Picture a slab-sliding ironclad rounding a bend on the Cumberland River in 1863. Firing on the move and belching black smoke, these nearly invulnerable vessels suddenly made any Confederate river defense vulnerable. While their ocean-going cousins captured national headlines, river ironclads were busy splitting the Confederacy in half.

As a central part of Winfield Scott’s Anaconda Plan to control the Mississippi River, river ironclads were purposely built. With their slow speeds, shallow drafts, armor, and firepower, these ironclads were the real weapons that cracked open the South’s interior.

The Brown Water Navy

While the ocean contingent of the Union’s naval campaign was critical, the Mississippi River Squadron, also known as the Brown Water Navy, was no less important. Built to operate within the narrow, shallow confines of the different rivers like the Cumberland, Red River, and Mississippi, river ironclads became the campaign’s workhorse. Army owned and commanded by Navy officers, they projected power inland, often helping to win crucial campaigns.

At the start of the Civil War in 1861, the Union scrambled to obtain ships. Paddle wheelers, towboats, and steamboats were converted using timber and iron plating. These sufficed until intentionally designed ironclads and later river monitors arrived. These had similar characteristics, such as shallow drafts, armored hulls and turrets, large naval guns, and side or stern wheels for propulsion.

Beginning in January 1862, ironclads began to appear. Soon, they and the Union Army started to break the Confederates’ Mississippi lifeline, which cut off Texas, Arkansas, and parts of Louisiana.

Unique, Powerful, but Not Impervious

During the Civil War, the Union produced about 76 ironclads of different types by 1865: monitors, casemates, and armored river rams. Of these, the City-class ironclads stood out. Designed by Samuel Pook, their distinctive sloped casemate armor helped deflect shots, a wide beam for stability, and armored paddle wheels positioned inside the hull earned them the nickname “Pook Turtles.” These characteristics allowed survival against Confederate shore batteries.

Their size enabled ironclads to deliver firepower in unexpected spots. Boats like the City-class brought heavy naval artillery, such as 42-pounder rifles, to bear. They simply blasted their way past earthen works or hurriedly built outposts manned with often inferior guns. Yet these behemoths had weaknesses too.

Working in a heated, enclosed iron box meant temperatures spiked past 120 degrees. Crews frequently fainted in the intense heat or from fumes from massive boilers or furnaces. Even their armor had a weakness, typically from above. Plunging Confederate shellfire punched through thinner armored (or unarmored) spots. But these powerful ships still clobbered their way past defenses. They were great but imperfect weapons.

Ironclads Versus Fortifications

The Union river fleet’s ironclads, starting in 1862, completely upended the Confederate defense tactic of static river blockades. Under normal circumstances, their heavy guns would shred wooden hulls. Now, Union ironclads sailed up to the forts, shrugged off most hits, and pounded the emplacements to pieces. Whereas a normal siege might take weeks, the ironclads placed shells along the defenses, helping force a surrender in days. This did come with risks— the City-class ironclad USS Cairo sank upon striking a mine during the run-up to the Vicksburg Campaign.

This approach became clear to frustrated Confederate officials during the 1863 Battle of Vicksburg (May 18-July 4). Of the Mississippi River naval battles, this bruising fight is considered the most important. Union ironclads repeatedly traversed the river under Vicksburg’s guns to bring supplies, men, and artillery, despite repeated hits. The city eventually fell on July 4, 1863, splitting the Confederacy.

Confederate Rams as a Response

The Confederates quickly realized the Union ironclad’s menace to their cause. Unlike the industrialized North, the South had few rolling mills, few foundries capable of forging iron plates, and almost no engines. Workers scavenged railroad iron, scrounged machinery, and unseasoned lumber to build boats like the CSS Arkansas. Cobbled together, this underpowered Confederate warship was later scuttled following several important battles only due to engine failure (August 1862).

The South also built cottonclads, or armed steamers loaded with tightly packed cotton bales. This unconventional but effective armor was built cheaply and quickly. These weren’t meant to clash with ironclads but were effective as an expendable defense.

While improvisation was the rule, the South’s industrial weakness quickly hampered defense efforts. The North’s boatyards consistently rolled out City-class (or similar) ironclads. The Confederacy struggled to produce one, often due to material shortages or long delays. The Union wore down its opponents, but the inability to match the North’s production led to the loss of the Mississippi theater.

