My Very Excited Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas.
That was how my third grade teacher, Ms. Griffin, taught me and my classmates to remember the order of the planets of the Solar System: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto. Learning about the planets, like learning about the dinosaurs, is one of those few things that almost everyone who has passed through the American education system can count on. As far back as I can remember, I knew that Mars is red, that Jupiter is the biggest, that Saturn has rings, that Mercury is the closest. . . and that Pluto is the farthest.
Amidst a strange and constantly changing world, the fact that there were nine planets, from Mercury out to Pluto, seemed like one of the few constants I could count on. As I got older, math class got harder, history class got more complicated, health class got more embarrassing. Even the world maps changed, with the big red bulk of the Soviet Union giving way to seemingly dozens of smaller bits of different colors that had unpronounceable names. But I could always count on those nine planets.
It's all different now, of course. When I graduated from high school in 1994, not a single planet outside our Solar System had yet been discovered. Since then, thousands of extra-solar have been found and more are being discovered with every passing day. Moreover, the scientists are telling us that Pluto isn't really a planet and that there are probably lots of other worlds like it orbiting in that hazy, dark realm out there on the fringes of our Solar System. All the planets I had learned about as an excited schoolboy, it turned out, were nothing special. And Pluto was the least special of them all.
Hogwash. On July 14, 2015, Pluto had its big moment in the limelight.
Years ago, I was one of thousands of people around the country who sent letters to our representatives in Congress imploring them to appropriate funds for NASA that would allow it to send a robotic spacecraft to explore Pluto. Partly as a result of the huge outpouring of civic activism, the funds were appropriated and, in early 2006, the New Horizons probe was launched. After a journey of more than nine years and more than three billion miles, it flew past Pluto two days ago. While doing so, the seven scientific instruments on the plucky little spacecraft gathered a treasure trove of data on Pluto, as well as its large moon Charon and its four smaller moons. This priceless data will rewrite the science textbooks on the Solar System and help us sharpen our understand of exactly how the Solar System was formed.
It will take more than a year for all the data collected to be downloaded from the New Horizon's onboard computer. Yet even in these early days, its discoveries are already opening new mysteries. It had always been assumed that Pluto and its large moon Charon were similar worlds, but they in fact seem to be very different from one another. It had always been assumed that the surface of Pluto would be extremely ancient and covered with impact craters, but the initial close-up images show very few impact craters, indicating that the planet's surface is geologically quite young. All of this is astonishing and will keep our scientists busy for a very, very long time.
It was very fitting that the spacecraft carried one ounce of the ashes of Clyde Tombaugh, the Kansas farmboy-turned-astronomer who discovered Pluto in 1930. Now that the flyby of Pluto is completed, the New Horizons probe will hopefully be directed to use its remaining fuel to fly past one of the smaller of the "Kuiper Belt objects" that lies in its path. Then, it will sail on to wander the Milky Way Galaxy forever. This means that Tombaugh is the first human being whose remains are leaving the Solar System.
I'm a history geek first and foremost, but I have a lot of the space geek in me, too. I have been fascinated by space ever since my father took me out into the countryside in 1986 to look at Halley's Comet through our small family telescope. In the summer of 2000, as an eager history graduate student at what was then Southwest Texas State University, I was lucky enough to participate in the NASA Oral History Project, interviewing engineers throughout Central Texas who had worked on the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo programs. I now own a decent telescope and very much enjoy breaking it out in the back yard or taking it on camping trips.
If you ask me, anyone who reads about the Pluto flyby and isn't enthralled has to be a person utterly devoid of a soul. We live in an age of mediocrity, in a society more interested in banal and inane popular culture rather than spiritual uplift and intellectual achievement. This is dissolving our spirit like a steady dripping of acid. Yet occasionally something happens which goes a certain way towards restoring my faith. Seeing the ecstatic faces of the engineers and scientists in the control room of New Horizons when confirmation was received that the spacecraft had survived its encounter with Pluto was one of those moments.
Thank you and congratulations to the whole New Horizons team. And thank you and congratulations to that lonely little spacecraft out there on the edge of the Solar System. Godspeed and have many new adventures!
Thursday, July 16, 2015
Saturday, July 11, 2015
The Golden Age of Wine
It's easy to become disillusioned in this unsettled age of ours. One can turn on the TV and be flooded with stories of ISIS atrocities in the Middle East, of corporations exploiting people in pursuit of higher profits, of politicians bickering about the latest media-manufactured "controversy" or "crisis" rather than solving our nation's real problems, or whatever else. I don't really blame people who want to throw up their hands and conclude that the human race is a lost cause. But rather than dwelling on what's bad about the modern world, I think it's more healthy to turn one's attention to those aspects of the modern world which are pleasant and uplifting.
For me, one of these things is the undeniable fact that we live in the Golden Age of Wine.
Thomas Jefferson, in addition to being one of the great Founding Fathers and America's original Renaissance Man, was the greatest wine connoisseur of the late 18th and early 19th Centuries. In his time, if he ordered a shipment of wine from a Bordeaux merchant, it might take as long as a year before it arrived, if it arrived at all. Today, one can go into just about any convenience store, in even the smallest town in America, and find a decent bottle of wine for less than $10. The art and science of winemaking has advanced over the last hundred years to such a wondrous state that it is almost impossible to make a bad bottle of wine. In fact, almost every bottle on the wine list of a nice restaurant is probably superior to the best wine that was ever enjoyed by Henry VIII or Louis XIV.
When I walk down the wine aisle of my local grocery store, I'm in a wine-lover's wonderland that Thomas Jefferson could only have dreamt of. The shelves are lined with wines from California, France, Italy, Germany, Spain, Argentina, Chile, Spain, Australia, New Zealand and just about every other place that makes wine. For less than the average American's hourly wage, one can purchase a wonderful bottle of wine from almost anywhere in the world.
I love wine. As I often remind my wife, there are two things I cannot live without: books and wine. Mostly for my own edification, I earned my certification as a wine sommelier from the International Wine Guild a few years back. Knowing about the history of the various wine regions, the processes by which the different kinds of wine are made, and the fascinating blend of national rules and regulations governing winemaking vastly increases the pleasure one gets from sipping a glass of wine.
I can't say that I have an especially good pallet for wine. I was recently reminded of this in the most humiliating fashion at a family wine tasting organized by my father on Independence Day. It was a blind tasting, with the bottles concealed in velvet wine bags. The five bottles ranged in price from $8 to $85. Despite my much ballyhooed sommelier certification, I picked the $8 bottle as the best and ranked the $85 bottle dead last. Needless to say, the family had a good laugh at my expense. I have always envied those extraordinary people, like Thomas Jefferson, who can sip a bottle of wine and tell you exactly what vineyard it came from. Such people are very rare, though snobs pretending to be such people are annoyingly common.
(My wife would be angry with me if I neglected to mention that she ranked the most expensive wine first and the least expensive wine last. She has a better pallet than I do.)
Despite the embarrassment it entailed, my Independence Day wine experience is proof that one does not have to have a lot of money to enjoy wine. I have enjoyed many bottles of wine between $10 and $15 that I found vastly superior to much more expensive bottles. While I would be overjoyed beyond belief if a friend gifted me a 1982 Chateau Lafite Rothschild or a 1973 Stag's Leap Cabernet Sauvignon, one does not need a huge amount of money to obtain good wine in this day and age. This, too, would have delighted Jefferson, who wanted wine to be enjoyed by ordinary citizens rather than just a wealthy elite. As Benjamin Disraeli once said, "I rather like bad wine. One gets so bored with good wine."
One does not have to up-to-date on the latest wine fads to enjoy wine. In fact, wine faddists should generally be avoided. I always wince when I hear someone say that such-and-such wine "is big this year." Anyone saying something like this clearly doesn't know what they're talking about. Human beings have been making wine for 10,000 years; there's nothing faddish about it. One should drink whatever wine one likes, not whatever wine happens to be the most popular at any given moment.
Every time one opens a bottle of wine, no matter where one got it or how much it cost, one is opening a little piece of magic with its own special history and personality, a product of a unique combination of land, weather, climate, and the skills and techniques of the viticulturists and winemakers themselves.
There are wines for every occasion. On a hot summer day, there's nothing like a crisp, chilled glass of Portuguese vinho verde or New Zealand sauvignon blanc. On a cold winter night, there's nothing like a glass of Burgundy in one hand and a good book in the other, preferably in front of a roaring fire. If you're having pizza, open a Chianti. If you're having a steak, open a California cabernet sauvignon. Id you're having Indian food, a Syrah is always nice. But these are just my preferences. Since everyone's pallet is different, everyone will have different tastes. There's no such thing as a right and wrong answer and, in the Golden Age of Wine, we have a virtually infinite variety of choices.
As Ernest Hemingway said, "Wine is one of the most civilized things in the world and one of the most natural things in the world that has been brought to the greatest perfection, and it offers a greater range for enjoyment and appreciation than, possibly, any other sensory thing."
So if you feel discouraged by the state of the world, remind yourself that we live in the Golden Age of Wine and take some comfort from that. Then, go open a bottle and pour yourself a glass.
For me, one of these things is the undeniable fact that we live in the Golden Age of Wine.
Thomas Jefferson, in addition to being one of the great Founding Fathers and America's original Renaissance Man, was the greatest wine connoisseur of the late 18th and early 19th Centuries. In his time, if he ordered a shipment of wine from a Bordeaux merchant, it might take as long as a year before it arrived, if it arrived at all. Today, one can go into just about any convenience store, in even the smallest town in America, and find a decent bottle of wine for less than $10. The art and science of winemaking has advanced over the last hundred years to such a wondrous state that it is almost impossible to make a bad bottle of wine. In fact, almost every bottle on the wine list of a nice restaurant is probably superior to the best wine that was ever enjoyed by Henry VIII or Louis XIV.
