Category: History Blog

Legend has it that Cambyses II – son of Cyrus the Great, the founder of the Persian Empire – sent a massive army to Egypt in 525BC. Also according to legend, the army was swallowed up by a sandstorm and never seen again.

The legend was first documented by Greek historian Herodotus, and most archaeologists dismissed it as fantasy. Others, convinced that the story was based in fact, searched for the army’s remains over the centuries (past searchers included Count László Almásy, the historical figure upon which the novel The English Patient was based).

But it seems that Angelo and Alfredo Castiglioni, a pair of Italian twins, just might have found it. The two have found hundreds of skeletons, dozens of water pitcher fragments, several bronze daggers, and several arrow tips near the legendary Oasis of Siwa. The men found the items near a rock formation 114 feet long a 6 feet high – the perfect shelter from a sandstorm and the only such rock over a wide area.

You can read more about it at the Daily Mail’s site here. I recommend it – it’s a worthy read!

James Cook was born to a family of Yorkshire farmers on November 7, 1728. It’s odd then, that Cook would go on to join the Royal Navy and become one of the best explorers and navigators in British history.

Cook had only five years of schooling, where he was seen as a decent, but not remarkable, student. When he was 16, Cook became a “shop boy” at a grocer and fabric shop in the seaside town of Staithes. In this, Cook was a complete failure, and in less than two years he had moved on to the nearby port town of Whitby. There he met Quaker brothers John and Henry Walker, who were in the business of shipping coal along the English coast. Cook apprenticed with them, and found that he loved it. Where he had once been indifferent in school, he now quickly absorbed all the algebra, geometry, astronomy and other skills needed to one day command his own ship.

In 1755, Cook volunteered for the Royal Navy as the Seven Years’ War began. He quickly rose up the ranks, especially once his skills as a mapmaker became known. Cook, serving in North America in the war, made some of the first contemporary charts of Canadian waters, maps that allowed General James Wolfe to launch several successful raids during the conflict.

After the war, the Royal Society hired him to sail to Tahiti in 1766 to observe the transit of Venus across the Sun (two other adventurers were sent to other spots on the globe; it was hoped that by triangulation they would be able to accurately measure the distance to the Sun). Once this was complete, Cook opened a packet of “secret orders” he had been given back in England: he was to locate the terra australis incognita (“unknown southern land”) once and for all, and claim it in the name of Great Britain. That Cook did, reaching a bay so teeming with wildlife that he named it “Botany Bay”. Thus, on that day in 1770, modern Australia was born.

Continue reading “Fear and Loathing in the Pacific”

150 years ago today, Joshua Abraham Norton – one of history’s greatest oddballs – declared himself “Emperor of the United States”. He would also later also declare himself “Protector of Mexico”.

Born in London around 1819, Norton spent most of his childhood in South Africa. In 1849 he moved to San Francisco, where he inherited $40,000 from his father’s estate (just over $1 million in 2008 dollars). Norton turned the $40,000 into $250,000 ($6.4 million) by way of real estate investments… but then disaster struck.

Facing a severe famine, China banned all exports of rice, which caused the price of rice to jump from 4¢ a pound to 36¢ a pound in San Francisco. Smelling a fortune, Norton found out that a ship named Glyde, traveling from Peru, had 200,000 pounds of rice on board. He bought her cargo, sight unseen, for $25,000. Unfortunately, shortly thereafter several other ships from Peru also loaded with rice arrived in San Francisco, causing the “rice bubble” to collapse. Norton spent years fighting against his cargo contract in the courts, and finally lost when the Supreme Court of California ruled against him. Financially ruined, Norton declared bankruptcy in 1858 and left San Francisco.

No one knows for sure exactly where Norton was for the next year, but on September 17, 1859, Norton returned to the city and wrote a letter which was sent to all the leading newspapers in the city:

At the peremptory request and desire of a large majority of the citizens of these United States, I, Joshua Norton, formerly of Algoa Bay, Cape of Good Hope, and now for the last 9 years and 10 months past of S. F., Cal., declare and proclaim myself Emperor of these U. S.; and in virtue of the authority thereby in me vested, do hereby order and direct the representatives of the different States of the Union to assemble in Musical Hall, of this city, on the 1st day of Feb. next, then and there to make such alterations in the existing laws of the Union as may ameliorate the evils under which the country is laboring, and thereby cause confidence to exist, both at home and abroad, in our stability and integrity.

NORTON I, Emperor of the United States

The editor of the San Francisco Bulletin was amused by the letter, and printed it in his paper… and thus, a local legend was born. The citizens of San Francisco indulged him, and “Emperor Norton” spent his days roaming around the streets of his “kingdom” (or, as Norton would say, “inspecting the public works”) in an elaborate uniform given to him by Army officers at the Presidio.

