstitution we complain of, but the  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">In Congress, Georgia’s firebrand congressman, James jackson, bellowed his denunciation of the treaty: “It has ceded away, without any compensation whatever, three millions of acres of land guaranteed to Georgia by the Constitution. … It has given away her land, invited a savage of the Creek nation to the seat of Government, caressed him in a most extraordinary manner, and sent him home loaded with favors.” Said Fisher Ames to a friend: “Mr. Jackson of Georgia, yesterday let off” a balloon about the treaty with the Creeks.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">In Congress, Georgia’s firebrand congressman, James jackson, bellowed his denunciation of the treaty: “It has ceded awa ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">For the moment Ames was right. Jackson’s bellicose statements were mere hot air. Georgia stood alone. But the bitterness implanted in that southern state by the treaty had a lasting effect upon her attitudes toward the federal government and forecast ill for the future. Georgia’s protest was the first issue to raise the question of states’ rights after the adoption of the Constitution of 1787.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">For the moment Ames was right. Jackson’s bellicose statements were mere hot air. Georgia stood alone. But the bitternes ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Georgia’s bitterness was overwhelmed in a general feeling of pride over the accomplishments of the treaty. Only a few die-hard Antifederalists stood by her. The rest of the country optimistically expected, like Washington, that “this event will leave us in peace from one end of our borders to the other.” His administration had ably averted the resumption of the Georgia-Creek war. More importantly, the treaty neatly parried Spanish designs in the Southwest. It may well have influenced Spain’s growing tendency toward negotiations with the United States, which came to fruition in the Pinckney Treaty of 1794, recognizing the American claim to the Yazoo Strip, granting free navigation of the Mississippi River, and bringing a measure of stability to the Southwest.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Georgia’s bitterness was overwhelmed in a general feeling of pride over the accomplishments of the treaty. Only a few d ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">From the standpoint of the new government’s Indian policy the treaty was also significant. It firmly established federal supremacy in Indian affairs. It established the precedent of entertaining Indian delegations at the capital and outlined the manner in which future Indian treaties would be conducted.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">From the standpoint of the new government’s Indian policy the treaty was also significant. It firmly established federa ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Alexander McGillivray had entered into the treaty in the hope that it would solve his problems, and for a time it did. In the year that followed he was invincible among the Creeks, courted by the Spanish, and respected by the Americans. But as a basis for a lasting peace the agreement at New York fell far short of the expectations of both Washington and McGillivray. Renewal of the Georgia-Creek war was averted for a time, but the treaty was never carried out. The settlement required that a strip of land be cleared to mark the Georgia-Creek boundary. That in itself was a monumental task, but there is every indication that McGillivray intended to comply. Some preliminary plans were actually made. However, the Spanish were increasingly suspicious of him, and he was forced to devote much time to placating them.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Alexander McGillivray had entered into the treaty in the hope that it would solve his problems, and for a time it did.  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Going to New Orleans in the spring of 1792 in an effort to steady his wavering power, McGillivray concluded another treaty with the Spanish that <span class="typestyle"> recommended</span> the Creeks demand that the United States withdraw to the limits of 1773. Significantly, there was no commitment on McGillivray’s part to use force to achieve American withdrawal, and the evidence suggests that McGillivray had no intention of carrying out this aspect of the treaty. Still, the convention clearly conflicted with the Treaty of New York. The harried Creek desired a status quo situation. He gave up his American “salary” and failed to carry out the provisions of either treaty, pleading to the Americans that mutual depredations made it unsafe to run the line and to the Spanish that he lacked arms to force an American retreat. </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Going to New Orleans in the spring of 1792 in an effort to steady his wavering power, McGillivray concluded another tre ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Many have seen in McGillivray an unscrupulous and mercenary man. He could indeed be unscrupulous, even ruthless, in his dealings—lessons he learned well from the white officials with whom he dealt—but assertions that he callously “shifted his allegiance to the higher bidder,” as one historian put it, are unconvincing. His first loyalty was to the Creek nation, and his first duty was to further policies in line with Creek interests. Though he dickered, cajoled, and coaxed the Spanish and the Americans to the point of subterfuge, he scrupulously adhered to a foreign policy of enlightened self-interest. If he played the great powers against one another, he did so to preserve and improve the Creek nation.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Many have seen in McGillivray an unscrupulous and mercenary man. He could indeed be unscrupulous, even ruthless, in his ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">But Alexander McGillivray knew better than anyone that the stalemate could not last indefinitely. The suggestion is unmistakable that he did not know which power on his borders held the key to Creek happiness and order. He had dreams of an Indian confederacy including both southern and northern tribes to hold back the Americans from further encroachments, plans the Spanish were encouraging. Yet he still showed visitors a pair of golden epaulets given to him by Washington, whom he described as “my political and adopted father.” In his uncertainty he saw all the signs of ‘crumbling authority. His dilemma was made the more excruciating by his shattered health. Had it not been for that, he might yet have recovered his position.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">But Alexander McGillivray knew better than anyone that the stalemate could not last indefinitely. The suggestion is unm ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">In January, 1793, he decided to visit a friend at Pensacola. By the time he arrived, he was very ill. At eleven o’clock on the evening of February 17, 1793, Alexander McGillivray died, a despondent and afflicted man. He was buried in the sands of Pensacola, far from the Coosa and his beloved Hickory Ground.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">In January, 1793, he decided to visit a friend at Pensacola. By the time he arrived, he was very ill. At eleven o’clock ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The strange, brilliant enigma, the greatest diplomat produced by the native American tribes, was dead. In faraway England the London <span class="typestyle"> Gentleman’s, Magazine</span> noted his passing in space usually reserved for the obituaries of lords and dignitaries of state. President Washington learned of his death from a traveller in Baltimore, and when he returned to Mount Vernon, he wrote to Knox that “advice had been received and generally believed that our friend McGillivray was dead.” Two generations later that statement moved a Georgia historian to declare: “When we remember … how chary Washington was of praise, and how few and chosen were the men to whom he ever applied the sympathetic phrase of friend, this simple spontaneous testimonial … goes to the heart and arrests the mind by its high value and touching significance.” </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The strange, brilliant enigma, the greatest diplomat produced by the native American tribes, was dead. In faraway Engla ▶
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              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The Creeks recognized their loss but were unable to replace Alexander McGillivray. Plans for an Indian alliance among the southern tribes crumbled, Spain’s position was weakened even more, and Indian affairs regressed to a more primitive level. In time both the Creeks and the Spaniards would succumb to the westward expansion of the United States. Within two years the Spanish recognized the American claim to the Yazoo lands. The Creeks resisted until 1814, when their power was broken at Horseshoe Bend on the Tallapoosa River, not far from where Marinus Wille met McGillivray, and the last traces of the Indian past vanished into plowed furrow and pine woodland.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The Creeks recognized their loss but were unable to replace Alexander McGillivray. Plans for an Indian alliance among t ▶
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            "value" => "<p><span class="body"><span class="body">In the summer of 1861, when the newspaper generals in New York clamored for a clash of arms to put down the Confederate rebellion, the battle and the recriminations came sooner than expected. The people of Washington loaded up picnic baskets in buggies and carriages and drove across the bridges of the Potomac to watch the fun. Under the southern sunlight the sabers of the Union cavalry glistened, and the hope of a quick and punishing victory was in the smoking air. Suddenly, out of a dawn rain, came retreat from a little creek in Virginia called Bull Run: wagons swarming with mud-caked men in blue, hundreds killed, and thousands wounded and missing. Johnny Reb had proved more than a match for Billy Yank. Both sides had been bloodied, and there was no longer any prospect for compromise without casualties. The general commanding the fortunes of the United States was Winfield Scott, a veteran of the War of 1812, old and bloated and literally asleep at the telegraph that carried the bad news. The Army of the Potomac was, as Carl Sandburg would put it later, “a cub of an army.”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">In Washington, Secretary of State William Seward pondered the consequences. “Tell no one,” he said. “The battle is lost.” It was important to put up a good front in the eyes of the world, especially Europe, wavering between the two sides. But the word was out, and in the worst possible forum, the influential London Times, whose dispatches were picked up and reprinted as gospel—even in the American press. Its correspondent, William Howard Russell, who was not an eyewitness but saw the battle’s aftermath, exaggerated the significance for all to read in England, on the Continent, and in the Confederate States, as well as in the United States. “As I crossed the Long Bridge into Washington there was scarce a sound to dispute the possession of its echoes with my horses’ hoofs,” wrote the correspondent who thereafter would be referred to by the derogatory name “Bull Run” Russell and denied a military pass. “Little did I conceive the greatness of the defeat, the magnitude of the disaster which it had entailed upon the United States or the interval that would elapse before another army set out from the banks of the Potomac onward to Richmond.”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">President Lincoln, whose last rank held was that of a private in the Black Hawk Indian skirmishes of his youth, now found himself serving as Commander in Chief in more than Constitutional name. When he had been a congressman, he had jokingly deprecated his own military prowess in order to underscore his opposition to American involvement in the Mexican War. Now, with men returning from the front under reddened blankets, with war across the Potomac instead of the Rio Grande, there was no time for comedy and no time to lose. The only words of consolation Lincoln could muster for one of his retreating generals were “You are green, it is true, but they are green also.” There was a real war on, Washington itself could come within the artillery sights of the swift-moving, confident Confederates, and arms, privateers, and possible diplomatic recognition were threatened from across the Atlantic for the Cotton States. President Lincoln and his self-appointed prime minister, Secretary of State Seward, needed a bold and proven general to lead the Union army and save the United States.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">A few days after the defeat at Bull Run one of the strangest and most adventurous diplomatic missions in American history was put into motion. It involved risks that could affect relations with the Vatican, the kingly chancelleries of Europe, and emerging revolutionary governments abroad. And yet if it could be pulled off, the course of the war might turn in the Union’s favor, the emancipation of the southern slaves be hastened, the bloodshed and the bitterness of a long war between the states be minimized.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The mysterious mission sought nothing less than to obtain the services in Mr. Lincoln’s army of the greatest guerrilla fighter and symbol of national unification of the time on both shores of the Atlantic, the liberator of the enslaved and oppressed, the revolutionary warrior in the red shirt who regarded himself already as an honorary citizen of the United States and who, indeed, had once lived on Staten Island and captained a ship out of New York Harbor carrying an American passport—General Giuseppe Garibaldi.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">It was not simply speculation around the campfires—or a wild scheme proposed to the Commander in Chief who was considered so malleable on military matters—but a genuine offer of a command in the Union army, carrying with it the rank of major general. This equalled the two stars worn by General George McClellan, who, President Lincoln cracked, had “the slows” because he preened and drilled but did not lead the Army of the Potomac into combat. The offer was considered so delicate a matter that the dispatches between Washington and its concerned ministers in Europe were excluded from the twenty-volume <span class="typestyle"> Diplomatic Correspondence of the War</span> published by Congress long afterward. The almost casual manner in which the offer originated, the clash of interests in Italy, the dismissal of an official for renewing the offer a second time, the diplomatic posture of the United States in the negotiations for the services of a foreign general, were nothing to boast about officially. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The offer came at a moment in Garibaldi’s life when he lived in semi-exile—too little of a politician to scheme for personal advancement, too much of a national idol to be put behind bars on the Italian mainland. The hero of the movement for a unified Italy, he had led a spectacularly successful revolt against a reactionary regime in Sicily and in Naples—the so-called Two Sicilies—in 1860, but now he was in temporary retirement. On lonely Caprera, a wild, rocky island covered with juniper and myrtle and stunted olive trees, below La Maddalena off the northeastern corner of Sardinia, Garibaldi tended his vines and figs, built stone walls to fence in his goats, and looked out to the sea, dreaming. The conqueror of the kingdom of the Two Sicilies, in gray trousers and slouch hat, his red shirt and poncho flapping in the wind, refused all titles and honors for himself and sought only lenience for his followers. “How men are treated like oranges—squeezed dry and then cast aside!” he said. He had wanted to march on Rome, against the “myrmidons of Napoleon in,” supposedly there to protect the pope, and defeat the Bourbon troops. But Victor Emmanuel n, king of Sardinia and now of Sicily and Naples as well, decided that French help was needed to complete unification of Italy and called off Garibaldi’s advance. Going back to Caprera, Garibaldi leaned against the steamer rail and said to his legion of Red Shirts: “<span class="typestyle"> Addio</span> — <span class="typestyle"> a Roma!</span> ” </span></span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body"><span class="body">On Caprera the brevetted farmer had time to nurse his battle wounds, plan his next moves for unification, and think of his own days on Staten Island while studying the news of the war in America. As a man with a strong sense of personal history he was not one to forget that he had been born on July 4, Independence Day in the country that had welcomed him from wandering exile. Pursued by the armies of France, Austria, and Spain after the fall of the newly proclaimed Roman republic in 1849, Garibaldi had escaped to Genoa and, successively, was denied a home in Tunis, Gibraltar, and Tangier. Finally he boarded an American vessel at Liverpool and sailed for New York. At quarantine in Tompkinsville on July 3o, 1850, the Italian flag was raised in greeting. In the New York <span class="typestyle"> Tribune</span> Horace Greeley wrote: “Garibaldi [is] known the world over as the hero of Montevideo and the defender of the Roman Republic. He will be received by all who know him in a befitting manner as a man of character, and for his service in behalf of liberty.” </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Declining the festivities, Garibaldi moved into the home of Antonio Meucci, a Tuscan-born scientist living in a pleasant two-story frame house in Clifton on Staten Island. Meucci tinkered with an early version of the telephone, which he later claimed to have perfected before Alexander Graham Bell, but his main activity was manufacturing candles in the house and back yard. Garibaldi hunted, fished, and made candles for a living here. He joined the social life of the neighborhood, took the first three degrees of Freemasonry in a local lodge, and declared his intention to become an American citizen.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">While in New York, Garibaldi was spied upon by both the Sardinian and the Austrian governments. Messages crossed the ocean about his activities and supporters, inventing stories about his radical ideas. German and French socialists in New York, said one dispatch from the Sardinian minister in Washington to Turin, had to be dressed in red to be admitted to celebrations for Garibaldi. The Austrian minister passed on the word to the grand duke of Tuscany that Garibaldi was part of a plot to raise armed bands in the United States to invade Italy and support revolutionary movements. The Tuscan consulates in New York and London were told to keep an eye on Garibaldi and Giuseppe Mazzini, the exiled philosophical leader of Italian unification, and report their activities.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">There was little enough to report about the beached hero in the red shirt. After a year he became restless for travel—he had started out as a sea captain from his native Nice and from Genoa—and a more active life. “I could speak a few words of English and went down to the docks where I had noticed trading ships along the wharves,” he wrote to a friend. “I went up to the first man I saw and asked to be engaged.” But he was turned down and went home to the Meucci house: “It is very fortunate for me that Meucci had the idea of manufacturing candles. We make very fine candles! I spend my time in threading wicks and kneading tallow!” When an old associate put into New York with a trading ship, Garibaldi was taken on “more as a travelling companion than as a business associate.” For the next three years he moved all over the world, once commanding a Peruvian vessel bound for Canton. He returned to New York for a brief final visit in 1853 and a year later steered a course for Europe again. Soon he was planning and fighting for Italian unification, and his exploits were widely reported in the American press.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">It was against this background that the proposal was planted that Garibaldi might be persuaded to command President Lincoln’s army.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">In the middle of the last century the New York papers and Boston magazines launched ideas and set styles that had enormous influence. A long article had appeared in <span class="typestyle"> The North American Review</span> for January, 1861, titled “Giuseppe Garibaldi.” It was written by Henry T. Tuckerman, author of Italian travel books, who had met the hero. The unsigned article in the Boston publication called Garibaldi “one of Nature’s noblemen” and quoted him in grand language: “I never despaired of Italy; he who despairs is a coward.” </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">When the article reached faraway Caprera, Garibaldi asked one of his closest friends, Colonel Augusto Vecchi, to write a letter of thanks on his behalf for the glowing tribute. Vecchi did so and enclosed a personal letter suggesting that Garibaldi ought to be invited to lend his generalship in behalf of the Union. Having thus exported the idea to America, Vecchi introduced it locally. One evening, sitting around the dinner table with Garibaldi and a few other exiled veterans of the Thousand who had conquered Sicily the year before, he made an open proposal. All eyes turned to Garibaldi, in hope and fear. He responded by thanking Vecchi for making the suggestion and revealed that he had been thinking of such a role for himself—and more besides. “North Americans are a proud people and would receive with bad grace foreign aid that was uninvited,” Garibaldi said. “But our undertaking would be a noble one and greater than you suppose. The battle will be brief, the enemy has been weakened by his vices, and disarmed by his conscience. From America we shall go on to the Antilles.” He envisioned campaigns to free men in bondage all over the Americas.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Rumors began to be reported on both sides of the Atlantic that Garibaldi contemplated going to the United States, this time in glory. Suddenly an informal offer was made by a self-seeking American consul in Antwerp named James W. Quiggle. Mr. Quiggle was a Pennsylvania lawyer and politician. He had been appointed by President Buchanan and now, like other Democratic Party officials, was being recalled and slowly winding up his affairs. Yet he was trying to hang on by engineering letters in his favor and touring European capitals to gain support. While in Italy, Quiggle and his wife, Cordelia, were introduced to General Garibaldi, and this became their ticket to temporary fame.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">On June 8, 1861, Quiggle made the first pass in a letter from Antwerp to Caprera. “General Garibaldi,” he wrote:</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body"><quote> <block> <line> The papers report that you are going to the United States, to join the army of the North in the conflict of my country. If you do, the name of LaFayette will not surpass yours. There are thousands of Italians and Hungarians who will rush to your ranks, and there are thousands and tens of thousands of American citizens who will glory to be under the command of the “Washington of Italy.” I would thank you to let me know if this is really your intention. If it be I will resign my position here as Consul and join you. …</line> </block> </quote> </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Quiggle had nothing to lose by offering to resign, since he was already on the way out. But the general took him seriously enough to make a tentative reply and also to get to the heart of the matter so far as he was concerned: slavery.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">“My dear friend,” Garibaldi wrote on June 27, 1861, “the news given in the journals that I am going to the United States is not exact. I have had, and still have, a great desire to go, but many causes prevent me. If, however, in writing to your Government, [you find that] they believe my service to be of some use, I would go to America, if I did not find myself occupied in the defense of my country.” And in a somewhat awkward but pointed sentence Garibaldi asked: “Tell me, also, whether this agitation is the emancipation of the negroes or not?”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Garibaldi concluded his letter by saying that he would be happy to be Quiggle’s companion in a war in which he would take part “by duty as well as sympathy.”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The matter of freedom for slaves was one that had occupied Garibaldi’s mind and sword arm for many years. When a young man he had fought as a revolutionary leader in South America; he had lived with and married a woman of mixed Indian and Portuguese blood and as a widower worshipped her memory. Released Negro slaves had served under his command in Brazil and Uruguay. On the subject of slavery he was as fiery as John Brown, whose actions he had admired, and his long-held attitude transcended race: “Every man is like myself. I am like every other man.”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Quiggle’s reply to Garibaldi, written without consulting his superiors in Washington, was ambiguous. “You propound the question whether the present war in the United States is to emancipate the negroes from slavery?” Quiggle wrote from Antwerp on July 4, 1861:</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body"><quote> <block> <line> I say this is not the intention of the Federal Government. But it is to maintain its power and dignity—put down rebellion and insurrection, and restore to the Government her ancient prowess at home and throughout the world. You have lived in the United States; and you must readily have observed what a dreadful calamity it would be to throw at once upon that country in looseness, four millions of slaves. But if this war be prosecuted with the bitterness with which it has been commenced, I would not be surprised if it result in the extinction of slavery in the United States, no matter what may be the circumstances.</line> </block> </quote> </span></span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Quiggle forwarded copies of his correspondence with Garibaldi to Secretary of State Seward. But he did not stop at this point, even though he and his wife were packing to leave Antwerp. In another letter to Garibaldi he muddied the negotiations by saying that the Italian general would be receiving a formal invitation to go to the United States “with the highest Army Commission which it is in the power of the President to confer.” The implication of the top command was underscored with the false statement that President Lincoln had thanked Quiggle for initiating the offer.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">At this point Secretary Seward undoubtedly discussed the Quiggle correspondence with President Lincoln. They were aware that the departing Quiggle had overreached his authority as a consul, yet were tantalized by the possibility of obtaining the services of the famed Italian <span class="typestyle"> camicia rossa</span> , the red-shirted general, especially after the scare at Bull Run. Now Quiggle had to be pushed out of the picture and the offer tendered and negotiated by more professional diplomats. Through channels—Quiggle’s next above, the minister to Belgium, Henry Shelton Sanford—the consul in Antwerp was summoned to Brussels. Sanford politely thanked Quiggle on behalf of Seward and, at the same time, warned him to keep his mouth closed thereafter. As Sanford reported back to Seward, he informed Quiggle that he should behave “with strict injunctions of reserve.” The actual offer was entrusted to two experienced diplomats—George Perkins Marsh, first American minister to the new kingdom of Italy, and Sanford himself. Both were highly intelligent. Marsh, one of the great scholars in American diplomatic history, was a linguist who could handle Icelandic as easily as Italian. Between posts he lectured on philology and etymology at Columbia University and the Lowell Institute, and his book, <span class="typestyle"> The Earth as Modified by Human Action</span> , is still regarded as a fountainhead of the conservation movement. While a Whig congressman from Vermont he shared a common bond with Congressman Lincoln of Illinois: both had opposed the Mexican War. He had been around the Mediterranean for many years, serving in Turkey and Greece before being appointed by President Lincoln to the capital in Turin. </span></span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body"><span class="body">As for Sanford, he had started out as an attaché at St. Petersburg, moved up in Frankfurt, and served as chargé d’affaires in Paris until deciding to resign because a new American minister wanted him to dress more formally on the job. As the minister in Brussels he proved valuable in keeping an eye on Confederate agents and purchasing military supplies for the Union. Marsh and Sanford were men whom the Secretary of State could expect to carry out a delicate mission.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Now came the specific authorization from Washington. On July 27, 1861, Secretary of State Seward sent written instructions to Minister Sanford, enclosing a copy of the correspondence between Garibaldi and Quiggle. At the same time Seward forwarded his instructions to Minister Marsh in Turin so that they could coordinate their efforts to obtain Garibaldi’s services. The key passages in Seward’s instructions went:</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body"><quote> <block> <line> I wish you to proceed at once and enter into communication with the distinguished Soldier of Freedom. Say to him that this government believes his services in its present contest for the unity and liberty of the American People, would be exceedingly useful, and that, therefore, they are earnestly desired and invited. Tell him that this government believes he will, if possible, accept this call, because it is too certain that the fall of the American Union, if indeed it were possible, would be a disastrous blow to the cause of Human Freedom equally here, in Europe, and throughout the world.