When I walk down the wine aisle of my local grocery store, I'm in a wine-lover's wonderland that Thomas Jefferson could only have dreamt of. The shelves are lined with wines from California, France, Italy, Germany, Spain, Argentina, Chile, Spain, Australia, New Zealand and just about every other place that makes wine. For less than the average American's hourly wage, one can purchase a wonderful bottle of wine from almost anywhere in the world.
I love wine. As I often remind my wife, there are two things I cannot live without: books and wine. Mostly for my own edification, I earned my certification as a wine sommelier from the International Wine Guild a few years back. Knowing about the history of the various wine regions, the processes by which the different kinds of wine are made, and the fascinating blend of national rules and regulations governing winemaking vastly increases the pleasure one gets from sipping a glass of wine.
I can't say that I have an especially good pallet for wine. I was recently reminded of this in the most humiliating fashion at a family wine tasting organized by my father on Independence Day. It was a blind tasting, with the bottles concealed in velvet wine bags. The five bottles ranged in price from $8 to $85. Despite my much ballyhooed sommelier certification, I picked the $8 bottle as the best and ranked the $85 bottle dead last. Needless to say, the family had a good laugh at my expense. I have always envied those extraordinary people, like Thomas Jefferson, who can sip a bottle of wine and tell you exactly what vineyard it came from. Such people are very rare, though snobs pretending to be such people are annoyingly common.
(My wife would be angry with me if I neglected to mention that she ranked the most expensive wine first and the least expensive wine last. She has a better pallet than I do.)
Despite the embarrassment it entailed, my Independence Day wine experience is proof that one does not have to have a lot of money to enjoy wine. I have enjoyed many bottles of wine between $10 and $15 that I found vastly superior to much more expensive bottles. While I would be overjoyed beyond belief if a friend gifted me a 1982 Chateau Lafite Rothschild or a 1973 Stag's Leap Cabernet Sauvignon, one does not need a huge amount of money to obtain good wine in this day and age. This, too, would have delighted Jefferson, who wanted wine to be enjoyed by ordinary citizens rather than just a wealthy elite. As Benjamin Disraeli once said, "I rather like bad wine. One gets so bored with good wine."
One does not have to up-to-date on the latest wine fads to enjoy wine. In fact, wine faddists should generally be avoided. I always wince when I hear someone say that such-and-such wine "is big this year." Anyone saying something like this clearly doesn't know what they're talking about. Human beings have been making wine for 10,000 years; there's nothing faddish about it. One should drink whatever wine one likes, not whatever wine happens to be the most popular at any given moment.
Every time one opens a bottle of wine, no matter where one got it or how much it cost, one is opening a little piece of magic with its own special history and personality, a product of a unique combination of land, weather, climate, and the skills and techniques of the viticulturists and winemakers themselves.
There are wines for every occasion. On a hot summer day, there's nothing like a crisp, chilled glass of Portuguese vinho verde or New Zealand sauvignon blanc. On a cold winter night, there's nothing like a glass of Burgundy in one hand and a good book in the other, preferably in front of a roaring fire. If you're having pizza, open a Chianti. If you're having a steak, open a California cabernet sauvignon. Id you're having Indian food, a Syrah is always nice. But these are just my preferences. Since everyone's pallet is different, everyone will have different tastes. There's no such thing as a right and wrong answer and, in the Golden Age of Wine, we have a virtually infinite variety of choices.
As Ernest Hemingway said, "Wine is one of the most civilized things in the world and one of the most natural things in the world that has been brought to the greatest perfection, and it offers a greater range for enjoyment and appreciation than, possibly, any other sensory thing."
So if you feel discouraged by the state of the world, remind yourself that we live in the Golden Age of Wine and take some comfort from that. Then, go open a bottle and pour yourself a glass.
Saturday, July 4, 2015
What I Love About America
Happy Independence Day, folks!
It is July 4. Two hundred and thirty-nine years ago today, a group of brave and determined men voted to approve a document, written by a young and brilliant Virginian, which declared the thirteen British colonies hugging the eastern coast of North America to be an independent nation. That day in Philadelphia is rightfully seen as our country's birthday.
Now, we spend a lot of time talking about what's wrong with our country and it is true that we have our fair share of problems. Yet on Independence Day, I think it's healthy to stop thinking about those things that trouble us about our country and consider instead what we love about it. So, here goes.
I love the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights. I love the Federalist Papers, the Anti-Federalist Papers, and the hundreds of beautiful letters that Thomas Jefferson and John Adams wrote to one another in retirement. I love the journals of Lewis and Clark. I love Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Address and Second Inaugural Address. I love the Thirteenth and Nineteenth Amendments. I love FDR's "Four Freedoms" speech, MLK's "I Have A Dream" speech, and the speech JFK gave at Rice University in which he declared that America chose to go to the Moon.
I love Mark Twain and Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Harper Lee, Louisa May Alcott and Edgar Allan Poe. I love Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau and Nathaniel Hawthorne. I love the poetry of Walt Whitman and Robert Frost. I love The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin, Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut, and On the Road by Jack Kerouac.
I love the Statue of Liberty (thanks, France!), the Liberty Bell, and Mount Rushmore. I love bald eagles and American bison. I love Mount Vernon and Monticello. I love the monuments and memorials around the National Mall in Washington D.C. I love the USS Constitution - "Old Ironsides" - launched in 1797 and still officially a commissioned warship in the United States Navy. I love the Space Needle in Seattle, the Empire State Building in New York City, and the Gateway Arch in St. Louis. I love the Art Deco architecture of Miami. I love the Golden Gate Bridge, the Brooklyn Bridge, and the thousands of small bridges one passes over while driving the back roads of our vast nation.
I love the cultural institutions of New York City: the Met Opera, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Museum of Modern Art, the Hayden Planetarium, and the musicals of Broadway. I love the museums of the Smithsonian in Washington D.C.: the National Air and Space Museum, the National Portrait Gallery, the National Museum of Natural History, and the National Museum of American History. I love the Boston Aquarium, the San Diego Zoo, the Houston Museum of Natural Science, and Chicago's Field Museum of Natural History. I love the Library of Congress.
I love the National Parks: Yellowstone, the Everglades, Yosemite, Acadia, Bryce Canyon, and all the rest. I love the national battlefields: Saratoga, Yorktown, Antietam, Gettysburg, and all the rest. I love Carlsbad Caverns and Mammoth Cave. I love the carefully preserved homes of historical figures and sites of historical events. I love the haunting stillness one can feel amid the ancient cliff dwellings at Mesa Verde National Park and Bandelier National Monument. I love the way the wind howls through "The Window" at Big Bend National Park.
I love NASA. I love the rovers wandering the surface of Mars, the Cassini probe in orbit around Saturn, and the plucky little New Horizons spacecraft that will fly past Pluto in just over a week. I love the two Voyager probes, still functioning decades after being launched and embarking on their lonely journey into the vastness of the Milky Way Galaxy. I love the beautiful photographs taken by the Hubble Space Telescope. I love the fact that the United States was the first nation to land human beings on the surface of another world (why aren't we sending anybody these days?).
I love Texas barbecue more than words can express. I love the breakfast tacos of Austin. I love locally brewed beer and locally distilled spirits in cities and towns all across this bountiful country. I love the overpriced hot dogs and pretzels at baseball stadiums. I love corny dogs at the Texas State Fair. I love the cabernet sauvignons of Napa and Sonoma County and the pinot noirs of Oregon and Washington. I love New York pizza and Massachusetts haddock. I love cheddar cheese from Vermont and colby cheese from Wisconsin. I love the Steak Dunigan made at the Pink Adobe restaurant in Sante Fe. I love Boston cream pie and I love s'mores around the campfire. I love those Cuban sandwiches you can order in Florida restaurants. I love Kentucky bourbon. I love the grits, catfish, fried okra, and pecan pie of the South. I love coffee, bacon, eggs, and hash browns served at dingy highway diners by sarcastic old waitresses who reek of cigarettes.
I love New Orleans jazz, Memphis blues and the indie rock of the Pacific Northwest. I love the bluegrass of the Appalachian Mountains, the Creole music of southern Louisiana, and the amazing music that comes out of my own beloved Austin. I love country stars singing patriotic music. I love the singing of James Taylor and Bing Crosby, the guitar of B.B. King and Stevie Ray Vaughn, and the trumpets of Miles Davis and Dave Brubeck. I love the beautiful voices of Ella Fitzgerald, Nina Simone, and Billie Holiday. I love the classical compositions of Aaron Copeland and John Philip Sousa. I love the haunting music that can be produced by the Native American flute.
I love silly American traditions. I love that the Le Pavillion Hotel in New Orleans serves peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with ice-cold milk in the lobby every evening at ten o'clock. I love the singing of Sweet Caroline by Red Sox fans at Fenway Park in the middle of the eighth inning every game. I love the daily duck parade between the elevator and the lobby fountain at the Peabody in Memphis. I love the different drinks and different theme songs for each of the Triple Crown horse races. I love the emergence of Punxsutawney Phil from Gobbler's Knob on Groundhog Day. I loved the Poe Toaster, wonder what happened to him, and still hope he comes back.
I love the goalkeeping of Tim Howard, the swimming of Michael Phelps, and the gymnastic grace of the Fierce Five. I love both the men's and women's national soccer teams, as well as the incredible enthusiasm of the American Outlaws that support them (I believe that we will win against Japan tomorrow!). I love the speed of American Pharoah. Whenever the Olympics rolls around, I love to see great athletes of the United States stand on the victory podium as they are presented with their medals to the sound of the Star Spangled Banner.