Continue reading “Hail Emperor Norton!”

There’s an old saying that I’ve referenced many times on this site: “the sun never sets on the British Empire”. And, at the turn of the 20th century, it was literally true. Britain’s empire was so vast that the sun was indeed always shining on some piece of land controlled by the British.

But there’s another saying from the film Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels that’s equally true: “the entire British Empire was built on cups of tea”. And indeed, at the height of the British Empire, one could find Englishmen in cities from Sydney to Calcutta to Johannesburg to London to Kingston to Toronto, all sipping cups of tea as they went about their daily business. And for that, Englishmen could thank a man named Robert Fortune.

It all started in the late 17th century, when the English upper class developed a mania for all things Chinese. Porcelain, silks, lacquered furniture and, above all, tea were so highly coveted by the English gentry that they were snapped up, regardless of price, as quickly as they could be unloaded from ships in London’s dockyards.

But, like so many things in history, there was a problem: the Chinese weren’t interested in any of the goods the English wanted to trade for tea. The Chinese looked down their noses at England’s main export – wool cloth – and aside from a tiny trade in clocks, watches and scientific instruments, the English were stuck paying the Chinese cash for their tea. And the problem with this is that there were only so many silver coins in England, and shipping them halfway around the world to buy tea wasn’t only dangerous and foolhardy, it also caused inflation at home, as the currency supply continually shrank as the demand for tea increased.

But if the Chinese didn’t care for England’s trade goods, they were mad for opium, a product readily available in England’s newest colony, India. So the directors of the East India Company created a “trade triangle”, where English goods were shipped to India and sold, and the proceeds from that sale were used to buy opium, which was then shipped to China where it was exchanged for tea, which was then shipped back to England.

Continue reading “AMAZING LIVES: Robert Fortune”

It was 40 years ago today that man landed on the moon Ted Kennedy drove his car off Dyke Bridge and crashed into Poucha Pond on Chappaquiddick Island, Massachusetts. Campaign worker Mary Jo Kopechne drowned in the crash, and Kennedy ruined his chances in the 1972 presidential election by his evasive answers to questions about the incident.

God bless, Mary Jo!

I’ve been to Virginia several times, and in my travels I’ve visited many of the homes of our Founding Fathers. Washington’s Mount Vernon, Jefferson’s Monticello, and James Monroe’s Ash Lawn have all been lovingly restored to their original grandeur… so much so that the original inhabitants could walk through the front door today and not notice much of difference between their homes now and 200 years ago. Sadly, the same can’t be said for Montpelier, the home of James Madison, our fourth president and writer of much of the United States Constitution.

James Madison married Dolley Todd in September 15, 1794. Dolley was born Dolley Payne on May 20, 1768 and married a Philadelphia lawyer named John Todd, Jr. on January 7, 1790. The couple had two children, John Payne Todd (born 1792) and William Temple Todd (born 1793). Tragedy struck the family that same year, when an epidemic of yellow fever devastated Philadelphia. The entire Todd family was stricken with the disease, and although Dolley and John Payne survived, her husband, her youngest child, and her in-laws did not.

Continue reading “A Different Destination”

So I’m reading a book called The Great Mutiny: India 1857, which is about a rebellion of native Indian troops against their British masters. Like most rebellions, there were several underlying causes, but the impetus of the rebellion – the spark if you will – was when the British tried to introduce a new type of rifle cartridge that was supposedly covered in both tallow and lard, which offended both the Hindu and Muslim soldiers in the East India Company’s army.

I was struck by one passage in particular, which discusses what the British did to some of the rebels when they were finally tracked down:

Only those with the strongest stomachs, however, could remain unaffected when prisoners were blown away from the mouths of cannon, a punishment inflicted in the days of the Moghul emperors and subsequently adopted by the British in India…. The victim was lashed to a gun, the small of his back or pit of his stomach against the muzzle, then ‘smeared with blood of someone murdered by a member of his own race if such could be procured’. When the gun was fired the man’s body was dismembered. Usually the head, scarcely disfigured, would fly off through the smoke, the fall to earth, slightly blackened, followed by the arms and legs. The trunk would be shattered, giving off ‘a beastly smell’, and pieces of flesh and intestines and gouts of blood would be splashed not only over the gunners but also any spectators who stood too close. Vultures would hover overhead and with grisly dexterity catch lumps of flesh in their beaks.