</line> </block> <block> <line> Tell him that he will receive a Major-General’s commission in the army of the United States, with its appointments, with the hearty welcome of the American People.</line> </block> <block> <line> Tell him that we have abundant resources, and numbers unlimited at our command, and a nation resolved to remain united and free.</line> </block> </quote> </span></span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body"><span class="body">President Lincoln’s name was not mentioned in the instructions, even though (later evidence proved) he had been consulted by Secretary Seward; only the President could confer the rank of major general. Nor would the wise Lincoln, weighing the nuances in the tangled field of foreign relations, communicate in writing with Garibaldi. The closest Lincoln came to personal involvement in the offer was indicated in a confidential communication from Secretary Seward to Sanford:</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body"><quote> <block> <line> It has been a source of sincere satisfaction to the President that circumstances have rendered him able to extend to him [Garibaldi] if desired an invitation which would enable him to add the glory of aiding in the preservation of the American Union to the many honors which the General of Italy has already won in the cause of human freedom.</line> </block> </quote> </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">And Seward informed Sanford that one thousand pounds sterling was put aside for the payment of General Garibaldi’s “expenses” for himself and his suite, adding that Sanford could enlarge his line of credit with banking houses in England and on the Continent, if necessary, to get Garibaldi.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Before leaving for a strategy session with Minister Marsh in Turin, Minister Sanford unwisely clued in Consul Quiggle, who again saw himself at the center of events. He wrote to Garibaldi, giving him the impression that he would run the Union show. Diplomatic silence was not one of Quiggle’s strong instincts. The press already smelled that an offer was in the wind; its main sources of information were Garibaldi’s aides, whose knowledge stemmed from Quiggle’s flamboyance as a letter writer. Sanford, who later called Quiggle “a low besotted Pennsylvania politician with an eye to money-making and political capital,” managed to sideline Quiggle in the negotiations.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">On August ao, 1861, Marsh conferred with Sanford in Turin, and they decided to proceed cautiously at first, talking to Garibaldi on a level below ministerial rank. If Garibaldi turned down an intermediary, the incident could be viewed merely as a sounding out instead of a rebuff to the prestige of the Lincoln administration. The cat’s-paw was Giuseppe Artomi, an Italian-American who was Marsh’s secretary of legation. He was briefed and given a letter from Sanford addressed to the general on Caprera. The letter was written not in the name of Lincoln or Seward—that would be going out on a limb too soon—but of the government of the United States. It took note of the Quiggle correspondence, threw out a few high-sounding phrases about preserving the “Unity and Liberty of the American people,” and avoided mention of slavery and emancipation. Sanford said that he would stand by in Genoa and await a response; he added that he was ready for a personal talk. Meantime Artomi was so beguiled by Garibaldi that he assured the general President Lincoln was ready to make him commander in chief.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Garibaldi responded with a squeeze play, its main aim being the conquest and unification of Italy. With an American letter in hand he could move from strength.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">“I should be very happy to be able to serve a country for which I have so much affection and of which I am an adoptive citizen,” Garibaldi replied to Sanford, who had holed up at a “bathing place” in Genoa. He added that “if I do not reply affirmatively and immediately to the honorable proposition which your government through your agency has made to me, it is because I do not feel myself entirely free, because of my duties toward Italy.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">“Nevertheless if His Majesty, Victor Emmanuel, believes he has no need of my services, then, provided that the conditions upon which the American government intends to accept me are those which your messenger has verbally indicated to me, you will have me immediately at your disposal.” And he wrote that he was delegating Colonel Caspare Trecchi, a devoted follower who had been with him in Sicily and also served as an aide-de-camp to the king, to get a reply quickly.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The answer came through on September 6, 1861, politely but clearly: Garibaldi was free to go to the United States. The king told Trecchi that his government was not about to embark on a military expedition, commanded by Garibaldi or anyone else, against the papal territories. The pressure had not worked. These facts were conveyed by Trecchi to Sanford; it now seemed that the Union command could become a face-saving device for Garibaldi. After consulting with Minister Marsh and bringing him up to date Minister Sanford decided to move swiftly and confront the general himself.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">On September 7, 1861, Sanford went down to the Genoa waterfront and—using an assumed name to preserve the secrecy of his mission—chartered a small steamer named the <span class="typestyle"> Dante</span> to carry him to La Maddalena and thence to Caprera. Taking the regular steamer across the churning Ligurian Sea to the Sardinian off-island would have meant a ten-day delay, and there was no time to lose. The Dante hauled anchor from Genoa and, on the evening of September 8, 1861, appeared on the horizon and hove into view of the general’s telescope above the harsh bluffs of Caprera. After walking across the rock-strewn pathways through fields of geraniums and over fenced goat pastures, the American minister sat down with the Italian general to discuss details of the offer from the embattled United States. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">In a letter marked “confidential” Sanford reported to Secretary of State Seward what had happened; it is not unreasonable to assume that the letter was shown to or at least its contents summarized for President Lincoln when it arrived at the State Department early in October of 1861. After mentioning Garibaldi’s convalescence following several months of rheumatism, Sanford got to the heart of the matter—that is, the hero’s conditions for serving:</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body"><quote> <block> <line> He said that the only way in which he could render real service, as he ardently desired to do, to the cause of the United States, was as Commander in Chief of its forces; that he would only go as such and with the additional contingent power—to be governed by events—of declaring the abolition of slavery. He would be of little use, he said, without the first and, without the second, the war would appear to be like any civil war in which the world at large could have little interest or sympathy.</line> </block> <block> <line> I observed to him that the President had no such powers to confer; that I had been authorized to communicate with him on the subject of his letter to our consul at Antwerp confidentially, and if found acceptable to offer him a commission of Major General, which I doubted not would carry with it the command of a large <span class="typestyle"> corps d’armée</span> to conduct in his own way within certain limits in the prosecution of the war. </line> </block> </quote> </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Sanford explained that he was only empowered to offer the two-star generalship as set forth by Secretary Seward, and he could not go beyond it. He reported that Garibaldi was “flattered by the evidence of appreciation and grateful for the friendly sentiments manifested by the President and yourself” but refused to take service except as commander in chief. Sanford then said that he had made the suggestion of a visit to the United States to see conditions for himself and the character of the struggle, offering to underwrite such a trip for the general and his aides. But to this Garibaldi responded by saying that he would not dare to make such a visit because, as “an adopted citizen” of the United States, once on American soil “he could not be able to resist the temptation to throw himself in the foremost ranks, even as a private soldier.”</span></span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body"><span class="body">At his legation in Turin, Marsh consoled Sanfbrd and said that he had carried out his assignment with prudence and skill, even though Garibaldi’s services had not been obtained. To Secretary Seward he wrote that Sanford could not offer terms beyond his authorization and anyway the American government would not be inclined to give Garibaldi total command of all armed forces. And he added an abolitionist point—which may also have been shown to President Lincoln—about Garibaldi’s stand:</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body"><quote> <block> <line> He thinks the parties are contending about purely material interests, and holds that neither of them has superior claims upon the sympathies of the European friends of liberty and of progress. … I do not believe he will take any part in the struggle unless he is convinced that the government and the people of the North are united in the determination to pursue a policy which shall necessarily result in the abolition of slavery.</line> </block> </quote> </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The ubiquitous Quiggle, hearing of the failure of the Sanford mission, now tried to fix blame and protect his original idea. “I did not accompany Mr. Sanford on his mission to Caprera,” he wrote to Secretary Seward, implying that he should have. “I am sure that if secrecy had been maintained, as it should have been, Garibaldi would now be on his way to the United States.” Secrecy was difficult if not impossible when even Mrs. Quiggle was writing polite billets-doux to Garibaldi, and aides to all the concerned parties were lending advice and looking out for their own interests.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Garibaldi’s talkative comrades on Gaprera shared their knowledge of the offer with the press in Italy and France, and soon the London and New York newspapers reported the rumors with fair accuracy. The general’s followers felt that news of the American offer would push the Turin government into military action toward battles of unification—led by Garibaldi.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">With the story largely out in the open, commentators reacted freely both in Europe and in America. In Italy scores of petitions were published in newspapers urging Garibaldi not to leave. If Garibaldi and his staff went to America, wondered <span class="typestyle"> L’Armonia</span> of Turin, “what would become of Italy?” <span class="typestyle"> L’Unita Italiana</span> of Milan addressed an open letter to Garibaldi: </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body"><quote> <block> <line> General, do not go to America. The people here have faith in you, and you must have faith in them. The unity of Italy is far from being accomplished. You have laid its most solid foundation. You alone can complete the work. General, do not doubt of your mission, and be convinced that the Italian people will not show themselves unworthy of you. We are waiting for you, General, to lead us to Rome.</line> </block> </quote> </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">In England, with its Confederate sympathizers, the American minister, Charles Francis Adams, was troubled by the strange and unprofessional manner of the negotiations. In his diary he noted that “the King [Victor Emmanuel] is too wary to be drawn into the trap” and “Garibaldi is mortified at the failure of his scheme.” The plan faltered, in Adams’ private opinion, because Garibaldi could not think of going to America “without having the power of a Dictator.” As for his superior in Washington, he wrote in his diary that Secretary Seward betrayed two flaws of personality in conducting the negotiations: “One, a want of systematic and dignified operation in the opinion of the world—the other, an admixture of that earthly taint which comes from early training in the school of New York politics.” The more proper Bostonian considered the impossible conditions erected by Garibaldi “a lucky escape” for the Lincoln administration.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">In the British press there was sarcasm and disdain. Cartoons in <span class="typestyle"> Punch</span> by John Tenniel (who calmed down later when illustrating <span class="typestyle"> Alice in Wonderland</span> ) ridiculed the President as a juggler and pool player with his military forces. The <span class="typestyle"> Times</span> of London declared: </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body"><quote> <block> <line> The Americans—certainly the Northern States—have yet to learn the art of war. As if despairing of native genius or enterprise, President Lincoln has actually sent to ask Garibaldi to accept the post of Commander-in-Chief, throwing into the bargain the emancipation of the slaves.</line> </block> </quote> </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">President Lincoln and Secretary Seward—not to mention the stalled American generals along the Potomac—read these British comments because they were widely reprinted in the United States. Meanwhile the New York papers had their say: the <span class="typestyle"> World</span> was enthusiastic at the thought that Garibaldi might come to help the Union cause; the <span class="typestyle"> Herald</span> took the opposite stance, while the <span class="typestyle"> New York Times</span> , assuming a posture occasionally taken since on other issues, played it down the middle: “… we trust the war will not continue long enough to render his coming necessary.” </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">But the war and the search for a fighting general went on; a year after Bull Run there still were no bulletins of victory issued by the United States. Princes and adventurers sought entry into the Union ranks. Secretary Seward, responding to Marsh in Italy, encouraged foreign “friends of freedom” to cross the Atlantic and join compatriots in Blue. A regiment of Americans of Italian descent, recruited in New York, called itself the “Garibaldi Guard” and included “all the organ grinders of the city,” according to a laudatory editorial in the New York <span class="typestyle"> Herald</span> . They went marching off with haversacks stuffed with cheese, wine, and Bologna sausages, paraded on the double-quick in front of the White House, and crossed the Long Bridge to do battle in Virginia. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Now came a second pass at General Garibaldi, again from a faraway consulate and again without permission from President Lincoln and Secretary Seward.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">This time it originated not with a politician trying to hang on to his post in Antwerp but with an old friend of Lincoln’s from Illinois. Theodore Canisius, the American consul in Vienna, was in fact more than a friend: he had been the Springfield lawyer’s secret partner in the ownership of a newspaper. Canisius had been the editor of a German-language newspaper in Alton which was operating at a loss. He moved it to Springfield, where it became the <span class="typestyle"> Illinois Staats-Anzeiger</span> . A contract between Lincoln and Canisius called for the paper to print articles in German and English that followed the Republican party line; otherwise Lincoln could at his own option take possession of the press and type. Canisius carried out the bargain, helped to obtain German votes in Illinois, and received full ownership after Lincoln was elected President. He was rewarded with the job of consul in Vienna, Lincoln telling Seward that “the place is but $1,000, and not much sought.” </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">On September 1, 1862, Consul Canisius wrote to General Garibaldi:</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body"><quote> <block> <line> … I am taking the liberty of addressing to you the present in order to ascertain whether it might not enter into your plans to offer us your valorous arm in the struggle which we are carrying on for the liberty and unity of our great republic. … The honor and enthusiasm with which you would be received in our country, where you have passed a portion of your life, would be immense, and your mission, which would be that of inducing our brave soldiers to fight for the same principle to which you have nobly consecrated all your existence, would accord fully with your views.</line> </block> </quote> </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">When Garibaldi received this letter, he was carrying a bullet in his foot, the result of an abortive new attempt to march on Rome. He had been stopped by the king’s men after a skirmish, and arrested. From a fort at Varignano he replied to Canisius two weeks later with a half-encouraging letter:</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body"><quote> <block> <line> I am a prisoner and severely wounded; in consequence it is impossible for me to dispose of myself. However, I believe that, if I am set at liberty and if my wounds heal, the favorable opportunity will have arrived in which I shall be able to satisfy my desire to serve the great American Republic, of which I am a citizen, and which today combats for universal liberty.</line> </block> </quote> </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Just at this time Minister Marsh in Turin saw a chance to accomplish the same end by playing a double game. Through an intermediary, Baron Carlo Poerio, a Neapolitan patriot also in and out of prison and exile, he proposed that Garibaldi be freed and sent with his followers to fight for the Union. This would remove the embarrassment, he argued, of keeping the heroic Red Shirt a prisoner of the king and, incidentally, help the United States “without prejudice to the interests of Italy.” He underscored that he was not making an official offer and told the baron to please keep his letter out of the press.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Garibaldi got the message and again expressed a willingness to fight for America. Nevertheless he was tenacious about one condition: freeing the slaves. By now he was no longer asking for supreme command of the Union army. In another letter from Varignano, on October 5, 1862, Garibaldi wrote to Marsh:”… it would be necessary to proclaim … the principle which animates us—the enfranchisement of the slaves, the triumph of universal reason.”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Suddenly Seward found himself having to deal with two more informal offers to Garibaldi. Marsh had managed to keep his secret; Canisius had rather proudly leaked his to the press. But instead of getting a pat on the back from President Lincoln by the next steamer’s mail, Canisius got his walking papers because he had embarrassed the American government.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">“I am directed by the President to inform you that your proceeding in writing that letter is disapproved,” Secretary Seward wrote to Canisius. He explained that he had exceeded his authority by performing a diplomatic act reserved for ministers receiving special instructions from the State Department. He reprimanded Canisius for praising General Garibaldi’s recent military maneuver as a great patriotic work when it had been prohibited by the king’s government. “The policy of the United States in regard to Italy is absolute abstinence from all intervention in its domestic affairs,” Seward wrote, and the same applied to other European nations. “Upon these grounds your commission as Consul at Vienna is withdrawn.”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The message was clearly intended to calm Victor Emmanuel in Turin. Its authority over the wounded Garibaldi having been recognized, the Italian government responded magnanimously. The secretary general of the Italian cabinet noted that Canisius had “acted only impulsively” and that “it would please us” to have the United States overlook the indiscretion and reinstate Canisius in his post. This pleased Secretary Seward, who replied that President Lincoln acknowledged the generous attitude of His Majesty’s government and “acceded to its request by restoring Mr. Canisius to his consulate.” So ended the abortive Canisius bid for Garibaldi.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">In the correspondence between Seward and Canisius, however, there was one most revealing piece of information—that President Lincoln was fully aware of all the dealings to enlist Garibaldi in the Union cause. Seward’s dismissal letter to Canisius of October 10, 1862, declares flatly what Lincoln never put in writing himself about the original offer of a Union army command: “That invitation was given by the President’s direct authority.”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">At the time of the second offer President Lincoln had issued his preliminary Emancipation Proclamation. Presumably that satisfied Garibaldi’s condition that freedom for the slaves had to be the banner under which he would fight. But the war had moved past the point where the presence of an inspirational hero from abroad looked like a realistic approach to victory. The final communication on the matter, from Secretary Seward to Minister Marsh, on December 26, 1862, was a brushoff:</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body"><quote> <block> <line> The Secretary of War still retains under consideration the offer of General Garibaldi. It involves some considerations upon which the convenience of that Department must necessarily be consulted. It is a source of high satisfaction to know that the General has been so far relieved of his painful wound as to justify a hope of his rapid convalescence.</line> </block> </quote> </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">There were now considerations far removed from the guerrilla war and fixed battles on the two fronts in the South and West. “Of all the insurgent menaces which lowered upon us so thickly,” Secretary Seward wrote in his diary, “there is only one that now gives us anxiety, and that is the invasion by ironclad vessels, which are being built for the insurgents by their sympathizers in England.” There were enemies to watch abroad and a growing diplomatic sophistication at home.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Isolated on wind-wrenched Caprera, yet firm to his own vision of freedom, General Garibaldi kept up a drumfire of encouragement to the embattled United States even after the time had passed for his personal participation in the Civil War. When President Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation on January 1, 1863, Garibaldi called him the “pilot of liberty” and wrote a letter of appreciation to him: “Heir of the thought of Christ and of [John] Brown, you will pass down to posterity under the name of the Emancipator, more enviable than any crown and any human treasure.” No reply by the President has ever come to light.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The offer did not altogether lack significance; Garibaldi had made the point that emancipation was at the moral core of the Civil War at a time when Lincoln pondered the consequences for the Union. Both men saw freedom proclaimed. And while the Emancipator still lived the would-be Union army major general in the red shirt named one of his grandsons Lincoln.</span></span></p> ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">In the summer of 1861, when the newspaper generals in New York clamored for a clash of arms to put down the Confederate ▶"
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When the new President arrived at eleven, they gathered around him, all trying to shake his hand, until he finally led them off into the supper room, where they feasted on oysters, chicken, and champagne.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The reporter for the New York <span class="typestyle"> Herald</span> observed that the melancholy knowledge of almost certain war ahead never was forgotten at the ball. If one looked closely, he said, underneath the gay music and festive chatter were sadness and apprehension, doubt and suspicion. But <span class="typestyle"> Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper</span> disagreed sharply. It declared the ball “an affair of brilliance, fashion, and hilarity that made it hard to imagine that the country was on the downward plunge into war.” </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body"><span class="typestyle">Leslie’s</span> no doubt saw it that way because Frank Leslie was falling in love. She was married and he was married, but no matter; Miriam Squier was one of the most gorgeous women he had ever seen. In her décolleté gown of white and cherry-red satin she was, to Leslie’s eyes, totally enchanting. She wore opals and diamonds to set off her fair complexion and golden curls. She was fluent in several foreign languages—and in absolute command of the decade’s stylized charm. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">As he watched her Leslie might have guessed that she would be the fashion arbiter for her generation, but not even his fertile imagination could have encompassed the whole range of her career. With steely determination and an eye sharp to detect the main chance, she would cross continents and oceans. With remarkable affinity for the outlandish as well as with genuine talent for significant accomplishment, she would leave behind audiences as frequently outraged as admiring. She would be part of the century’s most notorious <span class="typestyle"> ménage à trois</span> , and she would take lovers who seemed the product of some overwrought novelist’s pen. But she would also rescue Frank Leslie’s publishing empire from ruin one day and then go on to run it with a genius even he couldn’t match. At the end of her life she would align herself with Susan B. Anthony and Carrie Chapman Catt. Decades later the belle of the Lincoln inaugural would finance the final drive for female suffrage. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">But far from being able to comprehend her future that night in 1861, Leslie couldn’t even have begun to guess at her past. She had been born Miriam Florence Follin in the Vieux Carré district of New Orleans in 1836. It was not the most auspicious of beginnings, since her parents seem not to have been married and the family’s income was as erratic as her handsome, cultured .father. He wandered about the country failing in one business after another and writing his daughter that she should study her French and German, her Latin and Spanish, that she should cultivate her feminine charms.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">By the time she was seventeen, Miriam was charming enough, but not entirely prudent. In New York, where the Follins had moved, she fell in with a young jeweler’s clerk, who sometimes let her wear diamonds from the store where he worked. So entangled did the two become that Miriam’s mother, Susan Follin, had the clerk arrested on charges of seduction. She demanded that he marry her daughter, and so, after being threatened with jail, he did. But no children were born to them, they separated, and a few years later the marriage was annulled.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Miriam’s chance to move from these minor dramas to a larger stage first came by way of her half brother Noel. While she was learning about love and diamonds he was seeking his fortune in the California goldfields. He found no gold, but he did run across the glittering, captivating Lola Montez.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">By the time Noel met her, the blueeyed Lola’s love affairs were notorious around the world. Liszt and Dumas had fallen under her spell, as had the king of Bavaria—much to his regret, since Lola ended up costing him his throne. She was a strong and volatile personality, given to attacking those who angered her with a bullwhip. The infatuated Follin was no match for her, and some months after they met, he committed suicide. Lola was stricken with guilt. She went to New York and threw herself at Susan Follin’s feet, screaming “I have killed your son! I have killed your son!” By way of making it up to the Follins she offered to take the twenty-one-year-old Miriam on the stage with her.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">So Miriam and Lola went on tour as the “Montez sisters,” drawing large crowds in Providence, Pittsburgh, and Albany. Their acting skill wasn’t what drew the crowds so much as Lola’s notoriety and, after a while, Miriam’s beauty. One of her admirers was a former Tennessee congressman, a wealthy gentleman who was wedded but who bought Miriam a home in New York nonetheless.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">An even more important conquest was Ephraim G. Squier, a muchcredentialed archaeologist who also happened to be president of a railroad. Miriam met him in New York’s Castle Garden Concert Room, and the thirtyseven-year-old Squier was immediately enchanted. He knew little about her background, but when he looked into her large blue eyes and listened to her pleasing conversation, that mattered not at all to him, and the two were married in October, 1857. As the wife of a wealthy and respected man Miriam moved into a tastefully furnished home. She began to travel, she set her hand to French translation, she attended the country’s most exclusive and fashionable events. And that was how she had come to the Lincoln inaugural.