The Biggest American Civil War Battle in Florida

The Battle of Olustee, or Battle of Ocean Pond, took place in Florida, on February 20, 1864 - and was of course part of the American Civil War. It was the largest battle fought in Florida during the war. Ryan Reidway explains.

The Battle of Olustee by Kurz and Allison.

“In ninety hours we have marched one hundred and ten miles, fought a battle of three hours duration, got badly whipped, and what is left of our little army is back again to where we started from.” Lieutenant George E. Eddy of the 3rd Rhode Island[1].

The battle Lieutenant Eddy was referring to was the battle of Olustee, also known as the battle of Ocean Pond. Located in what is now Baker County, Florida,  it was fought on February 20, 1864. It was the largest Civil War battle to be fought within the state of Florida, second only to the Battle at Natural Bridge the following year.

Some historians, such as University of Florida History Professor Sean Adams, claim it was one of the deadliest battles of the Civil War due to the combined casualty rates.  2807 dead, of whom 1861 were Union soldiers and 946 were Confederates. In terms of percentages of total forces committed to the battle, the Union suffered a 35 percent casualty rate and the Confederates suffered a 20 percent casualty rate.[2]

Despite these statistics, it is often an overlooked moment within the history of the Civil War.  For instance, when looking through the Library of Congress’s database for the Battle of  Vicksburg, there are 8,102 results for books and printed materials. Gettysburg has some 12,997 results. Even the Battle of Meridian, in Mississippi, which ended on the same day as Olustee was fought and had far fewer casualties, has 14,329 results. 

Olustee has 793, which signifies the lack of research and general knowledge about the battle. Few books mention it, and even fewer are devoted specifically to it. Which, in itself, is perplexing, considering the results of the Confederate Victory at Olustee had a significant impact on the state for the remainder of the war. The battle marked a firm commitment by the people of Florida to support the Confederacy and meant they would not return to the Union until after the war's conclusion.   

Gilmores - Build Up To the Battle

At the beginning of 1864, Florida, which had long been considered a relatively insignificant backwater state within the Confederacy, came into the spotlight. With the fall of Vicksburg the year before, the Confederate Government in Richmond became increasingly dependent on Florida to feed the Confederacy. It was estimated by the New York Times that some 2 million cattle were being shipped from Florida to Virginia and North Carolina to support the Confederate war effort[3].

The Union realized how strategically important the state was becoming to the Confederate War effort. With most of the state’s formal troops deployed to the Tennessee Campaign, and with the militias of the state overextended by late 1863, it seemed like easy picking for the Federal forces. It was estimated that in the entire state, there were only 3000 untested militia men defending the state, and of that, only 1500 were in the region where the Union planned operations. [4] 

Commanding what at the time was known as the Florida Expedition, Major General Quincy A. Gilmore outlined the objectives of the campaign as exploiting resources, blocking resources to Confederates, disrupting rail service, and recruiting black soldiers. Of course, with the presidential election of 1864 only months away, Gilmore saw an opportunity to impress his boss, Abraham Lincoln. By launching a campaign in Florida, it could be possible to return the disfranchised state to the Union before voters go to the polls in November.

Union naval raids up and down both coasts, as well as a sophisticated naval blockade of the peninsula, had been successful for the majority of the war. In addition, the Union had managed to take back control of many of its pre-war coastal installations throughout the state, including in Key West, Pensacola, Saint Augustine, and Jacksonville. But to meet the demands of his goals, Gilmore was going to have to venture away from the coast and march his army into the interior of Northwest Florida.

By heading west from Jacksonville, he planned on leading his army along the rail lines of the Florida, Atlantic, and Gulf Central Railroad towards Tallahassee. That would cut off the majority of Florida’s population from the rest of the Confederacy. And so by December of 1863, Gilmore began preparations.

The next month, in January 1864, during correspondence with a superior officer, he bragged about the autonomy the Secretary of War had given him over the campaign. “In regard to my proposed operations in Florida, the Secretary replied that the matter had been left entirely to my judgment and discretion, with the means at my command, and that as the object of the proposed expedition had not been explained, it was impossible for you to judge its advantages or practicability.”[5] It is in this example that we get an example of the hubris that would plague the Union soldiers at Olustee.   

Relying deeply on his subordinate commanders, especially Brigadier General Truman Seymour, Gilmore gave the order for Union troops to debark from Hilton Head, South Carolina, to Jacksonville on February 5, 1864. Seymour was ordered to capture the railroad junction in Baldwin. 

Seymour's Incompetent Arrogance and Finnegans Luck

5,500 troops under Seymour’s command began their march west on February 6th, 1864. The first few days of the operation were mildly successful. There was very little opposition by Confederate forces, and it appeared as if all of the Confederate artillery positions had been taken into Union control. Baldwin fell very quickly, and Seymour's men were pressing forward towards Sanderson. Communications and a supply chain with Jacksonville were established by the Eleventh.     

From the very beginning of the operation, Gilmore’s dispatches argue that he placed a great deal of trust in Seymour and expected him to follow orders without question. Gilmore was impressed by the success of the operation so far, yet he was wary of launching an attack on Lake City (the next major target of the campaign) until he felt more confident that the Union controlled the situation. Skirmishes in Sanderson on February 12 forced Seymour to put the bulk of his force in Baldwin. Gilmore sent for Seymour and demanded that a string of fortifications be built at St. Mary's, Baldwin, and in Jacksonville to shore up Union positions. For the next few days, he reiterated the need to stay on the defensive and not risk offensive maneuvers on several different occasions.

On the 15th of February, after ordering one last time that work was to be continued on the defense networks and for Union troops not to advance any further, Gilmore left Jacksonville and sailed to Hilton Head, South Carolina, effectively leaving Seymour in charge. Almost immediately after his departure, Seymour began preparations to march on Lake City. Historians are not completely sure why Seymour chose to do this. Was it his hubris, or did he believe the Union held the advantage at that point? Even after being beaten back in Sanderson only days before.     

Unbeknownst to Gilmore, Seymour, or any of the Union leadership in Florida at the time, the Confederate Commander in charge of the state, Brigadier General Joseph Finegan, had been reinforced.  A call went out by John Militon, Florida's Governor, asking for recruits for the militia. At the same time, the soldiers from Georgia were also brought in, and by the time the battle started on February 20, he commanded somewhere between 5,000 - 5,000 troops. 

Though he was not the first choice of either Governor Militon or General P.G.T. Beauregard, who commanded the Department of South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida,[6] Finegan knew he had something to prove and began making preparations for a counteroffensive. Before the reinforcements even arrived, he had managed to push Seymour back from Sanderon, forcing him to regroup his forces outside Baldwin.

This dispatch that was sent to Governor Milton, regarding the encounter, highlights the tenacity of Finegan and gives a preview of what could be expected at Olustee. “I captured five pieces of artillery, held possession of the battlefield, and killed and wounded the enemy. My cavalry are in pursuit. I don't know precisely the number of prisoners, as they are being brought in constantly. My whole loss will not, I think, exceed two hundred and fifty killed and wounded. Among them, I mourn the loss of many brave officers and men.”[7]

The Battle

On Wednesday, February 20th, 1884, the unexpected yet crucial battle began. With fresh reserves, a minor victory a few days before, and a willingness to stop the Union advance, Finegan decided to hunker down at the railway station just outside Olustee.

Around six in the morning, Seymour left Barbers Plantation in Sanderson and began his approach directly towards the Confederate Lines. “The US force chose speed over security based on previous actions since the expedition’s landing, when most difficulty with the secessionists was keeping them from escaping.”[8] Seymour had opted to take a direct route westward, following the Florida Atlantic and Gulf Railroad lines. 

To ensure success, he sent out cavalry to scout the area ahead of the main infantry formations. An hour later, the first shots of the day rang out as the Union cavalry scouts met Finegan’s cavalry. The Union cavalry prevailed and pressed onward. Unbeknownst to them, Finegan's ultimate goal was to lure the Federal troops within range of his newly constructed fortifications.

Union forces continued through the rest of the morning to follow the railway line leading towards Olustee. Eventually, both sides met each other in the swamp that surrounded the Olustee Railway Station, known as Oceans Pond. This is where the bloody stalemate would take place.

Union forces consisted of the 7th Connecticut and the 7th New Hampshire, as well as the 8th United States Colored Troops. Probably the most famous unit to take the field that day was the 54th Massachusetts, which was made up of African American Soldiers. The unit had made a name for itself after the successful attack on Fort Wagner during the battle of Gimballs Landing the previous year. Though they fought heroically and ultimately stayed behind to allow for the bulk of the union force to retreat, most of them did not finish their training, endured the consequences of poor leadership, and were given subpar weapons to fight.

Confederate forces were made up mostly of Georgia Regiments, including the 64th and 32nd, as well as the famous Gambles Light Artillery unit. Due to the reorganization of artillery pieces before the battle, initial battlefield deaths in the unit, and poor utilization of weapons and general confusion among the troops, Gambles' unit was not very helpful to the Confederate cause at Olustee.   

Halfway through the battle, the Confederate troops almost ran out of ammunition. These initial problems with supply columns prolonged the engagement. But by late afternoon, new stockpiles of ammo arrived, and Finegan pushed the assault. He was able to rout the Union forces, and by the time the sun went down, his forces had ousted the federal troops from Oceans Pond. Confederate forces pursued Seymour's troops for almost 36 miles to the east before calling their advance off. 

Lessons from Olustee

While it was a defeat for the Union, it did highlight the weaknesses of the Confederate Army. Supply issues, which had existed in other battles throughout the Civil War, were highlighted during Olustee. In fact, after the battle, “as secessionists advanced, they reported taking ammunition from the US dead and wounded on the field and capturing over 130,000 rounds of ammunition that had been sitting at Barber’s Station, the previous US camp.”[9] Major resources had been devoted to the cause, which would plague the state and the Confederacy in months to come.

On the Union side, it proved that the understanding of geography and the enemy's devotion to defending their home should never be second to the whims of egotism. In addition, many of the soldiers in the Union Forces found the battlefields' geographical conditions inhospitable. Fighting in a swamp was new to even the most seasoned of Yankee veterans.

Historians have questioned Seymour’s decision to press forward towards Olustee for 166 years. More remarkable was that despite this defeat, he went on to have a celebrated military career.  

The battle, which in some ways was symbolic and in others strategic, proved the commitment of Florida to the Confederate Cause. It also demonstrated the need to reevaluate outdated military protocols regarding cavalry and artillery usage. It represented a moment of pride in how fearless African American soldiers were on the battlefield. Finally, this battle kept Florida in the war a little longer.   

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References

Anderson, M. G. (2022). Staff Ride Handbook for the Battle of Olustee, Florida, 20 February 1864. Army University Press. Retrieved June 7, 2025, from https://www.armyupress.army.mil/Books/CSI-Press-Publications/Staff-Ride-Handbooks/

Brigadier General Joseph Finegan, CSA. (n.d.). Battle of Olustee. Retrieved May 28, 2024, from https://battleofolustee.org/finegan.html

Fiegan, J. (1864, February 10). Rebel accounts. Governor Milton's dispatch. Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Documents and Narratives, Volume 8. Retrieved June 07, 2025, from https://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A2001.05.0093%3Achapter%3D90

Gilmrore, Q. A. (1884, 7 March). General Gilmores' Report. Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Documents and Narratives, Volume 8. Frank Moore, Ed. Retrieved May 29, 2024, from https://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A2001.05.0093%3Achapter%3D90

Lion Heart Film Works. (2020, February 20). Civil War 1864 "Olustee: Battle in the Pines" Full-Length Documentary. YouTube. Retrieved May 29, 2024, from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28Ukf7wg0ac

Olustee Battlefield Citizens Support Organization, Inc. (2024). Brigadier General Joseph Finegan, CSA. Battle of Olustee. Retrieved May 29, 2024, from https://battleofolustee.org/finegan.html

THIRD RHODE ISLAND. THE DISASTER IN FLORIDA-ADDITIONAL INTERESTING PARTICULARS. (1864, March 01). Letters, Newspaper Articles, Letter, Newspaper Articles Books and Reminiscences of Olustee. Retrieved May 23, 2024, from https://battleofolustee.org/letters/3rd_rhode.htm

Zombek, A. M. (2022, September 6). The Battle of Olustee. American Battlefield Trust. Retrieved June 22, 2025, from https://www.battlefields.org/learn/articles/battle-olustee

[1] (Third Rhode Island. The Disaster in Florida-Additional Interesting Particulars, 1864)

[2] (Zombek, 2022)         

[3] (Lion Heart Film Works, 2020)

[4] (Brigadier General Joseph Finegan, CSA, n.d.)

[5] (Gilmore, 1884)

[6] (Olustee Battlefield Citizens Support Organization, Inc., 2024)

[7] (Fiegan, 1864)

[8] (Anderson, 2022)

[9] (Anderson, 2022)

Which Aircraft Broke the Sound Barrier?

On October, 14, 1947, an orange bullet-shaped aircraft streaked across the clear skies above the Mojave Desert, a sharp double boom echoing in its wake. That boom signaled a momentous milestone in human achievement: the first time an aircraft had officially broken the sound barrier. At the controls of the rocket-powered Bell X-1 was Captain Charles Edward "Chuck" Yeager, a 2nd World War ace turned test pilot, whose cool courage and exceptional flying skills would make him a legend of aviation. But the path to this historic flight was anything but smooth, it was paved with failures, skepticism, and the persistent dream of conquering the invisible wall of Mach 1.

Terry Bailey explains.

Chuck Yeager in front of the X-1 plane.

Supersonic dream

In the 1930s and early 1940s, as aircraft pushed toward faster speeds, pilots and engineers began to encounter strange and often terrifying phenomena as they approached the speed of sound, roughly 761 MP/h at sea level, depending on altitude and atmospheric conditions. Control surfaces became unresponsive. Buffeting shook planes violently. Some aircraft broke apart in mid-air. These events led to the widely held belief in a "sound barrier," an almost mystical wall in the sky beyond which no man or machine could pass.