It’s not that the actual method of execution is so cruel. I’m sure if you were unlucky enough to be strapped to the cannon, all you’d see would be a flash of light and it would be over. But what a message such an execution method sends! Don’t mess with John Bull, eh?

A “blood chit” is a piece of paper or cloth issued to soldiers and (especially) airmen operating in areas where the local population speaks a language other than the serviceman’s own. The chit usually states, in the local language, that the soldier or pilot is working on their behalf, and to please give him food, water, shelter and\or medical attention, then give him any assistance in getting back to his or her military base. So if an airman was shot down in a strange land, he or she could simply find a local and hand them the chit. The civilian would then (hopefully) take care of the pilot and get him back an an American base. As an incentive for the local, rewards were usually offered for the safe return of the serviceman.

Here’s an example of a chit from the early days of World War II:

This was particular chit was issued to the Flying Tigers, a group of American pilots who volunteered to fly missions against the Japanese in China. This chit says: “[t]his foreign person has come to China to help in the war effort. Soldiers and civilians, one and all, should rescue, protect, and provide him medical care“. Another Flying Tiger chit read: “I am an American airman. My plane is destroyed. I cannot speak your language. I am an enemy of the Japanese. Please give me food and take me to the nearest Allied military post. You will be rewarded.”

Continue reading “The History of the Blood Chit”

Back in the Middle Ages, people had a practical way of naming streets. If the street was home to a group of businesses that sold the same thing, then the street was often named for them. Even today, centuries later, you can look at a map of the City of London and see streets with names like Ironmonger Lane, Poultry Street, Fish Street, Bread Street, Goldsmith Street or Oat Lane. As you might guess, each street was once the home to a group of merchants involved in a certain trade.

Now… would you care to guess what type of business went down on Gropecunt Lane?

It sounds like a joke, but it’s not: during medieval times, many of the streets where prostitutes gathered to peddle their “wares” were known as Gropecunt Lane.

Since spelling had yet to be standardized, there were many variations, such as Gropecunte, Gropecounte, Gropeconte, Groppecounte, or Gropekunte. But they all had one thing in common – ladies of the night plied their trade there. Such streets were almost always located near the town’s market and\or docks, and almost all were centrally located. London had multiple streets with the name, and even though it was mostly the larger cities that had such streets, smaller towns weren’t unfamiliar with the name. Small market towns like Wells, Banbury and Shrewsbury also had their own Gropecunt Lanes.

Continue reading “What’s in a name?”

This is a new feature of the History Blog: occasional pieces focusing on the extraordinary lives of people you might not have heard of before.

Every morning, millions of women around the world wake up and put a bra on. It’s an everyday task, something that few probably put much thought into. But the story of the woman that invented the modern bra is simply amazing.

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to Mary Phelps Jacob.

Born on January 30, 1891, Mary Phelps Jacob – known as “Polly” to her family – came into a world of power and privilege. Her family were direct decedents of William Bradford, the first governor of the Plymouth Colony, and Robert Fulton, the inventor of the steamboat. Although nowhere near as rich as the Rockefellers or Vanderbilts, Polly’s family nevertheless had enough money to own three large estates in New York City, Long Island and Watertown, Connecticut. But Polly grew up in an age when a family’s name was as important as their bank balance. Based on her last name, Polly was able to attend the best private schools, the most exclusive cotillions, the fanciest horse riding academies… even a garden party hosted by King George V in 1914.

In fact, it was Polly’s “coming out” party in 1910 that inspired her to create the bra. Before this, women were expected to wear uncomfortable corsets to support their busts – a social convention contrived 350 years earlier by Catherine de’ Medici, the wife of King Henry II of France. But a corset simply wouldn’t work with Polly’s choice of dress – a tight-fitting number with a plunging neckline. The corset’s whalebone stays stuck out of the top of her dress, and overall she looked like she was wearing a life jacket underneath the dress. Undaunted, Polly called in her maid, and the two of them took a pair of silk handkerchiefs and some pink ribbon and fashioned something resembling a modern bra.

Polly’s creation proved to be quite a hit with her friends and family members. But it wasn’t until a complete stranger sent Polly a dollar along with a letter begging for one of her bras that Polly realized that the bra could be a commercial success. Accordingly, the U.S. Patent Office awarded Polly the first American patent for a brassiere on November 3, 1914, and Polly went in to business under the name “Caresse Crosby”. But Polly didn’t have any interest in running a business, and she soon sold her patent to the Warner Brothers Corset Company of Bridgeport, Connecticut for a mere $1,500 (around $38,000 in 2018 dollars). Warner Brothers would make an estimated $15 million over the next thirty years with Polly’s patent.

Continue reading “AMAZING LIVES: Mary Phelps Jacob”