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Frank Leslie, the bearded, enterprising man who watched her on that night in 1861, had followed an almost equally circuitous route. He had been born in England as Henry darter, and he had shown an early talent for wood engraving. His father and uncle had little tolerance for such seeming frivolity, however, and they pressured him to join the family’s glove-making business. Young Henry kept on submitting his work to various publications, but to avoid difficulties with his family he did so under the name Frank Leslie.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Finally he decided to take his future in his own hands, and he got a job with the <span class="typestyle"> Illustrated London News</span> , a journal that capitalized on the great thirst nineteenth-century audiences had to see the day’s events pictured. When Leslie saw the success of the <span class="typestyle"> Illustrated London News</span> , he decided to take its idea to America. In 1848 he moved with his wife and children to New York. </span></span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body"><span class="body">At first he made his way working for others. He persuaded P. T. Barnum to let him illustrate the elaborate programs for Jenny Lind’s midcentury concert tour, and he spent some time on a Barnum-backed newspaper. Then, when he had accumulated a small capital, he went into business for himself, founding in 1854 a monthly fashion magazine for women. Its immediate success prompted Leslie to acquire an already prosperous romantic-story journal and next, in 1855, to establish the <span class="typestyle"> Illustrated Newspaper</span> , the publication that epitomized his penchant for sensational subject matter and dramatically detailed illustrations, and became the foundation of his publishing empire. The weekly <span class="typestyle"> Illustrated Newspaper</span> was a hodgepodge of miscellany, news items, scandal and crime stories, and exposés of official corruption, all illustrated by woodcuts that were often printed only two weeks after an event—an unheard-of promptitude at the time. By the outset of the Civil War its circulation had reached 164,000, which enabled Leslie to start two more magazines. </span></span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body"><span class="body">For Leslie the outbreak of the war signalled a time of unparalleled opportunity. Americans were eager to know every detail of the war, and from his elegant offices on City Hall Square in New York, Leslie sent out corps of artists to record it for them.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Both Miriam Squier and her husband were drawn into the press and excitement of Leslie’s expanding business. E. G., whose railroad was in something of a bad way, accepted Leslie’s offer to become editor of the <span class="typestyle"> Illustrated Newspaper</span> . Miriam took over editorship of Leslie’s <span class="typestyle"> Lady’s Magazine</span> . While Squier and Leslie provided the nation with details about twelvepound mountain howitzers and Major General Burnside, Miriam described mantillas and hoop skirts. With such ease did her conversational skill translate into the written word of fashion and romance that within a few years she became editor of a second Leslie publication, and then a third. The belle of the Lincoln inaugural established for women across America styles in bonnets and crinolines, in flirtation and marriage. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Those last subjects must have been increasingly on her mind as the Squiers’ personal lives became more and more entangled with Leslie’s. The three had been living under the same roof ever since E. G., hearing that Leslie had separated from his wife of nineteen years, offered the publisher a room with him and Miriam. Perhaps the only thing more curious than the lack of foresight Squier’s offer showed is that the arrangement lasted for more than a decade.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Exactly whose bedroom opened onto whose during those years would inspire heated arguments after the menage broke up. But while Leslie was living with the Squiers all seemed peaceful, amazingly so considering such episodes as the trio’s trip to Paris for the 1867 Exposition. Leslie, now a powerful and important man, had been named United States commissioner to the exposition, and he and the Squiers set sail for Europe in February, 1867. Newspapers reported that someone on board the ship wired ahead to announce Squier’s impending arrival to old creditors of the archaeologist, so that when the ship landed in Liverpool, he was arrested and thrown into prison. His wife and employer went on to London, and it was two weeks before they bailed him out of jail.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">E. G. had noticed Leslie sending a dispatch from aboard the ship, but he hadn’t thought much about it at the time, and if his suspicions bothered him afterward, he kept it to himself. When Leslie and Mrs. Squier did come up with his bond, the three continued on their trip as though nothing especially untoward had occurred. When they got to Paris, Leslie began to work on his commissioner’s report, E. G. organized various activities for the Americans at the exposition, and Miriam wandered from shop to bazaar so she could report to her female readers on the very latest in European fashion.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The trio lived together (they even moved from house to house together), worked together, and travelled together. As Squier would tell it later, he was miserable in the background role assigned him by Leslie and his wife. He noted Miriam wearing diamonds he hadn’t seen before and watched her going out in carriages with Leslie and attending the theatre with him, while he, Squier, was “put on one side and spent a dog’s life.” But if Squier was a martyr, he was a willing one. If he was victimized, it was with remarkable ease. At one point he left his wife and Leslie in New York for a whole year while he went exploring in Peru. And when Leslie’s estranged wife charged Miriam Squier and Leslie with adultery, Squier blandly denied the accusation. It was made, he said, “with malicious intent to disturb my domestic peace and break up the close, friendly and business relations existing between myself and Mr. Frank Leslie”</span></span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The society in which the trio moved probably helps explain both Squier’s acquiescence and how the ménage managed to endure for so long. However much Victorian morality might have permeated the rest of the nation, in the ebullience of post-Civil WarNew York purity and chastity were distinctly out of fashion. After the theatre, in Taylor’s and Delmonico’s, affairs were carried on openly. The city’s demimonde thrived, with welloff prostitutes living in the best houses, wearing the finest dresses, skillfully cultivating all the manners of polite society. A certain taste for the bohemian came into style, and with it the line between the demimonde and sophisticated New Yorkers shifted and faded all the more.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The Leslie-Squier <span class="typestyle"> ménage à trois</span> fitted into this background; nonetheless when Frank Leslie and his estranged wife were finally divorced, the trio’s days were numbered. Miriam Squier decided to join with Leslie in a more regular union, and, as E. G. later explained it, she set out in a most premeditated way to disencumber herself of her husband. She arranged a party at a “disreputable” house and invited several New York courtesans, E. G. said. It was not, apparently, a very unusual event, for E. G. notes no surprise at her having arranged such a gathering. But this time a couple of Leslie artists were on hand—sent there, E. G. said, to sketch him should he be caught in a compromising position. Whether their presence was in fact so calculated isn’t clear, but when Miriam Squier sued for divorce shortly after, two Leslie artists testified about Squier’s unseemly performance that night with a girl named Gypsy. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Within a month of the time her divorce was final, the thirty-eightyear-old Miriam Squier and the fiftythree-year-old Frank Leslie were married. Within a month of the marriage E. G. was committed to a madhouse on Long Island. It was a sequence that provided excellent grist for contemporary gossip mills, particularly when it turned out that Miriam’s first husband, the jeweler’s clerk, also ended his days in an asylum. Many accounts credited Miriam with E. G.’s mad vagaries, but his brother, who had him committed, said she was not the cause of his madness. With something less than charity, he suggested she was one of its symptoms.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Miriam and her new husband threw themselves into the extravagant New York social whirl. There were thousands in New York who, like the Leslies, had become rich with the war, and they spent their wealth as vigorously as they had acquired it, on shining carriages, sleek horses, handsome brownstones, Paris gowns, and dazzling diamonds. At a reception in Albany given by Governor Tilden for William Cullen Bryant, crowds of sumptuously gowned women turned out, and in the midst of them Miriam Leslie and her jewels shone most brightly.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Whenever possible, but especially in the summer, wealthy New Yorkers like the Leslies repaired to Saratoga. The ostensible attraction was bathing in the springs and drinking the mineral water, but the real business of the long days of June, July, and August was to flirt in the hotels, to gamble in the casinos, to see and be seen on the promenades. When he visited Saratoga in 1870, Henry James noted: “If the men are remarkable, the ladies are wonderful. Saratoga is famous, I believe, as the place of all places in America where women adorn themselves most, or as the place, at least, where the greatest amount of dressing may be seen by the greatest number of people. …”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">So much did they enjoy Saratoga that the Leslies decided to build a home there. On ninety-two acres fronting the lake a complex of cottages, coach houses, and conservatories began to rise. One reporter declared that it looked like a “German nobleman’s country estate.” When lnterlaken, as the Leslies called their home, was finished, it seemed constantly to be full of company. Perhaps the most distinguished guest was Dom Pedro, Emperor of Brazil, who (except for a minor king from the Sandwich Islands) was the only reigning member of royalty who had ever visited the United States. He had come in honor of the Gentennial Exposition, and he had been lionized by every newspaperman who interviewed him and citizen who saw him. The Leslies persuaded him and his empress to come to lnterlaken, where they took them on a cruise of the lake in the Leslie steam yacht. Mrs. Leslie chatted with them in Spanish, French, and Italian, and the whole triumphant interlude was, inevitably, reported in the Leslie papers.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">But by far the most noticeable of the Leslie guests was Joaquin Miller, known throughout the country as “the poet of the Sierras.” He was a Byronic figure who had lived with the Indians, stolen horses, and practiced law in Idaho. He had been a pony-express rider and a judge in Canyon City, and he had invented so many stories about himself that it was impossible to tell where the truth ended and his imagination took over.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The fame he had achieved as a poet seems to have owed less to his verses than to his commanding presence. Tall, blond, and very handsome, he was given to wearing velvet jackets and embroidered pantaloons trimmed with silver bells. To that he usually added a sombrero, scarves, sashes, high-heeled jackboots, and always, no matter what the occasion, a brace of bowie knives. Beyond that, he claimed to be infatuated with Mrs. Leslie. He wrote a novel called <span class="typestyle"> The One Fair Woman</span> whose heroine was supposed to be modelled after her. “How beautiful she was!” he exclaimed. “Ah, howmore than beautiful!”: The rose and sea shell colour of her face and neck, the soft baby complexion, the sweet surprise on her face, the old expression of inquiry and longing, the lips pushed out and pouting full and as longing for love, the mouth half opened as if to ask you the way into some great brave heart where she could enter in and sit down and rest as in some sacred temple. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Overblown as this was, Mrs. Leslie loved it, as indeed she appreciated Miller’s whole overblown personality. She seems to have looked on him as a brave adventurer, too intensely alive to heed dull conventions. He was of a personality type with Lola Montez, and in his preferences for a life embellished and embroidered he also resembled other men with whom Mrs. Leslie would have romances. On and off for more than thirty years Miller and Mrs. Leslie met, often in the most public—and publicity-conscious—ways. They might rendezvous on the piazza of the Grand Union Hotel in Saratoga; she might drive up to his California mountain home in a carriage with a costumed driver; the two might appear at a ball in New Orleans, Miller in all his bowie knives and Miriam Leslie in all her diamonds. Throughout, Miller’s work and Mrs. Leslie’s enthusiastic reviews of it appeared in the Leslie publications. Frank Leslie.seems never to have been troubled by Miller’s adoration for his wife. Perhaps he simply concluded that any affair conducted with such showmanship must be spectacularly lacking in substance.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Leslie and Miriam continued on their own lavish ways, capping even their extravagances with a trip by rail to California in 1877. Less than ten years after transcontinental rail travel was first possible, they set out on a journey from Grand Central Depot in a handsome Wagner Palace Car. In Chicago the party of twelve, plus Miriam’s tiny terrier, exchanged the Wagner car for an even more luxurious Pullman Hotel Car that had been especially built for the Centennial Exposition of 1876. Accompanied by a chef and a maid, they set out for the West Coast, through thunderstorms, over mountains, across vast expanses of prairie.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">As they travelled the artists in the retinue made sketches for the readers of the <span class="typestyle"> Illustrated Newspaper</span> , sketches that today provide a valuable record of the nineteenth-century West. Mrs. Leslie kept notes on the trip; later she turrted them into a book full of intriguing glimpses of the developing frontier—and her reactions to it. She declared Cheyenne a “fresh and vigorous experience,” with its rough-clad men, its well-stocked jewelry shops, and McDaniels Theatre, a painted, frescoed playhouse where one could drink, gamble, or watch what the proprietor insisted on calling a “great moral show.” The party was impressed with Denver’s roads. Mrs. Leslie declared them as hard and dry as the drives of Central Park. The group was enchanted with Colorado scenery, from the misshapen sandstone towers of the Garden of the Gods to the lofty eminence of Pike’s Peak. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">But what most fascinated Mrs. Leslie were the Mormons, and more particularly their polygamy. One of Brigham Young’s multiple wives had recently—and noisily—left his fold, so Mormon marriage habits were in the forefront of many American minds. But Mrs. Leslie was especially interested, perhaps because of her personal history, and she made inquiries about polygamy to practically every person she encountered in Utah. Finally her persistence carried her to Brigham Young himself.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">As Mrs. Leslie reported it, Young started out the interview perfunctorily enough with comments on the weather, to which she countered, “Do you suppose, Mr. President, that I came all the way to Salt Lake City to hear it was a fine day?”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">“I’m sure you need not, my dear,” Mrs. Leslie reported the seventy-sixyear-old Young’s response, “for it must be fine weather wherever you are.”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Although she herself had shared a home with two men, Mrs. Leslie simply could not understand how women could share a husband. Didn’t they compete with one another? she wanted to know. Didn’t they “use every effort of mind, body, and soul to attract and retain his love, admiration, and attention?”</span></span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Polygamy required a certain type of woman, Young replied, according to Mrs. Leslie’s report, a type of woman far different from herself. “Fortunately,” the Lion of the Lord is supposed to have said, “there are not many of [your] mind among us.”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">San Francisco appealed to Mrs. Leslie’s love for both the splendid and the bohemian. She and her husband stayed at the Palace Hotel (in a suite lately occupied by Emperor Dom Pedro), and they went through the opium dens of Chinatown. Their California stay included a visit to Senator Sharon’s Belmont estate, dinner at Governor Stanford’s palatial home, and a tour of Yosemite.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">After the most elegant of California civilization and the most awesome of its natural wonders, the mining town of Virginia City, Nevada, where the party stopped on the way back, was a great disappointment. It was an arid, dusty place, Mrs. Leslie reported, with forty-nine gambling saloons and one church. “To call a place dreary, desolate, homeless, uncomfortable, and wicked is a good deal,” she wrote, “but to call it God forsaken is a good deal more, and in a tolerably large experience of this world’s wonders, we never found a place better deserving the title than Virginia City.”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">But the disappointment of Virginia City was nothing compared to what awaited the Leslies back in New York. Almost as soon as they returned, their publishing empire began collapsing in financial ruin. Their personal extravagance accounted for many of the huge debts, but Leslie was professionally extravagant too. He was given to starting new periodicals at the drop of a hat. Miriam Leslie said she hated for him to come down to breakfast because she never knew when he might announce a new one. He had probably also overinvested in staff and equipment, and an accounting showed him to be more than three hundred thousand dollars in debt. His property was assigned, and Leslie was given three years to satisfy his creditors.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Added to this misfortune was a blow delivered by the citizens of Virginia City, Nevada. Outraged at Mrs. Leslie’s account of their town in the book she wrote about the California trip, they set out to gain revenge by printing the full history of her life. “Our Female Slanderer,” read the headlines in the Virginia City <span class="typestyle"> Territorial Enterprise</span> , “A Life Drama of Crime and Licentiousness.” So detailed was the account of Mrs. Leslie and the jeweler’s clerk, Lola Montez, and the congressman, so bitter the story of the <span class="typestyle"> ménage à trois</span> , that it was clear Squier had penetrated the clouds of his madness long enough to tell a few tales on his ex-wife. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">And then Frank Leslie became ill with a neck cancer and died, leaving his forty-three-year-old widow to cope with debts, attacks on her reputation, and, inevitably, lawsuits from potential heirs who felt they deserved whatever of the publishing empire remained. On the face of it one would not have thought the odds very good on her being able to come out of the situation successfully. Although she had gained fame and influence as the editor of three of Leslie’s many magazines, the talent she had revealed in those jobs chiefly consisted of an ability to give the frothy topics of the <span class="typestyle"> Lady’s Magazine</span> and the <span class="typestyle"> Lady’s Journal</span> a tone of importance. She could make details of fashion resound with cosmic implications. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">But in her years with the Leslie publishing house she had learned the details of how that large and complex organization functioned. With an eye long trained in detecting where opportunity might or might not lie, she saw its weaknesses and its potential. She pared the list of Leslie publications, and she pared her life-style, moving into a utilitarian flat and working from eight in the morning until eight at night. She designed a decorative cover for the <span class="typestyle"> Illustrated Newspaper</span> , bettered the quality of its printing stock, improved the quality of woodcut printing, and sought out new writers. She won her lawsuits in the courts and found ways to satisfy her creditors. When they demanded an immediate fifty thousand dollars, she used her diamonds as security and managed to borrow the necessary amount. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">On a Saturday morning in 1881 a disappointed office seeker, Charles J. Guiteau, shot President James A. Garfield in a Washington, B.C., railway station, and Mrs. Leslie saw her chance to wipe out the last of the Leslie debts. As soon as she heard rumors of the shooting, she sent artists off to Washington. One of them returned with sketches on Saturday’s midnight train, and by working her staff through the long weekend Mrs. Leslie managed to get the story engraved, set, printed, and on the streets before the competition. By Tuesday morning Leslie readers had their fully illustrated accounts, and she had netted fifty thousand dollars from a single journalistic coup.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">When Garfield died two months later, Mrs. Leslie stopped the presses to ensure that her readers would get a fast account. She was far-sighted enough to have large quantities of Leslie papers for sale in Cleveland, where final services for the President were held. She was cold-eyed enough to give her readers the kind of sensational pictures they wanted. The Leslie papers not only showed doctors performing a post-mortem on the slain President, they also pictured the morticians at work embalming his body. The <span class="typestyle"> Illustrated Newspaper</span> ’s, circulation, which had fallen to around thirty thousand, climbed to the two hundred thousand mark. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Miriam Leslie also went to court and had her name legally changed to Frank Leslie. Sometimes she explained that it was one of her husband’s deathbed wishes; but as biographer Madeleine Stern has pointed out, when it was convenient, Mrs. Leslie could remember his uttering a truly astounding number of deathbed wishes, considering that the man died of a choking ailment. A son of Frank Leslie’s involved in rival publishing ventures provided a hard, pragmatic reason for the name change. The son tried to capitalize on his father’s name, and by making herself “Frank Leslie” Miriam strengthened the claim that the trademark was hers, solely and absolutely.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">With the hindsight of a century one has to wonder if the action wasn’t also symbolic. As her success with the publishing business proved, she was a bright, capable woman, but most of her achievements before she took over Leslie’s business had been ancillary: most of them had depended on her winning and keeping the affections of various men. Now she had arrived where that was no longer necessary, and the name change made that clear. She was no caretaker for Frank Leslie’s enterprises; she was in fact Frank Leslie.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Her publishing house continued to flourish. The four-story iron and marble building at the corner of Park Place and College Place was jammed with artists, engravers, and editors, with electrotype machines and presses. Altogether they consumed seventeen tons of paper a week and a sea of ink. Even after Mrs. Leslie pared down the list of publications, the house put out four weeklies and three monthlies with an aggregate circulation for a single edition of a quarter million copies. Each publication had a separate editor, but Mrs. Leslie oversaw them all, shifting the house’s resources from one publication to another as the need arose. No contract was made without her approval, and no checks were paid without her signature; nor did visitors often leave the establishment without meeting its “living head and presiding genius,” as Leslie’s <span class="typestyle"> Popular Monthly</span> referred to her. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">As a successful businesswoman Mrs. Leslie began to build a new kind of reputation. A “commercial Joan of Arc,” one newspaper called her. But still she cultivated her old romantic image. When she undertook a crosscountry lecture tour, it was to talk about “Royal Leaders of Society.” She changed her gown for every audience, she had the spotlights especially arranged to make her diamonds shimmer, and she recited Joaquin Miller’s poetry, undoubtedly to remind those listening of her fabled affair with that “Byron of the Rockies.”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Another of her talked-about liaisons was with the Marquis de Leuville, a fellow of extreme costumes and extravagant behavior whom the French newspaper <span class="typestyle"> Gil Bias</span> had called “chief of the aesthetes.” He sported tight trousers, a corseted waist, padded shoulders, and puffed hair. He wrote poems to Mrs. Leslie and shot her name into a board at Coney Island. The marquis walked with a slight limp as a consequence, Mrs. Leslie said, of a duel. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">However modish such manners and dress may have seemed to Mrs. Leslie, they were too much for some members of the American press. De Leuville couldn’t walk normally, <span class="typestyle"> The Journalist</span> maintained, simply because the heels on his boots were so high. Another story reported that the marquis and Mrs. Leslie walking down the street created such a spectacle as inevitably to attract crowds of staring street urchins and curious cabdrivers, to all of whom the happy couple were oblivious. Certain reports that the marquis was the son of a London tailor and had once been married to Madame Tussaud’s daughter were also gleefully given out. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">After an engagement of three years Mrs. Leslie broke up with the marquis and took up with a Russian prince. One day as she and the prince were driving in Hyde Park the jealous de Leuville attacked their carriage with his whip, an event that finally resulted in both gentlemen’s arrest and considerable notoriety for Mrs. Leslie. Although she never received either of them again, the marquis remained loyal to her in his dramatic fashion, rushing off to Paris to duel for her when a French reporter was unkind. The prince then sailed out of her life—on a sea of press rumors that he was really a celebrated Russian forger.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Like these liaisons, Mrs. Leslie’s last marriage revealed her attraction to a certain “aesthetic” life-style that came into vogue in the nineteenth century’s last decade, chiefly in artistic and intellectual circles in Europe. The aesthetes valued intense emotion and dramatic poses; they scorned what they saw as the safe, dull values of the bourgeoisie; they made themselves easy targets for sharpshooters whose norms were those of common sense and the middle class.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">At the center of this cult was the Wilde family, whom Mrs. Leslie had come to admire greatly on her frequent trips to London. Lady Wilde, who called herself Speranza and who claimed to be descended from Dante, presided over Saturday afternoon salons that became the rage of aesthetic London. Guests were led into a receiving room where all the shades were pulled and the gas jets were shaded with red. In the center the tall and imposing Lady Wilde received, looking like an aged Gypsy in her voluminous clothes and massive jewelry. Her son Oscar, possibly even more outlandish than she, usually stood with his arm draped over the mantel. His habit was to wear heliotrope waistcoats, tight artificial curls, and a huge sunflower.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Mrs. Leslie told a reporter for the New York <span class="typestyle"> Tribune</span> that she hoped to become in America “what Lady Wilde is in London,” and she set about the task in her sumptuous apartments at the Gerlach. They were decorated in a suitably exotic air with Spanish flags, Japanese ornaments, Turkish curtains, and Venetian mirrors. There were not-so-subtle indications of deep spiritual feelings, touched with just the slightest hint of darker longings. A golden crucifix was mounted on crimson plush at the head of Mrs. Leslie’s bed. On a bedside stand were a Catholic prayer book and a small silver revolver. On Thursday evenings Mrs. Leslie began to receive artists, poets, and writers. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">In 1891, when she was fifty-five years old, Mrs. Leslie suddenly married the one unattached Wilde son, thirty-nine-year-old Willie. “Well, the people of New York wanted a surprise,” she told a reporter, “and we have given it to them.” She added that her affection for Lady Wilde also figured prominently in the marriage.