The 2nd World War accelerated the pace of aircraft innovation, and by war's end, designers were already dreaming of the next frontier: supersonic flight. Jet engines were new and promising, but not yet fully reliable at high speeds. It was decided that a rocket-powered experimental aircraft would be the best way to pierce the wall of sound. Enter the Bell X-1.

Designing the rocket plane

Developed by Bell Aircraft under the auspices of the U.S. Army Air Force and the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA, the precursor to NASA), the X-1 was a marvel of engineering. Its fuselage was modelled after a .50-caliber bullet—an object known to be stable at supersonic speeds. The aircraft was powered by a Reaction Motors XLR11 rocket engine with four chambers, each delivering 1,500 pounds of thrust. To minimize stress on the airframe during takeoff, the X-1 was carried aloft under the wing of a modified B-29 Superfortress and released at high altitude.

The X-1 was not just an aircraft; it was a flying laboratory. Every inch of it was designed to gather data on high-speed flight: from its reinforced wings to its fully movable horizontal stabilizer, an innovation that would prove critical in overcoming control problems near Mach 1.

Chuck Yeager

Charles "Chuck" Yeager was born on the 13th of February, 1923, in Myra, West Virginia, a small Appalachian town where life revolved around coal mines and hard work. He grew up hunting and working with tools, skills that would later translate into his exceptional mechanical understanding of aircraft. Yeager enlisted in the U.S. Army Air Force in 1941 as a mechanic, but the urgent demand for pilots during the Second World War allowed him to join flight training.

Yeager quickly proved himself a natural aviator. Flying P-51 Mustangs in Europe, he became an ace in a single day and was one of the few pilots to escape German-occupied France after being shot down. His technical insight, fearlessness, and calm demeanor earned him a post-war transfer to the Air Force Flight Test Centre at Muroc Army Airfield (later Edwards Air Force Base) in California.

In 1947, Yeager was selected to pilot the Bell X-1 in a series of test flights aimed at breaching the sound barrier. Just days before the scheduled attempt, Yeager fell off a horse and broke two ribs. Fearing he'd be grounded, he only told his wife and a local doctor, secretly modifying the cockpit latch using a broom handle so he could close it despite the pain.

On the morning of the 14th October, the B-29 mothership carrying the X-1 soared to 25,000 feet. Yeager, in the cockpit of the X-1 he had named "Glamorous Glennis" after his wife, was released into free fall before igniting the rocket engine. As the aircraft climbed to 43,000 feet and accelerated past Mach 0.9, the usual buffeting started. But this time, with the help of the movable stabilizer, Yeager pushed through. At Mach 1.06, the air finally smoothed out. "It was as smooth as a baby's bottom," Yeager later recalled. The sonic boom was heard over the desert floor, a signal not of disaster, as it had often implied before, but of triumph.

Earlier attempts and misconceptions

Before the X-1 program, attempts to reach or exceed Mach 1 ended in tragedy or disappointment. The British, working with the Miles M.52 project, were making promising progress but were ordered to cancel their effort due to post-war austerity, despite sharing vital data with the U.S. Meanwhile, jet aircraft like the Lockheed P-80 and the German Me 262 encountered severe control issues near transonic speeds.

Pilots like Geoffrey de Havilland Jr. and Geoffrey T. R. Hill paid with their lives in pursuit of supersonic speed, fueling the myth that Mach 1 was a deadly, impassable barrier. Engineers often lacked the wind tunnel data or computational tools to fully understand the extreme aerodynamic forces at play. The X-1 was the first aircraft built from the ground up to deliberately enter and survive that hostile regime.

A legacy etched in sonic boom

Yeager's feat was initially kept secret due to Cold War concerns, but when it was finally revealed, it electrified the aviation world. The success of the X-1 ushered in a new era of high-speed flight, leading to the development of even faster experimental aircraft like the X-15 and, ultimately, the Space Shuttle. Chuck Yeager continued to test cutting-edge aircraft and train the next generation of pilots. He retired from the Air Force as a brigadier general, his place in history forever secure. His autobiography and his portrayal in The Right Stuff cemented his status as an icon of daring and determination.

The X-1 now hangs in the Smithsonian's National Air and Space Museum, a sleek orange testament to the men who dared to fly faster than the speed of sound. It represents not only a triumph of engineering, but also the indomitable human spirit, a blend of science, bravery, and the raw need to go beyond.

Therefore, in conclusion, the breaking of the sound barrier by Chuck Yeager and the Bell X-1 in 1947 was far more than a singular technical milestone, it was a defining moment in human ambition. It proved that perceived limits, even those accepted by seasoned scientists and aviators, could be challenged and overcome through ingenuity, resilience, and sheer audacity. The shockwaves of that first sonic boom rippled far beyond the Mojave Desert skies, reverberating through the worlds of aeronautics, engineering, and even culture. Supersonic flight became not just a possibility but a gateway to future advances, ushering in jet fighters, high-altitude reconnaissance aircraft, space exploration vehicles, and commercial airliners that routinely exceed the speed of sound.

Chuck Yeager's legacy, inseparable from the X-1, exemplifies the vital partnership between human skill and technological innovation. His courage to press forward despite injury, his mastery of machines under the most extreme conditions, and his willingness to defy conventional wisdom inspired generations of test pilots, astronauts, and engineers. In many ways, Yeager personified "the right stuff": a blend of competence, grit, and humility that continues to define the pioneers of flight.

The story of the X-1 is not merely about conquering velocity; it is a story of persistence, vision, and teamwork. The aircraft's success was the result of hundreds of individuals, including engineers, mechanics, scientists, and military officials, who pushed boundaries and trusted data over dogma. It was a collaborative triumph, as much about people as about planes.

Today, as humanity once again aims to return to the Moon and reach Mars, the echoes of that sonic boom still remind us of what's possible when we dare to defy the impossible. The orange silhouette of the Bell X-1, suspended in the Smithsonian, is more than a museum piece, it is a symbol of how far we've come, and how much further we can go when we have the courage to take flight into the unknown.

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Notes:

The sound barrier

The sound barrier refers to the sudden and dramatic increase in aerodynamic resistance that aircraft experience as they approach the speed of sound, approximately 767 miles per hour (1,235 kilometers per hour) at sea level. This phenomenon, also known as transonic drag rise, was long considered a physical barrier to faster-than-sound flight. As aircraft approached Mach 1 (the speed of sound), shock waves formed around the aircraft due to the compression of air in front of it. These shock waves caused a steep rise in drag and often led to a loss of control, structural stress, and violent buffeting.

In the 1930s and early 1940s, aircraft designers and test pilots noticed that as planes flew faster, control surfaces became sluggish or ineffective. This was partly due to compressibility effects, where air behaves more like a compressible fluid, drastically changing lift and pressure dynamics. As a result, early jet and propeller-driven aircraft approaching the speed of sound often experienced instability, and some were lost during high-speed dives.

The term "sound barrier" was coined to describe this apparent wall of physics that no aircraft could pass without catastrophic failure. However, it was not an actual physical barrier, it was a set of aerodynamic challenges tied to how air behaves at high speeds. With the advent of supersonic aerodynamics, improved materials, more powerful jet engines, and specially designed aircraft like the Bell X-1, these challenges were eventually overcome. As outlined in the main text in October 1947, Chuck Yeager piloted the X-1 to Mach 1.06 at an altitude of 45,000 feet, proving that the sound barrier could be broken, opening the door to supersonic flight and a new era of aviation.

Mach 1 variations

The speed of Mach 1, often thought of as the speed of sound, is not a fixed value. Instead, it varies depending on the atmospheric conditions, specifically temperature, air pressure, and altitude. This is because Mach numbers are a ratio: Mach 1 is the speed of an object moving at the speed of sound relative to the medium it's travelling through, and in the case of Earth's atmosphere that medium is air. The speed of sound in air is determined largely by the temperature of the air, and to a lesser extent by its composition and pressure.

At sea level under standard atmospheric conditions (15°C or 59°F), the speed of sound is about 1,225 kilometers per hour (761 mph or 343 meters per second). However, as altitude increases, the air temperature generally decreases, up to a certain point in the stratosphere, causing the speed of sound to drop. For instance, at 11,000 meters (about 36,000 feet), where commercial jets typically cruise, the temperature can fall to around -56°C (-69°F), and the speed of sound drops to roughly 1,062 km/h (660 mph or 295 m/s). So, an aircraft flying at the same ground speed may be subsonic at sea level but supersonic at higher altitudes.

Humidity and atmospheric composition also play a role, though smaller. Warm, humid air carries sound faster than cold, dry air because water vapor is less dense than the nitrogen and oxygen it displaces. This effect is minor compared to temperature but still contributes to variability. In essence, the term "Mach 1" is not a fixed speed, it's always relative to the local speed of sound, which changes with the environmental conditions in the atmosphere.

The Kingdom of The Isles and the Norse-Gael Culture

The Hebrides, off the northwest coast of Scotland are among the most visually stunning and culturally unique locations in the British Isles. Consisting of both the Inner and Outer Island chains, many noteworthy and popular places in Britain are found here such as the Isles of Skye, Lewis, North and South Uist, Islay, and Mull just to name a few. On these islands you will find white sandy beaches and turquoise blue water beneath a backdrop of a silvery blue North Atlantic sky, with verdant meadows and towering cliffs seemingly everywhere you look. One of the most interesting cultural fusions in British history occurred on these rugged islands to which the legacy is still evident today in both the toponomy of the places as well as the surnames of the resilient people who still inhabit these picturesque shores. It is an ancient yet persistent culture that is collectively known as the culture of the Norse-Gaels.

Brian Hughes explains.

Kingdom of Mann and the Isles. Source: © Sémhur / Wikimedia Commons / CC-BY-SA-3.0 (or Free Art License). Link here, from Sémhur.

Origins

The Gaels began migrating to the Hebrides and mainland Scotland via Ireland sometime around the year 500 CE. Shortly thereafter they established the Kingdom of Dalriada and began their gradual conversion to Christianity. A distinctive Celto-Christian culture began to take shape as remote monasteries started to emerge up and down the Western Island chains preserving unique religious texts, relics and creating precious crafts and works of art that would become highly sought after commodities throughout Christendom. Eventually these prosperous yet isolated bastions of Christianity would catch the attention of Norse Seafarers and raiders to which we know today as Vikings. By this time Viking raids had already been occurring throughout the British Isles. Sometime in the early 9th century CE Viking raiders from Norway would descend upon the Western Isles by way of Shetland and Orkney. Initially these raids were little more than small scale operations in which plunder of precious goods and the acquisition of slaves were the primary objectives. The most sought-after targets would be monasteries such as that of Iona located on the Isle of the same name. Eventually successive waves of Norse migrants from Scandinavia began to settle the various islands. Overpopulation and constant warfare with neighbors would have been significant incentives for many to board longships and brave the treacherous North Sea to a place that would have looked and felt very similar to home, with soaring cliffs intertwined with sea lochs and fjords. The new settlers inevitably brought with them their language, customs, culture and religion and began merging with the long established Celto-Christian establishment. The collective name of the islands to the inhabitants of the mainland of Scotland became Innse-Gall Island of the Foreigners. Large scale raiding did not cease however, if anything it intensified. Utilizing the strategic nature of the Hebrides, large war parties now had various forward operating bases for which they could use to navigate the many Lochs and riverways to conduct deeper raids into mainland Scotland, Ireland and England, wreaking havoc and sacking countless towns and cities in the process. Just like the Celts before them the Norse gradually began eschewing their paganism with its pantheon of Gods in favor of Christianity after a few centuries. Intermarriage with native Celts was the primary catalyst for this but also the influence of the large and prosperous Scottish and English neighboring Kingdoms playing a significant role as peaceful trade and contact was much more frequent between the Isles than with the Kingdom of Norway to which the Hebridean Islands were nominally still subject to. Already a unique Norse-Gael culture began to crystallize with the consistent use of longships and legendary warrior prowess of the Vikings went hand in hand with the poetic traditions and intricate artwork of the Celts now unified under the banner of Christianity. Linguistically too a sort of Norse-Gaelic creole was established and used for trade up and down the coast from Dublin in Ireland to Orkney and Shetland.

The Kingdom of the Isles

As the Viking Age began to wane and the Western Isles became a geopolitical battle ground between the Kingdoms of Scotland and Norway, one individual who embodied the blending of cultures emerged to carve out a Kingdom and forge a lasting dynasty. Somhairlidh or Somerled. The origins of Somerled are obscure and shrouded in myth. He was probably born around the year 1110. Often portrayed as a native Celt who rose to throw off the yoke of Viking oppression Somerled was certainly neither fully Celt nor fully Norse but rather of mixed ancestry with his name indicating Nordic ancestry as Sumar-Lidi means Summer Raider/Traveler as the summer season is when Vikings tended to conduct their incursions. Somerled would rise as a great chieftain leading many successful battles and raids throughout the Western Isles before being killed in 1164. His legacy was not only that of conquest and bloodlust, as chroniclers acknowledged  his court was one that promoted music, poetry and religious learning. Somerled created a de-facto independent realm comprising of the Inner and Outer Hebrides, the Isle of Man, and various holdings in the Firth of Clyde and mainland of Argyll. Indeed, some of Scotland most prominent Clans claim descent from this enigmatic ruler such as the MacDonalds (Sons of Ranald) and MacDougals (Sons of Dougal). The MacDonalds would emerge as the rulers of this semi-autonomous Kingdom of the Sea to which they would expand along the shores of Northern Ireland becoming perhaps the most powerful Clan of the late Medieval era. Under the Lordship of the MacDonalds the Kingdom of the Isles would reach its Zenith with the flourishing of culture and the establishment of various castles and hill forts scattered throughout the Western Highlands and Islands. MacDonald power would only begin to dwindle well into the late 15th century.