I love the mystique of the Golden Age of Hollywood: Clark Gable, Katherine Hepburn, Gary Cooper, Grace Kelly, John Wayne. I love old Frank Capra movies, especially Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. I love the movies Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall made together. I love Frank Sinatra. I love the script-writing of Aaron Sorkin, the documentaries of Ken Burns, the acting of Tom Hanks, and the films of Steven Spielberg. I love watching the Academy Awards.
I love liberals, conservatives, and libertarians - all equally American. I love freedom of expression, and I don't much mind that it means that people can express opinions with which I disagree and which I might even find repugnant. I love that I can stand on any street corner and denounce the governor of my state or even the president of my country and not fear arbitrary arrest, imprisonment, or execution. I love freedom of religion and the separation of church and state, which allow me to worship God as I choose, and I don't much mind that it means people can practice religions different from my own or choose not to practice any religion at all. I love that I can go into a voting booth and cast my ballot for whomever I wish.
I love the men and women who have served or are serving in the Army, the Air Force, the Navy, and Marines. I love the grizzled old veterans of the Second World War, who helped rid the world of fascism. I love SEAL Team Six, who took out Osama bin Laden on an epic night in the spring of 2011. I love the 1st Battalion, 5th United States Field Artillery, formed by Alexander Hamilton in 1776 and today the oldest continuously serving unit in the United States armed forces, with battle honors stretching from the Revolutionary War to the modern campaigns in Iraq and Afghanistan. I love the men and women of every battalion, every ship, and every squadron who put their lives on the line every day to protect everything else I've written about in this piece.
I could go on and on and on, but I think the point I'm trying to make is pretty clear.
I love America.
It is July 4. Two hundred and thirty-nine years ago today, a group of brave and determined men voted to approve a document, written by a young and brilliant Virginian, which declared the thirteen British colonies hugging the eastern coast of North America to be an independent nation. That day in Philadelphia is rightfully seen as our country's birthday.
Now, we spend a lot of time talking about what's wrong with our country and it is true that we have our fair share of problems. Yet on Independence Day, I think it's healthy to stop thinking about those things that trouble us about our country and consider instead what we love about it. So, here goes.
I love the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights. I love the Federalist Papers, the Anti-Federalist Papers, and the hundreds of beautiful letters that Thomas Jefferson and John Adams wrote to one another in retirement. I love the journals of Lewis and Clark. I love Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Address and Second Inaugural Address. I love the Thirteenth and Nineteenth Amendments. I love FDR's "Four Freedoms" speech, MLK's "I Have A Dream" speech, and the speech JFK gave at Rice University in which he declared that America chose to go to the Moon.
I love Mark Twain and Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Harper Lee, Louisa May Alcott and Edgar Allan Poe. I love Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau and Nathaniel Hawthorne. I love the poetry of Walt Whitman and Robert Frost. I love The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin, Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut, and On the Road by Jack Kerouac.
I love the Statue of Liberty (thanks, France!), the Liberty Bell, and Mount Rushmore. I love bald eagles and American bison. I love Mount Vernon and Monticello. I love the monuments and memorials around the National Mall in Washington D.C. I love the USS Constitution - "Old Ironsides" - launched in 1797 and still officially a commissioned warship in the United States Navy. I love the Space Needle in Seattle, the Empire State Building in New York City, and the Gateway Arch in St. Louis. I love the Art Deco architecture of Miami. I love the Golden Gate Bridge, the Brooklyn Bridge, and the thousands of small bridges one passes over while driving the back roads of our vast nation.
I love the cultural institutions of New York City: the Met Opera, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Museum of Modern Art, the Hayden Planetarium, and the musicals of Broadway. I love the museums of the Smithsonian in Washington D.C.: the National Air and Space Museum, the National Portrait Gallery, the National Museum of Natural History, and the National Museum of American History. I love the Boston Aquarium, the San Diego Zoo, the Houston Museum of Natural Science, and Chicago's Field Museum of Natural History. I love the Library of Congress.
I love the National Parks: Yellowstone, the Everglades, Yosemite, Acadia, Bryce Canyon, and all the rest. I love the national battlefields: Saratoga, Yorktown, Antietam, Gettysburg, and all the rest. I love Carlsbad Caverns and Mammoth Cave. I love the carefully preserved homes of historical figures and sites of historical events. I love the haunting stillness one can feel amid the ancient cliff dwellings at Mesa Verde National Park and Bandelier National Monument. I love the way the wind howls through "The Window" at Big Bend National Park.
I love NASA. I love the rovers wandering the surface of Mars, the Cassini probe in orbit around Saturn, and the plucky little New Horizons spacecraft that will fly past Pluto in just over a week. I love the two Voyager probes, still functioning decades after being launched and embarking on their lonely journey into the vastness of the Milky Way Galaxy. I love the beautiful photographs taken by the Hubble Space Telescope. I love the fact that the United States was the first nation to land human beings on the surface of another world (why aren't we sending anybody these days?).
I love Texas barbecue more than words can express. I love the breakfast tacos of Austin. I love locally brewed beer and locally distilled spirits in cities and towns all across this bountiful country. I love the overpriced hot dogs and pretzels at baseball stadiums. I love corny dogs at the Texas State Fair. I love the cabernet sauvignons of Napa and Sonoma County and the pinot noirs of Oregon and Washington. I love New York pizza and Massachusetts haddock. I love cheddar cheese from Vermont and colby cheese from Wisconsin. I love the Steak Dunigan made at the Pink Adobe restaurant in Sante Fe. I love Boston cream pie and I love s'mores around the campfire. I love those Cuban sandwiches you can order in Florida restaurants. I love Kentucky bourbon. I love the grits, catfish, fried okra, and pecan pie of the South. I love coffee, bacon, eggs, and hash browns served at dingy highway diners by sarcastic old waitresses who reek of cigarettes.
I love New Orleans jazz, Memphis blues and the indie rock of the Pacific Northwest. I love the bluegrass of the Appalachian Mountains, the Creole music of southern Louisiana, and the amazing music that comes out of my own beloved Austin. I love country stars singing patriotic music. I love the singing of James Taylor and Bing Crosby, the guitar of B.B. King and Stevie Ray Vaughn, and the trumpets of Miles Davis and Dave Brubeck. I love the beautiful voices of Ella Fitzgerald, Nina Simone, and Billie Holiday. I love the classical compositions of Aaron Copeland and John Philip Sousa. I love the haunting music that can be produced by the Native American flute.
I love silly American traditions. I love that the Le Pavillion Hotel in New Orleans serves peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with ice-cold milk in the lobby every evening at ten o'clock. I love the singing of Sweet Caroline by Red Sox fans at Fenway Park in the middle of the eighth inning every game. I love the daily duck parade between the elevator and the lobby fountain at the Peabody in Memphis. I love the different drinks and different theme songs for each of the Triple Crown horse races. I love the emergence of Punxsutawney Phil from Gobbler's Knob on Groundhog Day. I loved the Poe Toaster, wonder what happened to him, and still hope he comes back.
I love the goalkeeping of Tim Howard, the swimming of Michael Phelps, and the gymnastic grace of the Fierce Five. I love both the men's and women's national soccer teams, as well as the incredible enthusiasm of the American Outlaws that support them (I believe that we will win against Japan tomorrow!). I love the speed of American Pharoah. Whenever the Olympics rolls around, I love to see great athletes of the United States stand on the victory podium as they are presented with their medals to the sound of the Star Spangled Banner.
I love the mystique of the Golden Age of Hollywood: Clark Gable, Katherine Hepburn, Gary Cooper, Grace Kelly, John Wayne. I love old Frank Capra movies, especially Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. I love the movies Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall made together. I love Frank Sinatra. I love the script-writing of Aaron Sorkin, the documentaries of Ken Burns, the acting of Tom Hanks, and the films of Steven Spielberg. I love watching the Academy Awards.
I love liberals, conservatives, and libertarians - all equally American. I love freedom of expression, and I don't much mind that it means that people can express opinions with which I disagree and which I might even find repugnant. I love that I can stand on any street corner and denounce the governor of my state or even the president of my country and not fear arbitrary arrest, imprisonment, or execution. I love freedom of religion and the separation of church and state, which allow me to worship God as I choose, and I don't much mind that it means people can practice religions different from my own or choose not to practice any religion at all. I love that I can go into a voting booth and cast my ballot for whomever I wish.
I love the men and women who have served or are serving in the Army, the Air Force, the Navy, and Marines. I love the grizzled old veterans of the Second World War, who helped rid the world of fascism. I love SEAL Team Six, who took out Osama bin Laden on an epic night in the spring of 2011. I love the 1st Battalion, 5th United States Field Artillery, formed by Alexander Hamilton in 1776 and today the oldest continuously serving unit in the United States armed forces, with battle honors stretching from the Revolutionary War to the modern campaigns in Iraq and Afghanistan. I love the men and women of every battalion, every ship, and every squadron who put their lives on the line every day to protect everything else I've written about in this piece.
I could go on and on and on, but I think the point I'm trying to make is pretty clear.
I love America.
Thursday, June 25, 2015
Review: Field of Lost Shoes
If I could go back in time to witness any single moment of the American Civil War, I think I would probably go to the Battle of New Market, on May 15, 1864. More specifically, I would go to the moment where Major General John C. Breckinridge, commander of the Confederate forces and one of the most remarkable figures in American history, realized that he had to commit to the fighting the two hundred or so boy cadets of the Virginia Military Institute or face defeat. "Put the boys in," he said. "And may God forgive me for the order."