The Civil War helped introduce the 19th century to ironclad technology. Union ironclads proved themselves as a winning factor on America’s rivers. They turned the Confederate river lifeline into a Union highway by 1865.

In the late 19th century, a radical architectural shift permanently altered our city skylines. As cities were rapidly outgrowing their horizontal boundaries, architects began to look up. Facilitated by the invention of the safety elevator and structural steel, a generation of visionary engineers began constructing “buildings that scraped the sky.” More than just a necessity, these buildings were a statement of progress. The first skyscrapers were bold, intricate, and unapologetically grand.

While many of these pioneering high-rises fell victim to the wrecking ball over the last century, a select few historic structures remain standing. Here are 12 of the oldest skyscrapers that redefined city skylines.

1. Temple Court Building, New York (1883)

The Temple Court Building, located at 5 Beekman Street in Manhattan’s Financial District, was originally completed in 1883. Designed by Benjamin Silliman Jr. and James M. Farnsworth, it displays a blend of Queen Anne, neo-Grec, and Renaissance Revival styles. Its distinctive red-brick façade, adorned with tan stone and terracotta accents, is complemented by two pyramidal towers at the corners.

In 1889, a Romanesque Revival style annex was added to the building. Its limestone façade seamlessly integrates with the original structure. The structure has a nine-story atrium, crowned by a pyramidal skylight, which floods the interior with natural light and highlights the intricate iron railings and detailed ornamentation. The atrium was designated as an interior landmark by the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission in 2024.

After a period of vacancy starting in 2001, the building underwent significant restoration and redevelopment. In 2016, it reopened as part of The Beekman Hotel and Residences complex. This project included the addition of a 51-story condominium tower, known as the Beekman Residences, designed by Gerner Kronick + Valcarcel Architects.

2. Hotel Chelsea, New York (1884) 

The Hotel Chelsea, or Chelsea Hotel, is a historic landmark located at 222 West 23rd Street in Manhattan, New York City. Constructed between 1883 and 1884, it was initially designed as one of the city’s first cooperative apartment complexes. Designed by architect Philip Hubert, its style is described as Queen Anne Revival and Victorian Gothic. The 12-story red brick building, adorned with wrought-iron balconies, was, for a time, the tallest structure in New York City.

In 1905, the building transitioned into a hotel, quickly becoming a haven for artists, writers, musicians, and actors. Its bohemian atmosphere attracted a plethora of notable residents, including literary figures such as Mark Twain, Arthur C. Clarke, and Jack Kerouac, who penned “On the Road” during his stay. The hotel also hosted musical legends like Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and Patti Smith. Andy Warhol filmed his iconic movie “Chelsea Girls” at the hotel in 1966.

Throughout its history, the Chelsea Hotel has been a backdrop for both artistic creation and tumultuous events. The poet Dylan Thomas fell ill at the hotel before his death in 1953, and in 1978, punk rock musician Sid Vicious was implicated in the death of his girlfriend, Nancy Spungen, in one of its rooms.

3. Osborne Apartments, New York (1885) 

The Osborne Apartments, located at 205 West 57th Street in Manhattan, New York City, was constructed between 1883 and 1885. Designed by architect James Edward Ware, the luxury apartment building uses a Romanesque Revival style with a façade clad in rusticated brownstone. The building’s southern section facing 57th Street rises 11 stories, while the northern section extends to 15 stories. The interior is notable for its elaborate lobby, adorned with stuccoed and mosaic-tiled walls, reflecting the opulence of the Gilded Age.

Commissioned by stone contractor Thomas Osborne as a speculative investment, building costs soon spun out of control, resulting in its acquisition by the Taylor family in 1889. Situated directly across from Carnegie Hall and in close proximity to Central Park, it sits within Manhattan’s “Billionaires’ Row,” a stretch known for its luxury real estate and cultural institutions.

Today, the Osborne operates as a cooperative residential building, maintaining its historic charm while offering modern amenities. In 1991, it was designated a New York City landmark, and in 1993, it was added to the National Register of Historic Places.

4. Sun Building, Washington, DC (1887)

Nestled at 1317 F Street NW in Washington, DC, the Sun Building stands as a testament to architectural innovation. Designed by Alfred B. Mullett and constructed between 1885 and 1887, it originally served as the Washington bureau for The Baltimore Sun. When it was completed, the nine-story edifice was among the city’s earliest skyscrapers. The pioneering iron-and-masonry structure has a façade adorned with sun motifs and sunflowers, an early example of corporate branding through architecture.