Decline

As the centralized power of the Scottish throne become more apparent the Stuart Monarchs grew tired of these rebellious subjects in a remote and inaccessible region of Scotland. James IV of Scotland began to impose his will via military pressure on the Western fringes of Scotland stripping the MacDonalds of their ancestral titles in the process. Interestingly the Title of “Lord of The Isles” has been revived and lives on today being  held by the eldest son of the reigning monarch, in this case the current holder is Prince William the Prince of Wales.

Rich Cultural Heritage

To this day, the rich hybrid Norse-Gael culture cultivated over millennia is still apparent in the Hebrides as well as The Isle of Man and Orkney and Shetland Islands. Although the welcome signs are bilingual, many of the Gaelic names have Norse origins. Places like Eriskay (Eric’s Island), Tongue (Split of Land), Jura (Deer Isle) and Skye (Misty Isle) are just a few of the noteworthy and popular places so central to Scotland yet whose very names remind us of a distant past. Similarly, the flag of the Hebrides (see above) depicts a Birlinn, the famed longboats utilized by the Lords of the Isles and the direct descendant of the more famous Viking Longship. Despite being a firm part of Modern-day Scotland, and one of the most beautiful corners of Britain these are just a few reminders of an independent and hardy people who remarkably still cling to their traditions and history.

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References

Lord of the Isles Oxford Reference 19 May 2024.

Moffat, Allistair the Sea Kingdoms Harper Collins 2002

Clarkson Tim The Makers of Scotland Picts, Romans, Gaels and Vikings, Birlinn 2011

The Impact of India’s 1947 Partition on Kashmir

The Partition of British India in August 1947 was one of the most significant and traumatic events of the 20th century. It split the Indian subcontinent into two nations: India and Pakistan. People fled their homes, some with bags, others with nothing but their stories. In the princely state of Jammu and Kashmir, lived its king, Maharaja Hari Singh, a Hindu man ruling a Muslim-majority kingdom, uncertain of his next step. What followed in the days, months, and years ahead would shape generations.

Shubh Samant explains.

Hari Singh Bahadur, Maharaja of Jammu and Kashmir from 1925 to 1952. Photo, circa 1931.

A Princely State in Limbo

Hari Singh had hoped for independence. He dreamed of neutrality, of sovereignty untouched by the religious lines hastily drawn by the English. But dreams, like borders, are fragile. 

In October 1947, Pashtun tribesmen from Pakistan’s North-West Frontier Province invaded Kashmir. Singh, desperate for support, signed the Instrument of Accession to India. Indian troops were airlifted in, and the first war between India and Pakistan began. The United Nations intervened in 1949, brokering a ceasefire that created the Line of Control. But it was no peace, just a pause. Kashmir was now divided: Pakistan held Azad Jammu and Kashmir and Gilgit-Baltistan; India retained the lush Valley, Jammu, and Ladakh.

Geopolitical Turbulence

As the Cold War deepened, Kashmir became a pawn on the global chessboard. India held it up as a symbol of secularism - a Muslim-majority region in a Hindu-majority nation. Pakistan, meanwhile, viewed it as the unfinished business of Partition. The two nations fought again in 1965, and once more in 1999, across the icy heights of Kargil. 

In the 1960s, Chinese troops quietly moved into Aksai Chin, adding a third player to the equation. Decades later, the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor, cutting through Gilgit-Baltistan, would draw in global economic and strategic interests even more deeply. 

Then came August 5, 2019. The Indian government, under Prime Minister Narendra Modi, revoked Article 370, stripping Jammu and Kashmir of its special status. That day began with a blackout in Srinagar, no internet, no phone calls. The move was hailed by some as a bold step toward integration; others condemned it as a constitutional betrayal. Either way, it marked another fracture in a long-fractured land.

Socio-economic Fallout

Conflict has long stalked Kashmir’s streets. Checkpoints, barbed wire, and the green of military fatigues became part of everyday life. Tourism, the crown jewel of the region’s economy, faded like the reflections in Dal Lake.

Weaving workshops in Pulwama were once filled with laughter and the rhythmic tapping of looms. Now, they stand mostly silent. Schools have been shuttered repeatedly, either from curfews or fear. Hospitals are understaffed, and joblessness eats away at the young. In the 1990s, the insurgency that took root claimed lives and futures. Among its victims were not just militants and soldiers, but teachers, musicians, shopkeepers – and the truth.

One of the deepest wounds remains the exodus of the Kashmiri Pandits. Families were forced to become refugees in their own nation, fleeing amid threats and violence, leaving homes, temples, and history behind. 

The insurgency that began in 1989, fueled by local discontent and cross-border terrorism, led to tens of thousands of deaths and the mass exodus of Kashmiri Pandits from the valley. Many have lived as refugees within their own country for over three decades, unable to return to their ancestral homes.

Recent Escalations

In April 2025, a terrorist attack in Pahalgam, Indian-administered Kashmir, resulted in the deaths of 25 Indian tourists and one Nepali national. The Resistance Front (TRF) claimed responsibility for the attack. India accused Pakistan of sponsoring the militants, though Pakistan denied its involvement.

In retaliation, on May 7, 2025, India, under 'Operation Sindoor' launched missile and air strikes on nine alleged militant camps in both Pakistan and Pakistan-administered Kashmir. The strikes, lasting just 25 minutes, marked the deepest India has struck inside Pakistan since the 1971 war.

The conflict escalated rapidly, with both nations exchanging missile and drone attacks, resulting in civilian casualties and raising the risk of war between the nuclear-armed neighbors. A ceasefire was announced on May 10, 2025, following an agreement between India and Pakistan, said to have been mediated by U.S. President Donald Trump.

The recent conflict has also had political ramifications. In Pakistan, public support for the military surged, with Army Chief Asim Munir promoted to Field Marshal, solidifying his position as the country's most powerful figure.

What’s Next?

For any lasting resolution, the voices of the Kashmiri people, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, and others, must be central. Economic development cannot replace political empowerment. Peace requires more than ceasefires; it demands recognition of historical grievances, a commitment to justice, and above all, the willingness to listen.

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References

· Schofield, Victoria. Kashmir in Conflict: India, Pakistan and the Unfinished War. I.B. Tauris, 2003.

· Bose, Sumantra. Kashmir: Roots of Conflict, Paths to Peace. Harvard University Press, 2003.

· BBC News. “Article 370: What happened with Kashmir and why it matters.” August 6, 2019. https://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-india-49234708

· The Diplomat. “Kashmir After Article 370: Repression and Resilience.” January 24, 2020. https://thediplomat.com

· Human Rights Watch. “India: Revoke Abusive Laws in Kashmir.” August 5, 2020.https://www.hrw.org

Spirit of St. Louis: Charles Lindbergh's Flight into History

On May 29, 1927, a tall, determined young man climbed into a small, custom-built monoplane at Roosevelt Field, New York. Thirty-three and a half hours later, he landed in Paris to the roar of thousands, having completed the first solo nonstop transatlantic flight in history. Charles Augustus Lindbergh, a previously little-known U.S. Air Mail pilot, had achieved the impossible in his aircraft, the Spirit of St. Louis. The feat not only made him an international hero overnight, but it also ushered in a new era of aviation.

Terry Bailey explains.

A crowd at Roosevelt Field, New York to witness Charles Lindbergh's departure on his trans-Atlantic crossing.

The roots of a flying dream

Charles Lindbergh was born on the 4th of February, 1902, in Detroit, Michigan, and grew up in Little Falls, Minnesota. His father, Charles August Lindbergh, served in the U.S. House of Representatives, and his mother, Evangeline Lodge Land Lindbergh, was a chemistry teacher. From an early age, Charles showed an interest in mechanics, often dismantling and reassembling household appliances and automobiles. His fascination with flight began in earnest when he saw his first aircraft at a county fair.

In 1922, Lindbergh enrolled in flying school in Lincoln, Nebraska, eventually becoming a barnstormer, (a daredevil pilot who performed aerial stunts at county fairs). Later, he enlisted as a cadet in the U.S. Army Air Service and graduated at the top of his class in 1925. However, with few military aviation opportunities in peacetime, he became an airmail pilot on the challenging St. Louis to Chicago route. This job demanded precision flying under dangerous conditions, and it cemented his reputation as a disciplined and fearless aviator.

A bold vision and a plane named for a city

The Orteig Prize, a $25,000 reward offered by hotelier Raymond Orteig for the first nonstop flight between New York and Paris had remained unclaimed since 1919. In the mid-1920s, several well-financed teams were preparing to attempt the feat, often with multiple crew members and multi-engine aircraft. Lindbergh, however, believed a solo flight in a single-engine aircraft would be lighter, simpler, and more likely to succeed.

He approached several aircraft manufacturers, and eventually, the Ryan Airlines Corporation in San Diego agreed to build a custom plane in just 60 days. Financed by St. Louis businessmen who supported his dream, Lindbergh named the aircraft Spirit of St. Louis in their honor.

The design was based on Ryan's existing M-2 mail plane but heavily modified. The plane had an extended wingspan for fuel efficiency, a 450-gallon fuel capacity, and a powerful Wright J-5C Whirlwind engine. To save weight and increase fuel storage, Lindbergh removed unnecessary instruments and equipment, including a forward-facing windshield. Instead, he used a periscope for forward vision, and the gas tank was placed in front of the cockpit for safety, pushing the pilot's seat far back into the fuselage.

Across the Atlantic: A flight into legend

Lindbergh's takeoff on the 29th of May, 1927, was fraught with tension. The overloaded Spirit of St. Louis barely cleared the telephone lines at the end of Roosevelt Field. He then flew for over 33 hours, navigating by dead reckoning, flying blind through fog and storms, fighting fatigue, and enduring freezing temperatures. Despite these hardships, he reached the coast of Ireland, then continued over England and the English Channel to Paris.

On the night of the 21st of May, he landed at Le Bourget Field, where 150,000 cheering spectators rushed the plane. Lindbergh became an instant global icon, dubbed the "Lone Eagle." He received the Distinguished Flying Cross from President Calvin Coolidge, and the adoration of a world stunned by his courage and skill.

Later Life: Shadows, innovation and redemption

After his historic flight, Lindbergh became a leading voice for aviation. He toured the United States, Latin America, and the Caribbean in the Spirit of St. Louis, promoting aviation and strengthening diplomatic ties. He married Anne Morrow, the daughter of U.S. Ambassador Dwight Morrow, in 1929, and taught her to fly. Together, they pioneered new air routes, including surveying paths across the Atlantic and over the Arctic.

However, Lindbergh's life took a tragic turn in 1932 when his infant son, Charles Jr., was kidnapped and murdered in a case that gripped the nation. The media frenzy drove the Lindberghs to Europe, where they lived for several years. During this time, Lindbergh toured German aircraft factories and met Nazi leaders, becoming impressed with German aviation technology. His visits later sparked controversy, especially after he accepted a medal from Hermann Göring in 1938, an honor he never publicly returned.

As World War II loomed, Lindbergh became an outspoken non-interventionist, aligning with the America First Committee. He feared the destruction of Western civilization through war and opposed U.S. involvement, leading to a public backlash. President Franklin D. Roosevelt criticized him, and Lindbergh resigned his commission in the Army Air Corps Reserve.

Yet after Pearl Harbor, Lindbergh quietly redeemed himself. Though denied a military commission, he served as a civilian consultant with several aircraft manufacturers and flew combat missions in the Pacific Theatre as a civilian advisor. He helped improve the performance of the P-38 Lightning and demonstrated fuel-conserving techniques to American pilots, flying more than 50 combat missions, including in dangerous bombing raids.

Postwar Legacy: From controversy to conservation

After the war, Lindbergh's focus shifted toward science and conservation. He supported medical innovations like organ transplantation and championed environmental causes, particularly wildlife conservation and protecting indigenous cultures. He became an advocate for the World Wildlife Fund and spent time in Africa and the Philippines working on environmental issues. His 1953 Pulitzer Prize-winning autobiography, The Spirit of St. Louis, helped restore his public image and remains one of the most acclaimed aviation memoirs ever written.

Lindbergh died on the 26th of August, 1974, in Maui, Hawaii. He was buried on a quiet hillside in Kipahulu, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, far from the clamor of the world that once celebrated him as a demigod of the skies.

Charles Lindbergh's solo transatlantic flight remains one of the defining moments of the 20th century, a triumph of individual courage, mechanical ingenuity, and the limitless potential of flight. The Spirit of St. Louis now resides in the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C., a silent testament to one man's dream and the age of aviation it helped to launch. Beyond his controversial years, Lindbergh's broader legacy, as a pioneer, science advocate, environmentalist, and visionary, endures. His flight not only proved the viability of long-distance air travel but also inspired generations to look beyond the horizon, toward a future once thought unreachable.

In conclusion, Charles Lindbergh's 1927 transatlantic flight in the Spirit of St. Louis was far more than a remarkable feat of endurance and navigation, it was a moment that changed the trajectory of modern history. At a time when aviation was still in its infancy, Lindbergh's daring journey from New York to Paris captured the imagination of a generation, bridging continents not only physically but also symbolically. It marked the beginning of aviation's transformation from experimental novelty to a vital global industry. His courage, technical skill, and belief in the possibilities of flight inspired a wave of innovation and ambition that would soon make air travel commonplace and bring the world closer together.

Yet Lindbergh's legacy is a complex one. He soared to mythical heights in the eyes of the public, only to later face scrutiny and controversy due to his political views and personal choices. Nevertheless, he managed to reinvent himself repeatedly, shifting from heroic aviator to wartime advisor, and finally to a thoughtful advocate for science and the environment. This lifelong pursuit of progress, often shadowed by contradiction, revealed a man who was not only a symbol of 20th-century advancement but also deeply human in his flaws and evolutions.