Breckinridge won the battle, but he wouldn't have done it without the VMI cadets. Ten of the cadets were killed and forty-seven were wounded. These men are still honored on the field of VMI to the present day. Visiting New Market is one of the most poignant experiences of any of the American Civil War battlefield, for one can easily trace the direct route the VMI cadets charged to smash the Union line, capture the enemy artillery, and help win the battle.
When I learned that a movie was in the works that would depict the events surrounding the VMI cadets at the Battle of New Market, I was both excited and concerned. I was excited because the story is almost tailor-made for cinematic treatment, as are so many of the lesser-known stories of the American Civil War. I also that the film would bring Breckinridge, a largely forgotten figure, to the attention of more people. But I also was concerned, because past movies made from Civil War subjects have often left much to be desired. Glory was outstanding, Gettysburg was very good, and Lincoln (though I have my problems with it) was a fine film. Most other attempts, sad to say, have usually been disappointments.
Considering the budget with which they had to work, I'd say that Field of Lost Shoes is a significant achievement. Overall, I enjoyed watching it and it made for a pleasant evening's entertainment. There were a few points to which I took exception, which I will detail in a moment. On the other hand, the film also raised interesting questions which are often forgotten in this day and age.
One of the main characters is a VMI cadet named John Wise. His father, Virginia Governor Henry Wise, is spoken of as an opponent of secession and slavery, when in fact he was a fervent supporter of both. The story starts with Governor Wise taking his son to see a slave auction, apparently to show him the evils of the institution. This scene was actually very effective; it's impossible not to be affected by the despair of the black family being separated by the callous buyers. John is apparently turned into a closet abolitionist by what he sees.
And herein lies a problem for the whole movie and, indeed, for Civil War fiction in general these days: audiences apparently want 19th Century characters to adhere to 21st Century values. John Wise and the other cadets can't be seen as heroes by the audience unless they are opposed to slavery. This is a problem for the rest of the movie. A black character named Old Judge, who runs the VMI bakery, is inserted into the story in order to give the cadets a slave with whom to sympathize when he runs into trouble. A scene of a cart overturning onto a black women who requires rescue is also tossed into the mix, apparently for no other reason than to remind the audience that these VMI cadets like black people just as much as they like white people.
If we're honest with ourselves, we must admit that these are not attitudes that would have been commonly held by mid-19th Century white male Virginians. I understand why the filmmakers did this, for people are rather easily offended these days. The lightest whiff of "controversy" is looked upon with horror in the age of social media. But it robs the film of authenticity and makes the characters harder to take seriously. Better to let them be 19th Century people and take them on their own terms. Wolfgang Petersen didn't bother to try to persuade us that the sailors in Das Boot were secretly anti-Nazi, but just as men caught up in a war not of their making.
Field of Lost Shoes does, in fact, present reasons for which Confederate soldiers fought during the Civil War that are historically valid. A scene in which a cadet has just learned that his family's home has been destroyed by Union forces and that his family's whereabouts are unknown is rather poignant and one can well understand his desire for revenge. More interesting to me, though, is a conversation between two cadets, in which one reveals to the other his moral compunctions about slavery. The second cadet essentially tells the first that, whatever their feelings about slavery, it is still their duty to defend their homes and families. Moreover, he says, the Union will destroy everything else in the South while they destroy slavery. This manner of thinking might make us uncomfortable, for it is quite understandable and we can see ourselves making the same decision were we to be placed in their shoes. But that's probably the point. In drama, we can recognize Confederates as human beings, even if we cannot sympathize with the Confederate cause itself.
Setting aside these deeper philosophical questions, there are some aspects of the film that bother from a historical point of view. One of the first scenes of the movie depicts a meeting between Abraham Lincoln and Ulysses Grant, which not only seems completely irrelevant to the plot of the movie but which unfairly stigmatizes Grant with the image of being a "butcher" and a "savage". Grant actually asks Lincoln, "Do you see me as a monster?" This is patently ridiculous. The undeserved reputation of Grant as being a "butcher" came during and after the Virginia campaign of 1864-65, which had not yet happened when the scene of the movie takes place. Grant's victories in the West in the first few years of the war had been masterpieces of maneuver and won at comparatively low cost in human life. Grant, as played by Tom Skerritt (who seems to not quite understand why he is there), plays no meaningful role in the course of the movie. Indeed, there seems to be no reason for Lincoln and Grant to be in the movie at all, since it really is all about Breckinridge and the VMI cadets.
Apparently the filmmakers decided Field of Lost Shoes needed a character to provide a Union perspective during the battle. For some reason, they choose Captain Henry Du Pont. This man is indeed an interesting figure, who came from one of the country's most illustrious families and who would go on to win the Medal of Honor at the Battle of Cedar Creek. But the movie makes him out to be far more important than he was. During the Battle of New Market, du Pont was commanding a single artillery battery. Yet he is depicted as having a large staff of subordinates and seemingly giving commands to the whole of the Union army. He's also depicted in the film as being sent by Ulysses Grant to keep an eye on the incompetent commanding general, Franz Sigel. I am unaware of any evidence that this was the case. David Arquette plays Du Pont quite well, but his presence in the movie seems forced and unnecessary, rather like the scenes with Grant and Lincoln.
Breckinridge is a major character, played quite well by English actor Jason Isaacs, whom I have always liked. People who enjoy history-based films know Isaacs as the ruthless British cavalry officer William Tavington in The Patriot, but he plays a very different kind of man in this film. Breckinridge was a warm, friendly, and self-effacing man with a keen intelligence and this is exactly how he is portrayed. In most scenes, Breckinridge also has a glass of whiskey in his hands, which is also true to history. The scene in which Breckinridge sits with the cadets and asks them about their plans for the future may be a bit contrived, but it still well done and full of substance. It makes the general's climatic scene, in which Breckinridge is forced to order the cadets to plug a critical gap in the line, much more effective than it otherwise would have been.
It's customary in a movie like this to have a love story. The one that is presented is goofy, sappy, and quite silly. But so what? We're not watching Field of Lost Shoes for romance. Besides, my own relationship with my wife is goofy, sappy, and quite silly, so who am I to complain? Love is weird.
I was pleased that they pronounced the name of the town of Staunton correctly, when almost everyone in the country pronounces it incorrectly. It shows that they did the filmmakers did their homework.
All things considered, despite its flaws, Field of Lost Shoes is a good movie and I enjoyed watching it. I knew the storytelling was good when I realized that some of the boys were going to die and I cared about which ones. The scenes of combat were very well done. The characters were sufficiently fleshed out to be seen as the real people they were. A well-done film, in my opinion.
Still, it is not a masterpiece. The film that will be to the Civil War what Saving Private Ryan was to the Second World War has yet to be made.
Breckinridge won the battle, but he wouldn't have done it without the VMI cadets. Ten of the cadets were killed and forty-seven were wounded. These men are still honored on the field of VMI to the present day. Visiting New Market is one of the most poignant experiences of any of the American Civil War battlefield, for one can easily trace the direct route the VMI cadets charged to smash the Union line, capture the enemy artillery, and help win the battle.
When I learned that a movie was in the works that would depict the events surrounding the VMI cadets at the Battle of New Market, I was both excited and concerned. I was excited because the story is almost tailor-made for cinematic treatment, as are so many of the lesser-known stories of the American Civil War. I also that the film would bring Breckinridge, a largely forgotten figure, to the attention of more people. But I also was concerned, because past movies made from Civil War subjects have often left much to be desired. Glory was outstanding, Gettysburg was very good, and Lincoln (though I have my problems with it) was a fine film. Most other attempts, sad to say, have usually been disappointments.
Considering the budget with which they had to work, I'd say that Field of Lost Shoes is a significant achievement. Overall, I enjoyed watching it and it made for a pleasant evening's entertainment. There were a few points to which I took exception, which I will detail in a moment. On the other hand, the film also raised interesting questions which are often forgotten in this day and age.
One of the main characters is a VMI cadet named John Wise. His father, Virginia Governor Henry Wise, is spoken of as an opponent of secession and slavery, when in fact he was a fervent supporter of both. The story starts with Governor Wise taking his son to see a slave auction, apparently to show him the evils of the institution. This scene was actually very effective; it's impossible not to be affected by the despair of the black family being separated by the callous buyers. John is apparently turned into a closet abolitionist by what he sees.
And herein lies a problem for the whole movie and, indeed, for Civil War fiction in general these days: audiences apparently want 19th Century characters to adhere to 21st Century values. John Wise and the other cadets can't be seen as heroes by the audience unless they are opposed to slavery. This is a problem for the rest of the movie. A black character named Old Judge, who runs the VMI bakery, is inserted into the story in order to give the cadets a slave with whom to sympathize when he runs into trouble. A scene of a cart overturning onto a black women who requires rescue is also tossed into the mix, apparently for no other reason than to remind the audience that these VMI cadets like black people just as much as they like white people.
If we're honest with ourselves, we must admit that these are not attitudes that would have been commonly held by mid-19th Century white male Virginians. I understand why the filmmakers did this, for people are rather easily offended these days. The lightest whiff of "controversy" is looked upon with horror in the age of social media. But it robs the film of authenticity and makes the characters harder to take seriously. Better to let them be 19th Century people and take them on their own terms. Wolfgang Petersen didn't bother to try to persuade us that the sailors in Das Boot were secretly anti-Nazi, but just as men caught up in a war not of their making.