The building was equipped with steam-powered elevators, later upgraded to hydraulic systems in 1909 and electric elevators in 1922. In 1904, architect B. Stanley Simmons oversaw modifications for the American Bank, including the addition of a ninth floor in 1907 to accommodate the Interstate Commerce Commission’s hearing room. Other notable tenants have included Woodrow Wilson’s law firm and the early offices of the Federal Bureau of Investigation under J. Edgar Hoover.

Recognized for its architectural and historical value, the Sun Building was added to the National Register of Historic Places on March 27, 1985.

5. Rookery Building, Chicago (1888)

Nestled at the corner of LaSalle and Adams Streets in Chicago, the Rookery Building was completed in 1888 by the renowned partnership of Daniel Burnham and John Wellborn Root. This iconic structure seamlessly blends masonry and skeletal frame construction. Root devised a “grillage foundation,” a network of iron rails encased in concrete. This results in an underground floating platform that distributed the building’s enormous weight evenly across the soft earth, a technique that changed how skyscrapers were anchored around the world

The building’s name, “The Rookery,” harks back to a time when the site housed a temporary city hall teeming with crows and pigeons, as well as politicians, leading locals to dub it a “rookery.” Embracing this moniker, Root incorporated bird motifs into the building’s ornamental design, adding a whimsical touch to its grandeur.

One of the Rookery’s most captivating features is its central light court. Originally designed to flood the interior with natural light, this two-story atrium was reimagined in 1905 by the legendary Frank Lloyd Wright. He introduced white Carrara marble, intricate Persian-inspired patterns, and elegant bronze chandeliers, transforming the space into a luminous blend of form and function.

6. Wilder Building, Rochester (1888) 

Constructed between 1887 and 1888, this eleven-story structure is considered Rochester’s first modern skyscraper. Designed by the prominent Rochester architectural firm Warner & Brockett, the building showcases a modified Romanesque style. Its original design featured spires at each corner of the roof, which have since been removed.

A notable feature of the Wilder Building is its association with the invention of the mail chute. James Goold Cutler, who received U.S. Patent 284,951 on September 11, 1883, for the mail chute, installed a perfected version in the Wilder Building during its construction. With the demolition of the Elwood Building in 1965, the Wilder Building’s mail chute is currently the oldest surviving example of this innovation.

Today, the Wilder Building continues to serve as a functional office space, housing various businesses and organizations. Its prime location at the Four Corners in downtown Rochester makes it a central and accessible hub for commerce.

7. APA Building, Melbourne, Australia (1889)

Completed in 1889 at the corner of Elizabeth Street and Flinders Lane in Melbourne, Australia, this structure was an absolute monolith for its time. It wasn’t just the Southern Hemisphere’s first skyscraper. For a brief period, the 12-story, 173-foot structure was one of the tallest commercial buildings in the entire world.

Fueled by the Victorian gold rush, the city was one of the wealthiest in the British Empire, earning the nickname “Marvelous Melbourne.” The building was commissioned by the Australian Property and Investment Company and designed by the architectural firm Oakden, Addison & Kemp in association with John Beswicke. It was designed in Queen Anne Revival style with a highly decorative exterior made of contrasting red brick and cream-colored freestone bandings. The top of the building was a chaotic, beautiful masterpiece of picturesque gables, dormer windows, steep roofs, and a soaring, corner turret spire that made it look like a medieval castle stacked on top of a modern office block. The building was “scalped” of these features in the 1950s.

Unfortunately, by the mid-20th century, the Victorian Queen Anne style had fallen heavily out of architectural favor and lacked modern fire isolation standards. In 1980, despite fierce protests, the building was demolished.

8. New York Times Building (41 Park Row), New York (1889) 

The New York Times was founded in 1851 and initially operated from 113 Nassau Street. As the newspaper’s influence grew, it relocated to a newly constructed building at 41 Park Row in 1858, making it the first structure in New York City designed specifically for a newspaper. By the late 1880s, to accommodate its expanding operations, the Times commissioned architect George B. Post to design a larger Romanesque Revival-style building on the same site. This new 13-story structure was completed in 1889, showcasing advanced construction techniques of the period.

The 1889 building featured a façade adorned with intricate stonework and large arched windows, reflecting the Romanesque Revival style. Its construction was notable for being executed around the existing operations of the newspaper, allowing The New York Times to continue publishing without interruption. This engineering feat demonstrated innovative building practices of the time.