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Willie Wilde was a handsome figure of a man, more than six feet tall and blessed with penetrating wit. But he may also have been among history’s laziest human beings, and there was enough of the puritan in Mrs. Leslie for her to find that most irritating. She had counted on using Willie’s journalistic talent in her publishing enterprise, but he had other plans, most of which included champagne and dry Russian cigarettes. He liked to arise about noon, dawdle at a club like The Lambs until four or so, drive around Central Park for a while after that, and then, about 7 <span class="typestyle"> P.M.</span> , finally to get down to the serious business of the day. Just how sore a point this behavior was with his wife was apparent in an interview she gave a few months after they were married. She insisted that the reporter not call her Mrs. Wilde, explaining, in Willie’s presence, that “I have agreed to be called by my husband’s name when by dint of industry and perseverance he makes a name in the world of American journalism as I have.” She concluded the interview with a tongueonly-slightly-in-cheek comment: “I really think I should have married Oscar.” </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Less than six months from her wedding day with Wilde, Mrs. Leslie had had enough. She took Willie to London and left him with his mother. Then she returned home and hegan divorce action. Although she named a “Madame Carmen” as correspondent in the suit, she told the press that her fourth husband’s main problem had been his insistence on trying to lead a London club life in New York.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Underlying these obvious irritations seems to have been a feeling that marriage required a powerful and capable male so that the woman could be submissive and dependent. In a book she wrote about this time, Mrs. Leslie worried that “the coming woman” would be a hybrid creature “who is to perform all the man’s duties, as well as her own, and so fill the sphere of both sexes, that man will become a mere unimportant detail of creation, and, in time, be eliminated altogether.” If things went as they should, however, woman “will, to the end of the chapter, love and marry … or feel rather sorry and humiliated if no man asks her to do so; and she will never, ah, never! under whatever circumstances, lose that delight in submission of her own will and her own judgment to that of the man she has crowned her king.”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">That was undeniably one side of her, the side that took cold baths for her complexion every morning and corseted her figure into astounding proportions, the side that spent a fortune on her wardrobe and jewelry and untold hours figuring out the strategies for getting and keeping a man. But she was also a successful and decidedly unsubmissive publisher, and just howmuch talent and understanding she had in this almost all-male business was re-emphasized in her sixty-second year. She had leased out her interest in the various Leslie publications, and without her guidance they declined. Circulations fell and debts grew, and in 1898 she took control again. She rejuvenated the business, especially <span class="typestyle"> Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly</span> , cutting its price and brightening its contents until six months later its circulation and advertising put it in the ranks of the most successful periodicals. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">For a woman of such abilities the ideas of the burgeoning feminist movement had to have some appeal. And so the other side of Mrs. Leslie spoke out. She wrote a book and told her readers the story of Lilith, Adam’s equal, whom Allah replaced with Eve, Adam’s subject. “I am afraid I am a Lilith,” she wrote, “for I never have been able to train myself into that meek and mild admiration of man as a master that Eve and her daughters so sweetly exhibit. …” Women must, she went on, “emancipate themselves in the best meaning of the word from the swaddling bands and chains of roses that have fettered their limbs hitherto.”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">But to the end Mrs. Leslie defied being categorized. She might join suffrage associations and drop notes to Susan B. Anthony, but she still moved easily between that world and a world where all the old romantic notions prevailed. She returned from one of her European trips with a new name. She was to be known henceforth, she told the world, as the Baroness de Bazus. And she returned from another of her voyages, this one in her seventieth year, with a noble fiancé. But the Count Villaverde Ia Alta, who was also seventy, died before the marriage. Until her death she wore hanging from her belt a gold key he had given her.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">When Mrs. Leslie died in September, 1914, at the age of seventy-eight, however, her final act put her in the ranks of the suffragists. She bequeathed the bulk of her vast estate to Carrie Chapman Catt so that Mrs. Catt could use it in the campaign to get the vote for women. For those who remembered all her husbands and notoriety, the will came as a shock. For those who had seen themselves as her possible heirs, it came as an inexplicable outrage, particularly when it became known that the bequest was worth close to two million dollars. The newspapers were full of claims that Mrs. Leslie had been insane in her last years. Those who thought she had unjustly overlooked them unearthed the old scandals in hopes of discrediting her. In the end the contest over the will cost the Leslie estate close to a million dollars.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">But a million dollars remained, and it was sufficient to alter significantly the course of history. Mrs. Leslie’s money was quite enough to give the suffrage movement renewed impetus. It was used to set up a publicity bureau, to finance historical and statistical research, and to put out a women’s magazine. During the hectic days of the First World War, when the Nineteenth Amendment was being proposed and ratified, such projects helped keep the suffrage issue in the forefront. When the vote was won, suffragists credited Mrs. Leslie with having advanced the hour of victory.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">That she financed the final suffrage drive is not surprising when viewed against the background of her business achievements. From what she had done with the Leslie publications, she knew about female equality, even in areas that society regarded as male preserves. Against a larger hackground, however, it would be oversimple to see her will only that way. If a single thread connects the diverse parts of her story, it is her idea that one should live in ways as intensely romantic as any novel, poem, or play. The skills she learned on the stage as Minnie Monte? she expanded and cultivated when she was Miriam Squier, when she was Frank Leslie, and when she was the Baroness de Bazus. Gi and gestures became a way of life with her, as did the spotlights of publicity and the satisfactions of center stage. Her final act needs to be fitted into that framework too, for certainly it rounded out her performance with a fittingly dramatic conclusion.</span></span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div> ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Riflemen lined the roofs along the parade route. Cavalry squads patrolled the intersections. Rumors of armed mobs and a ▶"
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            "value" => "<p><span class="body">∗Remember the Alamo</span></p><p><span class="body"><preface></preface></span></p><p>The patriotic story that most Americans call to mind when they remember the Alamo is largely mythology, and it is a mythology constructed on the northern side of the border. The facts of that short, bloody prelude to our war with Mexico are just as grim but far less romantic.</p><p>An unusual account of this battle from the Mexican side was written by a young Mexican lieutenant colonel named José Enrique de la Peña, who was present on that murderous day in March, 1836, and who kept a diary of the siege and assault. Entitled <span class="typestyle"> With Santa Anna in Texas: A Personal Narrative of the Revolution</span> , de la Pena’s diary has now been translated for the first time by Carmen Perry and will be published later this month by the Texas A&amp;M University Press. The following article is an excerpt from this little-known document.</p><p>José Enrique de la Peña was obviously an unusual young officer. Brimming with patriotism, machismo, and a professional soldier’s love of battle, de la Pena was at the same time a sensitive person who despised senseless slaughter and was critical of thoughtless, inept leadership, whether Texan or Mexican. He was also determined to be accurate, and soon after his year with Santa Anna he augmented and amended his notes taken in the field, recopying a fuller version of his narrative. There is evidence that the narrative was published late in 1836, but the translator has been unable to locate a copy, and the presumption is that most if not all copies of the highly critical volume were destroyed by Santa Anna’s government.</p><p>We pick up de la Peña’s account as the Mexican forces arrive at the small city of San Antonio de Béjar,from which they had been expelled by Texans three months earlier. Across the river from this city stood an abandoned mission with heavy stone walls. It was called the Alamo.</p><p>&nbsp;&nbsp; --<strong><em>The Editors</em></strong></p><p>&nbsp;</p><p><span class="body">Before describing what happened at the Alamo, I will speak of what happened between the arrival of the First Division at San Antonio de Béjar, the city directly across the river from the Alamo, and the time when our division, including the sapper battalion to which I was assigned, arrived there on March 3, 1836.</span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body">On February 23 General Ramírez y Sesma advanced at dawn toward Béjar with one hundred horsemen; he approached the city at three o’clock in the morning, and the enemy was unaware of his arrival. The rest of the division came within sight between twelve noon and one, but by then the enemy had sounded the call to arms and had withdrawn to his fortification at the Alamo. There they had fifteen pieces of artillery,1 but not all were mounted and ready to use, because of a shortage of cannonballs. They had an eighteen-pounder and an eight-pounder pointing toward town. After the division had rested for about a half hour at the foot of the Alazán Hill, two miles from Béjar, the president-general, Antonio López de Santa Anna, mounted his horse and started toward this city with his general staff, three companies of light infantry under the command of Colonel Morales, three of grenadiers under the command of Colonel Romero, two mortar pieces, and General Ramírez y Sesma’s cavalry; he ordered the rest of the division to march with General Ventura Mora to Mission Concepción, about five miles to the southeast. The president, unaware upon entering Béjar that the church was abandoned, ordered Colonel Miñón to take it with half the chasseurs. As the column entered the plaza, from the Alamo came a cannon shot from the eighteen-pounder; immediately our artillery commander was ordered to set up two howitzers and to fire four grenades, which caused the enemy to raise a white flag. The firing ceased, and Bowie sent a written communication addressed to the commander of the invading troops of Texas, stating that he wished to enter into agreements.2 Santa Anna ordered a verbal answer that he would not deal with bandits, leaving them no alternative but to surrender unconditionally. Then he ordered the placement of the troops, and that they eat and rest, and summoned to Béjar the forces attacking Concepción.</span></p><p><span class="body">1There were nineteen, of different calibers.—J. E. de la P.</span></p><p><span class="body">2William Barret Travis was commander at the Alamo, James Bowie his second, and a certain Evans a commander of artillerv.—J. E. de la P.</span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body">On the 24th at nine o’clock His Excellency appeared and ordered that shoes be distributed in his presence among the preferred companies and that the frontal advance proceed immediately toward the Alamo and commence the firing, which had been interrupted the previous afternoon. A battery of two eight-pounders and a howitzer was properly placed and began to bombard the enemy’s fortification. The enemy returned fire without causing us any damage. On this day inventories were also taken of stock in the stores belonging to Americans. At eleven His Excellency marched with the cavalry in order to reconnoiter the vicinity.</span></p><p><span class="body">On the 25th at nine thirty His Excellency appeared at the battery and had the column of chasseurs and the battalion from Matamoros march to the other side of the San Antonio River, he himself following. Our soldiers fought within pistol range against the walls of the Alamo, and we lost two dead and six wounded. During the night some construction was undertaken to protect the line that had been established at the small nearby village of La Villita under orders of Colonel Morales. On the 20th, 27th, and a8th nothing unusual happened; the artillery and rifle fire had been brought into play as needed without any misfortune to the division. On the 2gth the siege continued, and about seven thirty at night the enemy killed a first-class private belonging to the first company of the San Luis Battalion, Secundino Alvarez, who on orders of the president had got in close in order to reconnoiter the Alamo.</span></p><p><span class="body">On the 1st, and, 3rd, 4th, and 5th of March the siege continued without anything of note happening except that on the and a chasseur from San Luis, Trinidad Delgado, drowned and on the 3rd my battalion along with other sapper battalions from Aldama and Toluca arrived.</span></p><p><span class="body">On the 17th of February Santa Anna had proclaimed to the army: Comrades in arms, our most sacred duties have brought us to these uninhabited lands and demand our engaging in combat against a rabble of wretched adventurers to whom our authorities have unwisely given benefits that even Mexicans did not enjoy, and who have taken possession of this vast and fertile area, convinced that our own unfortunate internal divisions have rendered us incapable of defending our soil. Wretches! Soon will they become aware of their folly! Soldiers, our comrades have been shamefully sacrificed at Anahuac, Goliad, and Béjar, and you are those destined to punish these murderers. My friends: we will march as long as the interests of the nation that we serve demand. The claimants to the acres of Texas land will soon know to their sorrow that their reinforcements from New Orleans, Mobile, Boston, New York, and other points north, whence they should never have come, are insignificant, and that Mexicans, generous by nature, will not leave unpunished affronts resulting in injury or discredit to their country, regardless of who the aggressors mav be. </span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body">This address was received enthusiastically, but the army needed no incitement; knowing that it was about to engage in the defense of the country and to avenge less fortunate comrades was enough for its ardor to become as great as the noble and just cause it was about to defend. Several officers from the Aldama and Toluca sappers were filled with joy and congratulated one another when they were ordered to hasten their march, for they knew that they were about to engage in combat. There is no doubt that some would have regretted not being among the first to meet the enemy, for it was considered an honor to be counted among the first. For their part, the enemy leaders had addressed their own men in terms not unlike those of our commander. They said that we were a bunch of mercenaries, blind instruments of tyranny; that without any right we were about to invade their territory; that we would bring desolation and death to their peaceful homes and would seize their possessions; that we were savage men who would rape their women, decapitate their children, destroy everything, and render into ashes the fruits of their industry and their efforts. Unfortunately they did partially foresee what would happen, but they also committed atrocities that we did not commit, and in this rivalry of evil and extermination I do not dare to venture who had the ignominious advantage, they or we.</span></p><p><span class="body">In spirited and vehement language they called on their compatriots to defend the interests so dear to them and those they so tenderly cherished. They urged mothers to arm their sons and wives not to admit their consorts in their nuptial beds until they had taken up arms and risked their lives in defense of their families. The word “liberty” was constantly repeated in every line of their writings; this magical word was necessary to inflame the hearts of the men, who rendered tribute to this goddess, although not to the degree they pretend.</span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body">When our commander in chief haughtily rejected the agreement that the enemy had proposed, Travis became infuriated at the contemptuous manner in which he had been treated and, expecting no honorable way of salvation, chose the path that strong souls choose in crisis, that of dying with honor, and selected the Alamo for his grave. It is possible that this might have been his first resolve, for although he was awaiting reinforcements, he must have reflected that he would be engaged in battle before these could join him, since it would be difficult for him to cover their entry into the fort with the small force at his disposal. However, this was not the case, for about sixty men did enter one night, the only help that came. They passed through our lines unnoticed until it was too late. This supports my opinion that Travis could have managed to escape during the first nights, when vigilance was much less, but this he refused to do. It has been said that General Ramírez y Sesma’s division was not sufficient to have formed a circumventing line on the first day. Although the Alamo is a small place, one of its sides fronts the San Antonio River and clear and open fields. The heroic language in which Travis addressed his compatriots during the days of the conflict finally proved that he had resolved to die before abandoning the Alamo or surrendering unconditionally. He spoke to them in the following words: Fellow citizens and compatriots, I am besieged by a thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna. I have sustained bombardment and cannonade for twenty-four hours and have not lost a man. The enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion, otherwise the garrison are to be put to the sword, if the fort is taken. I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, and our flag still waves proudly over the walls. <span class="typestyle"> I shall never surrender or retreat</span> . Then, I call on you in the name of Liberty, of patriotism, and everything dear to the American character, to come to our aid. If this call is neglected, I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible and die as a soldier who never forgets what is due to his own honor and that of his country.3 </span></p><p><span class="body">3This was a letter that Travis sent out of the Alamo by messenger on February 24. Oe la Peña must have seen it at a later date and translated it to include in his account. Although he omitted some of what Travis said, his translation—as rendered back into English above—was otherwise accurate.</span></p><p><span class="body">Twelve days had passed since Ramírez y Sesma’s division had drawn up before the Alamo and three since our own arrival at Béjar. Our commander became more furious when he saw that the enemy resisted the idea of surrender. He believed as others did that the fame and honor of the army were compromised the longer the enemy lived. We had not advanced in the least during the twelve days that our vanguard stood facing this obstinate enemy. It was therefore necessary to attack him in order to make him feel the vigor of our souls and the strength of our arms. But prudent men, who know how to measure the worth of true honor—those whose tempered courage permits their venturing out only when they know beforehand that the destruction they are about to wreak will profit them and who understand that the soldier’s glory is the greater, the less bloody the victory and the fewer the victims sacrificed—these men, though moved by the same sentiments as the army and its commander, were of the opinion that victory over a handful of men concentrated in the Alamo did not call for a great sacrifice. In fact, it was necessary only to await the artillery’s arrival at Béjar for these to surrender; undoubtedly they could not have resisted for many hours the destruction and imposing fire from twenty cannon. The sums spent by the treasury on the artillery equipment brought to Texas are incalculable; the transportation alone amounts to thousands of pesos. Either our leaders did not wish or did not know how to make use of such weaponry; had it been judiciously employed, it would have saved us many lives, and the success of the campaign would have been very different indeed.</span></p><p><span class="body">There was no need to fear that the enemy would be reinforced, for even though reinforcements had entered because of our lack of vigilance, we were by now situated so as to do battle with any other possible arrivals one by one. We were in a position to advance, leaving a small force on watch at the Alamo, the holding of which was unimportant either politically or militarily, whereas its acquisition was both costly and very bitter in the end. If Sam Houston, the Texan commander, had not received news of the surrender at the Alamo, it would have been very easy to surprise and defeat him.</span></p><p><span class="body">During a council of war held on the 4th of March at Santa Anna’s quarters, he expounded on the necessity of making the assault. Generals Sesma, Cos, and Castrillón, Colonels Almonte, Duque, Amat, Romero, and Salas, and the interim mayor of San Luis were present and gave their consent. The problem centered around the method of carrying it out. Castrillón, Almonte, and Romero were of the opinion that a breach should be made and that eight or ten hours would suffice to accomplish this. Fieldpieces were on their way, and Colonel Bringas, aide to the president-general, had left with the idea of activating them. It was agreed to call the artillery commandant and to alert him to this, and although the artillery would not arrive for a day or so and that solution was still pending, on the 5th the order was given for the assault. Some, though approving this proposal in the presence of the commander in chief, disagreed in his absence, a contradiction that reveals their weakness; others chose silence, knowing that he would not tolerate opposition, his sole pleasure being in hearing what met with his wishes while discarding all admonitions that deviated from those wishes. None of these commanders was aware that there were no field hospitals or surgeons to save the wounded and that for some it would be easier to die than to be wounded, as we shall see after the assault.</span></p><p><span class="body">When in this or some other discussion the subject of what to do with prisoners was brought up, in case the enemy surrendered before the assault, the example of Arredondo was cited; during the Spanish rule he had hanged eight hundred or more colonists after triumphing in a military action, and this conduct was taken as a model. General Castrillón and Colonel Almonte then voiced principles regarding the rights of men, philosophical and humane principles that did them honor; but their arguments were fruitless.</span></p><p><span class="body">We had no officers of the engineers’ corps who could estimate for us the strength at the Alamo and its defenses, because the section in this corps appointed for the army had remained in Mexico; however, the sappers were not lacking in personnel who could have carried out this chore, and, furthermore, information given by General Gos, by wounded officers he had left at Béjar, and by some townspeople of this locality was considered sufficient. The latter made clear to us the limited strength of the garrison at the Alamo and the shortage of supplies and munitions at their disposal. They had walled themselves in so quickly that they had not had time to supply themselves with very much.</span></p><p><span class="body">Travis’ resistance was on the verge of being overcome; for several days his followers had been urging him to surrender, giving the lack of food and the scarcity of munitions as reasons, but he had quieted their restlessness with the hope of quick relief, something not difficult for them to believe, since they had seen some reinforcements arrive. Nevertheless they had pressed him so hard that on the 5th he promised them that if no help arrived on that day, they would surrender the next day or would try to escape under cover of darkness; these facts were given to us by a lady from Béjar, by a Negro who was the only male who escaped, and by several women who were found inside and were rescued by Colonels Morales and Miñón. The enemy was in communication throughout the siege with some of the Béjar townspeople who were their sympathizers, and it was said as a fact during those days that the president-general had known of Travis’ decision and that it was for this reason that he precipitated the assault, because he wanted to cause a sensation and would have regretted taking the Alamo without clamor and without bloodshed, for some believed that without these there is no glory.</span></p><p><span class="body">Once the order was issued, even those opposing it were ready to carry it out; no one doubted that we would triumph, but it was anticipated that the struggle would be bloody, as indeed it was. All afternoon of the 5th was spent on preparations. Night came, and with it the most sober reflections. Our soldiers, it was said, lacked the cool courage that is demanded by an assault, but they were steadfast and the survivors will have nothing to be ashamed of. Each one individually confronted and prepared his soul for the terrible moment, expressed his last wishes, and silently and coolly took those steps that precede an encounter. It was a general duel from which it was important to us to emerge with honor. No harangue preceded this combat, but the example given was the most eloquent language and the most absolute order. Our brave officers left nothing to be desired in the hour of trial, and if anyone failed in his duty, if anyone tarnished his honor, it was so insignificant that his shortcomings remained in the confusion of obscurity and disdain. Numerous feats of valor were seen in which many fought hand to hand; there were also some cruelties observed.</span></p><p><span class="body">The Alamo was an irregular fortification that a wise general would have taken with insignificant losses, but we lost more than three hundred brave</span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body">Four columns were chosen for the attack. The first, under the command of General Cos and made up of a battalion from Aldama and three companies from the San Luis contingent, was to move against the western front, which faced the city. The second, under Colonel Duque and made up of the battalion under his command and three other companies from San Luis, was entrusted with a like mission against the front facing the north, which had two mounted batteries at each end of its walls. These two columns had a total strength of seven hundred men. The third, under the command of Colonel Romero and made up of two companies of fusiliers from the Matamoros and Jiménez, battalions, had less strength, for it only came up to three hundred or more men; it was to attack the east front, which was the strongest, perhaps because of its height or perhaps because of the number of cannon that were defending it, three of them situated in a battery over the church ruins, which appeared as a sort of high fortress. The fourth column, under the command of Colonel Morales and made up of over a hundred chasseurs, was entrusted with taking the entrance to the fort and the entrenchments defending it.</span></p><p><span class="body">The sapper battalion and five grenadier companies made up the reserve of four hundred men. The commander in chief headed this column, according to the tenor of the secret order given for the assault, and its formation was entrusted to Colonel Amat, who actually led it into combat.</span></p><p><span class="body">This was the general plan, and although several minor variations were proposed, almost all were cast aside.</span></p><p><span class="body">Our commander made much of Travis’ courage, for it saved him from the insulting intimation that the critical circumstances surrounding Travis would have sufficed to spare the army a great sacrifice.</span></p><p><span class="body">Beginning at one o’clock in the morning of the 6th, the columns were set in motion, and at three they silently advanced toward the river, which they crossed marching two abreast over some narrow wooden bridges. A fewminor obstacles were explored in order to reach the enemy without being noticed, to a point personally-designated by the commander in chief, where they stationed themselves, resting with weapons in hand. Silence was again ordered, and smoking was prohibited. The moon was up, but the density of the clouds that covered it allowed only an opaque light in our direction, seeming thus to contribute to our designs. This half-light, the silence we kept, hardly interrupted by soft murmurs, the coolness of the morning air, the great quietude that seemed to prolong the hours, and the dangers we would soon have to face, all of this rendered our situation grave; we were still breathing and able to communicate. Within a few moments many of us would be unable to answer questions addressed to us, having already returned to the nothingness whence we had come; others, badly wounded, would remain stretched out for hours without anyone thinking of them, each still fearing that perhaps an enemy cannonball whistling overhead would drop at his feet and put an end to his sufferings. Nevertheless hope stirred us, and within a few moments this anxious uncertainty would disappear; an insult to our arms had to be avenged, as well as the blood of our friends spilled three months before [when the Texans had driven the Mexicans from the area] within these same walls we were about to attack. Light began to appear on the horizon, the beautiful dawn would soon let herself be seen behind her golden curtain; a bugle call to attention was the agreed signal, and we soon heard that terrible bugle call of death, which stirred our hearts, altered our expressions, and aroused us all suddenly from our painful meditations. Worn out by fatigue and lack of sleep, I had just closed my eyes to nap when my ears were pierced by this fatal note. A trumpeter of the sappers (José María González) was the one who inspired us to scorn life and to welcome death. Seconds later the horror of this sound fled from among us, honor and glory replacing it.