Field of Lost Shoes does, in fact, present reasons for which Confederate soldiers fought during the Civil War that are historically valid. A scene in which a cadet has just learned that his family's home has been destroyed by Union forces and that his family's whereabouts are unknown is rather poignant and one can well understand his desire for revenge. More interesting to me, though, is a conversation between two cadets, in which one reveals to the other his moral compunctions about slavery. The second cadet essentially tells the first that, whatever their feelings about slavery, it is still their duty to defend their homes and families. Moreover, he says, the Union will destroy everything else in the South while they destroy slavery. This manner of thinking might make us uncomfortable, for it is quite understandable and we can see ourselves making the same decision were we to be placed in their shoes. But that's probably the point. In drama, we can recognize Confederates as human beings, even if we cannot sympathize with the Confederate cause itself.
Setting aside these deeper philosophical questions, there are some aspects of the film that bother from a historical point of view. One of the first scenes of the movie depicts a meeting between Abraham Lincoln and Ulysses Grant, which not only seems completely irrelevant to the plot of the movie but which unfairly stigmatizes Grant with the image of being a "butcher" and a "savage". Grant actually asks Lincoln, "Do you see me as a monster?" This is patently ridiculous. The undeserved reputation of Grant as being a "butcher" came during and after the Virginia campaign of 1864-65, which had not yet happened when the scene of the movie takes place. Grant's victories in the West in the first few years of the war had been masterpieces of maneuver and won at comparatively low cost in human life. Grant, as played by Tom Skerritt (who seems to not quite understand why he is there), plays no meaningful role in the course of the movie. Indeed, there seems to be no reason for Lincoln and Grant to be in the movie at all, since it really is all about Breckinridge and the VMI cadets.
Apparently the filmmakers decided Field of Lost Shoes needed a character to provide a Union perspective during the battle. For some reason, they choose Captain Henry Du Pont. This man is indeed an interesting figure, who came from one of the country's most illustrious families and who would go on to win the Medal of Honor at the Battle of Cedar Creek. But the movie makes him out to be far more important than he was. During the Battle of New Market, du Pont was commanding a single artillery battery. Yet he is depicted as having a large staff of subordinates and seemingly giving commands to the whole of the Union army. He's also depicted in the film as being sent by Ulysses Grant to keep an eye on the incompetent commanding general, Franz Sigel. I am unaware of any evidence that this was the case. David Arquette plays Du Pont quite well, but his presence in the movie seems forced and unnecessary, rather like the scenes with Grant and Lincoln.
Breckinridge is a major character, played quite well by English actor Jason Isaacs, whom I have always liked. People who enjoy history-based films know Isaacs as the ruthless British cavalry officer William Tavington in The Patriot, but he plays a very different kind of man in this film. Breckinridge was a warm, friendly, and self-effacing man with a keen intelligence and this is exactly how he is portrayed. In most scenes, Breckinridge also has a glass of whiskey in his hands, which is also true to history. The scene in which Breckinridge sits with the cadets and asks them about their plans for the future may be a bit contrived, but it still well done and full of substance. It makes the general's climatic scene, in which Breckinridge is forced to order the cadets to plug a critical gap in the line, much more effective than it otherwise would have been.
It's customary in a movie like this to have a love story. The one that is presented is goofy, sappy, and quite silly. But so what? We're not watching Field of Lost Shoes for romance. Besides, my own relationship with my wife is goofy, sappy, and quite silly, so who am I to complain? Love is weird.
I was pleased that they pronounced the name of the town of Staunton correctly, when almost everyone in the country pronounces it incorrectly. It shows that they did the filmmakers did their homework.
All things considered, despite its flaws, Field of Lost Shoes is a good movie and I enjoyed watching it. I knew the storytelling was good when I realized that some of the boys were going to die and I cared about which ones. The scenes of combat were very well done. The characters were sufficiently fleshed out to be seen as the real people they were. A well-done film, in my opinion.
Still, it is not a masterpiece. The film that will be to the Civil War what Saving Private Ryan was to the Second World War has yet to be made.
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Could Napoleon Have Won the Battle of Waterloo?
The Battle of Waterloo was fought two hundred years ago today, on June 18, 1815. It is perhaps the most famous battle in all of history. After one of the most dramatic military and political careers of all time, Napoleon Bonaparte was finally defeated by the allied forces commanded by the Duke of Wellington and General Gehhard von Blucher. Taken into British custody less than a month after the battle, Napoleon spent the few remaining years of his life as a prisoner on the desolate island of St. Helena. The battle itself has become such a part of our collective historical memory that we use the term "Waterloo" as a euphemism for anyone's final downfall.
But could Napoleon have won the Battle of Waterloo?
The so-called "Hundred Days" had begun in February, when Napoleon had escaped the island of Elba, to which he had been exiled following his defeat the previous year in the War of the Sixth Coalition. The Allies had placed the Bourbon King Louis XVIII on the throne of France and had proceeded to convene the Congress of Vienna to sort out the mess Napoleon had made of Europe during his fourteen years in power. Louis XVIII had proven a dismal failure as a ruler, however, and many feared that the rights and privileges won by the French Revolution were threatened by a return to Bourbon absolutism. Consequently, the French people enthusiastically embraced Napoleon when he returned from his exile.
When news had arrived at the Congress of Vienna that Napoleon had successfully seized power in France yet again, the allies had immediately declared that they would not tolerate the return of the Emperor and had ordered their armies to prepare for war. The British dispatched the Duke of Wellington to Belgium, where he had taken command of a combined army of British, German, and Dutch troops. A Prussian army under Blucher was rapidly approaching from the east, while the Austrians and Russians mobilized their immense forces and slowly set them in motion towards France's frontier.
In order to thwart the plans of his enemies, Napoleon characteristically struck first. He reasoned that if he could strike into Belgium before the allies were ready, he might be able to defeat Wellington and Blucher in detail before having to deal with the Austrian and Russian armies. Although heavily outnumbered, Napoleon had beaten long odds before and he was confident that he could do so again.
It was not to be. Although Napoleon defeated Blucher at the Battle of Ligny on June 16, he could not do the same to Wellington two days later at Waterloo. French infantry and cavalry repeatedly hurled themselves upon the allied lines, but the British, Dutch, and German troops stood firm at such legendary places as Hougoumont and La Haye Sainte. On several occasions, the allied line was on the brink of collapse, but the French could never quite break through. After several hours of desperate and bloody fighting, the Prussian army finally arrived and shattered Napoleon's right flank, just after a final assault by Napoleon's famous Imperial Guard had failed. When Wellington ordered his men forward, the French army collapsed in a disastrous rout.
It has the air of inevitability about it, like the final act of a Greek tragedy. But nothing in history is inevitable. How might the outcome have been different?
When Napoleon embarked on the campaign in Belgium in 1815, he made some very curious decisions regarding his subordinate commanders. Marshal Louis-Nicolas Davout, the most brilliant of Napoleon's generals and a man who had never been defeated in battle, was left behind in Paris as Minister of War and did not actively participate in the campaign. Marshal Nicolas Jean-de-Dieu Soult, another of Napoleon's most effective field commanders, was given the administration position of chief-of-staff during the Waterloo campaign, a role to which his talents were obviously unsuited. As it was, Napoleon's chief field commander at Waterloo was Marshal Michel Ney, a man whose bravery was unquestioned but who tactical abilities were mediocre at best. Had either Davout or Soult been in command of an infantry corps at the Battle of Waterloo, they might have succeeded where Ney failed and torn Wellington's line apart.
There is another tantalizing possibility regarding Napoleon's choice of commanders at Waterloo. His brother-in-law, Marshal Joachim Murat, was one of the great cavalry leaders in military history, who had earned his name on countless battlefields across Europe. A grateful Napoleon had made him King of Naples, but following Napoleon's defeat at the Battle of Leipzig in 1813, Murat had betrayed his Emperor and gone over to the enemies of Napoleon in an attempt to save his throne. Realizing that the allies would stab him in the back eventually, he had rallied to Napoleon's side yet again when the Emperor had returned from Elba and had offered him his services as a cavalry commander.
Napoleon had rejected Murat's offer, which is really not that surprising. Murat had proven himself disloyal in the past, so how could Napoleon trust him to remain faithful now? The Emperor blamed his defeat in 1814 as much on traitors within his own ranks as on his Allied enemies, so it was only natural that he focused as much on ensuring faithfulness among his own people as on defeating his enemies on the battlefield. Nevertheless, the thought of Murat leading a charge of heavy cavalry against Wellington's lines at Waterloo is a fascinating one, especially if it is combined with the idea of Davout and Soult being in their proper places as infantry corps commanders.
Although the foot soldiers and cavalry troopers Napoleon led at Waterloo were as good as any he had ever led, the same cannot be said for his generals. If Napoleon had had Davout, Soult, and Murat in their proper places, he might well have achieved a decisive victory over Wellington.
The other tantalizing opportunity for a Napoleonic victory at Waterloo involves the Prussians. Historically, their perfectly timed arrival on the French right flank is what secured the victory for the allies. But what if they had arrived on the battlefield late or had failed to arrive at all?
After being beaten by Napoleon at Ligny on June 16, the most obvious route of retreat for the Prussians was eastwards towards the town of Namur, a direction which would have allowed them to cover their lines of communication and supply. However, they actually fell back to the north towards the town of Wavre, which allowed them to maintain communication with Wellington and prepare to move to his support. Had the Prussians elected to retreat towards Namur, they would have been too far away to participate in the Battle of Waterloo on June 18, which might easily have allowed the French to achieve a victory.
During the Battle of Ligny, Blucher impetuously led a cavalry charge in person and had his horse shot out from under him. The 72-year-old Prussian commander was knocked senseless by the fall and command temporarily passed to August von Gneisenau, the Prussian second-in-command. Gneisenau, unlike Blucher, saw the preservation of the Prussian army as far more important than providing help to the British and was ready to order a retreat east of the Rhine. Blucher, recovering quickly, reasserted control over the Prussian army and ordered it to Wellington's assistance, thereby ensuring the allied victory at Waterloo.