In 1905, The New York Times relocated to a new building at One Times Square, and 41 Park Row underwent modifications, including the addition of four stories. Pace University acquired the building in 1951, repurposing it for academic use. The structure has since been designated a New York City landmark and contributes to the Fulton–Nassau Historic District.

9. Old Chronicle Building, San Francisco (1889) 

The Old Chronicle Building, also known as the de Young Building, is a historic landmark located at 690 Market Street in San Francisco, California. Completed in 1889, it was designed by the renowned Chicago architectural firm Burnham and Root in the Richardsonian Romanesque style. At the time of its completion, the ten-story building, featuring a clock tower reaching 218 feet, was the tallest structure on the West Coast and is considered San Francisco’s first skyscraper.

Commissioned by M. H. de Young, owner of the San Francisco Chronicle, the building served as the newspaper’s headquarters and was a prominent feature of the city’s “Newspaper Row,” sharing the area with other major publications. In 1905, during a mayoral victory celebration, fireworks ignited the wooden clock tower, leading to its removal. Despite suffering significant damage during the 1906 earthquake and subsequent fires, the building was rebuilt under the supervision of architect Willis Polk, preserving its historical significance.

Over the years, the Old Chronicle Building underwent several transformations. In 1962, an attempt to modernize its appearance led to the original masonry façade being covered with a contemporary exterior. However, in 2004, efforts were made to restore its historic character, and the building was converted into the Ritz-Carlton Club and Residences.

10. Manhattan Building, Chicago (1891) 

Located at 431 South Dearborn Street in Chicago, Illinois, the Manhattan Building was designed by architect William Le Baron Jenney and constructed between 1889 and 1891. Upon its completion, the 16-story structure was the tallest building globally and is recognized as the oldest surviving skyscraper with a purely skeletal steel frame.

The building’s distinctive design features bow windows that enhance natural light within its interior spaces. The façade combines a granite base for the lower floors with brick on the upper stories, reducing the load on the internal steel framework. This innovative approach addressed concerns about wind-induced sway, with Jenney incorporating structural elements to ensure stability. The Manhattan Building was also constructed wedged between two existing seven-to-eight-story buildings. Traditional foundations would have destabilized their walls, so Jenney used cantilevered foundation beams. He placed the building’s massive structural columns 15 feet inside the property line, and then balanced the exterior walls out over the edges like a see-saw.

Today, the Manhattan Building continues to serve as a commercial office space, retaining its historical significance and architectural charm. Visitors and architecture enthusiasts can admire its exterior, which showcases the early adoption of steel-frame construction; a pivotal development in skyscraper design. Situated in Chicago’s Loop neighborhood, the building is part of the historic Printing House Row District, offering a glimpse into the city’s rich architectural heritage.

11. Ames Building, Boston (1893) 

Nestled at 1 Court Street in Boston, Massachusetts, the Ames Building stands as a testament to the city’s architectural evolution. Completed in 1893, it was designed by the esteemed firm Shepley, Rutan, and Coolidge in the Richardsonian Romanesque style. At 14 stories, it was Boston’s tallest building upon completion and is considered Beantown’s first skyscraper.

Commissioned by industrialist Frederick Lothrop Ames, the building showcases a façade adorned with granite and sandstone, featuring grand arches and intricate carvings. Its construction marked a significant achievement as the second-tallest masonry load-bearing wall structure globally at the time, surpassed only by Chicago’s Monadnock Building.

Over the years, the Ames Building has undergone several transformations. Initially serving as office space, it was converted into a luxury boutique hotel in 2009. In 2020, Suffolk University acquired the building, repurposing it as a student residence hall.

12. The Witte Huis, Rotterdam, Netherlands (1898) 

This 11-story, 141-foot-tall building was Europe’s first skyscraper. In the late 1890s, Rotterdam was rapidly expanding into a world-class port city. Two wealthy brothers, Gerrit and Jan-Hendrik van der Schuyt, traveled to the United States and were spellbound by the soaring skyscrapers of New York and Chicago. They returned to the Netherlands determined to bring that vertical ambition to Europe.

Locals believed that their soft, marshy ground could not support a skyscraper. To prove them wrong, architect Willem Molenbroek engineered a massive underground foundation, driving 1,000 thick pine piles deep into the soft swampy soil to anchor the structure securely.