Today, the Spirit of St. Louis is preserved in the Smithsonian, remaining a timeless emblem of daring and discovery. Lindbergh's flight endures as one of the greatest individual achievements in the history of human exploration, a single man, alone in the sky, flying across an ocean into an uncertain future. It was a journey that redefined what was possible and lit the way for the age of aviation, spaceflight, and beyond. In spirit and legacy, Lindbergh continues to remind, that great leaps forward often begin with a solitary act of courage.

Notes:

The kidnapping and murder of Charles Lindbergh's infant son

The kidnapping and murder of Charles Lindbergh's infant son in 1932 was one of the most notorious crimes of the 20th century, often referred to as "The Crime of the Century." On the evening of March 1, 1932, twenty-month-old Charles Augustus Lindbergh Jr., the firstborn child of famed aviator Charles Lindbergh and his wife Anne Morrow Lindbergh, was abducted from the nursery of their secluded home in Hopewell, New Jersey. A homemade wooden ladder had been used to reach the second-floor window, and a ransom note demanding $50,000 was left behind. Despite the efforts of local and federal law enforcement, and even the involvement of organized crime figures who offered to help locate the child, the search proved fruitless.

Over the next two months, a series of ransom notes were exchanged between the kidnapper and an intermediary, Dr. John F. Condon, a retired schoolteacher who volunteered to act on behalf of the Lindberghs. The ransom was ultimately paid, but the child was not returned. On May 12, 1932, the decomposed body of Charles Jr. was discovered in a shallow grave just a few miles from the Lindbergh estate. The child had been killed by a blow to the head, likely on the night of the abduction.

For more than two years, investigators followed leads and examined ransom bills marked for identification. In September 1934, a break came when a gasoline station attendant in New York City recorded the license plate number of a man who paid with a marked bill. The plate led police to Bruno Richard Hauptmann, a German-born carpenter living in the Bronx. A search of Hauptmann's garage uncovered more than $14,000 of the ransom money, a plank matching the ladder used in the kidnapping, and handwriting samples that appeared to match the ransom notes.

Hauptmann was arrested and charged with kidnapping and murder. His trial, held in January 1935 in Flemington, New Jersey, became a media sensation. Prosecutors presented forensic evidence tying him to the ladder, the ransom notes, and the cash. Hauptmann maintained his innocence, claiming the money had been left with him by a now-deceased friend. Nevertheless, he was convicted and sentenced to death. After numerous appeals failed, Hauptmann was executed in the electric chair at Trenton State Prison on April 3, 1936. The case, while officially closed, continues to fuel controversy, with some critics suggesting that Hauptmann was framed or did not act alone. Nonetheless, it left an indelible mark on American legal history and led to the passing of the "Lindbergh Law," which made kidnapping a federal crime.

Catherine of Braganza: The Portuguese Queen Who Introduced Tea to England

Portuguese princess Catherine of Braganza brought a daily habit of drinking tea to England. The young princess double-checked every sea chest that would be loaded onto the boat, set to sail with her to the new country where she would soon become queen. Among the lavish dresses, jewelry, and fabrics, there was something unusual—an item that would change the habits of aristocratic life throughout England. Dried tea leaves awaited in the chest, ready to be introduced into the new society.

Kateryna Dronova explains.

Catherine of Braganza, circa 1663-65. By Peter Lely.

From a Portuguese princess to the queen of England

Born in 1638, Catherine of Braganza was the daughter of João IV of Portugal and Luisa de Guzmán. She was one of their five children. While her remarkable mother focused on sheltering her children and tending to their education, her father led a rebellion against Spain.

During that time, João IV was offered the Portuguese crown, and at his wife's urging, he accepted. The family relocated to Lisbon, where he was crowned King João IV. Portugal continued to fight for its independence from Spain, receiving little support from other European nations. All these events likely shaped Catherine and helped her understand the importance of alliances for the pursuit of independence.

In 1644, King João gained a crucial victory against Spain. It was the right time to ally. That’s why the ambassador traveled to England to initiate marriage negotiations between his daughter, Catherine, and King Charles I's eldest son, Charles.  Negotiations failed to materialize because of the raging English Civil War that engulfed the nation.

King Afonso ascended to the throne after his father's death in 1656, while his mother, Luisa, assumed the role of regent. She dedicated her time to fighting for Portugal's independence through both military and commercial methods to resist Spanish control. She also committed countless years to facilitating the marriage between her daughter, Catherine, and Charles Stuart, as she recognized the strategic importance of alliances.

The big wedding plan comes true because, during Oliver Cromwell's rule as Protector of England, Charles Stuart spent a prolonged period in exile. English people welcomed back their true monarch after Cromwell's death in the spring of 1660, when Charles returned as King Charles II. The growing political stability of England led to the successful completion of plans for Catherine's marriage to Charles.

Towards a New Life

The wide hoop skirt swept across the floor as Catherine hurried to bid her mother farewell. The Queen Mother of Portugal looked at her daughter, the future Queen of England, with pride—Catherine had accomplished what every princess dreams of achieving. At twenty-three, she had blossomed into a serene and composed young woman, ready to be a queen.

The English ship "Royal Charles" lay anchored at the Tagus River, ready for departure, with all arrangements finalized. The majestic vessel, boasting a crew of 680 and an impressive array of brass cannons, awaited Catherine as she made her way to its side. Accompanying her were dried tea leaves, which would soon become a prized treasure for a future queen.

She arrived in Portsmouth on May 13, 1662, dressed in English attire and radiating happiness. A gilded state coach took her through the town's streets, allowing the people to catch a glimpse of her as she passed by. From there, she was escorted to the King's House, the residence of the Governor of Portsmouth.

On May 21, 1662, the couple was married in Portsmouth in two ceremonies: a private, solemn Catholic service, followed by a public Anglican ceremony. However, even at this joyous moment, people began to criticize Catherine for her appearance and reserved demeanor. Her struggles with the English language only added to the challenges she faced. Despite this, Charles appeared pleased with her grace and comportment, and their early days of marriage were filled with contentment. Catherine, in turn, fell hopelessly in love with the King.

A lady drinking tea. Niclas Lafrensen, 18th century.

Tea, Please

The Portuguese were the pioneers among Europeans in the commercial trade of tea, initially transporting their cargo to Lisbon before distributing it to other nations such as France and Holland. While Portugal took the lead in this burgeoning trade, England was notably the last European country to establish maritime routes in pursuit of tea at that time. This late entry into the tea trade ultimately had a profound impact on English culture and society, as tea became an integral part of daily life in Britain.

A significant clash of courtly cultures characterized Catherine of Braganza’s early years in England. As the new queen consort, she and her Portuguese entourage faced ridicule for their distinctive attire, particularly the guardainfantes—large hoop skirts that were popular in the Iberian Peninsula. Additionally, the unfamiliar style of music played by her musicians did not resonate well with the English court, which was increasingly influenced by the French fashion and musical trends that dominated many European centers in the latter half of the seventeenth century.

These negative impressions led Catherine to embrace local customs and fashions, allowing her to better integrate into her new environment. At the same time, she introduced something distinctly her own to the English court: her love for tea drinking, which the court eventually adopted as well.

This practice not only caught the attention of the English aristocracy but also inspired them to adopt the ritual as a fashionable pastime. As Catherine elegantly enjoyed her tea, it became a symbol of sophistication and refinement, leading to its emergence as a staple in English social life.

British society underwent significant dietary changes due to tea's profound impact on the nation. Traditional heavy meals, consisting of breakfast and dinner, began to include tea consumption, which transformed the way people consumed food and beverages.

The evening meal was divided into two separate tea services, which became known as high tea and low tea.  High tea, served during late afternoon or early evening hours, included meat and hearty dishes as part of its menu, which made it popular among upper- and middle-class society.  Low tea served during mid-afternoon hours presented a refined dining experience with light food options, including dainty sandwiches and sweet treats. The tea service presentation focused on elegance, serving upper-class social gatherings where people displayed their refined tastes.

Catherine’s daily tea ceremonies evolved into significant social events at the English court, drawing the attention of ladies and aristocrats who would gather to partake in the ceremony. This engagement not only fostered social interaction but also played a key role in popularizing the custom throughout aristocratic circles, creating a ripple effect that contributed to the integration of tea into English society.

Life After England

Queen Catherine remained essentially detached from English politics, though she kept a keen eye on events unfolding in her homeland of Portugal. In 1665, she began the construction of a religious establishment to the east of St. James, which was completed by 1667 and became known as The Friary. Following the death of the King’s mother in 1669, she took residence at Somerset House in 1671.

Not for so long had her brother, King Pedro II, been unable to govern, and her nephews were too young to take on the throne. Consequently, in 1704, Catherine was appointed regent, a role reminiscent of her mother’s position after her father’s passing.

Catherine demonstrated exceptional leadership abilities, enabling her to successfully lead military operations and navigate complex national issues with great skill. Her leadership earned widespread admiration because she demonstrated both bravery and wisdom in governing her nation. Catherine maintained her position until December 31, 1705, when she passed away before being buried in the Royal Pantheon of the distinguished Braganza Dynasty. Her final resting place honors her lasting impact, which is still celebrated throughout Portugal today.

Although her impact on British history is less well-known than that of other notable figures, Catherine left a substantial cultural mark. The English nation adopted tea drinking thanks to Catherine, who brought this practice from abroad, thus changing the country's beverage preferences from ale to tea. The fundamental change brought about new social traditions, which developed into the traditional British tea culture. British culture continues to benefit from Catherine's leadership through the conventional afternoon tea customs, the growth of tea houses, and the essential role tea plays in social interactions across the United Kingdom.

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Was U.S. Civil War Major General Daniel Sickles a Scoundrel or Hero?

Major General Daniel Sickles was one of the most colorful and controversial figures of the Civil War era, known as much for his flamboyant personality and scandals as for his political and military actions. He can be viewed as either an American war hero or an infamous murderer and insubordinate military commander, and it's not easy to decide which categorization is more accurate.  Sickles was an unscrupulous swindler who led a life that no writer of fiction could have invented. A brief synopsis: Lawyer, Tammany Hall politician, US Congressman from New York, he married a 15 year old woman and became a serial adulterer, brought an infamous prostitute to London to meet the Queen, murdered his wife’s lover (Francis Scott Key’s son Philip, the US District Attorney for the District of Columbia) in broad daylight across the street from the White House, pleaded temporary insanity (invented for him by Edwin Stanton) and won acquittal by smearing her in the press. And that was just before the war!

Then, he recruited the Excelsior Brigade, lost his leg at Gettysburg, testified against Meade at Congressional hearings, was appointed to evaluate the impact of occupation on the south, appointed diplomat to Colombia, had an affair with the Queen of Spain, received the Medal of Honor, and championed saving the battlefield at Gettysburg as a park.  

In short, he was a diplomat, playboy, lousy husband, beloved general, congressman, murderer, and good old boy. This was a man who looked out for himself and got other people killed with no qualms. He had zero training as a soldier. He was self-aggrandizing, selfish, corrupt, and unprincipled, but he was also brave, patriotic, and extremely enterprising. He got away with all of it because he was colorful, resourceful, and charming.  Thomas Keneally, the author of Schindler’s List, wrote an outstanding biography of General Sickles, entitled American Scoundrel, and that sobriquet fits perfectly.

Lloyd W Klein explains.

Major General Daniel Sickles.

Early Life

Sickles was born to a wealthy New York family and trained as a lawyer. He soon became involved in Democratic Party politics. He was closely aligned with the Tammany Hall political machine, which helped his rise despite his checkered personal life. He served in the New York State Senate and was then elected to the U.S. Congress as a Democrat from New York in 1856.

The Murder in Lafayette Square (1859)

Sickles discovered that his wife, Teresa, was having an affair with Philip Barton Key, the handsome U.S. Attorney and son of Francis Scott Key, author of The Star-Spangled Banner. Sickles shot and killed Key in broad daylight in Lafayette Park, across the street from the White House. This led to his greatest notoriety before the war. Key had been signaling Teresa with a white handkerchief outside her window to arrange secret meetings. When Sickles found out, he confronted Key in public, shouted, “You must die!”—and shot him multiple times with witnesses present.

The trial was sensational. Sickles’ defense team—including Edwin Stanton, future Lincoln war secretary—argued that Sickles was driven temporarily insane by betrayal. The public mostly sided with Sickles, seeing him as a wronged husband defending his honor, even though he himself had a long track record of infidelity. Verdict: Not guilty. Sickles was acquitted after arguing he was temporarily insane. Sickles' claim to Infamy is that he was the first person in U.S. history to use the temporary insanity defense—and it worked.

Despite his notoriety, Sickles was politically well-connected and knew his way around the intricacies of Congress and New York State politics. He was not a natural Lincoln ally. Lincoln, a Republican, ran against the very sort of people Sickles called friends. However, once the Civil War began, Sickles became a vocal pro-Union Democrat, which made him useful to Lincoln, who desperately needed Democratic support to prevent border states and northern cities from turning against the war.

Lincoln rewarded Sickles with a commission as a brigadier general, despite his scandalous past. He had no military experience, just political clout, becoming one of the few political generals. But Lincoln understood that having a Democrat representing New York and Tammany on his side was good politics..

Army Experience Before Chancellorsville

When the Civil War broke out in 1861, Sickles used his connections to raise troops despite having no formal military training. Sickles organized the Excelsior Brigade (composed mostly of New York volunteers) and was appointed a brigadier general of volunteers in September 1861. He commanded with flair, although he had no prior military experience.