</span></p><p><span class="body">The columns advanced with as much speed as possible; shortly after beginning the march they were ordered to open fire while they were still out of range, but there were some officers who wisely disregarded the signal. Alerted to our attack by the given signal, which all columns answered, the enemy vigorously returned our fire, which had not even touched him but had retarded our advance. Travis, to compensate for the small number of the defenders, had placed three or four rifles by the side of each man, so that the initial fire was very rapid and deadly. Our columns left along their path a wide trail of blood, of wounded, and of dead. The bands from all the corps, gathered around our commander, sounded the charge; with a most vivid ardor and enthusiasm we answered that call which electrifies the heart, elevates the soul, and makes others tremble. The second column, seized by this spirit, burst out in acclamations for the republic and for the president-general. The officers were unable to suppress this act of folly, which was paid for dearly. The enemy’s attention being drawn by this act, they seized the opportunity, at the moment that light was beginning to make objects discernible around us, to redouble the fire on this column, making it suffer the greatest blows. It could be observed that a single cannon volley did away with half the company of chasseurs from Toluca, which was advancing a few paces from the column; Captain José María Herrera, who commanded it, died a few moments later; and Vences, its lieutenant, was also wounded. Another volley left many gaps among the ranks at the head, one of them being Colonel Duque, who was wounded in the thigh; there remained standing, not without surprise, one of the two aides to this commander, who marched immediately to his side, but the other one now cannot testify to this. Fate was kind on this occasion to the writer, who survived, though Don José María Macotela, captain from Toluca, was seriously wounded and died shortly after.</span></p><p><span class="body">It has been noted what the plan of attack was, but various arrangements made to carry it out were for the most part omitted; the columns had been ordered to provide themselves with crowbars, hatchets, and ladders, but not until the last moment did it become obvious that all this was insufficient and that the ladders were poorly put together.</span></p><p><span class="body">The columns, bravely storming up to the Alamo in the midst of a terrible shower of bullets and cannon fire, had reached the base of the walls, with the exception of the third, which had been sorely punished on its left flank by a battery of three cannon on a barbette that rut a serious breach in its ranks: since it was being attacked frontally at the same time, it was forced to seek a less bloody entrance and thus changed its course toward the right angle of the north front. The few poor ladders that we were bringing had not arrived, because their bearers had either perished on the way or had escaped. Only one was seen of all those that were planned. General Cos, looking for a starting point from which to climb, had advanced frontally with his column to where the second and third were. All united at one point, mixing and forming a confused mass. Fortunately the wall reinforcement on this front was of lumber, its excavation was hardly begun, and the height of the parapet was only eight or nine feet; there was therefore a starting point, and it could be climbed, though with some difficulty. But disorder had already begun; officers of all ranks shouted but were hardly heard. The most daring of our veterans tried to be the first to climb, which they accomplished, yelling wildly so that room could be made for them, at times climbing over their own comrades. Others, jammed together, made useless efforts, obstructing one another, getting in the way of the more agile ones and pushing down those who were about to carry out their courageous effort. A lively rifle fire coming from the roof of the barracks and other points caused painful havoc, increasing the confusion of our disorderly mass. The first to climb were thrown down by bayonets already waiting for them behind the parapet or by pistol fire, but the courage of our soldiers was not diminished as they saw their comrades falling dead or wounded, and they hurried to occupy their places and to avenge them, climbing over their bleeding bodies. The sharp reports of the rifles, the whistling of bullets, the groans of the wounded, the cursing of the men, the sighs and anguished cries of the dying, the arrogant harangues of the officers, the noise of the instruments of war, and the inordinate shouts of the attackers, who climbed vigorously, bewildered all and made of this moment a tremendous and critical one. The shouting of those being attacked was no less loud and from the beginning had pierced our ears with desperate, terrible cries of alarm in a language we did not understand.</span></p><p><span class="body">From his point of observation General Santa Anna viewed with concern this horrible scene and, misled by the difficulties encountered in the climbing of the walls and by the maneuver executed by the third column, believed we were being repulsed; he therefore ordered Colonel Amat to move in with the rest of the reserves; the sapper battalion, already ordered to move their column of attack, arrived and began to climb at the same time. He then also ordered into battle his general staff and everyone at his side. This gallant reserve merely added to the noise and the victims, the more regrettably since there was no necessity for them to engage in the combat. Before the sapper battalion, advancing through a shower of bullets and volley of shrapnel, had a chance to reach the foot of the walls, half their officers had been wounded. Another one of these officers, young Torres, died within the fort at the very moment of taking a flag. He died at one blow without uttering a word, covered with glory and lamented by his comrades.</span></p><p><span class="body">A quarter hour had elapsed, during which our soldiers remained in a terrible situation, wearing themselves out as they climbed in quest of a less obscure death than that visited on them, crowded in a single mass. Later and after much effort they were able in sufficient numbers to reach the parapet, without distinction of ranks. The terrified defenders withdrew at once into quarters placed to the right and the left of the small area that constituted their second line of defense. They had bolted and reinforced the doors, but in order to form trenches they had excavated some places inside that were now a hindrance to them. Not all of them took refuge, for some remained in the open, looking at us before firing as if dumfounded at our daring. Travis was seen to hesitate, but not about the death that he would choose. He would take a few steps and stop, turning his proud face toward us to discharge his shots. He fought like a true soldier. Finally he died, but he died after trading his life very dearly. None of his men died with greater heroism, and they all died. Travis behaved as a hero; one must do him justice, for with a handful of men without discipline he resolved to face men used to war and much superior in numbers, without supplies, with scarce munitions, and against the will of his subordinates. He was a handsome blond, with a physique as robust as his spirit was strong.</span></p><p><span class="body">In the meantime Colonel Morelos with his chasseurs, having carried out instructions received, was just in front of us at a distance of a few paces, and rightly fearing that our fire would hurt him, he had taken refuge in the trenches he had overrun trying to inflict damage on the enemy without harming us. It was a good thing that our other columns could come together in a single front, for in that way the destruction among ourselves could be partially avoided; nevertheless some of our men suffered the pain of falling from shots fired by their comrades, a grievous wound indeed and a death even more lamentable. The soldiers had been overloaded with munition, for the reserves and all the select companies carried seven rounds apiece. It seems that the purpose of this was to remind the soldier in this battle not to rely on his bayonet, which is the weapon generally employed in assault while chasseurs support the attackers with their fire; however, there are always errors committed on these occasions, impossible to remedy. There remains no consolation other than regret for those responsible on this occasion, and there were many.</span></p><p><span class="body">Our soldiers, some stimulated by courage and others by fury, burst into the quarters where the enemy had entrenched themselves, from which issued an infernal fire. Behind these came others who, nearing the doors and blind with fury and smoke, fired their shots against friends and enemies alike, and in this way our losses were most grievous. On the other hand, they turned the enemy’s own cannon to bring down the doors to the rooms or the rooms themselves; a horrible carnage took place, and some were trampled to death. The tumult was great, the disorder frightful; it seemed as if the furies had descended upon us; different groups of soldiers were firing in all directions, on their comrades and on their officers, so that one was as likely to die by a friendly hand as by an enemy’s. In the midst of this thundering din there was such confusion that orders could not be understood, although those in command would raise their voices when the opportunity occurred. Some mav believe that this narrative is exaggerated, but those who were witnesses will confess that this is exact, and in truth any moderation in relating it would fall short.</span></p><p><span class="body">It was thus time to end the confusion that was increasing the number of our victims, and on my advice and at my insistence General Cos ordered the fire silenced; but the bugler Tamayo of the sappers blew his instrument in vain, for the fire did not cease until there was no one left to kill and around fifty thousand cartridges had been used up. Whoever doubts this, let him estimate for himself, as I have done, with data that I have given.</span></p><p><span class="body">Among the defenders there were thirty or more colonists; the rest were pirates [i.e., volunteers from the United States rather than Texans], used to defying danger and to disdaining death, and who for that reason fought courageously; their courage, to my way of thinking, merited them the mercy for which, toward the last, some of them pleaded; others, not knowing the language, were unable to do so. In fact, when these men noted the loss of their leader and saw that they were being attacked by superior forces, they faltered. Some, with an accent hardly intelligible, desperately cried, “Mercy, valiant Mexicans”; others poked the points of their bayonets through a hole or a door with a white cloth, the symbol of cease-fire, and some even used their socks. Our trusting soldiers, seeing these demonstrations, would confidently enter their quarters, but those among the enemy who had not pleaded for mercy, who had no thought of surrendering, and who relied on no other recourse than selling their lives dearly would meet them with pistol shots and bayonets. Thus betraved, our men rekindled their anger, and at every moment fresh skirmishes broke out with renewed fury. The order had been given to spare no one but the women, and this was carried out; but such carnage was useless, and had we prevented it, we would have saved much of our own blood. Those of the enemy who tried to escape fell victims to the sabers of the cavalry, which had been drawn up for this purpose, but even as they fled they defended themselves. An unfortunate father with a young son in his arms was seen to hurl himself from a considerable height; both perished at the same blow.</span></p><p><span class="body">This scene of extermination went on for an hour before the curtain of death covered and ended it. Shortly after six in the morning it was all finished. The corps were beginning to reassemble and to identify themselves, their sorrowful countenances revealing the losses in the thinned ranks of their officers and comrades, when the commander in chief appeared. Santa Anna could see for himself the desolation among his battalions and that devastated area littered with corpses, with scattered limbs and bullets, with weapons and torn uniforms. Some of these were burning together with the corpses, which produced an unbearable and nauseating odor. The bodies, with their blackened and bloody faces disfigured by a desperate death, their hair and uniforms burning at once, presented a dreadful and truly hellish sight. What trophies—those of the battlefield! Quite soon some of the bodies were left naked by the fire; others had been stripped naked by a disgraceful rapacity among our men. The enemy could be identified by their whiteness, by their robust and bulky shapes. What a sad spectacle, that of the dead and dying! What a horror, to inspect the area and find the remains of friends—! With what anxiety did some seek others, and with what ecstasy did they embrace one another! Questions followed one after the other, even while the bullets were still whistling around, in the midst of the groans of the wounded and the last breaths of the dying.</span></p><p><span class="body">The general then addressed his crippled battalions, lauding their courage and thanking them in the name of their country. But one hardly noticed in his words the magic that Napoleon expressed in his, which, I’ve been told, was impossible to resist. The vivas were seconded icily, and silence would hardly have been broken if I—seized by one of those impulses triggered by enthusiasm or else formed to avoid reflection, which conceals the feelings—had not addressed myself to the valiant chasseurs of Aldama, hailing the republic and them, an act that, carried out in the presence of the commander on whom so much unmerited honor had been bestowed, proved that I never flatter those in power.</span></p><p><span class="body">Shortly before Santa Anna’s speech an unpleasant episode had taken place, which, since it occurred after the end of the skirmish, was looked upon as base murder and which contributed greatly to the coolness that was noted. Some seven men had survived the general carnage, and, under the protection of General Castrillón, they were brought before Santa Anna. Among them was one of great stature, well proportioned, with regular features, in whose face there was the imprint of adversity but in whom one also noticed a degree of resignation and nobility that did him honor. He was the naturalist David Crockett, well known in North America for his unusual adventures, who had undertaken to explore the country and who, finding himself in Béjar at the very moment of surprise, had taken refuge in the Alamo, fearing that his status as a foreigner, might not be respected. Santa Anna answered Castrillón’s intervention in Crockett’s behalf with a gesture of indignation and addressing himself to the sappers, the troops closest to him, ordered his execution. The commanders and officers were outraged at this action and did not support the order, hoping that once the fury of the moment had blown over, these men would be spared; but several other officers who were around the president and who, perhaps, had not been present during the moment of danger became noteworthy by an infamous deed, surpassing the soldiers in cruelty. They thrust themselves forward, in order to flatter their commander, and with swords in hand fell upon these unfortunate, defenseless men just as a tiger leaps upon his prey. Though tortured before they were killed, these unfortunates died without complaining and without humiliating themselves before their torturers. It was rumored that General Sesma was one of them; I will not bear witness to this, for though present I turned away horrified in order not to witness such a barbarous scene. Do you remember, comrades, that fierce moment which struck us all with dread, which made our souls tremble, thirsting for vengeance just a few hours before? Are your resolute hearts not stirred and still full of indignation against those who so ignobly dishonored their swords with blood? As for me, I confess that the very memory of it makes me tremble and that my ear can still hear the penetrating, doleful sound of rhe victims.</span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body">To whom was this sacrifice useful? And what advantage was derived by increasing the number of victims? It was paid for dearly, though it could have been otherwise had these men been required to walk across the floor, carpeted with the bodies over which we stepped; had they been rehabilitated generously and required to communicate to their comrades the fate that awaited them if they did not desist from their unjust cause. They could have informed their comrades of the force and resources that the enemy had. According to documents found among these men and to subsequent information, the force within the Alamo consisted of 182 men; but according to the number counted by us it was 253. In any case the number is smaller than that referred to by the commander in chief in his communiqué, which contends that in the excavations and the trenches alone more than 600 bodies had been buried. What was the object of this misrepresentation? Some believe that it was done to give greater importance to the episode; others, that it was done to excuse our losses and to make it less painful.</span></p><p><span class="body">Death united in one place both friends and enemies; within a few hours a funeral pyre rendered into ashes those men who moments before had been so brave that in a blind fury they had unselfishly offered their lives and had met their ends in combat. The greater part of our dead were buried by their comrades, but the enemy bodies were burned. I have heard that the great pyre of their dead has been attributed to our hatred. I, for one, wishing to count the bodies for myself, arrived at the moment the flames were reddening, ready to consume them.</span></p><p><span class="body">When calm opens the way for reflection, what sad and cruel thoughts rush to the sensitive soul contemplating the field of battle! Would anyone be the object of reproach who, after risking his life to comply with his duty and honor, for a brief period unburdens his feelings and devotes some time to charitable thoughts?</span></p><p><span class="body">The reflections after the assault, even a few days after it had taken place, were generally well founded; for instance, it was questioned why a breach had not been opened. What had been the use of bringing up the artillery if it were not to be used when necessity required, and why should we have been forced to leap over a fortified place as if we were flying birds? Why, before agreeing on the sacrifice, which was great indeed, had no one borne in mind that we had no means at our disposal to save our wounded? Why were our lives uselessly sacrificed in a deserted and totally hostile country if our losses could not be replaced? These thoughts were followed by others more or less well based, for the taking of the Alamo was not considered a happy event, but rather a defeat that saddened us all. In Béjar one heard nothing but laments; each officer who died aroused compassion and renewed reproaches. Those who arrived later added their criticism to ours, and some of these, one must say, regretted not having been present, because those who obeyed against their own judgment nonetheless attained eternal glory.</span></p><p><span class="body">All military authors agree that battles should be undertaken only in extreme situations, and I will take full advantage of these opinions; they affirm that as a general rule, so long as there is a way to weaken and overcome the enemy without combat, it should be adopted and combat avoided. Civilization has humanized man, and thanks to its good effects the more barbarous methods that were prevalent before to kill the greatest number of men in the least possible time have been abandoned; murderous maneuvers to destroy a whole army at a single blow have been discarded. It has been established as an axiom that a general entrusted with the command of an army should devote as much zeal to sparing the blood of his army as to the enemy. The opinion of the military sages, together with that of the moralists, states that the general who is frugal with the blood of his soldiers is the savior of his country, whereas he who squanders and sacrifices it foolishly is the murderer of his compatriots. One of these authors states that Louis <span class="typestyle"> XIV</span> , at the time of his death, was inconsolable because of the blood spilled during his reign; that the memorable Marshal Turenne of France, in the last moments of his life, could not be quieted by the priests in spite of all the consolation religion offers. As a matter of fact, false feelings of glory are not sufficient to suppress the remorse that the useless spilling of blood always brings about. If General Santa Anna were to see gathered together at one place the bodies of all the Mexicans he has sacrificed in all the revolutions he has promoted and in all the ill-directed battles over which he has presided, he would be horrified, no matter how insensitive he may be. The most renowned captains have always feared the day of battle, not so much because of danger to their lives as because of the interests and the soldiers entrusted to their care; hut ignorance fears nothing, because it foresees nothing. Some of our generals, particularly the conqueror of the Alamo, seemed not to have heeded these authors, for the latter, in his long career, has always separated himself from principles and has cast aside \vise counsel. He has acted capriciously, uselessly sacrificing the life of the soldier, the honor and interests of the repuhlic, and the decorum of its arms, certain that no accounting will be required of him or else that were this to he brought about, he would be acquitted, as experience has demonstrated. Hc would certainly act differently were he to Ix? punished for his errors, but since he is lavished with honors even after his defeats, regardless of how shameful these may be, he could not care less about losing or winning battles so long as they serve the interest of his party. </span></p><p><span class="body">The responsibility for the victims sacrificed at the Alamo, however, must rest on General Ramírez y Sesma rather than on the commander in chief. He knew that the enemy was at Béjar in small numbers and in the greatest destitution. When Sesma first sighted the town, the enemy was still engaged in the pleasures of a dance given the night before: he therefore could have and should have prevented their taking refuge in the Alamo. Several came to inform him, indicating to him the points through which he might enter and the orders he should give and urging him earnestly, but he turned down these recommendations and the repeated requests, conducting himself with extraordinary uncertainty and weakness. We have seen how dearly his indecision was paid for. At the very moment that General Ramírez y Scsma was advised to enter Béjar, there were only ten men at the Alamo, and it would have required an equal number to take it. Had he just placed himself at the bridge over the San Antonio that connects the fort to the city, as he was advised, he would have prevented the enemy from taking refuge there, thus avoiding the painful catastrophe that I have just described.</span></p><p>&nbsp;</p> ◀<p><span class="body">∗Remember the Alamo</span></p><p><span class="body"><preface></preface></span></p><p>The patriotic story that most Americans call to mind  ▶"
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            "value" => "<p><span class="body"><span class="body">“O thus be it ever when free-men shall stand Between their lov’d homes and the war’s desolation…” </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">These possibly unfamiliar lines (they are from the <span class="typestyle"> last</span> stanza of “The Star-Spangled Banner”) express the oldest and probably the most noble motive for fighting: defense of one’s hearth and homestead. It’s true that, pragmatically speaking, modern warfare has made nonsense of this motive—ask the survivors of the London blitz, Dresden, and Hiroshima. But the motive persists, and even in a clearly offensive war the invading armies always manage to convince themselves that they are doing it for the folks back home. Especially for the women. Since the advent of the photograph, few dead soldiers have been found without pictures of one or more females tucked into a wallet. Indeed, the most famous conflict of all time, the Trojan War, began because the Trojans abducted the beauteous Helen. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">There are many variations on the theme. In Aristophanes’ hit play <span class="typestyle"> Lysistrata</span> the ladies of Athens <span class="typestyle"> stopped</span> the fighting’by temporarily withholding their favors from their warrior friends. In ironic reversal, one would hesitate to think how many soldiers have fought hard to take a town with the knowledge that there would be compliant or, at worst, rapeable women if the assault succeeded. Certainly, however, the most universal manifestation of the basic motif has been the conviction in the mind of the ordinary soldier that he is fighting for the woman he loves. The war propagandists in every country have been well aware of this and have worked the theme industriously. The association of sex and patriotism is one of the topics taken up in a new and richly illustrated book on the image of American women, called <span class="typestyle"> Myth America</span> . Compiled by Carol Wald, it will be published this month by Pantheon Books; what follows is a selection of pictures from the book. </span></span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div> ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">“O thus be it ever when free-men shall stand Between their lov’d homes and the war’s desolation…” </span></span></p><p> ▶"