Different from its American cousins, the building used Art Nouveau and Jugendstil styles. The exterior was clad in brilliant white glazed bricks, which gave the building its name, and the facade is decorated with ornamental mosaics and stone statues. It has a steep mansard roof featuring a magnificent rooftop viewing platform, which became an instant tourist attraction in 1898.

If you’re a history buff who appreciates beautiful scenery, then New York State’s old towns should be next on your bucket list. Discover stunning views of rolling hills, color-changing mountains, and charming blue lakes, dotted with well-preserved historic towns that tell the nation’s early history. Here are ten of the best historic towns to visit while traveling in New York.

1. Seneca Falls

Seneca Falls is located on the Seneca River in the Finger Lakes region and is famous for its Victorian architecture. The town became a hub for America’s women’s rights movement after it was first settled in 1787. It was home to key figures in the movement, from Elizabeth Cady Stanton to Amelia Jenks Bloomer. Seneca Falls is also where the 1848 Seneca Falls Convention for Women’s Rights took place.

Today, you can visit Elizabeth Cady Stanton’s House and the National Women’s Hall of Fame. Many people believe that Seneca Falls has inspired the fictional Bedford Falls in It’s a Wonderful Life. This is because of the similarities between the town’s architecture, steel bridge, and community setting. Today, it hosts an annual It’s a Wonderful Life festival.

2. Southold

In 1640, 13 Puritan families from New Haven founded Southold in the North Fork of Long Island. The New York town was the first ever English settlement in the state. Southold is surrounded by water on three sides and covers 60 square miles of land. It has farmland, vineyards, and beautiful beaches.

The Horton Point Lighthouse should be on your Southold bucket list. This is one of eight historic lighthouses in town, and it’s listed on the State and National Registers of Historic Places. The U.S. Lighthouse Service built Horton Point Lighthouse in 1857. It stands at 58 feet tall. The lighthouse was restored, relit, and reopened in 1990.

3. Skaneateles

Pronounced “Skinny-atlas,” this Central New York town sits on Skaneateles Lake. This is one of the clearest lakes in the Finger Lakes region, formed millions of years ago by glaciers. It was named after the Iroquois word for “Long Lake.” Stunning hills also surround it.

The town itself has a rich Revolutionary War history. Land grants were given to soldiers after the war, allowing Skaneateles to grow exponentially. Historical landmarks include the John D. Barrow Art Gallery and the historic Sherwood Inn, established in 1807. Skaneateles was famous for boat craftsmanship, particularly between the years 1876 and 1945. The town was a leader in producing sailboats, motor launches, and canoes.

4. Cold Spring

This once-small trading post was founded in 1730 by Thomas Davenport. Here, you can witness well-preserved 19th-century buildings along the Hudson River. During the Civil War, Cold Spring used to supply munitions to the Union Army, which allowed it to turn into an industrial hub. Historical landmarks include Constitution Island, West Point Foundry Preserve, West Point Military Academy (across the Hudson River), and Boscobel House and Gardens.

The Historic District of Cold Spring has more than 200 buildings listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Favorite spots include Saint Mary’s in the Highlands and Our Lady of Loretto. Popular writers and artists have been inspired by the town. For example, Don McLean lived in Cold Spring when he wrote American Pie.

5. New Paltz

New Paltz, located on the Shawangunk Ridge, combines history with stunning natural beauty. In the early 18th century, it was settled by the French Huguenots beside the Wallkill River. The National Historic Landmark District has a reconstructed 1717 church on top of seven original stone houses.

Head to the western side for 70 miles of trails at the Mohonk Preserve, where you can enjoy horseback riding, biking, hiking, and many other fun activities. Also, visit the world-famous Victorian-era Mohonk Mountain House on the edge of Mohonk Lake with 40,000 acres of enchanting landscapes, luxury accommodations, and a unique spa.

6. Huntington

Home to various historic sites managed by the Huntington Historical Society, this town was founded in 1653. Located on the northern shore of Long Island, Huntington is famous for its well-preserved colonial architecture. Top sites include the Soldiers and Sailors Memorial Building and the Kissam House Museum. Both reflect the town’s role in the Revolutionary War.

If you fancy some good live music or an artistic performance, head to the Paramount Theater, located in a restored historic venue. For art lovers, the Heckscher Museum is a must. Here, you can see a wide collection of European and American art.