Blucher might easily have been killed when thrown from his horse, in which case Gneisenau would have had permanent command of the Prussian army. This, in turn, could have led to a Prussian retreat eastward, out of the campaign altogether. Again, without the timely arrival of the Prussians, Wellington might well have lost the Battle of Waterloo.
During the battle itself, Marshal Ney made a number of tactical mistakes. Most disastrously, he launched heavy cavalry attacks that lacked infantry support. Because of this, even if the cavalry had pierced the allied line, the French would lack the ability the ability to properly exploit the breach. If Ney had coordinated his attacks in a more professional manner, the allied line might have broken under the strain.
Another factor which played into Wellington's hands at Waterloo was the weather. It had rained heavily during June 17, leaving the ground sodden and waterlogged. Napoleon delayed the attack on the morning of June 18, in order to allow the ground to dry sufficiently for him to properly deploy his artillery. Had it not rained, Napoleon might have attacked much earlier in the day, giving him several more hours to defeat Wellington before the arrival of the Prussians tipped the balance against the French.
Napoleon could have won the Battle of Waterloo if he had had Davout and Murat with him and kept Soult in his proper place as a corps commander. He could have won if a Prussians had retreated eastward rather than northward after the Battle of Ligny or had Blucher been killed during that engagement. And he could have won had Marshal Ney not made such a thorough mess of the battlefield tactics. But what effect might a Napoleonic vicory have had on the course of European history?
Many argue that a Napoleonic victory at Waterloo would not have made much difference. After all, there were enormous Austrian and Russian armies marching towards the French frontier from the east, greatly outnumbering whatever forces Napoleon himself might have been able to assemble. Even as the troops at Waterloo were fighting to the death, the Austrians were crossing the Rhine and the Russians were close behind them. The Austrians were also pushing over the Alps into France from Italy and the Spanish were even planning on invading France from across the Pyrenees. If the Prussians had retreated east after the Battle of Ligny, they would have soon recovered their strength and been ready to fight once again. So even if Napoleon had been successful in smashing Wellington at Waterloo, he might still have been defeated by overwhelming numbers before the end of 1815.
On the other hand, Napoleon had won campaigns against long odds before, so it is not inconceivable that he might have triumphed against even such a strong coalition of enemies as he faced in 1815. Besides, between Napoleon's exile to Elba in 1814 and his return a year later, the Allies had fallen to squabbling among themselves. Great Britain, Austria, and the Bourbon rulers of France had found themselves aligned against Russia and Prussia over the status of Poland and Saxony. If Napoleon had won at Waterloo, perhaps he might have found a way to exploit the emerging differences between the members of the coalition against him. Austria, in particular, might have been willing to deal with Napoleon, as his wife Marie Louise was a member of the Habsburg family and their son, Napoleon II, might have been expected to sit on the imperial throne of France one day.
But in retrospect, it seems extremely unlikely that the coalition against Napoleon would have fallen to fighting amongst themselves. Great Britain had waged war against Napoleon virtually without a break for more than a decade, while Austrians, Prussians, and Russians were burning with a desire for vengeance against Napoleon for what he had done to their countries. Distrustful of one another they might have been, but Napoleon's enemies were almost to set aside their differences in the face of the common enemy.
It therefore seems entirely possible that a French victory at the Battle of Waterloo would not have much changed the course of history. Most likely, Napoleon would have been defeated and overthrown anyway and he certainly would not have been able to resume his efforts to secure French hegemony over Europe. Those days were in the past. It may seem strangely unfair, but sometimes the most dramatic events in history are also the most irrelevant.
But could Napoleon have won the Battle of Waterloo?
The so-called "Hundred Days" had begun in February, when Napoleon had escaped the island of Elba, to which he had been exiled following his defeat the previous year in the War of the Sixth Coalition. The Allies had placed the Bourbon King Louis XVIII on the throne of France and had proceeded to convene the Congress of Vienna to sort out the mess Napoleon had made of Europe during his fourteen years in power. Louis XVIII had proven a dismal failure as a ruler, however, and many feared that the rights and privileges won by the French Revolution were threatened by a return to Bourbon absolutism. Consequently, the French people enthusiastically embraced Napoleon when he returned from his exile.
When news had arrived at the Congress of Vienna that Napoleon had successfully seized power in France yet again, the allies had immediately declared that they would not tolerate the return of the Emperor and had ordered their armies to prepare for war. The British dispatched the Duke of Wellington to Belgium, where he had taken command of a combined army of British, German, and Dutch troops. A Prussian army under Blucher was rapidly approaching from the east, while the Austrians and Russians mobilized their immense forces and slowly set them in motion towards France's frontier.
In order to thwart the plans of his enemies, Napoleon characteristically struck first. He reasoned that if he could strike into Belgium before the allies were ready, he might be able to defeat Wellington and Blucher in detail before having to deal with the Austrian and Russian armies. Although heavily outnumbered, Napoleon had beaten long odds before and he was confident that he could do so again.
It was not to be. Although Napoleon defeated Blucher at the Battle of Ligny on June 16, he could not do the same to Wellington two days later at Waterloo. French infantry and cavalry repeatedly hurled themselves upon the allied lines, but the British, Dutch, and German troops stood firm at such legendary places as Hougoumont and La Haye Sainte. On several occasions, the allied line was on the brink of collapse, but the French could never quite break through. After several hours of desperate and bloody fighting, the Prussian army finally arrived and shattered Napoleon's right flank, just after a final assault by Napoleon's famous Imperial Guard had failed. When Wellington ordered his men forward, the French army collapsed in a disastrous rout.
It has the air of inevitability about it, like the final act of a Greek tragedy. But nothing in history is inevitable. How might the outcome have been different?
When Napoleon embarked on the campaign in Belgium in 1815, he made some very curious decisions regarding his subordinate commanders. Marshal Louis-Nicolas Davout, the most brilliant of Napoleon's generals and a man who had never been defeated in battle, was left behind in Paris as Minister of War and did not actively participate in the campaign. Marshal Nicolas Jean-de-Dieu Soult, another of Napoleon's most effective field commanders, was given the administration position of chief-of-staff during the Waterloo campaign, a role to which his talents were obviously unsuited. As it was, Napoleon's chief field commander at Waterloo was Marshal Michel Ney, a man whose bravery was unquestioned but who tactical abilities were mediocre at best. Had either Davout or Soult been in command of an infantry corps at the Battle of Waterloo, they might have succeeded where Ney failed and torn Wellington's line apart.
There is another tantalizing possibility regarding Napoleon's choice of commanders at Waterloo. His brother-in-law, Marshal Joachim Murat, was one of the great cavalry leaders in military history, who had earned his name on countless battlefields across Europe. A grateful Napoleon had made him King of Naples, but following Napoleon's defeat at the Battle of Leipzig in 1813, Murat had betrayed his Emperor and gone over to the enemies of Napoleon in an attempt to save his throne. Realizing that the allies would stab him in the back eventually, he had rallied to Napoleon's side yet again when the Emperor had returned from Elba and had offered him his services as a cavalry commander.
Napoleon had rejected Murat's offer, which is really not that surprising. Murat had proven himself disloyal in the past, so how could Napoleon trust him to remain faithful now? The Emperor blamed his defeat in 1814 as much on traitors within his own ranks as on his Allied enemies, so it was only natural that he focused as much on ensuring faithfulness among his own people as on defeating his enemies on the battlefield. Nevertheless, the thought of Murat leading a charge of heavy cavalry against Wellington's lines at Waterloo is a fascinating one, especially if it is combined with the idea of Davout and Soult being in their proper places as infantry corps commanders.
Although the foot soldiers and cavalry troopers Napoleon led at Waterloo were as good as any he had ever led, the same cannot be said for his generals. If Napoleon had had Davout, Soult, and Murat in their proper places, he might well have achieved a decisive victory over Wellington.
The other tantalizing opportunity for a Napoleonic victory at Waterloo involves the Prussians. Historically, their perfectly timed arrival on the French right flank is what secured the victory for the allies. But what if they had arrived on the battlefield late or had failed to arrive at all?
After being beaten by Napoleon at Ligny on June 16, the most obvious route of retreat for the Prussians was eastwards towards the town of Namur, a direction which would have allowed them to cover their lines of communication and supply. However, they actually fell back to the north towards the town of Wavre, which allowed them to maintain communication with Wellington and prepare to move to his support. Had the Prussians elected to retreat towards Namur, they would have been too far away to participate in the Battle of Waterloo on June 18, which might easily have allowed the French to achieve a victory.
During the Battle of Ligny, Blucher impetuously led a cavalry charge in person and had his horse shot out from under him. The 72-year-old Prussian commander was knocked senseless by the fall and command temporarily passed to August von Gneisenau, the Prussian second-in-command. Gneisenau, unlike Blucher, saw the preservation of the Prussian army as far more important than providing help to the British and was ready to order a retreat east of the Rhine. Blucher, recovering quickly, reasserted control over the Prussian army and ordered it to Wellington's assistance, thereby ensuring the allied victory at Waterloo.
Blucher might easily have been killed when thrown from his horse, in which case Gneisenau would have had permanent command of the Prussian army. This, in turn, could have led to a Prussian retreat eastward, out of the campaign altogether. Again, without the timely arrival of the Prussians, Wellington might well have lost the Battle of Waterloo.