In early 1862, Sickles temporarily lost his commission due to political wrangling and issues with his official confirmation. He spent several months lobbying in Washington and was reinstated later in 1862, thanks to his political influence. Sickles commanded the Excelsior Brigade, a New York volunteer unit he had personally recruited and organized. The brigade was part of Major General Joseph Hooker’s division in  III Corps under the command of Major General Samuel P. Heintzelman.

Seven Days

At the outset of the Peninsula Campaign in spring 1862, Sickles was not present with his brigade. He had returned to Washington, D.C., to lobby for confirmation of his military commission, which was being held up in the Senate due to concerns over his checkered past and political appointment. Sickles’ commission was finally confirmed in May 1862, and he rejoined the Army of the Potomac shortly before the Seven Days Battles. By the time of the actual fighting, his Excelsior Brigade had already seen action without him at battles such as Williamsburg and Fair Oaks/Seven Pines.

During the Seven Days Battles, Sickles’ brigade participated in some of the fighting, particularly in the Battle of Oak Grove (June 25) and Glendale (June 30), though the records are somewhat unclear on the exact extent of Sickles’ personal involvement.

By the end of 1862, Sickles was commanding a division in the III Corps, Army of the Potomac. He served under General Joseph Hooker and participated in the Battle of Fredericksburg (December 1862), although his division was held in reserve and saw limited action.

Chancellorsville (May 3-4, 1863)

By the time of the Battle of Chancellorsville, Sickles was a major general in command of the III Corps. He was a political general with limited battlefield experience but significant ambition and personal charisma.

On May 2, Confederate General Stonewall Jackson launched the famous flanking attack that shattered the Union XI Corps on the Union right. Jackson devised a daring plan that divided the numerically inferior southern army and then marched his Corps far around the Union army to strike unsuspecting northern troops on their extreme right flank. Meanwhile, Sickles, with the III Corps in the center-left, was ordered to make a probing advance and moved forward to Hazel Grove, a clearing with commanding artillery potential. We know today that numerous Union forces had detected Jackson’s movement, and Colonel Sharpe of the Military Intelligence Unit had warned Hooker. But Hooker believed that Jackson was in retreat, not advancing on his flank. Scouts on Hazel Grove from Sickles’ Corps informed Hooker that they saw and heard Jackson’s men to their west. Sharpe had even deployed aerial balloons and spotted the movement.

As the morning progressed though, Hooker grew to believe that Lee was withdrawing. He ordered III Corps to harass the tail end of Lee's "retreating" army. General Sickles advanced from Hazel Grove towards Catharine Furnace and attacked Jackson’s men in the rear guard. Jackson’s main force continued onto Brock Road, where it meets the Orange Plank Road, directly into the Union right flank. Sickles informed Hooker, to no avail, that Jackson wasn’t retreating but was on the move.

By the morning of May 3, Howard's XI Corps had been defeated, but the Army of the Potomac remained a potent force, and Reynolds's I Corps had arrived overnight, which replaced Howard's losses. About 76,000 Union men faced 43,000 Confederates at the Chancellorsville front. The two halves of Lee's army at Chancellorsville were separated by Sickles' III Corps, which occupied a strong position on high ground at Hazel Grove. Sickles’ troops at Hazel Grove were right in between. Hooker could have attacked either part and destroyed it. JEB Stuart was completely aware of this predicament. He was not in a position for a defensive battle. Instead, he prepared an attack at dawn on Hazel Grove rather than await what seemed to be the obvious move.

But Hooker ordered Sickles to withdraw from Hazel Grove and fall back closer to the main Union line—a serious tactical error. Hooker ordered Sickles off the high ground and instead to another area much lower called Fairview. Hooker felt he was losing and he couldn’t see the advantage of his position so he retreated to what he erroneously thought was a safe fallback position. JEB Stuart had been ready to fight for that ground, and now it had been given to him. Hazel Grove was then occupied by the Confederates, who used it to devastating effect. He took control of the high ground and blasted Sickles at Fairview, where he was a sitting duck for Stuart’s artillery.

Sickles would remember this moment 5 weeks later at the Peach Orchard. He wouldn’t make the mistake again of following orders he knew to be wrong, and especially he would not again let the high ground in his front be captured by the enemy without a fight.

Daniel Sickles, estimated to be 1861.

Gettysburg & the “Peach Orchard Gamble” (July 2, 1863)

Sickels’ most controversial moment came at the Battle of Gettysburg (1863), where he disobeyed orders and advanced his corps into a dangerously exposed position.

The move led to severe casualties but arguably disrupted the Confederate attack. On the second day of the Battle of Gettysburg, Sickles did something extraordinary—and reckless. His orders were to hold the left flank of the Union line on Cemetery Ridge. But Sickles disobeyed, moving his III Corps forward nearly a mile to a rise near the Peach Orchard, creating a salient (a bulge) in the line. The decision to abandon the line General Meade assigned him to defend between Little Round Top and Cemetery Ridge, but rather to advance to the Peach Orchard, must count as one of the most fateful decisions of the entire war. General Sickles decided entirely on his own to defend the Sherfy Peach Orchard, adjacent to the Emmittsburg Pike, not the position assigned to him. This not only created a huge, undefendable salient, but it also left his flanks uncovered. The left flank, of course, was Little Round Top, Devil’s Den, and the Wheatfield. All of these killing fields had to be covered on the fly as troops entering the battle were immediately sent to desperate locations to save Sickles’ III Corps and the entire front. Day 2 of Gettysburg therefore depended on the heroism and courage of many men and their regiments now honored as heroes, including William Colville, Joshua Chamberlain, Patrick O’Rorke, and many others.

Sickles and his III Corps were assigned on the early morning of July 2 to be in line south of Cemetery Ridge and cover the low area and the Round Tops. Sickles perceived, correctly, that the ground his position was about 10 to 15 feet higher than the ground he was supposed to defend. He believed this ground would be perfect for artillery to destroy him. A very similar situation had happened at Chancellorsville when he was ordered by General Hooker to give up Hazel Crest, which then became the key to confederate artillery destroying the army on day 2 of that battle. Sickles hadn’t forgotten that experience, so he asked Meade for permission to move up at least twice. Meade thought that area was not a good position for artillery but was rather a no-man’s land, and on Day 3, he was proven to be correct. But Sickles made the decision to move up to the Sherfy Peach Orchard anyway. He showed his position to General Warren and to Captain Meade, the general’s son, neither of whom thought this was a good idea. Famously, when General Meade saw this right before the battle opened, he told Sickles that he was out of position and knew a disaster was in store.

III Corps was hammered by Confederate attacks. He was blasted in the leg by a cannonball (said to have kept smoking as he lay on the ground). His line collapsed, but his move arguably disrupted Longstreet’s attack and may have helped buy time for Union reinforcements. He lost his right leg, which had to be amputated, and sent the limb to the Army Medical Museum, where it’s still on display. Sickles visited it regularly in later years. He’d bring guests along, saying, “Let’s go see my leg.”

As Sickles recuperated, Lincoln visited him in the hospital. Sickles spun his wild maneuver as a kind of accidental genius: “Yes, I moved without orders, but look how it saved the Union line!” Lincoln, who knew politics as well as war, didn’t publicly criticize Sickles, even though most generals thought he’d nearly ruined the battle. Lincoln needed popular heroes, and Sickles was selling himself as one. There’s no record of Lincoln outright endorsing Sickles’ version of events—but he never denounced him, either. Lincoln tolerated Sickles because he was politically useful, loyal to the Union, and wildly effective at self-promotion. Sickles respected Lincoln, perhaps because Lincoln didn’t judge him for the things others never forgot—like adultery, murder, or insubordination. It was a pragmatic, oddly warm relationship—the honorable statesman and the rogue with a cannonball scar and a murder rap.

One of the great debates of the Sickles’ movement is whether it was a smart move or a dumb move. There is no doubt that not following orders isn’t a sign of working well with others, but Sickles wasn’t the kind of man to let that bother him. Given the fact that III Corps was crushed in this maneuver, one could say, rightfully, that it was a dumb move from that perspective. This decision led to the destruction of his III Corps; it threatened the entire left flank of the Union defense. By uncovering both of his flanks, including Little Round Top, and not telling anyone what he was up to, he put Meade at a serious disadvantage. The prosaic truth, though, is that it might have saved the battle. Longstreet arrived with the intent of attacking north but found III Corps waiting; this forced the attack eastward. Longstreet’s attack was supposed to go north, up the Emmitsburg Turnpike, landing on Cemetery Ridge. Instead, the attack direction was east, across the turnpike, landing further south than Lee had intended. The original idea was for an attack on the Union center, not its left flank. When Longstreet and Hood saw the position Sickles had taken, they knew that Lee’s plan was no longer viable; they couldn’t attack northwards while the Peach Orchard was in Union lines.

The argument that it was a really smart move that saved the battle does not deny that Sickles had no idea what he was doing, that he was insubordinate, that he threatened the whole union line, and that many soldiers died that day because of his decision.

Congressional Investigation

After the war, Sickles spent years smearing General George Meade, the commander at Gettysburg. Sickles claimed he had saved the day, not Meade. After Gettysburg, while other generals returned to quiet retirement or relative obscurity, Daniel Sickles launched a political campaign to rewrite the history of the battle—and to bury General George Meade/ Sickles hated Meade because Meade didn’t praise him for his “bold” (unauthorized) move into the Peach Orchard and blamed him for nearly unraveling the Union line. So Sickles went to Congress and began whispering, testifying, and maneuvering.

He gave testimony to the Joint Committee on the Conduct of the War, a highly politicized Congressional body led by radical Republicans who distrusted West Point generals like Meade. Sickles portrayed Meade as timid, indecisive, and nearly incompetent, suggesting that the Union could’ve destroyed Lee’s army if only Meade had pursued him more aggressively. Sickles took advantage of Meade’s lack of popularity and quiet demeanor to shape the narrative to his own benefit.

Sickles claimed that his unauthorized advance drew the Confederates into a trap. His sacrifice (losing his corps and his leg) helped the Union win the battle. Meade was ready to retreat from Gettysburg, and Sickles and others persuaded him to stay. Much of this was self-serving or false, but it stuck.

And Meade—an actual West Point general who won the most important battle of the war—found that his reputation never fully recovered from Sickles’ campaign. Meade was reserved, disliked political games, and didn’t defend himself well in public. Sickles, by contrast, was a master of spin. He leaked to newspapers, charmed Congressmen, and turned Gettysburg into his victory. Even decades later, monuments popped up at the Peach Orchard and the line Sickles had created—many due to his efforts and fundraising.

Sickles used his role as a former congressman and war hero to full effect. He testified multiple times, always angling to elevate his role. He stayed close with key members of Congress, many of whom distrusted Meade and the Army’s high command. He helped shape early public memory of Gettysburg—not by rank or fact, but by force of personality. Sickles weaponized testimony to smear Meade and polish his legacy. He turned a near-disaster into a story of heroism and sacrifice. He influenced how the war and Gettysburg would be remembered. In short, Sickles lost a leg, nearly lost a battle, and then won the credit for the victory in Congress. Sickles received the Medal of Honor in 1897 (largely due to his own lobbying) for the winning the battle at Gettysburg.

Post-War Life

Lincoln’s assassination hit Sickles hard. Though politically and personally different, the two shared a strange kinship: both were outsiders, both survived enormous personal loss, and both were men who navigated immense scandal and contradiction. After the war, Sickles helped memorialize Lincoln, attending events and praising him as the savior of the Union—even as he continued pushing his own battlefield legend. Sickles knew a political stalking horse when he saw one, and he tied himself closely to Lincoln.

Daniel Sickles’ postwar life was as colorful, scandalous, and self-serving as his wartime career—maybe more so. Once the fighting stopped, he turned his full energy toward politics, diplomacy, monument-building, and intrigue, always placing himself at the center of the action (or at least the story).

U.S. Minister to Spain – A Scandal in Madrid

In 1869, President Grant appointed Sickles as Minister to Spain, a plum diplomatic post. And, true to form, Sickles created headlines: he reportedly had an affair with Queen Isabella II (already deposed but still influential).

He tried to negotiate the annexation of Cuba—a long-held American dream—but was far too erratic to be effective. He made diplomatic waves by openly supporting Cuban rebels against Spain, which caused confusion and tension. His time in Spain was glamorous, chaotic, and utterly Sickles. After a few years, Grant recalled him—he had outlived his usefulness and outworn his welcome.

Political Operator & Congressional Drama

Sickles returned to the U.S. and ran for Congress again in the 1880s. He won—because he still had political clout. His legend (and storytelling) still played well with veterans and the press. He positioned himself as the defender of Union veterans, advocating for pensions and memorials. He used his seat to promote Gettysburg preservation, always to highlight his own role. He remained a master of the behind-the-scenes political game, buttering up allies and undermining rivals.

Founding the Gettysburg National Military Park

Sickles played a central role in the creation of what would become the Gettysburg National Military Park. He was a founding member of the Gettysburg Battlefield Memorial Association (GBMA), created in 1864 to preserve the battlefield.

He used his political connections to secure funding, land purchases, and publicity, all while making sure his old positions were commemorated. He lobbied for national control of the battlefield, which Congress approved in 1895. The War Department took over the site, making it one of the earliest national military parks.

In the 1890s, Sickles was appointed chairman of the New York Monuments Commission, responsible for erecting state monuments at Gettysburg. Sickles had monuments built along the line he occupied on Day 2 of the battle—including the Peach Orchard, Wheatfield, and Devil’s Den area—even though that line had been a disaster militarily. He ensured his III Corps got prominent recognition. He blocked or delayed monuments to commanders and units that had criticized him. He boosted his image as a martyr who had saved the Union line—his missing leg became part of the mythos.