7. Lewiston

Lewiston is located around a 30-minute drive from Buffalo. It’s home to just 16,000 and was a crucial early European settlement between 1615 and 1720. This small town covers 64 square miles of land along the Niagara River. At Center Street, you can see historic buildings that are more than 200 years old. Do not miss the Frontier House there, built in 1824, which is on the National Register of Historic Places.

Lewiston played a big role as one of the final stops along the Underground Railroad. Several people had to break the law in Lewiston to help fugitive slaves make their way to Canada safely. Their story is celebrated by the Freedom Crossing Monument. Other historic monuments include the Tuscarora Heroes Monument and the Robert Moses Niagara Power Plant.

8. Lake George

Founded in 1810, this beautiful town is located in the Adirondacks. Back then, it was known as the “Town of Caldwell.” It wasn’t until 1962 that it was renamed Lake George. It is home to a historic retreat center dating back to 1903. Wiawaka was established for female textile workers from Troy. Today, the center operates as a nonprofit.

National Historic Landmarks in Lake George include the Owl’s Nest and the Land Tortoise (radeau) Shipwreck Site. There is also the Wiawaka Bateaux Site, Royal C. Peabody Estate, and Wiawaka Holiday House. These are listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Head to Fort William Henry Museum to learn about the military history of this former British outpost.

9. Oyster Bay

Oyster Bay was first mentioned by Dutch Captain David Pietersz de Vries in his journal in 1639, after he was enchanted by the town’s beautiful harbor. In the same year, the Long Island hamlet was purchased by the Dutch from Native Americans. After that, it came under British rule. In 1667, Oyster Bay got its charter to become a township.

The town became home to President Theodore Roosevelt during the summer of 1885 and up to 1919, when he died. His home was located on Sagamore Hill, and it now belongs to the National Park Service. Lovers of art should head to Planting Fields Arboretum State Historic Park for some horticultural showings. There is also the Raynham Hall Museum, where you can learn a lot about the region’s history during the American Revolutionary War.

10. Cooperstown

19th-century architecture and waterfront views await in this Central New York small village. More than 300,000 people flock every year to Cooperstown to visit the historic National Baseball Hall of Fame Museum. It was built here to boost tourism based on the myth that Abner Doubleday invented baseball there in 1839.

William Cooper founded Cooperstown in 1786. He was the father of James Fenimore Cooper, a famous American novelist. During the Revolutionary War, General James Clinton’s forces used Otsego Lake as a staging ground during the 1779 Sullivan-Clinton Expedition. Popular sites include the Farmer’s Museum, the Fenimore Art Museum, and Hyde Hall, a neoclassical country mansion with over 50 rooms and stunning architecture. Have a picnic on the lawn and marvel at the serene Otsego Lake during the afternoon for some chill time in Cooperstown.

On a sweltering June night in 1906, high above Madison Square Garden, turn-of-the-century New York’s most norm-shattering murder unfolded. As crowds gathered to enjoy a rooftop show, socialite Harry Thaw shot famed architect Stanford White three times point-blank, settling a deadly score over White’s former lover and Thaw’s wife, Evelyn Nesbit. The killing sent shockwaves across the city’s upper crust and the burgeoning powerhouses that would become the New York pressrooms, exposing the twisted affairs and the unchecked opulence that lay beneath the city’s glittering surface.

The Girl on the Velvet Swing

Evelyn Nesbit didn’t exactly start life in the lap of luxury. Born Florence Evelyn Nesbit in Pennsylvania, one Christmas day, she was the daughter of an impoverished lawyer with a penchant for taking on more cases than he could manage—and unfortunately, that meant racking up debts. When her father passed away, his widow and their two young children were left to fend for themselves, digging themselves out from the mountain of financial troubles he’d left behind. There was no filing for bankruptcy then, as those laws wouldn’t be recognizable until after the consequences of the Great Depression became clear.

Evelyn’s mother, nine years younger than her husband who was only 40 at the time of his death, struggled to keep them housed and fed. It was only as Evelyn grew that her mother realized the young woman was their potential meal ticket.

Evelyn’s appearance could stop people mid-stride, and by the time she was a teenager, folks were really starting to notice. The teen boasted long, vibrant red hair in loose curls when it wasn’t dressed in a chignon, a creamy complexion that seemed to glow under the dim gaslights of the time, and eyes that had a way of looking far older than her years. Put her in front of an artist or one of the new carbon or platinum print cameras, something about Evelyn could fascinate.