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            "value" => "<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Robert David Lion Gardiner is a large landowner on Long Island, a successful developer and an impassioned preservationist. What makes Mr. Gardiner exceptional is that he also represents the eleventh generation of a family which has continuously owned the same land since 1639, making the Gardiners the oldest nonaboriginal landowners in America as well as the first American family to found a still-flourishing fortune based primarily on land. Were Long Island still a province of Great Britain, as it was for nearly a hundred and twenty years, Mr. Gardiner would be called “Your Lordship,” as his ancestors were until the Revolution, and would rather like it.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The feudal system of landed aristocracy that prevailed in Great Britain during the seventeenth century was transplanted to the American colonies, but pitted against the vast wilderness of the new country and the determination of the freedom-minded settlers to run their own affairs it could not, and did not, survive very long except for the slave plantations in the South. A number of the original colonies had been established as proprietary rather than royal provinces, the owners having sovereign power to make laws and dispose of land. (After the Revolution the great estates of Penn in Pennsylvania and Delaware and of the Calverts in Maryland were confiscated by the respective state governments, which paid their heirs only a pittance in compensation.) The early proprietors did their best to set up manors—large, self-sufficient farming communities with seigniorial rights and privileges for the lord and master, perpetual rents and insecure tenure for the luckless tenants. The Dutch called them patroonships, like Rensselaerwyck in New York. Maryland’s proprietors, for example, established some sixty manors for cultivating mostly tobacco.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The English land speculators and merchant adventurers who formed companies to settle Virginia, Bermuda, the Caribbean, and New England were Puritan lords and gentlemen who would have liked to impose the manorial system instead of the church-based communities common in other parts of New England. Operating under the ambiguous Warwick Patent of 1631, Lord Saye and SeIe and Lord Brooke undoubtedly had in mind a manor when, in 1635, they dispatched Lieutenant Lion Gardiner to build a fort at the mouth of the Connecticut River to fend off rival Dutch traders and hostile Indians. But the sale of the Saybrook settlement in 1644 to the Connecticut Colony by George Fenwick, one of the Warwick patentees, evaporated this dream. Only Gardiner, with a similar objective in mind, would make it come true through the purchase of an island from the Montaukett Indians twelve miles across the water from Saybrook.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">After a career as a professional engineer of fortifications in an English regiment fighting under the Dutch flag in Holland, Lion Gardiner migrated in his thirty-sixth year. In the leather-bound family Bible that had accompanied him from Holland he later set down this account:</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body"><quote> <block> <line> In the year of our Lord—1635—July th 10—Came 1 Lion Gardiner and Mary my wife from Woreden a toune in Holland where my wife was borne … wee came from Woerden to London and from thence to New England and dwelt at Saybrook forte foure years of which i was Commander and theire was born to me a son named David in 1635 April the 29 the first born in that place and in 1638 A Daughter was borne to me caled Mary August the 30 and then went to an Island of mine owne which I bought of the Indians Called by them Manchonake by us the He of Wite and Theire was born another daughter named Elizabeth September the 14 1641 she being the first child born theire of English parents.</line> </block> </quote> </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The Indian name <span class="typestyle"> Manchonake</span> meant “the island where many have died,” apparently from a devastating encounter between the Pequots and the Montauketts long before the English appeared. The island lies halfway between the jaws of the easterly ends of Long Island, namely, Orient Point and Montauk Point. It stretches some seven miles, including a two-mile-long sandspit at the tip of which once stood Fort Tyler, built during the Spanish-American War to guard New York City from a sneak attack by the largely nonexistent Spanish navy. Now called “the ruins,” it has until recently made an ideal practice bombing area for United States Navy aircraft. Bluffs of clay face the northeast storms. The island’s thirty-three hundred acres teem with flora and fauna. Tobacco Lot Pond is a haven for squadrons of Canada geese, ducks, and egrets; giant ospreys soar overhead and arrive and depart punctually every year. Bostwick Woods, where turkeys and deer abound, is a virgin forest of white oaks and wild grapevines, seven centuries old. Five freshwater ponds, swamps, sandy beaches, and lush meadowland cast a spell of primitive and ever-changing beauty. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Gardiner was something of a viking. Unusually tall for a seventeenth-century Englishman—well over six feet—with a powerful frame and reddish-brown hair, plain of speech, he stood forth as a soldierly Puritan more practical than pious. No one could have been better equipped to command an expedition into the unknown wilderness of Connecticut and to conquer a multitude of obstacles: the scarcity ol food and other supplies; the hostility of the Pequot Indians, a fierce Connecticut tribe; and the almost total neglect of his patrons, all but one of whom—Fenwick—stayed comfortably at home in far-off England. Erom the beginning, unlike his smug and relatively secure compatriots in Boston, Gardiner understood the precarious nature of his military position and deplored the impulse of the outnumbered English to pull the trigger at the slightest provocation. To visiting Bostonians bent on revenge for the Indian murders of two hapless traders he complained: “You come hither to raise these wasps about my ears, and then you will take wing and flee away.” He was right on both counts. The Pequots harassed his small garrison and laid siege to the fort during that fall and winter, although the local Nehantic Indians remained friendly.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">A series of warlike incidents culminating in a massacre of settlers in Wethersfield, just below Hartford, led to the declaration of all-out war against the Pequots on May 1, 1637, by the general court at Hartford. Within a month Captain John Mason and a force of ninety men from the river settlements obliterated the Pequot stronghold at Mystic, killing more than six hundred braves, squaws, and children and setting fire to their village. Mason boasted that “we dunged the earth with them!” This was the end of the Pequots’ aggression, but Gardiner was wise enough to comprehend that the Indian menace still lurked elsewhere.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Three days after the victory there appeared at Saybrook Fort an imposing Indian with aquiline features, the younger brother of the Montaukett sachem who ruled eastern Long Island. Wyandance sought to trade, but Lion was suspicious of his real intentions and told him to prove his trust by getting rid of any Pequots who might have infiltrated Wyandance’s territory. Soon the Indian sent back twelve Pequot heads, thus establishing the bonds of a remarkably intimate friendship that endured the rest of their lives. Wyandance taught Gardiner his language, and together they explored the coastline of Long Island. Now forty years old, weary of fighting, with a family to raise, Gardiner sought a home where he might live out his life in peace. Manchonake satisfied him. Unlike Fishers Island, it had plenty of fresh water the year around. Its rich soil, on which the Montaukett tribe cultivated corn, pumpkins, and tobacco, would easily raise wheat and barley for him and provide pasture for cows and sheep. Its bold shoreline and relative isolation would protect him from attack. He said its shape reminded him of the Isle of Wight, and so he named it.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Gardiner took care to acquire legal title from both the Indian and the English proprietors. First he applied for and obtained a grant from the agent for the Earl of Stirling. He was Sir William Alexander, a poet of some note and secretary of state for Scotland, on whom King James i and King Charles i had bestowed vast grants of land from Nova Scotia south. His broad patent, which to a great extent duplicated or conflicted with others given by the Crown, encompassed the whole of Long Island, despite the fact that the Dutch were in possession of that area until 1664. The purchase price for Gardiners Island was a meager five pounds annually—a sum the Gardiners diligently remitted until 1670, when it was reduced to one lamb on the first day of May. Stirling’s grant recognized the island as a separate plantation and empowered Gardiner to make “such laws for church and civil government as are agreeable to God, the King and the practice of the country.” The Dutch authorities let Gardiner alone, perhaps because of the island’s isolation.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">In May, 1639, Gardiner also received a deed from Wyandance’s brother. According to Gardiner tradition the transaction was consummated for ten coats of trading cloth, one large black dog, a gun and ammunition, and some rum, totalling about twenty dollars in value, a little less than the Dutch allegedly paid for Manhattan. The Indians kept their rights to hunt, fish, and plant corn.</span></span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Thus, his contract with the Puritan lords having expired, (lardiner departed from Saybrook with Mary, two small children, his chaplain, and a handful of followers to (ound the first English settlement in what became the province of New York. It was as daring an adventure as his coming to Connecticut, haunted as he was by the savagery of the Pequots and the knowledge that his countrymen had only a toehold on this untamed coast. He wrote:</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body"><quote> <block> <line> Now I am old, I would lain die a natural death, or like a soldier in the lield, with honor, and not to have a sharp stake set in the ground, and thrust into my fundament, and to have my skin flayed off by piecemeal, and cut in pieces and bits, and my Mesh roasted and thrust down my throat as these people have done, and I know will he done to the chicfest in the country by hundreds, if God should deliver us into their hands, as justly he may for our sins.</line> </block> </quote> </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Never once, however, did Gardiner or later settlers have to employ arms against the local Indians. They helped him with the tilling, and he continued to befriend them. On the other hand, the Narragansets did their best to foment trouble. In one raid they took Wyandance’s daughter Momone prisoner on her wedding night, but Gardiner intervened through his friends in Boston and ransomed her. Thereupon Wyandance, now an old man and the grand sachem of Pommanocc, or Long Island, in gratitude for “his love, care and charge,” deeded Gardiner “a small tract of land” plus “one-half of all the whales or other great fish cast up on the beach from Napeake eastward to the end of the Island,” all for the sum of ten pounds annually for ten years. Wyandance’s gift, amounting to some forty thousand acres in Suffolk County, made Gardiner one of the largest landholders in North America. Unhappily the sachem was murdered shortly thereafter, allegedly poisoned by the Narragansets, causing Lion in his grief to write: “My friend and brother is dead. Who will now do the like?”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Gardiner also bought thousands of acres in other parts of the south shore. He was one of a group acquiring thirty thousand acres for the settlement of East Hampton, where, in 1653, after spending fourteen years on his Isle of Wight, he moved his family. There he died in 1663 at the age of sixty-four.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">His son David could not have been more of an opposite. In his youth a fop and ne’er-do-well who wasted a good deal of his patrimony on high living in London, he so angered his father as to be disinherited. His mother, however, later left the island to him in her will. Eventually he returned and settled down as a farmer in Southold. He sold to Richard Smith the land that became Smithtown. Despite his wealth, his was a bitter, undistinguished life, full of dislike for the Indians and fondness for the rum bottle. Yet he did have the sense to protect his father’s patent after the Dutch surrendered Long Island to James, Duke of York. The first English governor, Thomas Dongan, consented in 1686 to draw up a third and final deed establishing “the Lordshipp and Mannor of Gardiner’s Island,” the name David preferred. But in 1688, the year before David’s death, the manor was annexed to East Hampton by the Assembly of New York and subjected to assessment for property taxes.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">After David came John, a huge, salty reincarnation of his grandfather, who loved drink, Indian girls, and his land in equal measure. A servant, once asked to describe his character, replied: “On the main he might pass for a good man but on the island he was a devilish rogue.” The Indians called him Ginese, “the tall or powerful one.” He employed them to kill whales in the Atlantic and to till his corn, adding greatly to his wealth.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">It was fortunate for the Gardiners’ survival that such a robust, fearless chieftain held sway during the heyday of piracy along the Atlantic coast. Many of the freebooters were fitted out by double-dealing, rich New York merchants. It was inevitable that Gardiners Island, given its convenient location between Boston and New York, its accessible beaches and concealed coves, would serve as an excellent pirate hide-out.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">In the summer of 1699 an emissary came to John Gardiner with a mysterious tale about one William Kidd and his sloop, the <span class="typestyle"> San Antonio</span> . Kidd, a member of Trinity Church in New York, then had the reputation of being a gentleman as well as a trustworthy merchant, sea captain, and privateer. Privateering, when sanctioned by the authorities, was considered a legal form of piracy on the high seas. Kidd had received a royal commission to arrest all unauthorized pirates and to prey mainly on French shipping in the Indian Ocean. But unbeknownst to Gardiner, Kidd had run afoul of the company of nobles that had backed his expedition, including the Earl of Bellomont, governor of the provinces of Massachusetts Bay, New York, and New Hampshire. Off the coast of Madagascar Kidd had captured the <span class="typestyle"> Quedagh Merchant</span> , a ship belonging to the Great Mogul, and expropriated her rich cargo. His excuse was that he would be forgiven for plundering the vessel of an ally if it served to bring home plenty of gold to his impecunious king, William III. But his patrons, to free themselves from a charge of complicity, decided he must be made the scapegoat and proclaimed him a pirate. Now Kidd lay in wait near Block Island in the <span class="typestyle"> San Antonio</span> , convinced of his innocence yet not daring to face Bellomont in Boston until he had obtained a pardon from the king. Soon he anchored at Gardiners Island, inviting John aboard and impressing him with charm and friendliness. Captain Kidd explained he was in need of a few supplies—six sheep and a barrel of cider would suffice—and he gave the proprietor a cloth of gold from the dowry of the mogul’s daughter as a gift for Mrs. Gardiner. </span></span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Three sloops were observed at rendezvous in the bay and taking chests off the <span class="typestyle"> San Antonio</span> , evidence subsequently that Kidd had arranged to divide the spoils. After a few days Kidd requested permission to leave on shore four bales of cloth, a bundle of quilts, a chest, and a box of gold. Gardiner permitted him to bury all of it in a swamp between the manor house and Bostwick Point. To keep Gardiner honest, Kidd issued a chilling warning: “If I call for it and it is gone, I will take your head or your son’s”; with that he sailed away, never to return. Apparently he had changed his mind and decided to risk the wrath of Bellomont, for he made for Boston but was quickly jailed. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">During his investigation of Kidd’s exploits the governor uncovered the story of his visit to Gardiners Island and summoned its proprietor to Boston along with the treasure. There was a great discrepancy between the list Kidd had given to Gardiner and the goods returned, giving rise to doubts as to whether Gardiner was telling the whole truth. Admittedly John had overlooked a small chest containing rare stones, but Bellomont could prove no intent to defraud.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">On his return home John was horrified to learn that his wife had been harassed by one of Kidd’s accomplices. James Gillam, who had escaped from custody in Boston, wanted the gold and jewels he himself had deposited on the island, but Mary Gardiner somehow inveigled him to leave empty-handed. The ruffian threatened: “I will be the downfall of Gardiner even if it takes twenty years. …” The goods Gardiner gave back to the Crown were valued at thirty thousand dollars, yet most of the treasure was never accounted for, except for one item. The family still tells the story that when John Gardiner unpacked his portmanteau, a large diamond rolled out on the floor. Mary seized it, declaring she would keep it as recompense for all the trouble she had suffered, ft remained a valued heirloom for several generations. Gillam was never able to carry out his threat, and the unfortunate Kidd was hanged in London in 1701, not for piracy but for having killed a mutinous member of his crew.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">There were other piratical forays. At dusk in September, 1728, two squaws reported a schooner mounting six guns at anchor. John laughed it off with the remark that the Indians couldn’t tell a schooner from a canoe; but under cover of night there landed some eighty buccaneers, a motley lot of Spaniards, French, and mulattos. Because old John was too ill to leave his bed, his Indian steward gathered up the women and children and transported them safely to the south shore in his canoe. The pirates plundered the manor house, breaking up the furniture and taking all of the family silver. Enraged because Gardiner’s money was in East Hampton, they gashed him with their cutlasses. For several days they continued their depredations, removing to their vessel everything they could carry. Word finally reached Rhode Island, and two boats with a hundred and forty men set out in pursuit. But the pirates escaped, leaving Gardiner tied to a mulberry tree yet far from dead.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">At last John was left in peace. Every inch the lord, he outlasted three wives and was married to a fourth in his seventy-second year. Once he complained that his third wife, Elizabeth Allen, who was called the “up-river woman” from Hartford, had been a mistake, declaring that “I would as lief lie with a bag of carpenter’s tools.” At the age of seventy-seven, while visiting his son in Groton, Gonnecticut, he died after a fall from a spirited horse.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The ownership of the island alternated from Davids to Johns for eight generations. There was serenity and prosperity until the Revolution erupted. John’s heirs were gentlemen farmers who maintained careful accounts of their stewardship in large calfskin ledgers and continued to add to their Long Island holdings. David, the fourth lord, entailed the island, his will providing that his eldest son inherit it, “to continue in a lineal descent of the male line of my family to the end of time.” The fifth proprietor, John, and his son both attended Yale College. Indolent and a spendthrift, this John is remembered for abolishing the chaplaincy that Lion had established on the island; John was angry because his daughter had eloped with the young minister. David Gardiner, the sixth proprietor, after settling his father’s debts, built the fourth and most imposing manor house, which survived until 1947.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">At the start of the Revolution the island was being managed by Colonel Abraham Gardiner, a resident of East Hampton and third son of the fourth proprietor, as guardian for John Lyon, then a mere lad of five. Nearly a hundred dependents—Indians, mulattos, and slaves—worked the soil. Beef, cheese, wheat, and wool were the staple articles produced, while trotting horses, fowl and swine, some three hundred cows and steers, and fifteen hundred sheep earned a handsome return on the Boston market. In addition to this, ducks and geese provided plenty of game. On August 8, 1775, thirteen British men-of-war, commanded by Colonel Abijah Willard on <span class="typestyle"> H.M.S.</span> <span class="typestyle"> Rose</span> , anchored off the northeast shore with orders from General Thomas Gage to obtain provisions for the hungry garrison in Boston. Two hundred redcoats landed, only to find the island deserted except for the overseer, Ben Miller, and two servants. They collected 67 cattle, 1,166 sheep, 90 cheeses, 13 hogs, and seven tons of hay, for which they offered to pay. Miller, however, refused, saying he had been instructed not to sell anything. After the soldiers’ departure the remaining animals were removed and sold on Long Island. Presently the enemy occupied all of Long Island, and from 1776 until the end of the war Gardiners Island was deserted, as the Gardiners had removed to their property at East Hampton. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">In the summer of 1780 another British fleet, assigned to keep close watch on the French navy in Newport, hove into sight. Colonel Gardiner and young John Lyon were invited aboard the <span class="typestyle"> Royal Oak</span> and entertained by Vice Admiral Marriot Arbuthnot. (Colonel Gardiner was generally regarded as a Loyalist, although his son Nathaniel served as a Continental army surgeon.) The rest of the year and through the following winter British soldiers were stationed on the island, including several hundred sick and wounded. The officers enjoyed hunting wild turkeys and deer there, but the manor house became a shambles, and other buildings and fences fell into ruin. By the end of the Revolution the Gardiners still held their land but had lost most of their personal property. </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">John Lyon, the seventh proprietor, grew up to be a reserved, sensitive scholar with a great love for his land, Indian culture, and local history. He gave up the title of lord, declaring that “the present Proprietor is better pleased with the liberty both civil and religious which he enjoys in common with his countrymen and fellow citizens than with any empty titles whatever.” A bachelor until his early thirties, he fell in love with a tall, dark beauty from Lyme, Connecticut. Sarah Griswold came from a distinguished family that gave Connecticut two governors; her mother, Sarah Diodati, was descended from Italian nobility. Their meeting was pure romance. With a party of gay young ladies and gentlemen Sarah had crossed the Sound on a sailing frolic, only to become becalmed and then storm-tossed within sight of Gardiners Island. Seeking shelter ashore, they were warmly welcomed and refreshed. John Lyon had never spent a more delightful evening, and soon afterward he and Sarah were married.</span></span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Sarah Gardiner made the island hum with activity. She bore five children, three of whom were to become proprietors. In her attic workroom she kept six young women busy spinning flax and wool. Tradesmen came and went; artisans stayed long enough to make whatever was needed for the family. Sarah even worked out a system to call the island boat: visitors would raise a smoke signal by burning seaweed on a Long Island beach some three miles distant. A descendant, Sarah Diodati Gardiner, wrote: “At dawn, on New Year’s Day, it was the custom for the men to shoulder their guns, and march around the house, firing, by way of salute, as they passed Mr. Gardiner’s window.”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">With a witty and high-spirited mistress in charge of the manor house, John Lyon could return to his bird watching. He recorded detailed observations about the great fish hawks:</span></span></p><ol><li><span class="body"><span class="body">1. They are regular in arriving on the 21 of March and in leaving on 2 i Sept. Heavy equinoctial storms only prevent a day or so.</span></span></li><li><span class="body"><span class="body">2. They repair their nests a few days before they leave them and being on high dry topped trees, they frequently have their nests blown away entirely during the winter.</span></span></li><li><span class="body"><span class="body">3. They lay generally three eggs—hatch about 1 July.</span></span></li><li><span class="body"><span class="body">4. Are very fierce and bold while they have eggs and young and have been known to fix their claws in a negro’s head that was attempting to get to the nest …</span></span></li><li><span class="body"><span class="body">5. As soon as they arrive they wage war on the Eagle and by numbers and perseverance drive him off.</span></span></li></ol><p><span class="body"><span class="body">He noted that whenever the hawks were circling high in the air, it meant an imminent change of weather—usually a thunderstorm in two or three hours. They were so voracious when feeding their young that they consumed seven to eight hundred fish a day in three hundred nests. Once John Audubon visited the island as John Lyon’s guest and made a drawing of an osprey carrying off a fish.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">During the War of 1812 the British again sought provisions from Gardiners Island. None other than Sir Thomas Hardy, of Trafalgar fame, commanded the seven ships of the line that anchored in Gardiners Bay. Foraging parties took oxen from the plow and killed them, but this time they paid the market price for everything seized. Commodore Hardy was a model of courtesy and affability and saw to it that his officers behaved for the most part in a gentlemanly manner toward the proprietor and his family.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The happy relationship was marred by one disagreeable incident, however. In June of 1813 a boat’s crew from the American squadron of Commodore Decatur that had been blockaded in New London Harbor slipped past the British guns, landed on the island, and hid in the woods. They ambushed a party of British officers in the manor house and captured them. Hardy, convinced that Gardiner had betrayed his men, ordered his arrest. But the wily John Lyon took to his bed, placed medicine, glasses, and spoon on a table, and instructed his wife to tell the officers that her husband was too sick to receive them. Although they insisted on going into his bedroom, his naturally pale, delicate constitution and the reflection of the room’s green curtains on the bedstead combined to give him indeed the appearance of an invalid. The British left after grumbling that if anything of the kind happened again, they would hold Gardiner personally responsible. Fortunately the war ended without further incident; and Hardy must have forgotten the unpleasantness, for at the end of July he sent John Lyon an astonishing document that essentially served to excuse Gardiner from his government’s censure for any cooperation he might have given the British. Hardy wrote that “had you not complied with my wishes as you have done, I should have made use of force, and the consequence would be the destruction of your property, yourself a prisoner of war, and the few articles in the possession of your dependents taken without payment.”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Alter John Lyon’s death the most frequent invaders were treasure hunters excited by tales of Kidd’s unrecovered gold. From time to time these trespassers would beach a boat and search for the hiding place, which is now marked by a small monument. The steward, one David Mulford, conceived a stratagem to outwit the marauders. Desiring to move a large boulder, he carved the initials “W.K.” on it, dug a small hole under its base, scattered a few old pennies around the opening, and sat back to watch. Sure enough, the next raiding party discovered the bait and furiously began to excavate. Of course there was nothing more to be found, but the rock itself was freed. In 1869 the island was once more subjected to invasion by foreigners. The Cuban Liberators, a motley collection of exofficers and fanatics, set up a camp within a mile of the mansion. They were bound for the West Indies on a filibustering expedition. In short order, however, their ardor was checked by a company of marines who landed from a revenue cutter.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Sarah Gardiner outlived her husband and two of her sons. She leased the island to a cousin, another David Gardiner, from 1817 to 1820; then she ran it herself until her eldest, David Johnson, came of age in 1825. He died unmarried four years later, the last proprietor to inherit by entail. His brother John, also a bachelor, as the ninth proprietor, purchased the shares of his sisters and younger brother and occupied the island with his mother for nearly thirty years. The youngest brother, Samuel Buell, followed him as tenth proprietor from 1861 to 1882; since his brothers had allowed the island to decline, he concentrated on restoring it to the prosperous conditions that had prevailed during the life of his father, John Lyon.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The only colorful personality of this generation, a female throwback to Lion and his grandson, was Julia Gardiner, great-granddaughter of Colonel Abraham Gardiner and a distant cousin of David Johnson Gardiner. Born on the island in 1820, she grew into a tall, dark, flirtatious young lady who dazzled the society balls of New York in winter and graced the elegant resort of Saratoga Springs in summer. Moving on to the social whirl of Washington, she was introduced to President John Tyler, the Virginia aristocrat and a recent widower. Although more than twice her age he fell madly in love with her.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">A tragedy in February, 1844, interrupted their courtship momentarily. She and her father, a New York politician, had been invited, along with numerous dignitaries such as Dolley Madison, Thomas Hart Benton, and the President, aboard the new propeller-driven warship <span class="typestyle"> Princeton</span> , built by John Ericsson, the designer of the <span class="typestyle"> Monitor</span> in the Civil War. [See “‘The beauty and chivalry of the United States assembled,’” A <span class="typestyle"> MERICAN</span> H <span class="typestyle"> ERITAGE</span> , December, 1965.] Salutes were being fired from the Peacemaker gun on the forward deck. While Julia and President Tyler were enjoying a glass of champagne belowdecks there was a sudden terrible explosion above: the gun had burst asunder, killing her father and two members of Tyler’s Cabinet, four months later, however, Julia Gardiner and President John Tyler were secretly married in New York. The dour John Quincy Adams wrote in his diary: “Captain Tyler and his bride are the laughing stock of the city.” He was fifty-four, she twenty-four. But President-to-be James Buchanan was envious: “The President is the most lucky man who ever lived. Both a belle and a fortune to crown his Presidential career.” </span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">An earlier Jacqueline Kennedy, she set a style of elegance in the White House, introducing French cooking, dancing, and the playing of “Hail to the Chief when the President entered with his bride on his arm. One historian said she held court like an empress. Involving herself politically as well, she helped Tyler bring Texas into the Union with fervent speeches to senators and their wives. After signing the order of annexation her husband handed her the pen, and she wore it as a charm around her neck the rest of her life. After Tyler’s withdrawal from the election of 1844 they retired to his Virginia estate, where Julia mothered seven children and became a passionate Southerner. Although she never returned to Gardiners Island, her father’s house in East Hampton was used as the summer White House by President Tyler and herself.