Sickles never got a monument of his own at Gettysburg—at least not an official one.. The monument on the field at Gettysburg to his brigade was supposed to include a bust of him. What happened to it? He allegedly stole the money given by charitable donations and kept it for himself. His later years were dogged by embezzlement accusations related to the New York Monuments Commission. In 1912, a bombshell dropped: $27,000 in funds had mysteriously disappeared. That’s nearly a million dollars in today’s money. Sickles was accused of misappropriating the funds, but he claimed he didn’t know where the money went. He never admitted guilt. He was removed from the commission, but never prosecuted—likely due to his fame, age, and connections. The scandal derailed efforts to give him an equestrian statue at Gettysburg. To this day, he’s the only corps commander at Gettysburg without a monument.

His reputation was so tainted by that point that even his allies backed away from a monument. But Sickles didn’t care—he had already built his legend into the park’s landscape. He argued that the entire battlefield was a monument to him. This isn’t surprising given the size of his ego. He may have lost a leg and almost a battle, but he won the memory war. He influenced how the battlefield was memorialized, ensuring his Peach Orchard line was heavily commemorated. Some say he preserved Gettysburg not for history’s sake, but to rewrite his role in it. He played a major role in the preservation of the Gettysburg battlefield, helping turn it into a national park.

American Scoundrel is truly the right description for this man, who demonstrated no evidence of a moral compass. He helped create the battlefield park. He influenced which sites were preserved and emphasized. He used monuments to reshape public understanding of his role. He made sure Gettysburg was about legacy, not just tactics, and very much his legacy.

Daniel Sickles in 1911.

Legacy

Daniel Sickles remains a deeply divisive figure: Some see him as a self-promoting rogue and reckless commander. Others credit him with playing a pivotal role at Gettysburg. Historians often present both sides: bold, flawed, fascinating. If you like historical drama with real-life consequences, Sickles is your guy.

Historians, Civil War buffs, and battlefield guides have spent over a century arguing about how to rank, remember, and judge this uniquely outrageous figure. In the decades right after his death (1914, age 94), Sickles was remembered mostly as a scandalous but lovable rogue. Veterans who served under him remembered his charisma and bravery. He was still widely considered a hero of Gettysburg, thanks to his relentless mythmaking and the monuments his friends placed on the battlefield. He was seen as flawed—but entertaining, and above all, American in his contradictions.

But in the mid-20th Century, there was a backlash. As historical analysis became more rigorous, especially post-WWII, historians began to sharply reassess Sickles. He was criticized as a glory-hound, incompetent field commander, and blatant self-promoter. His decision to move his corps forward at Gettysburg was labeled insubordinate and disastrous, weakening the Union left and costing thousands of lives. He was accused of poisoning Meade’s legacy and distorting the historical record to elevate himself. By the 1950s and 60s, serious Civil War scholars often treated Sickles as a cautionary tale of political generals run amok.

Today, modern historians fall into two main camps: Villain or Disruptor. His decision at Gettysburg was irresponsible and disrespectful to the chain of command.

sleazy in politics and postwar behavior. No question, too, that he was self-serving—a saboteur of Meade’s legacy and battlefield truth, but his advance to the Peach Orchard disrupted Lee’s plan, despite disobeying orders. Historians like Garry Adelman and James Hessler have produced recent work that’s more nuanced, arguing that while Sickles was reckless, his maneuver may have inadvertently helped, and that his impact on battlefield preservation was immense.

Sickles was flamboyant, scandal-prone, and unrepentant. He can be remembered as: a heroic general, an ostentatious rogue; a man who lived a dozen lives (in one body, minus one leg). And perhaps most fittingly, a man who never stopped campaigning—even when the war was long over. He was:

·       A murderer turned war hero

·       A wounded general with a public skeleton (literally)

·       A womanizer and political operator

·       A man who could charm, offend, or politically outmaneuver almost anyone

He lived to age 94, never expressed regret, got away with all of it, and managed to ensure that we are still talking about him more than a century later. And there is no doubt that that is exactly the legacy that he wanted.

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Conquering the Channel: Louis Blériot and the First Powered Flight Across the English Channel

On a hazy summer morning in 1909, a lone monoplane soared over the white cliffs of Dover, trailing a roar that startled grazing sheep and sent onlookers scrambling toward the coastline. At the controls was a mustachioed French engineer named Louis Blériot, whose daring flight across the English Channel etched his name into aviation history. Blériot's achievement, flying 35.4 kilometers, (22 miles) from Calais to Dover in 37 minutes, marked not only a personal triumph but a milestone in humankind's conquest of the skies.

Terry Bailey explains.

Starting the engine prior to the crossing.

A boyhood shaped by invention

Louis Blériot was born on the 1st of July, 1872, in Cambrai, a town nestled in northern France. His father, Clémence Blériot, was a prosperous manufacturer, and young Louis was given an excellent education. He demonstrated a keen interest in engineering from an early age, constructing toy boats and tinkering with mechanical devices. After completing his studies at the prestigious École Centrale Paris, Blériot worked in the electric lighting business and became a successful inventor, patenting the first practical headlamp for automobiles, an innovation that earned him considerable wealth.

However, electricity and automobiles, while fascinating, couldn't match the allure of flight. Like many others captivated by the exploits of pioneers like Otto Lilienthal and the powered flights of the Wright brothers, Blériot became obsessed with the dream of powered aviation. He began investing his time and fortune in designing and building flying machines, many of which ended in crashes, disappointment, and lessons learned the hard way.

The long road to the channel

Blériot's early attempts at flight were fraught with failure. Between 1900 and 1908, he constructed a variety of gliders, ornithopters, and powered aircraft with names like the Blériot I through Blériot VIII. Most were unstable, underpowered, or mechanically unreliable. Still, his persistence was unwavering. Working with the brilliant engineer Raymond Saulnier, Blériot refined his designs until he produced a breakthrough: the Blériot XI.

The Blériot XI was a revolutionary aircraft for its time. A monoplane with a tractor configuration (the propeller at the front), it had a wooden frame covered in fabric, a 25-horsepower Anzani engine, and bicycle wheels for landing gear. Its simplicity, light weight, and maneuverability made it superior to many of the Wright brothers' inspired aeroplanes. On the 25th of July, 1909, Blériot would stake everything on this machine.

Channel challenge

The English Channel had long symbolized natural and political division, a waterway that had thwarted would-be conquerors from Napoleon to Hitler. However, to early aviators, it represented something more: a daring challenge and a test of the aircraft's reliability, pilot skill, and human courage.

Newspaper magnate Lord Northcliffe, publisher of the Daily Mail, offered a £1,000 prize (about £120,000 in today's money) to the first aviator who could fly across the Channel from France to England. Several tried, but one, Hubert Latham, was even poised to win until an engine failure plunged him into the sea.

Blériot seized the opportunity, at dawn on the 25th of July, 1909, with a bandaged foot from a previous crash, he took off from Les Barraques near Calais. He had no compass, and the weather was overcast. Guided only by instinct and glimpses of the English coastline, he flew at altitudes varying between 250 and 1,000 feet, enduring winds, vibration, and the ever-present risk of mechanical failure. As he neared the English shore, he spotted the chalk cliffs of Dover and descended toward the designated landing site near Dover Castle.

A flight that changed everything

Blériot's landing was less than graceful, he broke a propeller blade and damaged a landing gear strut, but he had succeeded. The flight took 37 minutes, and the world took notice. Crowds rushed to greet him, cheering him as a hero. King Edward VII sent congratulations, and the feat was celebrated in newspapers across the globe. The military implications were not lost on observers, particularly in Britain, where some newspapers warned, "England is no longer an island."

Blériot's Channel crossing was more than a publicity stunt. It was a clear signal that powered flight had arrived, not just as a novelty, but as a practical and transformative mode of transportation. It spurred interest in aviation across Europe and North America, inspired new generations of aircraft builders, and helped lay the foundation for modern aerospace engineering.

After the crossing.

A legacy in the skies

After his Channel triumph, Louis Blériot became a household name. He capitalized on his fame by founding the Blériot Aéronautique company, producing aircraft for civilian and military customers. His factory became one of the largest and most respected in pre-war France. During World War I, Blériot's designs played a key role in training pilots and conducting reconnaissance missions.

Blériot continued to promote aviation throughout his life, but he never undertook another flight as iconic as his journey across the Channel. He died in Paris on the 1st of August, 1936 at the age of 64, but his legacy endures. The Blériot XI that he flew that day now rests in the Musée des Arts et Métiers in Paris, a silent witness to the courage and innovation that helped usher in the age of flight.

In today's world of supersonic jets and space travel, it's easy to overlook the audacity of that moment in 1909. Yet, Louis Blériot's journey across the English Channel remains one of aviation's most compelling tales, a testament to human ingenuity and the timeless urge to conquer the impossible.

Louis Blériot's flight across the English Channel in 1909 stands as one of the great inflection points in the history of aviation, a moment when dreams gave way to possibility, and possibility transformed into reality. His journey was not just a triumph of machinery and engineering, but of resilience, vision, and the indomitable human spirit. From the workshops of northern France to the windswept cliffs of Dover, Blériot's life traced the arc of invention against a backdrop of skepticism, risk, and relentless trial.

Blériot's achievement symbolized far more than the successful crossing of a geographical barrier. It shattered the illusion of natural frontiers and awakened the world to a new age, one in which flight was no longer bound to the pages of fantasy or the cautious experiments of isolated inventors. His monoplane, fragile by today's standards, became the vessel through which the modern world first glimpsed the potential of powered flight to connect nations, reshape warfare, and redefine what it meant to explore.

The legacy of that 37-minute flight reverberated through the 20th century and beyond. It inspired the early aviation industry, influenced military strategy, and encouraged a generation of pioneers who would take flight higher, faster, and farther. Blériot's crossing was a catalyst, one that propelled aviation from curiosity to cornerstone, from daring to indispensable.

When looking back on that hazy morning over a century ago, it is done so with the understanding that Louis Blériot's courage helped lift humanity off the ground, literally and figuratively. The flight was the first wingbeat in a world that would soon stretch skyward and, eventually, toward the stars.

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Notes:

Ornithopter

An ornithopter is a type of flying machine that achieves flight by mimicking the flapping wing motion of birds, bats, or insects. The term comes from the Greek words ornithos, (ὄρνιθος), (bird) and pteron, (πτερόν), (wing). Unlike conventional aircraft, which use fixed wings and thrust-producing engines or propellers, ornithopters rely on oscillating or flapping wings to generate both lift and propulsion. This method of flight is inspired by nature and is known as biomimetic engineering, where the designs are modelled after living organisms.

The concept of the ornithopter dates back centuries. One of the earliest known designs appears in the notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci, who sketched several flying machines based on the idea of human-powered flapping wings. However, due to the limitations of human muscle strength and materials available at the time, none of these early concepts were able to achieve practical flight. It wasn't until the development of lightweight materials and miniature motors in the 20th and 21st centuries that small, functioning ornithopters became feasible.

Modern ornithopters range from small remote-controlled models used in research or hobby flying to experimental drones to surveillance devices. Some are powered by tiny electric motors and are capable of highly agile flight, similar to birds or insects. Engineers and scientists continue to study ornithopters to better understand natural flight and to develop innovative solutions for aircraft in environments where traditional fixed-wing or rotary systems are less effective, such as in confined or turbulent spaces. Though they are not yet widely used for commercial applications, ornithopters hold promise in the fields of robotics, aeronautics, and even space exploration.

Fake News: The Legends of Al Capone and the ‘Conference’ that Wasn’t

Al Capone was born in Brooklyn, New York in 1899. As a young man he moved to Chicago and became involved in prostitution, gambling and, in the 1920s, bootlegging rackets. He became rich enough to buy a mansion in Florida and a bullet-proof car but was convicted of tax evasion in 1931. He served time in federal prisons, notably Alcatraz prison in San Francisco Bay before being released in 1939 after it had become clear he was losing his mind as a result of a case of untreated syphilis. He died of a heart attack at the age of 48, a relatively young man. Besides these basic facts, most other claims about the world’s most famous gangster are fictional. Among the false or unsubstantiated claims frequently made about Capone include the following: He was ‘the boss’ of Chicago; he founded the ‘Outfit’ – an organized crime organization based in Chicago; he orchestrated the St Valentine’s Day Massacre; and finally, he was a participant in a ‘conference’ held in Atlantic City in 1929 that established a nationwide crime syndicate.

Michael Woodiwiss looks at these claims.

Al Capone in 1930.

Capone was never the boss of Chicago rackets, let alone the boss of Chicago. The historian Mark Haller has done the most thorough analysis of Capone’s business activities.   The group known to history as the Capone gang,’ he wrote, ‘is best understood not as a hierarchy directed by Al Capone but as a complex set of partnerships.’ Capone, his brother Ralph, Frank Nitti, and Jack Guzik formed partnerships with others to launch numerous bootlegging, gambling, and vice activities in the Chicago Loop, South Side, and several suburbs, including their base of operations, Cicero. These various enterprises, Haller continued, ‘were not controlled bureaucratically. Each, instead, was a separate enterprise of small or relatively small scale. Most had managers who were also partners. Coordination was possible because the senior partners, with an interest in each of the enterprises, exerted influence across a range of activities.’ Like other criminal entrepreneurs, Capone did not have the skills or the personality for the detailed bureaucratic oversight of a large organization. Criminal entrepreneurs are ‘instead, hustlers and dealers, for whom partnership arrangements are ideally suited. They enjoy the give and take of personal negotiations, risk-taking, and moving from deal to deal.’  Haller’s analysis helps to explain why Capone’s removal as a criminal force in Chicago made no difference to the extent of organized crime in the city. There was no ‘Outfit’, although Chicago gangster businessmen after the Second World War might have used the word to describe their loose associations. The Belgian comic strip artist, Herge, basing his research on the hyperbolic claims in Chicago newspapers, referred to Capone as the ‘Boss of Chicago’ in Tintin in America (1931) and many thousands more in True Crime books, documentaries, movies and TV shows simply repeated similar assertions without substantiation.