Her mother, sensing the potential for more income, relocated the family of three to Philadelphia and soon found abundant work for Evelyn as an artist’s model. It wasn’t long before she was the subject of dozens of portraits and illustrations, her face and likeness featured everywhere. This wasn’t just some minor gig—she was practically the it-girl of early 1900s art, inspiring hundreds of idealized illustrations for ads, postcards, and magazines.

Evelyn’s look, this mix of chastity with a side of provocativeness, became known as a “Gibson girl.” This cultural phenomenon was the creation of illustrator Charles Dana Gibson, who sketched out an idealized, statuesque woman: impossibly elegant, self-assured, with an attitude that said, “I’m not like other girls.” Gibson Girls had a perfectly coiffed bouffant, a tiny waist, and an athletic grace that made them look just as at home horseback riding as they did reclining with a book of poetry. They were perhaps the first, but certainly wouldn’t be the last, of women to usher in an airbrushed, never achievable ideal to the masses.

The Gibson Girl—she was as much fantasy as reality. She was a strangely progressive figure: athletic, stylish, and sometimes even clever. Yet, she was also draped in all the expectations of contemporary femininity: beautiful, desirable, and unfailingly charming, never giving anyone a real glimpse of the woman behind the bouffant. She wasn’t breaking the mold as much as she was stretching it—still confined by the corsets of social expectation, but doing so with a bit more verve.

Evelyn, who’d survived her father’s death and her first experimental steps in the world of fashion and society, embodied the aesthetic with ease.

At just 16, Evelyn moved to New York City and met Stanford White, who quickly took a rather disturbing liking to her. Known as one of the leading architects of the time, White had an eye for beautiful things—furniture, mansions, and apparently, young and impressionable girls. White, well into his 40s by the time he first laid eyes on Evelyn, wasn’t a proper suitor. He may have lavished her with gifts, a fancy apartment, and promises concerning her younger brother’s education, but he could never have married Evelyn or provided her with any stability. Stanford White was already married and his extracurriculars never impinged upon that respectable facade of a union.

When Evelyn took the stand at her husband’s trial (he was accused of murdering Stanford White in front of dozens of witnesses), she was 21, but her experiences seemed to have aged her far beyond her years. There was a young woman—once wide-eyed and hopeful—recounting a horrifying betrayal by a man who had been both her earliest benefactor and her predator. Evelyn was the girl with a porcelain face that had graced magazine covers and advertisements across New York. That same face was etched with pain as she spoke in broken phrases, her voice almost lost to the bustling courtroom, as her testimony became part of the record.

It was here she was asked to detail her first encounters with Stanford White, who offered to be a mentor to the naive girl and her, perhaps more unforgivably naive, mother. At the time, Evelyn had been new to New York—drawn into White’s world of extravagant parties, luxurious gifts, and high-society glitz. What looked like an opportunity to a family who had suffered in poverty for years had turned into a nightmare.

White became possessive, even manipulative, exploiting her youth and innocence. In court, Evelyn recalled her first trip to his infamous studio: “I went upstairs, and there I met a man who was introduced to me as Stanford White. I thought him an ugly man…After supper, we went up two flights of stairs more, and in the room was a large red velvet swing. Mr. White put me in the swing and swung me very hard.”

As she spoke, a collective gasp spread through the rather upright courtroom. Her account continued to unravel the twisted relationship that developed between them. White had isolated her, and what began as an acquaintance turned into a controlled series of encounters, each one darker than the last. She spoke of a night when White led her to a bedroom, saying, “Mr. White poured out just one glass for me, and I paid no attention to it. Mr. White went away, came back, and said: ‘I decorated this room myself.’ Then he asked me why I was not drinking my champagne, and I said I did not like it; it tasted bitter.”

What Evelyn described next was more than an assault—it was very likely a crime committed by someone she had trusted. As her voice grew softer, she detailed her fear, her confusion, and the ensuing trauma that left her sleepless, isolated, and silenced by shame. She believed something may have been wrong with her champagne and, upon waking, realized there was blood on her thighs. White, she claimed, laughed at her panic, telling her to keep quiet, even admonishing, “The greatest thing in this world was not to get found out.”

Her testimony shocked the public, revealing the murky depths of New York’s elite social circles and the ways in which young women like Evelyn were chewed up and spit out. Through her words, the world saw not just a scandal but the devastating impact of exploitation hidden beneath the polished veneer of wealth and privilege.