During the battle itself, Marshal Ney made a number of tactical mistakes. Most disastrously, he launched heavy cavalry attacks that lacked infantry support. Because of this, even if the cavalry had pierced the allied line, the French would lack the ability the ability to properly exploit the breach. If Ney had coordinated his attacks in a more professional manner, the allied line might have broken under the strain.
Another factor which played into Wellington's hands at Waterloo was the weather. It had rained heavily during June 17, leaving the ground sodden and waterlogged. Napoleon delayed the attack on the morning of June 18, in order to allow the ground to dry sufficiently for him to properly deploy his artillery. Had it not rained, Napoleon might have attacked much earlier in the day, giving him several more hours to defeat Wellington before the arrival of the Prussians tipped the balance against the French.
Napoleon could have won the Battle of Waterloo if he had had Davout and Murat with him and kept Soult in his proper place as a corps commander. He could have won if a Prussians had retreated eastward rather than northward after the Battle of Ligny or had Blucher been killed during that engagement. And he could have won had Marshal Ney not made such a thorough mess of the battlefield tactics. But what effect might a Napoleonic vicory have had on the course of European history?
Many argue that a Napoleonic victory at Waterloo would not have made much difference. After all, there were enormous Austrian and Russian armies marching towards the French frontier from the east, greatly outnumbering whatever forces Napoleon himself might have been able to assemble. Even as the troops at Waterloo were fighting to the death, the Austrians were crossing the Rhine and the Russians were close behind them. The Austrians were also pushing over the Alps into France from Italy and the Spanish were even planning on invading France from across the Pyrenees. If the Prussians had retreated east after the Battle of Ligny, they would have soon recovered their strength and been ready to fight once again. So even if Napoleon had been successful in smashing Wellington at Waterloo, he might still have been defeated by overwhelming numbers before the end of 1815.
On the other hand, Napoleon had won campaigns against long odds before, so it is not inconceivable that he might have triumphed against even such a strong coalition of enemies as he faced in 1815. Besides, between Napoleon's exile to Elba in 1814 and his return a year later, the Allies had fallen to squabbling among themselves. Great Britain, Austria, and the Bourbon rulers of France had found themselves aligned against Russia and Prussia over the status of Poland and Saxony. If Napoleon had won at Waterloo, perhaps he might have found a way to exploit the emerging differences between the members of the coalition against him. Austria, in particular, might have been willing to deal with Napoleon, as his wife Marie Louise was a member of the Habsburg family and their son, Napoleon II, might have been expected to sit on the imperial throne of France one day.
But in retrospect, it seems extremely unlikely that the coalition against Napoleon would have fallen to fighting amongst themselves. Great Britain had waged war against Napoleon virtually without a break for more than a decade, while Austrians, Prussians, and Russians were burning with a desire for vengeance against Napoleon for what he had done to their countries. Distrustful of one another they might have been, but Napoleon's enemies were almost to set aside their differences in the face of the common enemy.
It therefore seems entirely possible that a French victory at the Battle of Waterloo would not have much changed the course of history. Most likely, Napoleon would have been defeated and overthrown anyway and he certainly would not have been able to resume his efforts to secure French hegemony over Europe. Those days were in the past. It may seem strangely unfair, but sometimes the most dramatic events in history are also the most irrelevant.
Monday, May 25, 2015
Thoughts on Memorial Day
It often annoys me to hear people on Memorial Day talk about veterans or the men and women currently serving in the armed forces. Why? Because it reveals that they don't understand what Memorial Day is all about. After all, we set aside Veterans Day on November 11 to honor veterans and we set aside Armed Forces Day on the last Saturday of May to honor those men and women currently serving (sadly, the latter holiday is often ignored altogether). Memorial Day, by contrast, is a day specifically set aside for those men and women who lost their lives in America's wars. Not the veterans who made it home or the people still in uniform, but those who, to use Lincoln's words, gave their last full measure of devotion.
The fact that it is so often confused with Veterans Day and Armed Forces Day is, I believe, a testament to our country's collective lack of appreciation for all of our fighting men and women, both those who came back and those who didn't. Can we not even be bothered to learn which people we are supposed to be honoring on which holiday?
Something like twenty-five thousand Americans died winning our independence in the Revolutionary War (1775-1783). Fifteen thousand died in the War of 1812 (1812-1815) and around thirteen thousand died in the Mexican War (1846-1848). During the nightmare of the Civil War (1861-1865), more than six hundred thousand men died (perhaps quite a bit more, according to recent scholarship) on both the Union and Confederate sides. Entering the age of more exact figures, we can see that 2,446 Americans died in the Spanish-American War (1898) and 4,196 Americans died in the Filipino-American War (1898-1913). 116,516 Americans died in the First World War (1917-1918) and 405,399 Americans died in the Second World War (1941-1945). 36,516 Americans died in the Korean War (1950-53) and 58,209 Americans died in the Vietnam War (1955-1975). 2,229 Americans have died in the Afghanistan War (2001-present) and 4,488 Americans died in the Iraq War (2003-2011).
These are just the numbers from the biggest and most well-known conflicts of American history. Yet there have been literally dozens of smaller conflicts over the 239 years since our country's founding which have faded from the collective memory and whose details are now generally known only to specialist scholars. 401 American soldiers died in the Seminole Wars and hundreds more in the various other Indian wars waged by the United States government. 131 Americans died suppressing the Boxer Rebellion in China. 19 Americans died in the 1983 invasion of Grenada, 40 in the 1989 invasion of Panama, and 294 in the 1991 Gulf War with Iraq.
Two American sailors or marines (I can't discover which) died in 1832 during a punitive expedition against the Chiefdom of Kuala Batee on Sumatra in what is now Indonesia. They perished in hand-to-hand fighting that took place when Commodore John Downes of the United States Navy, acting under orders from President Andrew Jackson, launched an attack on Kuala Batee as a reprisal for the massacre of the crew of an American merchant ship a year earlier. Until I sat down to write this blog entry, I had had no idea that this event had ever taken place. Yet why should these the two Americans be remembered any less than any two soldiers, sailors, airmen, or marines who have given their lives in any other conflict, from 1775 right down to the present day? Hundreds, if not thousands, of Americans died in countless now-forgotten small engagements over the course of our country's history.
Nor must we ever forget those whose deaths could never be confirmed. According to the Defense POW/MIA Account Agency, over 83,000 American service personnel are still officially unaccounted for. These men and women must bear the tragic label of "missing in action". We need to remember and honor them, too.
The idea of "American exceptionalism" has become something of a hot potato in the political rhetoric of our day, but the truth is America is a very exceptional country and has a special place in the history of the world. We're not a nation in any traditional sense, as we are not defined by any specific ethnic or linguistic or religious identity. We are a people united by a common constitution and common political ideals of representative democracy and individual liberty. There's no other country in the history of the world like the United States of America and we should rightfully feel proud of it.
However, there never would have been a United States of America had it not been for the hundreds of thousands of men and women who gave their lives in the struggles to secure and defend American liberty. Not all the wars were wise and, truth be told, not all the wars were just. That's worth remembering, but it does not change the fact that our soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines have fought and died for love of country. They have given their lives at places as far removed in time and distance as Saratoga, Lundy's Lane, Churubusco, Gettysburg, Little Big Horn, San Juan Hill, Belleau Wood, Bastogne, Iwo Jima, Heartbreak Ridge, Ia Drang, Kandahar, Fallujah, and such insignificant places as the tiny hamlet of Kuala Batee on the Sumatran coast.
Don't forget them.
The fact that it is so often confused with Veterans Day and Armed Forces Day is, I believe, a testament to our country's collective lack of appreciation for all of our fighting men and women, both those who came back and those who didn't. Can we not even be bothered to learn which people we are supposed to be honoring on which holiday?
Something like twenty-five thousand Americans died winning our independence in the Revolutionary War (1775-1783). Fifteen thousand died in the War of 1812 (1812-1815) and around thirteen thousand died in the Mexican War (1846-1848). During the nightmare of the Civil War (1861-1865), more than six hundred thousand men died (perhaps quite a bit more, according to recent scholarship) on both the Union and Confederate sides. Entering the age of more exact figures, we can see that 2,446 Americans died in the Spanish-American War (1898) and 4,196 Americans died in the Filipino-American War (1898-1913). 116,516 Americans died in the First World War (1917-1918) and 405,399 Americans died in the Second World War (1941-1945). 36,516 Americans died in the Korean War (1950-53) and 58,209 Americans died in the Vietnam War (1955-1975). 2,229 Americans have died in the Afghanistan War (2001-present) and 4,488 Americans died in the Iraq War (2003-2011).
These are just the numbers from the biggest and most well-known conflicts of American history. Yet there have been literally dozens of smaller conflicts over the 239 years since our country's founding which have faded from the collective memory and whose details are now generally known only to specialist scholars. 401 American soldiers died in the Seminole Wars and hundreds more in the various other Indian wars waged by the United States government. 131 Americans died suppressing the Boxer Rebellion in China. 19 Americans died in the 1983 invasion of Grenada, 40 in the 1989 invasion of Panama, and 294 in the 1991 Gulf War with Iraq.
Two American sailors or marines (I can't discover which) died in 1832 during a punitive expedition against the Chiefdom of Kuala Batee on Sumatra in what is now Indonesia. They perished in hand-to-hand fighting that took place when Commodore John Downes of the United States Navy, acting under orders from President Andrew Jackson, launched an attack on Kuala Batee as a reprisal for the massacre of the crew of an American merchant ship a year earlier. Until I sat down to write this blog entry, I had had no idea that this event had ever taken place. Yet why should these the two Americans be remembered any less than any two soldiers, sailors, airmen, or marines who have given their lives in any other conflict, from 1775 right down to the present day? Hundreds, if not thousands, of Americans died in countless now-forgotten small engagements over the course of our country's history.