Capone’s notoriety reached a peak on February 14, 1929, St Valetine’s Day. At a garage at 2122 North Clark Street, seven of the associates of North Side gangster George ‘Bugs’ Moran were waiting for a shipment of illegal liquor. A Cadillac drew up and five men, two in police uniforms, got out and entered the garage. They disarmed the Moran men, who assumed it was the inconvenience of a routine raid and did not object. They were lined up against a wall, as if for a search, and then suddenly sprayed with machine-gun bullets. No one survived.  Capone was in Florida at the time but was soon thought to be responsible. The murders remained unsolved.

Atlantic City and the ‘Conference’ that Wasn’t

The Atlantic City gangster “conference” story began life as a credible account by Al Capone of a trip he made to the New Jersey resort in May 1929. The newspaper and magazine reports of this visit at the time were based almost entirely on Al Capone himself as a source. There have been countless reconstructions since, in books, articles, television documentaries and Martin Scorsese’s TV series Boardwalk Empire, yet Capone remains the only credible source for the story.

Capone was arrested for carrying a gun in Philadelphia on May 16, 1929, a day after he had been in Atlantic City, and told police investigators the following: 

I have tried hard to stop all this killing and gang rivalry. That was my purpose in going to Atlantic City. It was a peace conference. I engineered it. Some of the biggest men in the business in Chicago were there. ... “Bug” Moran, leader of the north side gang, ... and three or four other Chicago gang leaders were there [emphasis added]. We talked over our trouble and at the end agreed to sign on the dotted line, bury the past and forget warfare for the general good of all concerned. 

This was reported on 18 May in the Atlantic City Daily Press, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the New York Tribune and the Los Angeles Times. So, that was the word on the Atlantic City “conference” from the only known witness consulted. Capone and three or four other Chicagoans talking about peace.

The exaggeration of Capone’s account began with the publication of a book by Walter Nobel Burns, The One-Way Ride: The Red Trail of Chicago Gangland from Prohibition to Jake Lingle, in 1931. Burns upped the number of conference attendees to “about 30 veterans” of Chicago gang wars from the “North, South and West Sides” of the city. Other journalists would by then have taken note that Burns’ inflation of the numbers was not challenged.

The fictionalization of Capone’s account had already begun in November 1929 with the publication of a short story by Damon Runyon in Cosmopolitan magazine. Runyon was by then one of the most popular American authors, turning out mainly tales of low-life for the publication group owned by William Randolph Hearst. In the story “Dark Dolores,” his narrator relates how he was “persuaded” by “Dave the Dude” to catch a train to Atlantic City to attend a “big peace conference” to settle a gang war going on in St. Louis between three rival mobs. It would have been clear to readers that St. Louis stood for Chicago and that one of the mob leaders, “Black Mike” – “an Italian with a big scar on his face” – stood for Capone. The popularity of Runyon’s stories would have assured that the ‘conference’ entered popular consciousness.

After Runyon’s story the fictionalization process took a big step forward with the printing of a photograph in the New York Evening Tribune on January 17, 1930. It showed Capone walking next to the political boss of Atlantic City, Enoch “Nucky” Johnson. The picture looks fake – Capone’s wearing heavy winter clothes, Johnson’s in light summer clothes. However, the alliance between corrupt politics and gangdom implied by the juxtaposition of the nation’s most notorious gangster with a machine politician chimed with the dominant perspective on organized crime at this time. 

There was little more published about the Atlantic City “conference” until Hickman Powell’s Ninety Times Guilty in 1939. Powell was the first author to claim that Runyon’s imaginary “interstate” conference was actually true. He wrote: “In May 1929, Al Capone went to a peace conference in Atlantic City,” and elaborated that “The last year had been bloody. There had been the killing of Frank Yale in Brooklyn, the Valentine’s Day massacre in Chicago, and various minor killings.” “Frankie Costello, the slot machine man,” he continued, “who has never been one to encourage violence, arranged the meeting and spent twenty-five thousand dollars of his own money on it. Various gang chieftains were entertained for several days at the Hotel President.” Powell does not mention a credible source for these claims. He did not have to – True Crime books and articles weren’t required to reference their sources.

Powell went further than merely paraphrasing a fictional account. He sowed the seeds of what became the mainstream interpretation of organized crime history, supported by most writers, film directors and – most damagingly – by the US government. “The aim of the Atlantic City conference,” he claimed, “was to establish peaceful co-operation in the underworld instead of warfare.”

Consolidating the “Conference” Legend

On December 10, 1940, the Hearst newspaperman Jack Lait made a reference to the mythical Atlantic City meeting, as he praised the efforts of the IRS against “syndicate” criminal and corrupt politicians. “There’s a convention in New York ... Its [sic] a gathering of top gangsters and racketeers of the nation. Such get-togethers are not uncommon. They have been held in Chicago, Miami, Atlantic City, Phoenix, Providence and other points.”

It must have been a lengthy New York convention since he repeated the column almost verbatim on July 22, 1949 – nine years later. The only difference was a subeditor’s correction to Lait’s omission of an inverted comma in the first version: “It’s a gathering of gangsters and racketeers ...” The federal policing agencies were singled out for praise as the only answer to such evidence of nationwide organization and super-government among hoods: 

And a shudder of fear has the mob geniuses shaky. They haven’t forgotten what happened to Al Capone, “Lucky” Luciano and “Nucky” Johnson ... They know that whenever the Feds really try, they can get these malefactors of great stealth, for they are all venal and vulnerable, they have influence beyond calculation, but when the G-boys are ordered from up above to close in, nothing can help them. 

This was the first time the politician Johnson was mentioned in connection with the Atlantic City “conference,” albeit indirectly, and it was not as the host in the way later writers embellished the story.

In 1950, the year after the second of Lait’s reports on the alleged conference, Senator Kefauver read and later endorsed a book that Lait co-wrote with another journalist, Lee Mortimer: Chicago Confidential. Kefauver was preparing for an influential investigation of organized crime. The federal policing agencies were singled out for praise by politicians and journalists alike as the only answer to such evidence of nationwide organization and super-government among hoods.

Lee Mortimer was another newspaper columnist for the Hearst newspaper chain who specialized in scurrilous stories about celebrities. The Confidential books feature the two main preoccupations of post-war America—communism and organized crime—in an amalgam of racial and political bigotry. The only evidence they provide about the American Mafia indicates that the concept originated in the paranoid imagination of reactionaries. The Mafia, according to Mortimer and Lait, was

The super-government which now has tentacles reaching into the Cabinet and the White House itself, almost every state capital, huge Wall Street interests, and connections in Canada, Greece, China and Outer Mongolia, and even through the Iron Curtain into Soviet Russia.

The organization is ‘run from above, with reigning headquarters in Italy and American headquarters in New York’. It ‘controls all sin’ and ‘practically all crime in the United States’, and is

an international conspiracy, as potent as that other international conspiracy, Communism, and as dirty and dangerous, with its great wealth and the same policy—to conquer everything and take over everything, with no scruples as to how.

Kefauver’s senate investigation into organized crime encouraged rather than discouraged such hyperbole.

Mafia? 

In 1959, Frederic Sondern, a journalist who relied on agents from the Federal Bureau of Narcotics (FBN) for his sources, made the claim that not only were Atlantic City “conference” gangster delegates from across the whole of the United States, but that they were all members of the Mafia. The ‘Mafia’ at this time was thought to be a single centralized organization of Italian-Americans that allegedly controlled organized crime in America.  In Brotherhood of Evil: The Mafia, he claimed: 

… Capone issued invitations to the senior capi Mafiosi of Chicago, Detroit, New York, Philadelphia and several other big centers to meet in Atlantic City in May 1929. ... It was the Atlantic City gathering that made underworld and Mafia history ... The Sicilians listened as Capone explained a project on which he had been working for some three years – a nationwide syndicate and organization, not only for bootlegging but gambling, prostitution, labor racketeering and various kinds of extortion as well ... At Atlantic City a series of peace treaties for the Chicago, New York and other areas was hammered out and ratified – without documents and signatures but with a validity that lasted a long time. It was the fundamental design and unwritten constitution of the modern American Mafia.

Sondern had taken Hickman Powell’s imaginative reconstruction of the Atlantic City “conference” and made all the significant participants Italian American in line with the FBN’s propaganda contention that organized crime in the US was controlled by a single Italian entity.

In 1965, one of America’s best-known journalists, Walter Winchell, added his prestige to the Atlantic City “conference” mythology. Winchell was in a sense the voice of the “gangbuster” since he was the narrator of the popular Untouchables television series. In his syndicated column, he wrote:

It was Capone who organized the nation-wide crime syndicate ... In May 1929 the mob chiefs gathered in Atlantic City at Capone’s invitation ... There they organized their operations on a more business-like level ... They operated like any big business ... Recognized leaders, standard rules of procedure and periodic meetings. ... If the black flag of the underworld were to unfurl atop one of the tallest skyscrapers in New York it would be a fit symbol of how the Mafia has gained control of that building and many other real estate holdings.  

By this time most of the American law enforcement community, as well as the rest of the America media, shared the kind of interpretation articulated by Winchell, and given official sanction by President Lyndon Johnson’s Commission on Law Enforcement and the Administration of Justice in 1967. “Today,” according to the Commission’s report, “the core of organized crime in the United States consists of 24 groups operating as criminal cartels in large cities across the Nation. Their membership is exclusively Italian, they are in frequent communication with each other, and their smooth functioning is insured by a national body of overseers.”

The report offered very little historical substantiation for its claims besides the following short paragraph:

The present confederation of organized crime groups arose after Prohibition, during which Italian, German, Irish and Jewish groups had competed with one another in racket operations. The Italian groups were successful in switching their enterprises from prostitution and bootlegging to gambling, extortion, and other illegal activities. They consolidated their power through murder and violence.  

The only known source for a “history” that implied that only immigrants participated in organized crime was Sergeant Ralph Salerno of the New York Police Department. Dwight Smith, a colleague of Salerno, has detailed the ways in which Salerno provided as much historical and analytical substance as the commission required in its efforts to justify a large increase in policing resources and powers to combat what it saw as a security threat to the United States. Accuracy was not the commission’s concern.

The commission’s work culminated with the Organized Crime Control Act of 1970 that was significant nationally and internationally in establishing a widely accepted template for organized crime control.  In a book published in 1969, Salerno and his co-writer, John S. Tompkins, confirmed an acceptance of Atlantic City “conference” mythology. After detailing Capone’s conviction and imprisonment on tax evasion charges in 1931 and the shootings of John Dillinger and other bank robbers, they asserted that, “Unnoticed during all of the hoopla about sending Capone to prison and the FBI’s war on crime, major crime itself was organized at a meeting in Atlantic City in 1931, and the details worked out over the next few years.” By moving the mythical meeting from 1929 to 1931, the authors had managed to prevent the only known source for the alleged convention or conference – Al Capone – from attending it altogether.

By the 1970s there was no limit to the imagination and deceit of True Crime writers when it came to descriptions of the Atlantic City “conference.” In 1971, Hank Messick devoted six pages to the event in Lansky, a biography of the Jewish American gangster businessman who founded something Messick called the National Crime Syndicate. Lansky, Messick claimed, was the real inspiration for the gathering of mobsters – not Capone, Luciano or Costello. Messick embellished the story in three ways. First, by adding claims and details on Enoch Johnson. Instead of being just being the subject of the probably doctored photograph walking along the city’s Boardwalk beside Capone, Johnson now “ruled a criminal-political empire” in the resort who could be depended upon to “entertain the boys in style.” Second by making up conversations between Lansky, Luciano and others that happened four decades earlier and could have no other source than Messick’s imagination. Finally, giving the names of long-dead ‘gang chieftains from all over the U.S.A.’

The Last Testament of Lucky Luciano

Messick’s imaginative reconstruction of the conference was soon outdone by Martin Gosch and Richard Hammer in The Last Testament of Lucky Luciano (1975). The book project was initiated by Gosch, Hammer was a crime journalist brought in later. Gosch was usually described as a film producer, although confidence trickster is a better description.

According to Gosch’s account, Lucky Luciano himself had told him that he was the central player in the Atlantic City “conference.” Luciano had asked him to be his “Mr. Boswell” in 1961, a year before he died. The heart attack happened, appropriately and, in terms of publicity, profitably, when Luciano was meeting Gosch at Naples airport on January 26, 1962. The 1961 deal, according for Gosch, was for Luciano to record his life story to Gosch on tape and for it to be written up and published ten years after his death. According to Gosch, Luciano said he wouldn’t “hold back nothin’” and that the money gained would be “an annuity” for Gosch and his wife, Lucille.

The paperback rights of Last Testament were auctioned for $500,000, a serialization appeared in Penthouse magazine the year before publication and the book was chosen as main selection by both the Book-of-the-Month club and the Playboy Book Club. Its success was based largely on the publisher’s claim that it was the life story of Lucky Luciano as dictated by the Mafia boss himself before his death in 1962. Last Testament, however, was a fake, based mainly on hearsay accounts written by Hickman Powell and others. It quotes Luciano as saying that he was at meetings and events during the time that he was in prison – it even quotes him talking about an event that happened two years after he died. Faking True Crime books was made easier at the time since, as noted earlier, they were not required to have notes indicating the sources of their frequently outlandish claims.  Gosch himself did not benefit from the hoax since he died just before the book was published. There was, however, clearly “an annuity” for his wife.