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">John Lyon Gardiner, the second son of Samuel Buell, took over as the eleventh proprietor after serving as a colonel in the Civil War. His successor in 1910 was his son, another Lion Gardiner, a banker with J. P. Morgan. This Lion leased the island to Clarence Mackay, head of Postal Telegraph, who used it mostly for hunting parties. Other lessees were the sportsman Winston Guest and the Sperry Rand Corporation, which made it an executive retreat. During Guest’s lease the hurricane of 1938 swept over the island and demolished halfDf the oak forest. Misfortune struck again in 1947, when the old manor house built by David Gardiner in 1774, with its beautiful panelled walls and columned porches, burned to the ground. Valuable antiques were destroyed, and the caretaker saved his life only by jumping from a window. It is thought that the fire was started by a guest falling asleep in bed while smoking a cigarette.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">After two more proprietors, Jonathan and Winthrop, the Gardiners, somewhat impoverished by the depression of the iQSo’s, considered selling the island. But a peppery old spinster, Sarah Diodati Gardiner, who was descended from Lion the First three ways, came to the rescue and paid off the mortgage in 1937 so that it would remain in the family. Both her mother and father had Gardiner blood. As a young girl she had visited the island and was enraptured by its beauty a half century before she became its first female owner. After the fire Aunt Sarah erected a new twenty-eight-room manor house in Georgian style. Still unmarried at her death in 1953 at the age of ninety, a multimillionairess, she left it to her nephew, Robert David Lion Gardiner, and his sister, Alexandra Gardiner Creel, who took possession at the expiration of Sperry Rand’s lease in 1963.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">Today Gardiners Island is little changed from the time Lion Gardiner came upon it and made it his home 336 years ago. There are still 250 acres of white oak in Bostwick Woods never touched hy an axe, the only such stand of timber in the world. The osprey still arrives and departs on schedule, building his six-foot nest in the crotches of dead trees. Elsewhere the fish hawk has almost become extinct due to pollution, and the hundred or more on Gardiners are probably the largest such colony in North America. Wild turkey and deer still roam; swans and other fowl make Tobacco Lot Pond their home. Bird watchers have identified several hundred species.</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The sixteenth proprietor, who has inherited three Gardiner fortunes (from his father, his uncle, and his aunt), feels very strongly about retaining ownership in the family; Gardiner has a nephew but no children of his own. Maintenance costs him over a hundred thousand dollars a year, and though it is assessed as open space, the island was recently valued at eight million dollars; furthermore, government officials have been eyeing it greedily for public use, while environmentalists fervently hope it will some day become a wildlife sanctuary. Even without Gardiners Island Robert Gardiner would have substantial holdings; in fact, he may be New York’s biggest landowner. He personally owns a twenty-million-dollar shopping plaza in Islip (which he intends to turn into a mall, with a statue of Lion Gardiner in the center); five thousand acres on the south shore, including another Gardiner manor in Bay Shore; the twenty-five-room “summer White House”; and a five-acre marina in East Hampton.</span></span></p><div class="insertable"><div class="img-block">&nbsp;</div></div><p><span class="body"><span class="body">The island, however, is his dearest possession. Now and then he consents to open it for nature study or day-long inspections for the benefit of his favorite charities. On these rare occasions, playing the role of the genial and well-informed host, he regales awed visitors with a torrent of tales and a display of family heirlooms. On foot or by jeep one can see the spot where Kidd supposedly buried his loot, the stone walls built by slaves, the eighteenth-century windmill with wooden gears, the family graveyard, and the watchtower from the top of which Gardiner ancestors scanned the sea for blowing whales. “Can you visualize my island becoming a campsite?” Gardiner asks rhetorically. “One public toilet would ruin it.” To him the Gardiners are unique: “Look at what’s happened to those other colonial lords of the manor. Most of them have nothing left. The Pells lost Pelham at the end of the Revolution. The Livingstons? That’s Grossinger’s now. The Rensselaers? Not a — to — in. As for the Du Ponts, Rockefellers, and Fords, they are nouveaux riches. The Du Ponts came in 1800; they’re not even a colonial family.”</span></span></p><p><span class="body"><span class="body">In 1972 Congressman Otis Pike, a New York Democrat, sponsored a bill to make Gardiners Island a national recreation area. Conscious of his responsibility for preserving the Gardiner legacy as long as possible, and with something of his ancestors’ fighting spirit, (jardiner went all out to oppose Pike’s attempt to break up what he called “a millionaire’s paradise.” He ran for Congress on the Conservative ticket and lost. Then, appealing to the ecologists and antiquarians, he mounted an intensive public-relations campaign that resulted in more than eighty thousand letters of support being sent to the House Committee on the Interior. Pike withdrew his bill. But although Gardiner won that battle, he has not won the final victory. 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              <img alt="columbus" data-align="center" data-caption="&lt;em&gt;Paul Kane's &quot;Columbus Discovering America,&quot; painted in the 1830s, depicts Indians amidst the trees, greeting the discoverer upon his landing at San Salvador. Painting from Northern Natural Gas Company Collection, Joslyn Art Museum&lt;/em&gt;" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="18479d12-a23a-49b8-8371-3d0ab25b72d3" src="/sites/default/files/inline-images/Columbus2_cropped_1.jpg" />\r\n ◀<img alt="columbus" data-align="center" data-caption="&lt;em&gt;Paul Kane's &quot;Columbus Discovering America,&quot; painted in the 1830s, depicts Indians amid ▶
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">On April 17, 1492, Ferdinand and Isabella, the Catholic monarchs of Castile, signed the Capitulations of Santa Fe, the agreement by which Christopher Columbus, one-time wool-weaving apprentice in Savona, Italy, undertook a voyage of discovery to the western Atlantic.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">On April 17, 1492, Ferdinand and Isabella, the Catholic monarchs of Castile, signed the Capitulations of Santa Fe, the  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Columbus was in his forty-first year. After forsaking his father’s loom in Savona he had spent some nine years in obscurity in Portugal, where his only known occupations were those of petty trader in sugar for an Italian commercial firm and maker and purveyor of maps and marine charts in collaboration with his younger brother Bartolomé. During this period he married a poor but aristocratic young Portuguese woman who bore him a son; he also supposedly made one or more sea voyages in an unidentified capacity.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Columbus was in his forty-first year. After forsaking his father’s loom in Savona he had spent some nine years in obscu ▶
              \r\n
              <div class="insertable"><span class="body"><span class="body">How a ragged and indigent foreigner whose only known experience at sea had been as a travelling commercial agent&nbsp;could thus acquire a station equal to that of the highest-ranking officer of the Castilian navy is a fascinating story in itself.</span></span></div>\r\n ◀<div class="insertable"><span class="body"><span class="body">How a ragged and indigent foreigner whose only known experience at sea had been as a travelling co ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Some time in those years he had conceived his enterprise of discovery. Finding no acceptance of it in Portugal, he had come to Castile in the early months of 1485 after his wife’s death. There he had eked out a precarious living as an itinerant peddler of books and maps, existing partly on charitable handouts from noble patrons whom he had managed to interest in his enterprise.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Some time in those years he had conceived his enterprise of discovery. Finding no acceptance of it in Portugal, he had  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Now the fruition of his dream was at hand. The Capitulations provided that:</span></span></p>\r\n
              \r\n
              <ol>\r\n
              \t<li><span class="body"><span class="body">Columbus was to be admiral of “all those islands and mainland in the Ocean Sea which by his hand and industry he would discover and acquire,” the title to be hereditary and the office to be equal in pre-eminences and prerogatives to that of the High Admiral of Castile.</span></span></li>\r\n ◀\t<li><span class="body"><span class="body">Columbus was to be admiral of “all those islands and mainland in the Ocean Sea which by his hand and industry he wou ▶
              \t<li><span class="body"><span class="body">He would be “viceroy and governor general of all the said islands and mainland.” In a subsequent royal provision signed a few days later, Columbus was specifically granted the power, as admiral, viceroy, and governor, to “hear and dispatch all civil and criminal proceedings pertaining to the said offices of the admiralty, viceroyalty and governorship” and to “punish and castigate the delinquents.”</span></span></li>\r\n ◀\t<li><span class="body"><span class="body">He would be “viceroy and governor general of all the said islands and mainland.” In a subsequent royal provision sig ▶
              \t<li><span class="body"><span class="body">For his personal enrichment he was to have 10 per cent of all the removable assets of the newly discovered lands, including gold, silver, pearls, and precious stones, and the trade therein was to be a crown monopoly under his control. He was to receive an additional 12½ per cent in return for his pledge to contribute an eighth part of the cost of the expedition.</span></span></li>\r\n ◀\t<li><span class="body"><span class="body">For his personal enrichment he was to have 10 per cent of all the removable assets of the newly discovered lands, in ▶
              </ol>\r\n
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">How a ragged and indigent foreigner whose only known experience at sea had been as a travelling commercial agent and earlier as a common seaman and who had not set foot on a ship in the seven years he had been in Spain could thus acquire by the stroke of a pen a station equal to that of the highest-ranking officer of the Castilian navy—indeed, how he could have wrung from these two powerful and able sovereigns such extraordinary concessions—is a fascinating story in itself, but it need not detain us here. </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">How a ragged and indigent foreigner whose only known experience at sea had been as a travelling commercial agent and ea ▶
              \r\n
              <p class="text-align-center"><strong><span class="body"><span class="body">See also: “<a href="https://www.americanheritage.com/christopher-columbus-mariner">Christopher Columbus, Mariner</a>” by Samuel Eliot Morrison</span></span></strong></p>\r\n ◀<p class="text-align-center"><strong><span class="body"><span class="body">See also: “<a href="https://www.americanheritage.com/christopher-columbus-mariner">Ch ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Of far more significance in their tragic portent were the provisions of the agreement that gave to the former weaver’s apprentice the absolute power of life and death over tens of thousands of innocent human beings. His incapacity to discharge that responsibility justly and humanely would be distressingly demonstrated in the years that were to follow. </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Of far more significance in their tragic portent were the provisions of the agreement that gave to the former weaver’s  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The somber chronicle of the events that ended in the genocide of the peaceful Arawaks of the Caribbean islands is amply documented in Columbus’ own letters and journals and in the pages of his most ardent admirer, Father Bartolomé de Las Casas, the great contemporary historian of the West Indies who believed Columbus had been divinely inspired to make the Discovery. But Las Casas was a thoroughly honest writer, and he did not hesitate to pass harsh judgment on his hero for initiating and carrying on the wholesale enslavement for profit of the gentle natives who had affectionately welcomed Columbus and his fellow argonauts to the New World. Throughout his long life Las Casas was an impassioned crusader for the rights and survival of the hapless Indians—his “poor innocents,” as he called them—whose cruel oppression by the Spanish invaders he laid square at Columbus’ door.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The somber chronicle of the events that ended in the genocide of the peaceful Arawaks of the Caribbean islands is amply ▶
              \r\n
              <div class="insertable"><span class="body"><span class="body">The somber chronicle of the events that ended in the genocide of the peaceful Arawaks of the Caribbean islands is amply documented in Columbus’ own letters and journals</span></span></div>\r\n ◀<div class="insertable"><span class="body"><span class="body">The somber chronicle of the events that ended in the genocide of the peaceful Arawaks of the Carib ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">However controversial this Dominican priest may have been in his lifetime, however subjective and even irritating to his readers may be his interminable moralizing and expounding of God’s will, Las Casas’ monumental history remains without question the greatest single source of our knowledge of that milestone in human affairs. Born to an upper-class family in Seville, Las Casas was eighteen at the time of the voyage of discovery. His father went with Columbus on the second voyage in 1493 and was among the first colonists on the island of Haiti, which the Spaniards called La Isla Espanola (Spanish Island). Young Las Casas joined the colony in 1502 and for a time led the life of a landholder in this first Spanish settlement in the New World. But his sensitive mind and heart were sickened by the cruel oppression of the natives. He took the vows of the Dominican order and resolved to devote the rest of his life to their cause, a resolve he never relinquished until the end of his life, at ninety-two. For three years he was bishop of Chiapas in southern Mexico; he then returned to Spain for the last time in 1547, becoming a permanent resident of the monastery of San Gregorio in Valladolid. He began his <em><span class="typestyle"> Historia de las Indias</span> </em>in 1527, while he was still on Espanola, but did not complete it until thirty years later. He had become well acquainted with Diego, Columbus’ legitimate son and his successor as Admiral of the Indies, and with Diego’s highborn wife, Maria de Toledo, niece of the duke of Alba. They placed all of Columbus’ papers at his disposal, including a copy of the <em><span class="typestyle"> Journal of the First Voyage</span></em>. Las Casas made an abstract of the latter for his own use, and it remains the only detailed record of the historic voyage. The original of the journal has been lost. </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">However controversial this Dominican priest may have been in his lifetime, however subjective and even irritating to hi ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">A chilling omen of the fate of the unarmed and inoffensive Arawaks is indicated in Columbus’journal under date of October 14, 1492, two days after the first landing of the expedition on the tiny island of Guanahani in the Outer Bahamas, which Columbus christened San Salvador. “When your Highnesses so command, they could all be carried off to Castile or be held captive in the island itself,” he wrote, “because with 50 men they could all be subjugated and compelled to do anything one wishes.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">A chilling omen of the fate of the unarmed and inoffensive Arawaks is indicated in Columbus’journal under date of Octob ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">On Sunday, November 11, a month after the historic landing on Guanahani, the fleet of discovery was anchored in a harbor along a coast that seemed without limit.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">On Sunday, November 11, a month after the historic landing on Guanahani, the fleet of discovery was anchored in a harbo ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The admiral had understood the name of this land to be Colba, and he tentatively identified it as the fabled island of Cipango (Japan). The fleet had reached it October 28 and now lay at the mouth of a large river that Columbus had named Río de Mares.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The admiral had understood the name of this land to be Colba, and he tentatively identified it as the fabled island of  ▶
              \r\n
              <p class="text-align-center"><strong><span class="body"><span class="body">See also "<a href="https://www.americanheritage.com/everything-you-need-know-about-columbus">Everything You Need To Know About Columbus</a>" by Gloria Deák</span></span></strong></p>\r\n ◀<p class="text-align-center"><strong><span class="body"><span class="body">See also "<a href="https://www.americanheritage.com/everything-you-need-know-about-co ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Four weeks of rather aimless wandering among the myriad islands surrounding the argosy had turned up very little in the way of gold, the sine qua non of the expedition so far as Columbus was concerned. Only a few of the natives wore small articles of gold, which they traded readily for any trifles the Christians offered them.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Four weeks of rather aimless wandering among the myriad islands surrounding the argosy had turned up very little in the ▶
              <img alt="columbus" data-align="right" data-caption="&lt;em&gt;Chistopher Columbus, circa 1519.&lt;/em&gt;" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="c5c70f1a-15fe-4882-9986-e7c6f362582a" height="334" src="/sites/default/files/inline-images/397px-Portrait_of_a_Man%2C_Said_to_be_Christopher_Columbus.jpg" width="276" />\r\n ◀<img alt="columbus" data-align="right" data-caption="&lt;em&gt;Chistopher Columbus, circa 1519.&lt;/em&gt;" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="c5c70f1a-1 ▶
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Where had the gold come from? The artless and naked islanders were eager to please, but the difficulty of communication was great. The sign language Columbus and his company tried to use was awkward and easily misunderstood and did little to identify the source of the gold ornaments that meant so little to their wearers and so much to the odd and powerful beings they believed had come from the sky.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Where had the gold come from? The artless and naked islanders were eager to please, but the difficulty of communication ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">In his frustration Columbus turned his attention to the trees and shrubs, many of which he was certain bore valuable spices. But which trees, and what spices? He had to confess his ignorance in that respect. “… and though I believe there are many herbs and many trees that would be highly valued in Spain for dyes and medicinal spices, most of them I do not recognize which causes me great annoyance,” his journal notes under date of October 19.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">In his frustration Columbus turned his attention to the trees and shrubs, many of which he was certain bore valuable sp ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">By sad irony one of the herbs he failed to recognize was to engender more wealth long after Columbus’ death than all the Golcondas of his dreams. During his sojourn along the coast of “Colba,” or Cuba, he sent two men into the interior on an exploratory mission. On November 6 they returned to the ship to report to the admiral on what they had found. Among other things they related that many of the natives, both men and women, were accustomed to holding a <span class="typestyle"> tizón</span> , or firebrand, of <span class="typestyle"> yerbas</span> (weeds) in their hands and inhaling the smoke. The journal does not identify the <span class="typestyle"> yerbas</span> , but Father Las Casas does in his <span class="typestyle"> Historia</span> . Columbus had discovered tobacco. To the end of his life he was totally unaware of the impact this discovery was to make on the world’s economy—if, indeed, he gave the matter a second thought. </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">By sad irony one of the herbs he failed to recognize was to engender more wealth long after Columbus’ death than all th ▶
              \r\n
              <div class="insertable"><span class="body"><span class="body">By sad irony one of the herbs he failed to recognize was to engender more wealth long after Columbus’ death than all the Golcondas of his dreams.</span></span></div>\r\n ◀<div class="insertable"><span class="body"><span class="body">By sad irony one of the herbs he failed to recognize was to engender more wealth long after Columb ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">No, the road to the expected riches of these exotic lands was not plainly marked. So far Columbus had little more tangible to offer the sovereigns than the beautiful scenery he described in his journal day after day in endless detail. But he was acutely aware that scenery could not be cashed at the bank, and the prospect of another source of revenue that was plainly visible and plainly abundant began to take shape in his mind.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">No, the road to the expected riches of these exotic lands was not plainly marked. So far Columbus had little more tangi ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Along with the scenery, Columbus never tired of extolling the docility and peaceful nature of the timid people who had welcomed him and his fellow voyagers with such awe and affection to their island Eden. And he kept turning over in his mind how the meek and artless character of his brown-skinned hosts could be made a source of profit.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Along with the scenery, Columbus never tired of extolling the docility and peaceful nature of the timid people who had  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">On the same day that the expedition landed on Guanahani, Columbus noted that the timid natives “should make good servants.” Several weeks later he remarked in the journal:”… they are very meek and without knowledge of evil nor do they kill others or steal … and they are without weapons and so timid that one of our people can put a hundred of them to flight.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">On the same day that the expedition landed on Guanahani, Columbus noted that the timid natives “should make good servan ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">On Monday, December 3, the admiral assured the sovereigns that ten men could cause ten thousand of the natives to flee, “so cowardly and fainthearted are they and they carry no arms except some rods at the end of which are pointed sticks which are fire-hardened.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">On Monday, December 3, the admiral assured the sovereigns that ten men could cause ten thousand of the natives to flee, ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">By December 16 his ideas in that respect had taken definite form. “They have no weapons and are all naked without any skill in arms and are very cowardly so that a thousand would not challenge three,” says the journal for that date. “… Thus they are useful to be commanded and to be made to labor and sow and to do everything else of which there is need and build towns and be taught to wear clothes and learn our customs.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">By December 16 his ideas in that respect had taken definite form. “They have no weapons and are all naked without any s ▶
              \r\n
              <p class="text-align-center"><strong>See also: "<a href="https://www.americanheritage.com/node/132691">Christopher Columbus, Failure</a>" by Christine Gibson</strong></p>\r\n ◀<p class="text-align-center"><strong>See also: "<a href="https://www.americanheritage.com/node/132691">Christopher Columbus, Failure</a>" by Christine Gibson</s ▶
              \r\n
              <p>And finally, in a famous letter to Luis de Santangel, his patron at court, he gets right down to business: In conclusion, to speak only of what has been accomplished on this voyage which was so hurried, their Highnesses may see that I can give them as much gold as they will need with very little aid from their Highnesses. And there are spiceries and cotton, as much as their Highnesses may order and mastic in whatever quantity they may order … and slaves in any number they may order and they shall be of the idolaters (i.e., heathens].</p>\r\n ◀<p>And finally, in a famous letter to Luis de Santangel, his patron at court, he gets right down to business: In conclusion, to speak only of what has been acco ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Great evils are apt to have small beginnings, or, as Father Las Casas put it, “Men are never accustomed to falling into a single error or committing only one sin.” So it was that on November 11, 1492, the admiral ordered five young male natives, who had come trustingly aboard his flagship, forcibly seized “to take to the Sovereigns to learn our language so that it might be disclosed what is in the land.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Great evils are apt to have small beginnings, or, as Father Las Casas put it, “Men are never accustomed to falling into ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">A trifling incident in itself, but to paraphrase Father Las Casas, Columbus was quite ready to multiply his sins.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">A trifling incident in itself, but to paraphrase Father Las Casas, Columbus was quite ready to multiply his sins.</span ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">“Afterwards I sent to a house which is in the area of the river to the west,” Columbus says in his journal, “and they brought back seven head of women, small and large and three children. I did this because the men would comport themselves better in Spain having women from their land than without them.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">“Afterwards I sent to a house which is in the area of the river to the west,” Columbus says in his journal, “and they b ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The cynical kidnapping of seven “head” of women to keep the male captives docile in their slavery (Columbus used the phrase <span class="typestyle"> cabezas de mugeres</span> just as he would say seven head of cattle) was the first act of a tragedy whose last would be the extermination of the Arawak natives of the Antilles. “This,” noted the Spanish historian José Asensio, “was a great abuse and bad judgment on the part of the Admiral which was to set a most lamentable precedent, an act so apparently trifling which was to have fatal consequences.” </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The cynical kidnapping of seven “head” of women to keep the male captives docile in their slavery (Columbus used the ph ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The incident set off a series of denunciations by Father Las Casas in his <span class="typestyle"> Historia</span> that could not have been more bitter if they had come from Columbus’ worst enemy rather than from his most devoted admirer. “A pretty excuse he has given to explain or justify such a nefarious deed,” wrote the indignant priest. “One might ask whether it was not a most grievous sin to pillage with violence women who had their own husbands. … Who was to give an accounting to God for the sins of adultery committed by the Indians whom he took with him, to whom he gave those wives as sexual partners? For this injustice alone it could well be that he merited before God the tribulations and afflictions which he was to suffer throughout his life. …” </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The incident set off a series of denunciations by Father Las Casas in his <span class="typestyle"> Historia</span> that ▶
              \r\n