Nor must we ever forget those whose deaths could never be confirmed. According to the Defense POW/MIA Account Agency, over 83,000 American service personnel are still officially unaccounted for. These men and women must bear the tragic label of "missing in action". We need to remember and honor them, too.
The idea of "American exceptionalism" has become something of a hot potato in the political rhetoric of our day, but the truth is America is a very exceptional country and has a special place in the history of the world. We're not a nation in any traditional sense, as we are not defined by any specific ethnic or linguistic or religious identity. We are a people united by a common constitution and common political ideals of representative democracy and individual liberty. There's no other country in the history of the world like the United States of America and we should rightfully feel proud of it.
However, there never would have been a United States of America had it not been for the hundreds of thousands of men and women who gave their lives in the struggles to secure and defend American liberty. Not all the wars were wise and, truth be told, not all the wars were just. That's worth remembering, but it does not change the fact that our soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines have fought and died for love of country. They have given their lives at places as far removed in time and distance as Saratoga, Lundy's Lane, Churubusco, Gettysburg, Little Big Horn, San Juan Hill, Belleau Wood, Bastogne, Iwo Jima, Heartbreak Ridge, Ia Drang, Kandahar, Fallujah, and such insignificant places as the tiny hamlet of Kuala Batee on the Sumatran coast.
Don't forget them.
Thursday, April 9, 2015
150th Anniversary of the End of the Civil War? Not Necessarily.
We know precisely when and where the American Civil War started: April 12, 1861, in the harbor of Charleston, South Carolina, at 4:30 in the morning. That was when the Confederate artillery batteries under the command of General Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauegard opened fire on Union-held Fort Sumter. It inaugurated the beginning of four years of bloody conflict that would preserve the Union, destroy slavery, and fundamentally change everything about America.
Pinning down the location and date of the end of the war, however, is a much more problematic exercise. Around the country, people are marking today as the 150th anniversary of the end of the war, because of an event that happened on April 9, 1865, at a place called Appomattox Court House, Virginia. It was there and then that the Army of Northern Virginia, commanded by General Robert E. Lee, surrendered to overwhelming Union forces under the command of General Ulysses S. Grant. If you believe the average 8th grade social studies textbook and popular interpretations such as the Ken Burns miniseries The Civil War, the loss of the Confederacy's most famous army and its most brilliant commander marked the end of the war.
Yet history is never neat and tidy. If you ask me, saying that the war ended at Appomattox is a murky proposition at best. After all, the South's other major field force, the Army of Tennessee, was still in the field with more than 20,000 men under arms. Under General Joseph Johnston (a major character in my novel Shattered Nation), it had recently given the Union army a bloody nose at the Battle of Bentonville before superior numbers had forced it to retreat.
It was not until April 26, two-and-a-half weeks after Lee's men had capitulated, that the men of the Army of Tennessee stacked their arms and accepted their paroles (incidentally, Johnston was assisted in the surrender negotiations by John C. Breckinridge, the major character of my novella Blessed are the Peacemakers and one of the major characters of my upcoming novel House of the Proud). The terms agreed upon at Bennett Place included not just Johnston's field army, but all Confederate troops in the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida, a total of nearly 90,000 men. Much more than the surrender at Appomattox, the surrender at Bennett Place deserves to be considered the event that marked the end of the Civil War.
But there are other contenders than Appomattox or Bennett Place. General Richard Taylor, one of the South's most underrated generals, didn't surrender the troops of the Department of Alabama and Mississippi until May 8, nearly two weeks after Johnston's capitulation. General Kirby Smith didn't surrender the Department of the Trans-Mississippi until May 26. In Oklahoma, a lonely force of Confederate-allied Indians under General Stand Watie didn't throw in the towel until nearly a month after that, on June 23. Any one of these events has as much right to be considered as the end of the war as does Appomattox.
Amazingly, even though this series of surrenders marked the end of the Confederate army, there was still a little bit of the American Civil War going on in a highly unlikely place. For while Lee, Johnston and the other generals were yielding to the overwhelming might of the Union, the commerce raider CSS Shenandoah was busy destroying the United States whaling fleet in the Pacific and Arctic Oceans. As strange as it sounds, the last shot of the American Civil War was a warning shot from one of the Shenandoah's cannons on June 28, 1865, when it ordered its final prize to heave to. It's hard to think of a place more unlike the pleasant fields of Appomattox than the icy wastes of the Arctic Circle, yet that was where the last spark of gunpowder of the American Civil War was actually lit.
Now, if you really want to stretch things out, you could argue that the Civil War didn't fully come to an end until the Shenandoah sailed into the harbor of Liverpool, having sailed around the world to surrender to English authorities out of fear that the United States would treat them as pirates. Captain James Waddell, commanding officer of the Shenandoah, oversaw the last official lowering of the Confederate flag. This was on November 6, 1865, nearly seven months after Lee had surrendered at Appomattox.
For what it's worth, my opinion is that the Civil War ended on May 10, 1865, at Irwinville, Georgia. It was then and there that President Jefferson Davis, who personified the Confederacy more than any other single individual, was finally run to ground and captured by Union cavalry. Having fled Richmond on April 2, he was heading westward with the vain hope of continuing the fight against the Yankees in the Trans-Mississippi. By then, he had been deserted by all but his loyal wife and a handful of escorting cavalrymen. With the capture of Davis, the last flame flickering on behalf of Southern independence was well and truly snuffed out.
So, when the war end? April 9? May 10? November 6? Take your pick. Unlike the reigns of kings or the tenures of presidents, wars rarely have clear and definitive ending points. Then again, considering the unfinished struggle for racial equality and the continuing conflict between state and federal power, it might be a better question to ask whether the Civil War ended in 1865 at all.
Pinning down the location and date of the end of the war, however, is a much more problematic exercise. Around the country, people are marking today as the 150th anniversary of the end of the war, because of an event that happened on April 9, 1865, at a place called Appomattox Court House, Virginia. It was there and then that the Army of Northern Virginia, commanded by General Robert E. Lee, surrendered to overwhelming Union forces under the command of General Ulysses S. Grant. If you believe the average 8th grade social studies textbook and popular interpretations such as the Ken Burns miniseries The Civil War, the loss of the Confederacy's most famous army and its most brilliant commander marked the end of the war.
Yet history is never neat and tidy. If you ask me, saying that the war ended at Appomattox is a murky proposition at best. After all, the South's other major field force, the Army of Tennessee, was still in the field with more than 20,000 men under arms. Under General Joseph Johnston (a major character in my novel Shattered Nation), it had recently given the Union army a bloody nose at the Battle of Bentonville before superior numbers had forced it to retreat.
It was not until April 26, two-and-a-half weeks after Lee's men had capitulated, that the men of the Army of Tennessee stacked their arms and accepted their paroles (incidentally, Johnston was assisted in the surrender negotiations by John C. Breckinridge, the major character of my novella Blessed are the Peacemakers and one of the major characters of my upcoming novel House of the Proud). The terms agreed upon at Bennett Place included not just Johnston's field army, but all Confederate troops in the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida, a total of nearly 90,000 men. Much more than the surrender at Appomattox, the surrender at Bennett Place deserves to be considered the event that marked the end of the Civil War.
But there are other contenders than Appomattox or Bennett Place. General Richard Taylor, one of the South's most underrated generals, didn't surrender the troops of the Department of Alabama and Mississippi until May 8, nearly two weeks after Johnston's capitulation. General Kirby Smith didn't surrender the Department of the Trans-Mississippi until May 26. In Oklahoma, a lonely force of Confederate-allied Indians under General Stand Watie didn't throw in the towel until nearly a month after that, on June 23. Any one of these events has as much right to be considered as the end of the war as does Appomattox.
Amazingly, even though this series of surrenders marked the end of the Confederate army, there was still a little bit of the American Civil War going on in a highly unlikely place. For while Lee, Johnston and the other generals were yielding to the overwhelming might of the Union, the commerce raider CSS Shenandoah was busy destroying the United States whaling fleet in the Pacific and Arctic Oceans. As strange as it sounds, the last shot of the American Civil War was a warning shot from one of the Shenandoah's cannons on June 28, 1865, when it ordered its final prize to heave to. It's hard to think of a place more unlike the pleasant fields of Appomattox than the icy wastes of the Arctic Circle, yet that was where the last spark of gunpowder of the American Civil War was actually lit.
Now, if you really want to stretch things out, you could argue that the Civil War didn't fully come to an end until the Shenandoah sailed into the harbor of Liverpool, having sailed around the world to surrender to English authorities out of fear that the United States would treat them as pirates. Captain James Waddell, commanding officer of the Shenandoah, oversaw the last official lowering of the Confederate flag. This was on November 6, 1865, nearly seven months after Lee had surrendered at Appomattox.
For what it's worth, my opinion is that the Civil War ended on May 10, 1865, at Irwinville, Georgia. It was then and there that President Jefferson Davis, who personified the Confederacy more than any other single individual, was finally run to ground and captured by Union cavalry. Having fled Richmond on April 2, he was heading westward with the vain hope of continuing the fight against the Yankees in the Trans-Mississippi. By then, he had been deserted by all but his loyal wife and a handful of escorting cavalrymen. With the capture of Davis, the last flame flickering on behalf of Southern independence was well and truly snuffed out.
So, when the war end? April 9? May 10? November 6? Take your pick. Unlike the reigns of kings or the tenures of presidents, wars rarely have clear and definitive ending points. Then again, considering the unfinished struggle for racial equality and the continuing conflict between state and federal power, it might be a better question to ask whether the Civil War ended in 1865 at all.
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