Gosch and Hammer added several more gangsters to Messick’s list: “Purple Gang” leader, Abe Bernstein, Willie Moretti from New Jersey, John Torrio, and Dutch Schultz, Albert Anastasia, Vince Mangano and Frank Scalise. Gosch and Hammer, like Messick, invented dialogue and put Nucky Johnson at the center of events that followed the alleged refusal of one hotel to let the imaginary group of lowlifes in, “So Nucky picks Al up under one arm and throws him into his car and yells out, ‘All you fuckers follow me!’” Johnson then, according to Gosch and Hammer, laid on “a constant round of parties, with plenty of liquor, food and girls.” This is quite a leap given the only evidence of Johnson’s presence was a photograph showing him in summer clothes walking besides Al Capone in winter clothes on the Atlantic City boardwalk. The Atlantic City “conference” was a good base for a story, however, as the author of Boardwalk Empire (2010), “The true story that inspired the HBO series,” must have realized. He uncritically used The Last Testament as one of his main sources. Biographies of Capone written after The Last Testament reference the book as if it were a legitimate source. Even scholarly criminologists have used the made-up dialogue as if it were real.   

Calling Capone’s meeting with fellow Chicago gangsters in Atlantic City a ‘Conference’ was itself an exaggeration, calling it a conference with gangsters from across the United States setting out to control organized crime throughout the whole country was pure invention. There is no doubt that Italian-American gangsters such as Capone and Luciano in America have been among the most prominent gangsters since the Prohibition years. The dispute is over the identification of organized crime almost exclusively with Italian Americans and the suggestion that organized crime is some sort of alien transplant onto an otherwise pure political and economic system. Thanks to fanciful accounts of the Atlantic City ‘Conference’ and other variations of Mafia mythology, many people, in every part of the world, not just in America, believed that something called the Mafia ran organized crime in the U.S. for decades. By constantly highlighting a centralized super-criminal conspiracy, set up after a series of conferences following Atlantic City, U.S. opinion makers  ensured that people’s perception of organized crime was as limited as their own. The constant speculation, hyperbole, preaching, and mythmaking served to confuse and distract attention away from failed policies, institutional corruption and much systematic criminal activity that was more damaging and destructive than the undeniable criminal activity of the likes of Capone.

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References

Michael Woodiwiss, Double Crossed: The Failure of Organized Crime Control (London: Pluto, 2017)

William Moore, The Kefauver Committee and the Politics of Crime (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1974).

Frederic Sondern, Brotherhood of Evil: The Mafia (London: Panther, 1961).

President’s Commission on Law Enforcement and the Administration of Justice, The Challenge of Crime in a Free Society (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1967).

Ralph Salerno and John S. Tompkins, The Crime Confederation, (New York: Popular Library, 1969), p. 275.

Hank Messick, Lansky (London: Robert Hale, 1971).

Tony Scaduto, Lucky Luciano (London, Sphere Books, 1976).

Martin Gosch and Richard Hammer, The Last Testament of Lucky Luciano (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1975), p. viii.

Nelson Johnson, Boardwalk Empire (London: Embury Press, 2010).

David Critchley, The Origin of Organized Crime in America: The New York City Mafia, 1891–1931 (New York: Routledge, 2009).

Damon Runyon, Guys and Dolls and Other Stories (London: Penguin, 1997).

Marc Mappen, Prohibition Gangsters: The Rise and Fall of a Bad Generation (London: Rutgers University Press, 2013).

Hickman Powell, Ninety Times Guilty (London: Robert Hale, 1940).

Jack Lait and Lee Mortimer, Chicago Confidential (New York: Crown, 1950)

Whan NATO Fought Itself: The Turbot War

As inconceivable as it may sound, there was an occasion when two NATO allies were considered in a state of war, albeit limited. It was the only time that that two NATO allies were in a heated exchange and exchanged fire. The incident was called the Turbot War (named after a type of fish which was the cause of this strange altercation). This minor escalation was between Canada and Spain between March 9 and April 16, 1995 and fought over a dispute involving their respective international fishing rights in what Canada saw as their territorial waters. To call it a war may be an exaggeration, but that was the term adopted by the media to create sensationalism. The incident brought no formal declarations of war, but shots were fired in anger by the Canadian Navy upon Spanish vessels and at one point even involved the deployment of the Spanish Navy in retaliation.

Steve Prout explains.

El Vigía, a vessel sent by Spain to protect its fishing fleet. Source: Manuel Luís Soto Sáenz, Cádiz, 11 de Octubre de 2008, available here.

Fishing Rights and Canadian Waters

This article does not intend to delve into the legal complexities of international fishing rights but give an outline of the causes. The Canadians complained that their fishing rights were being violated by various foreign trawlers citing the regulations set by the North Atlantic Fisheries Organization (NAFO). On this occasion Canada accused Spain and Portugal of trespassing and of overfishing in Canadian territorial waters. It was a claim both Spain and Portugal disputed.

The Canadians had an established shipping perimeter two hundred nautical miles from their shores. This perimeter had been agreed in 1982 by the Third United Nations Convention on the law of the sea. It took until November 1994 for an exclusive economic zone finally to be recognized. It would not be enough to resolve the ongoing issues and was either ignored or misunderstood. The EU meanwhile issued a ruling which gave European vessels an increased quota in a disputed zone close to what Canada claimed was within her territorial waters.

The matter of overfishing had been a concern for Canada since the 1970s, but little had been done to address their issues. These concerns were made more urgent by the Grand Banks Fishery collapse, which occurred due to over overfishing of cod over the years. Fishing communities had been devastated and any further damage or a repeat of this over the turbot stocks would not be allowed or tolerated.

The war was named after the type of fish known as Turbot (also known as Greenland Turbot and Greenland Halibut) that was being decimated by the presence of these trawlers. Brian Tobin, a Canadian politician and Director of the Department of Fisheries and Oceans championed the Canadian side of the dispute. Canada claimed that there were over fifty violations of their international waters and their attempts to reach out to the Spanish and Portuguese governments met no response and so the Canadians felt that more assertive action should be taken.

The beginning of hostilities

On March 9, 1995, a Canadian air patrol plane spotted the Spanish trawler Estai fishing in Canadian waters. The Canadian Coast Guard and Navy vessels, led by Sir Wilfred Grenfell, were launched and headed towards the Spanish trawler. On spotting the approaching Canadian vessels the skipper of the Estai, Captain Enrique Davila Gonzalez, ordered the crew to cut their nets in a desperate attempt to remove evidence of their fishing activities and attempted an escape.

The chase then developed, escalated, and “shots fired in anger”. The Estai only stopped when the Canadian Coast Guard vessel Cape Roger fired a burst of machine gun fire across its bows and warned that the next shots would be aimed at the Spanish trawler itself. The event was not just isolated to the Estai because other Spanish fishing boats had come to assist the Estai but were repelled by high-pressure water cannons. The Estai was then boarded by DFO officers who discovered numerous infringements of Canada’s fishing laws. A Canadian trawler was used to recover the Estai’s net from the seabed. A number of other infractions by the Spanish crew were found by the Canadians. It was soon found that the net had a much smaller mesh size than Canadian law allowed. The crew of the Estai were subsequently arrested with the trawler being towed back to Canada (the city of St. John’s) where it was displayed. The incident then was widely publicized to the world with the blame being put onto Spain by Canada. The Spanish trawlers attempt to hide the incriminating evidence failed and an international furor followed when Canada seized the vessel which in turn caused the European Union to accuse Canadas of acts of piracy.

The Canadians used the publicity to their maximum advantage. A crowd of over five thousand Canadians gathered to witness the Estai being impounded in St. John’s harbor, with Brian Tobin swiftly arranging a press conference in New York City outside of the United Nations headquarters. Tobin ordered the Estai’s net suspended from a crane while he addressed the world’s media, explaining in detail how the small mesh size meant that the Spanish vessel had been fishing illegally. Tobin was steadfast in his view that Canadian law applied in the waters where the Estai was fishing and furthermore Canada had the legal authority to act against the Spanish vessel and arrest the crew.

Spain escalates and the EU is divided

A small drama back in 1995 looked and felt quite different at the time as this affair escalated and caused diplomatic divisions amongst EU states and fellow NATO allies. Britain, for example, backed Canada and other EU states supported Spain, at least from a respectable distance. Meanwhile, in retaliation to the seizure, Spain dispatched a Serviola-class gunboat, armed with machine guns and cannons, to protect the Spanish trawlers operating in the area from the Canadian navy and coastguard. The diplomatic exchanges intensified and became heated. Spain demanded the immediate release of the trawler and the crew claiming Canada had no right to impound the boat or its crew who were Spanish nationals. They did however concede that the net used by the trawler was illegal under Canadian law, but they still maintained that they were fishing outside of Canada’s EEZ in international waters. Canada cited the 1982 Law of the Sea Convention, which stated that they had the legal right to protect fish stocks that straddle their EEZ (Exclusive Economic Zone) and international waters. They asserted that Canadian law applied to all vessels fishing in these waters. The technicalities continued for and against continued.

Canada was further vindicated by an immediate inspection of the fishing catch. The Canadian claims were further strengthened when an independent inspection of the Estai reported that seventy to eighty percent of the turbot catch within the Spanish vessel were undersized or protected species. More damningly the trawler also possessed false bulkhead that revealed secret storage tanks that contained twenty-five tons of the heavily protected American plaice - which had been under a protective moratorium since 1992 due to declining stocks.

For Spain there was more damning evidence of illegal activity that was discovered aboard the trawler. The captain of the Spanish trawler had maintained two differing sets of logbooks recording his catch which was a favorite trick of corrupt skippers who needed to hide from the authorities the fact that they had caught over their quotas. This explains the desperate attempt by the Estai to cut its nets and outrun the Canadian Navy.

Europe is temporarily divided

The matter soon involved some of the wider international community. In fact, European countries were split over who they supported in the dispute. Britain and Ireland took Canada’s side. The rest of the European Union supported the Spanish. Meanwhile, the dispute had degenerated into churlish name-calling, with the Spanish claiming the Canadians had behaved like “pirates,” while Canada accused Spain of being “conservation criminals” and “cheats.” British Prime Minister John Major (1990-1997) risked turning the EU community against Britain by reiterating staunch support for the Canadians. When the issue of the EU bringing trade sanctions against Canada was proposed, Major made it clear that Britain would use its veto to block any such sanctions from going ahead.

Many British and Irish trawlers began flying the Canadian flag to show which side they supported in the dispute, which antagonized a European ally and member of NATO. A Cornish trawler, called Newlyn, was challenged by a French patrol boat whom the latter mistook as being a Canadian ship because it was flying the Canadian flag. The French backed down when they realized the ship was British and no further action was taken. What if that had been a Canadian trawler? Now France would have been at military odds with their NATO ally. Thankfully, the incident of the “Turbot War” took on a more proportionate response later, but the incident had a little more milage left in terms of rhetoric and naval mobilization before that resolution was found.

Canada later released Captain Gonzalez and the crew of the Estai, and, once the owners of the Spanish vessel had paid a fine of $500,000, the Canadians released the ship and the crew who then sailed back home. The concluded the matter of the Estai but the dispute continued.

Canada still refused to enter any negotiations until all foreign fishing vessels left the disputed area on the edge of their EEZ. Spain steadfastly ignored this and sent trawlers back to the disputed Canadian waters, this time accompanied by a Spanish navy patrol boat to protect them. Spain also began to prepare a more serious task force consisting of frigates and tankers to head to the area. It was no surprise that in late March talks between the two nations broke down. The naval detachments escalated as Canada began to increase the numbers of its naval and coast guard vessels across the edge of their EEZ, along with a higher number of surveillance air patrols. Brian Tobin also declared that he was prepared to use net cutters to sever the trawl nets of Spanish vessels (in the same way as the Icelandic Coast Guard did to British trawlers in the Cod Wars of the 1970s). It was also reported that Canadian Prime Minister Jean Chrétien had authorized his navy to fire at any armed Spanish Navy ships that sailed in or around Canada’s EEZ.

The pressure built up in Europe as they baulked at the very real possibility of actual conflict breaking out. The EU eventually put pressure on Spain to back down and agree to a deal. Despite Spanish objections they acquiesced, and a deal was reached on April 5. The result was a win for Canada. Spain was forced to leave the disputed zone and Canada’s right to eject foreign fishing vessels from the area, using military force, if necessary, was accepted. Under the deal, Canada refunded the $500,000 fine to the owners of the Estai. And with that, the Turbot War ended.

Conclusion

The incident has now been forgotten although it is certain to remain in the memories of the fishing community and the crew of the Estia. Canada understandably needed to protect her fisheries and her industry and showed the level of force that she was prepared to take - and indeed did so to the extent that the international community was also taken by surprise by her uncharacteristically aggressive response. This was understandable given the Grand Banks fisheries collapse just three years before. Canada still felt the severe economic backlash from hardship due to fish stocks collapsing and was not going to allow their turbot stocks to be decimated by foreign vessels in the same way as cod stocks previously. She deserved the favorable outcome.

While the dispute on the surface focused more on fishing rights, beneath the surface the tension from this affair tested for a brief time the relationships between NATO allies. Countries belonging to NATO and the larger European Economic Block were at odds with each other but despite this applying the actual word “war” to describe this affair does appear disproportionate. The level of military engagement was limited. Interestingly we are left with a question: how would NATO have dealt with a quarrel within its own internal structure? The matter has never been tested and hopefully never will be. Of course, the worst-case scenarios would have been highly unlikely as sensible heads would have prevailed over any impasse.

It does go to show that underneath the solidarity of an alliance like NATO there does exist on occasions underlying tensions and altercations but rarely have shots been fired in anger. In 1972 the Cod Wars again concerning fishing rights saw the UK and Iceland also disagree, but no shots were fired in anger and no forces were mobilized. However, the threat of Iceland withdrawing from NATO expedited a climb down by the UK. On both occasions it was not the Warsaw Pact that was the only cause of disquiet for this organization. It was a not so simple matter of troublesome fishing rights. Currently the NATO alliance is experiencing more stresses and strains as the US continues to press some of its European allies to increase spending levels and prove their commitment to the NATO alliance. Nothing has ever erupted and dissipated like the long-forgotten Turbot incident.

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