              <div class="insertable"><span class="body"><span class="body">This narrow-minded approach to the problems of making an honest ducat would have discouraged anyone less determined to have his own way and less adept at achieving it than Columbus.</span></span></div>\r\n ◀<div class="insertable"><span class="body"><span class="body">This narrow-minded approach to the problems of making an honest ducat would have discouraged anyon ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The Catholic sovereigns must have taken more than passing note of their admiral’s burgeoning ideas for exploitation of the natives as part of the exportable assets of the newly discovered lands. In written instructions to Columbus issued from Barcelona on May 129, 1493, the king and queen were explicit in their mandate respecting treatment of the Indians. Not only was Columbus to make their conversion to the Christian faith his first order of business, but the monarchs also firmly decreed that they were not to be molested or coerced in any way. They instructed Columbus as he prepared for his second voyage: And because this can best be done after the arrival of the Meet in good time, the said Admiral shall take measures that all those who go therein and those who have gone before from here shall treat the Indians very well and affectionately without causing them any annoyance whatever … and at the same time the Admiral shall make some gifts to them in a gracious manner and hold them in great honor and if it happens that some persons should treat the Indians badly in any way whatsoever the said Admiral, as viceroy and governor for their Highnesses, shall mete out severe punishment. … </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The Catholic sovereigns must have taken more than passing note of their admiral’s burgeoning ideas for exploitation of  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">This narrow-minded approach to the problems of making an honest ducat would have discouraged anyone less determined to have his own way and less adept at achieving it than Columbus. The sovereigns were well-meaning, of course, but they didn’t understand the situation too well. He would have to humor them up to a point, but it was no great problem.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">This narrow-minded approach to the problems of making an honest ducat would have discouraged anyone less determined to  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">On the outward passage of the second voyage Columbus’ fleet of seventeen sail discovered and named a number of the islands of the Lesser Antilles in the southwestern Caribbean. These islands were inhabited by a warlike people called Caribs who had the reputation, whether or not deserved, of dining on the prisoners they took in raids on their peaceful Arawak neighbors to the north.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">On the outward passage of the second voyage Columbus’ fleet of seventeen sail discovered and named a number of the isla ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Columbus and his company had a brief skirmish with these cannibals on the island of Santa Cruz (St. Croix), one of the Virgin Islands. A Spaniard was killed by an arrow, and a few of the natives were taken prisoner. The exact number is difficult to establish from the three rather confusing eyewitness accounts we have of this encounter, but it couldn’t have been more than a dozen or so, including three or four male adults and some women and children.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Columbus and his company had a brief skirmish with these cannibals on the island of Santa Cruz (St. Croix), one of the  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">But they were enough to give Columbus an inspiration for carrying on his proposed traffic in slaves without hindrance from his sentimental sovereigns. Just call his merchandise cannibals and who could object? Who cared what happened to cannibals?</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">But they were enough to give Columbus an inspiration for carrying on his proposed traffic in slaves without hindrance f ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">On February 2, 1494, two and a half months after the skirmish on Santa Cruz and about eight months after the sovereigns had forbidden any kind of coercion of the natives, a cargo of slaves departed from Isabela, the new Spanish colony on Espanola (Haiti). They were in twelve ships under the command of Antonio de Torres, a brother of the governess of the crown prince of Castile. They were dispatched by Columbus to be sold in the slave market of Seville.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">On February 2, 1494, two and a half months after the skirmish on Santa Cruz and about eight months after the sovereigns ▶
              \r\n
              <p>&nbsp;</p>\r\n
              <img alt="columbus landing" data-align="center" data-caption="&lt;em&gt;John Vanderlyn's depiction of Columbus&amp;nbsp;landing in the West Indies, on an island that the natives called Guanahani and he named San Salvador, on October 12, 1492.&lt;/em&gt;" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="8ffc3327-047a-4579-8b60-af9a6ac6ed08" height="496" src="/sites/default/files/inline-images/640px-Landing_of_Columbus_%282%29.jpg" width="756" />\r\n ◀<img alt="columbus landing" data-align="center" data-caption="&lt;em&gt;John Vanderlyn's depiction of Columbus&amp;nbsp;landing in the West Indies, on an island ▶
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Four days earlier he had given Torres a lengthy written memorandum instructing him as to how he was to explain the shipment of slaves to Their Highnesses and laying the groundwork for more of the same. “You must say and supplicate on my behalf to the King and Queen, our Lords, the following,” Columbus wrote Torres: Item, say to their Highnesses that because there is no language by means of which this people can understand our Holy Faith … thus are being sent with these ships the cannibals, men and women and boys and girls, which their Highnesses may order placed in the possession of persons from whom they can best learn the language. </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Four days earlier he had given Torres a lengthy written memorandum instructing him as to how he was to explain the ship ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Item, say to their Highnesses that the profit from the souls of the said cannibals would suggest the consideration that many more from here would be better and their Highnesses would lie served in this manner: that in view of the need for cattle and beasts of burden for sustaining the people who are here … their Highnesses could give license to a number of caravels sufficient to come here each year and bring the said cattle and other provision; … for which payment would be made in slaves from these cannibals. …</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Item, say to their Highnesses that the profit from the souls of the said cannibals would suggest the consideration that ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">There is no record of the number of slaves sent with Torres, but from all indications there were considerably more than the handful of Caribs taken in the skirmish on Santa Crux, Columbus’ only known encounter with these fierce natives on his second voyage. Most of Torres’ wretched cargo must have been made up of the inoffensive inhabitants of Espanola, whose meekness, so highly praised at first by Columbus, was being strained to the breaking point by the strong-arm tactics of the European invaders, including Columbus’ own periodic kidnappings of groups of natives “to learn the secrets of the land.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">There is no record of the number of slaves sent with Torres, but from all indications there were considerably more than ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Eleven weeks after the departure of Torres with the first shipment of slaves, Columbus beetled off to other parts of the Caribbean in another vain pursuit of his obsession for gold. He left the dull and frustrating routine of administering the new colony on Espanola to his younger brother Diego, who, from all accounts, was a well-meaning nonentity. To a hidalgo named Pedro Margarit he entrusted the command of the armed forces during his absence.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Eleven weeks after the departure of Torres with the first shipment of slaves, Columbus beetled off to other parts of th ▶
              \r\n
              <div class="insertable"><span class="body"><span class="body">Columbus returned to Espanola four months later to find affairs on the island in chaos. </span></span></div>\r\n ◀<div class="insertable"><span class="body"><span class="body">Columbus returned to Espanola four months later to find affairs on the island in chaos. </span></s ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Columbus returned to Espanola four months later to find affairs on the island in chaos. Margarit had thrown up his captaincy and returned to Spain, leaving the soldiers under his command to roam the countryside, raping the native women, robbing the villages, and, in the words of Ferdinand Columbus, “committing a thousand excesses for which they were mortally hated by the Indians.” (Ferdinand was Columbus’ illegitimate son, who wrote a biography of his father that was largely a panegyric.) The tormented natives finally turned on their oppressors, and ten Christians were slain in ambush.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Columbus returned to Espanola four months later to find affairs on the island in chaos. Margarit had thrown up his capt ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">This was all Columbus needed to establish a steady supply of slaves. He no longer would have to maintain the fiction that they were cannibals. Despite the fact, even acknowledged by Ferdinand, that the slain Spaniards had justly earned their mortal hatred, Columbus led an expedition against the defenseless Indians that was incredibly savage in its slaughter of the naked islanders and destruction of their villages. The heavily armed Europeans were accompanied by ferocious greyhounds each of which, Las Casas wrote, “in an hour … could tear 100 Indians to pieces because all the people of this island had the custom of going … nude from head to foot.” Many people were taken alive, and five hundred were sent as slaves to be sold in Castile. They were carried in four ships that Antonio de Torres had brought, and they left for Castile on February 24, 1495.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">This was all Columbus needed to establish a steady supply of slaves. He no longer would have to maintain the fiction th ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Michele de Cuneo, an Italian compatriot of Columbus, accompanied the admiral as a gentleman adventurer on the second voyage and has left a lively eyewitness account of that trip. He was a passenger on Torres’ slave-laden fleet on the 1495 voyage back to Spain. He related that sixteen hundred Indian captives, male and female, had been gathered in lsabela, the island capital. Five hundred or more of the more salable “pieces” were loaded aboard the ships, and the rest were parcelled out to the colonists. When the fleet reached the colder European waters, about two hundred of the wretched captives died of exposure, and their bodies were thrown into the sea. The survivors were consigned to Juanoto Berardi, Columbus’ Italian business agent in Seville, for sale in the slave market there.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Michele de Cuneo, an Italian compatriot of Columbus, accompanied the admiral as a gentleman adventurer on the second vo ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">“The ships brought back 500 souls of Indians, men and women all of good age from 12 to 35,” wrote Columbus’ good friend, the historian Andrés Bernáldez. “They came thus to this land as they had been born to their own and with no more embarrassment than if they were wild animals, of which all were sold and this proved to be very bad as they all died, being unfitted for the land.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">“The ships brought back 500 souls of Indians, men and women all of good age from 12 to 35,” wrote Columbus’ good friend ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Thus the island was “pacified” by favor of the Lord, says Ferdinand in his biography of his father: Two squadrons of infantry assaulted the multitude of Indians, putting them to rout with crossbow shots and guns and before they could rally they attacked with horses and dogs. By these means those cowards fled in every direction and the destruction was so great that in brief time the victory was complete. … </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Thus the island was “pacified” by favor of the Lord, says Ferdinand in his biography of his father: Two squadrons of in ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Not only did His Divine Majesty’s hand guide him [Columbus] in achieving the victory but He also imposed such a severe shortage of food and such varied and grave infirmities that the Indians were reduced to a third of the number they had been before, so it is clear that from His divine guidance such a marvelous victory ensued. …</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Not only did His Divine Majesty’s hand guide him [Columbus] in achieving the victory but He also imposed such a severe  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Now an ingenious plan occurred to Columbus for imposing profitable servitude <span class="typestyle"> in situ</span> of the entire native population. He decreed that every Indian over fourteen years of age inhabiting the two large areas of Cibao and Vega Real, where gold had been found along the riverbeds, must pay tribute every three months of enough gold dust or grains to fill a hollow <span class="typestyle"> cascabel</span> (hawksbell). Those living some distance from the sources of gold would be allowed to substitute an <span class="typestyle"> arroba</span> (about twenty-five pounds) of cotton. </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Now an ingenious plan occurred to Columbus for imposing profitable servitude <span class="typestyle"> in situ</span> of ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">To ensure compliance with the order Columbus devised a metal disk to be hung around the neck of each native, showing whether he was up to date with the tribute. Those in arrears were punished; any who rebelled or tried to flee were hunted down and sold into slavery in Castile.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">To ensure compliance with the order Columbus devised a metal disk to be hung around the neck of each native, showing wh ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Washington Irving, from whose pen came the most eloquent account of the plight of the unhappy islanders, wrote: In this way was the yoke of servitude fixed upon the island and its thralldom effectually insured. Deep despair now fell on the natives when they found a perpetual task inflicted upon them. … Weak and indolent by nature, unused to labor of any kind and brought up in the untasked idleness of their soft climate and their fruitful groves, death itself seemed preferable to a life of toil and anxiety. They sawno end to this harassing evil which had so suddenly fallen upon them; … no prospect of a return to that roving independence and ample leisure so dear to the wild inhabitants of the forest. The pleasant life of the island was at an end. … They were now obliged to grope day by day with bending body and anxious eye along the borders of their rivers, sifting the sands for the grains of gold which every day grew more scanty; or to labor in the fields beneath the fervour of a tropical sun to raise food for their taskmasters or to produce the vegetable tribute imposed upon them. They sunk to sleep weary and exhausted at night, with the certainty that the next day was to be a repetition of the same toil and suffering. … </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Washington Irving, from whose pen came the most eloquent account of the plight of the unhappy islanders, wrote: In this ▶
              \r\n
              <div class="insertable"><span class="body"><span class="body">Thus by his own authority and in virtual defiance of the mandate that his royal patrons had given him, Columbus established slavery in the New World.</span></span></div>\r\n ◀<div class="insertable"><span class="body"><span class="body">Thus by his own authority and in virtual defiance of the mandate that his royal patrons had given  ▶
              \r\n
              <p>Thus by his own authority and in virtual defiance of the mandate that his royal patrons had given him, Columbus established slavery in the New World.</p>\r\n
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">So the caravels continued to ply between Espanola and Spain, their holds crowded with miserable cargoes of human cattle. One of the hazards of the traffic was the unfortunate tendency of many of the Indians to die on the way to the slave markets, a circumstance reflected in the higher prices necessary to make a profit out of the survivors.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">So the caravels continued to ply between Espanola and Spain, their holds crowded with miserable cargoes of human cattle ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">In one particularly expensive episode Columbus held a fleet of five ships in Santo Domingo Harbor for two and a half weeks beyond sailing time while he negotiated an agreement with a rebel hidalgo named Francisco Roldán. The holds were crammed with slaves to the point of suffocation. Under the hot tropical sun, with the hatchways closed, “unable to breathe, from anguish and the closeness of their quarters, they smothered and an infinite number of these Indians perished,” reported Father Las Casas, “and their bodies were thrown into the sea downstream.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">In one particularly expensive episode Columbus held a fleet of five ships in Santo Domingo Harbor for two and a half we ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Columbus wrote Roldán to hurry up with his signature on the agreement “because I have detained the ships 18 days beyond their schedule and would detain them longer except for the Indians which they carry were a heavy burden and were dying.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Columbus wrote Roldán to hurry up with his signature on the agreement “because I have detained the ships 18 days beyond ▶
              <img alt="An Awarak village in the early 1800s. " data-align="right" data-caption="&lt;em&gt;An Awarak village in the early 1800s.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="101daf1b-ca85-4abf-9192-ca3d3406f6b5" height="551" src="/sites/default/files/inline-images/491px-Arowak_village.jpg" width="376" />\r\n ◀<img alt="An Awarak village in the early 1800s. " data-align="right" data-caption="&lt;em&gt;An Awarak village in the early 1800s.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;" data-en ▶
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Of course every business has its drawbacks. Columbus could at least congratulate himself that so far the sovereigns had not interfered in his “profitable” enterprise despite their high-sounding instructions about treatment of the Indians. They were willing to accept his word that the steady shipment of slaves were “cannibals” or prisoners taken in “just wars.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Of course every business has its drawbacks. Columbus could at least congratulate himself that so far the sovereigns had ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Now he was emboldened to offer a scheme of regular cropping of slaves as part of the New World’s exportable economy, and he wrote the sovereigns: From here one can, in the name of the Holy Trinity, send all the slaves that can be sold of which, if the information I have is correct, they could sell 4,000 and at a minimum value they would be worth 20 millions, and 4,000 quintals of brasil [wood] which would be worth at least as much, at an expense of six millions. It would appear that 40 millions could be realized … if there is no lack of ships which I believe with the aid of the Lord there will not be if once they are filled on this voyage. … Thus there are these slaves and brasil which appear to be a blessed thing and even gold if it pleases The One who giveth it and will give at His pleasure. … Even now the masters and mariners leave rich intending to return and take back slaves at 1500 <span class="typestyle"> maravedis</span> [a unit of Castilian currency roughly worth seven tenths of a penny today] the piece and feed them and pay for them out of the first money they collect; and though it is true that many die it need not always be that way; it was this way also with the first of the Negroes and Canarios and there is an advantage in these: that is to say, the Indians are more profitable than the Negroes. </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Now he was emboldened to offer a scheme of regular cropping of slaves as part of the New World’s exportable economy, an ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Columbus was, of course, quite unconscious of the bitter irony of invoking the Holy Trinity as underwriter of this sordid proposal. His God was an accommodating deity who adjusted easily to every whim of his ambitious servant.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Columbus was, of course, quite unconscious of the bitter irony of invoking the Holy Trinity as underwriter of this sord ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">But the God of Las Casas was of sterner stuff, and a showdown was imminent between the two conceptions of the Heavenly Majesty that would topple Columbus from his high estate and send him back to Spain in irons and disgrace.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">But the God of Las Casas was of sterner stuff, and a showdown was imminent between the two conceptions of the Heavenly  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">“What greater or more supine hard-heartedness and blindness can there be than this?” raged Las Casas in the <span class="typestyle"> Historia</span> . And to cap this he says that “in the name of the Holy Trinity he [Columbus] could send all the slaves which could be sold in all the said kingdoms. Many times I believe blindness and corruption infected the Admiral.” </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">“What greater or more supine hard-heartedness and blindness can there be than this?” raged Las Casas in the <span class ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The resolution of events that were to engulf Columbus in their tragic wake was not long in coming. His letter to the sovereigns proposing exportation and sale of four thousand slaves went with the fleet of five ships that left Santo Domingo on October 18, 1498. In the same fleet were several hundred colonists returning to Spain and six hundred enslaved Indians. Each returning colonist had been presented with a slave by Columbus as a token of his good will. Two hundred more had been allotted to the masters of the ships to cover the cost of their transportation.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The resolution of events that were to engulf Columbus in their tragic wake was not long in coming. His letter to the so ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The arrival of the fleet and Columbus’ letter to the sovereigns could not have come at a worse time for him. Complaints of the chaotic and harsh rule of the three Italian brothers—the admiral and Diego had been joined in Santo Domingo by their brother Bartolomé—had been pouring into the royal court with increasing urgency. And indeed, as the historian Angel de Altolaguirre remarked, “the state of misery which reigned in Espanola was demonstrated by lhe fact that Columbus, for his own profit, and to meet the expenses of the colony, found no other means than to sell its inhabitants.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The arrival of the fleet and Columbus’ letter to the sovereigns could not have come at a worse time for him. Complaints ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">The sixteenth-century historian Antonio de Herrera y Tordesillas—also a great admirer of Columbus—wrote that among the many charges brought by the white residents of Espanola against the admiral was one that “he would not consent to baptism of the Indians whom the friars wished to baptise because he wanted more slaves than Christians; that he made war against the Indians unjustly and made many slaves to be sent to Castile.” And four Catholic missionaries, in separate letters to Cardinal Cisneros, the archbishop of Toledo, accused Columbus and his brothers of actively hindering the efforts of the missionaries to convert the natives to Christianity and furthermore asserted that their cruelty to the Indians was a continual frustration to the friars’ labors in the Lord’s vineyard.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">The sixteenth-century historian Antonio de Herrera y Tordesillas—also a great admirer of Columbus—wrote that among the  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Columbus’ proposal for wholesale enslavement of the natives to meet the economic needs of the new colony not only confirmed the reports the sovereigns had received from other sources but also awakened them for the first time to the real character of his traffic in human beings. And with the awakening came a royal explosion.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Columbus’ proposal for wholesale enslavement of the natives to meet the economic needs of the new colony not only confi ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">“By what authority does the Admiral give my vassals to anyone?” Isabella exclaimed angrily when she learned of the arrival of the returning colonists with their “gift” slaves. She ordered that it be publicly cried in Granada and Seville, where the court then was in residence, that all those who had brought Indians to Castile as a result of Columbus’ largesse return them to freedom in Espanola on pain of death. Las Casas soberly reports that his own father was one of those compelled to surrender slaves.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">“By what authority does the Admiral give my vassals to anyone?” Isabella exclaimed angrily when she learned of the arri ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">“I do not know what prompted the Queen with so much anger and severity to order those 300 Indians whom the Admiral had given as slaves, returned,” Las Casas wrote. “… I found no other reason but that, until this latest arrival, I believe the Queen, because of erroneous information which the Admiral sent to the Sovereigns, supposed they were taken in a just war.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">“I do not know what prompted the Queen with so much anger and severity to order those 300 Indians whom the Admiral had  ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">By royal decree from Seville, dated June 20, 1500, the few surviving Indian slaves in Castile—most of the expatriated captives had died—were ordered collected and delivered into custody of Cardinal Cisneros, to be freed and returned to their homeland.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">By royal decree from Seville, dated June 20, 1500, the few surviving Indian slaves in Castile—most of the expatriated c ▶
              \r\n
              <div class="insertable"><span class="body"><span class="body">Today the Arawak community of peoples, those “innocents” of Father Las Casas, who once inhabited in such numbers the larger islands of the Caribbean and who welcomed the white men to the New World, has vanished from the West Indies.</span></span></div>\r\n ◀<div class="insertable"><span class="body"><span class="body">Today the Arawak community of peoples, those “innocents” of Father Las Casas, who once inhabited i ▶
              \r\n
              <p>Columbus’ downfall, harsh and humiliating, came within weeks of this decree. The sovereigns summarily removed him from his high estate of viceroy and governor of the New-World colonies and appointed the <span class="typestyle"> commendador</span> (commander) Francisco de Bobadilla as his successor. In what many historians regard as an excess of zeal, Bobadilla sent Columbus and his two brothers back to Castile in chains. The sovereigns ordered the brothers released and authorized a fourth voyage by Columbus, but mandated that he never set foot on Española again.</p>\r\n ◀<p>Columbus’ downfall, harsh and humiliating, came within weeks of this decree. The sovereigns summarily removed him from his high estate of viceroy and governo ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">It remained for Father Las Casas to draw the obvious moral: God, who is a just judge, afflicted and cast him down in this life, he and his brothers. I hold it for a certainty that if he had not been impeded by the great adversity to which he came in the end for unjustly and tyrannically making slaves of these people … he would have ended in a very little time in consuming all the people of this island. … </span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">It remained for Father Las Casas to draw the obvious moral: God, who is a just judge, afflicted and cast him down in th ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">But the sovereigns’ intervention came too late to save the Arawak people. The tragic sequence of events that began on that November day of 1492, one month after the Discovery, had to be played out to the bitter end. “So that with the slaughter from the wars and the hunger and illnesses that resulted from them … with so much sorrow, anguish and sadness, there did not remain of the multitudes of people which were in this island from the year ’94 to ’06 … but a third,” Las Casas wrote. “Great harvest and accomplished in sufficiently short time,” he added acidly.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">But the sovereigns’ intervention came too late to save the Arawak people. The tragic sequence of events that began on t ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">Today the Arawak community of peoples, those “innocents” of Father Las Casas, who once inhabited in such numbers the larger islands of the Caribbean and who welcomed the white men to the New World, has vanished from the West Indies.</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Today the Arawak community of peoples, those “innocents” of Father Las Casas, who once inhabited in such numbers the la ▶
              \r\n
              <p><span class="body"><span class="body">“The race perished,” said Charles Kendall Adams, late president of Cornell University, “and may be said to have left only a single word as monument. The Spaniards took from them the word ‘hammock’ and gave it to all the languages of Western Europe.”</span></span></p>\r\n ◀<p><span class="body"><span class="body">“The race perished,” said Charles Kendall Adams, late president of Cornell University, “and may be said to have left on ▶
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