The Enraged Suitor

Harry Thaw’s absolutely bizarre life was a blend of privilege, cruelty, and eccentricity unmatched by any other. Thaw wasn’t just rich, he was rich without talent. He had inherited his wealth, indulged every whim, and gotten away with some pretty outrageous behaviors because of his fortune and family name.

Despite a pampered childhood, Harry never developed any real purpose or skill. His family, particularly his father, tried to discipline him, but it was too little too late. Thaw was as reckless and unrestrained as could be. By the time he reached adulthood, Thaw was spending his days in a haze of parties, traveling to get away from whatever scandal he had caused, and impulsive spending.

Much like White, he had a peculiar obsession with Evelyn Nesbit. It wasn’t about love or respect. Thaw saw her more as a prize—a beauty he could collect and control, all to spite Stanford White, whom he blamed for being kept out of New York’s elite men’s clubs.

Thaw didn’t court Evelyn Nesbit: he hunted her. Known as “Mr. Munroe” to her, he showered her with flowers, letters, and gifts, yet Evelyn routinely but politely declined his advances. Once he finally arranged a lunch date through intermediaries, he went all in, dropping to his knees in a restaurant, kissing her hem, and declaring she was the “prettiest girl in New York.” When he revealed himself to be “Harry Kendall Thaw of Pittsburgh!” he practically expected her to swoon. Evelyn, later noting the over-the-top, theatrical reveal, remarked that Napoleon himself couldn’t have done it with more flair.

Thaw’s passion for Evelyn had a dark side. When they were married, he treated her less like a partner and more like a disappointment in female form. His behavior spiraled into physical violence, erratic behavior, and open threats. Thaw’s hatred of White festered into an obsession that culminated in Thaw shooting White dead at Madison Square Garden, an act of revenge that he saw as chivalric but which the public (rightly) found horrifying. His mother, however, immediately began to spin her son’s murderous rage. He was, to her mind, a white knight who had simply been driven to violence to uphold his wife’s honor. He was a protector. A gentleman.

Yet, to many in New York’s upper crust, Thaw’s mental health issues were an open secret. He spent plenty of time in sanatoriums, partly to manage his breakdowns, and partly to stay out of jail after violent outbursts. After Evelyn, he didn’t exactly clean up his act. His second marriage proved just as volatile, though less public. For a man who felt deeply wronged, he made it everyone else’s problem, yet always with the family money ready to sweep up his messes. And, like most ne’er-do-wells, he didn’t learn. Just a few years after the trial and his court-mandated stint in an asylum, he was indicted for kidnapping and assaulting a young man he reportedly saw as “Evelyn-like”—marking his twisted obsession and inability to move on.

Harry Thaw’s life was a cautionary tale. His wealth was both a shield and a sword, allowing him to indulge his worst instincts without consequence, while his obsession with Evelyn Nesbit led to a chain of events that echoed through New York society and well beyond.

The Dastardly Architect

Stanford White, born in 1853, built much of New York’s architectural identity. A founding member of the renowned firm McKim, Mead & White, White designed iconic structures, including the original Madison Square Garden and the Washington Square Arch. Behind his respected reputation was a man with a history of using power and wealth to take advantage of young women, a truth known among friends and sometimes publicly hinted at—though rarely spoken about directly. Think of him as the Weinstein of his time. Even Mark Twain, who knew White personally, alluded to his indiscretions in his observations on high society’s not-so-secret sins.

White married Elizabeth “Bessie” Springs Smith in 1884 and had one son, Lawrence, but he led a double life in New York City while his wife kept home on a vast country retreat. White avoided young women from his social circle, choosing instead those from less influential backgrounds to prey upon, whom he felt were less likely to resist or report his advances.

His disturbing pursuit of teenage model Evelyn Nesbit is merely one such example. He lured Evelyn’s mother with financial support, assuring her that he would provide Evelyn with a reputable network of friends and career opportunities. Through these arrangements, he gained her mother’s trust—and secured private time with the young woman under the guise of mentorship.

Following his murder in 1906, accusations of misconduct against White continued to surface. Some members of his family even suggested that his behavior created a lasting cycle of troubling attitudes toward women within the family, where sexual abuse became commonplace between the generations. White’s legacy, though widely known for his architectural achievements and love of grandeur, remains shadowed by accounts of his personal choices, revealing the disconcerting power imbalances that often went unquestioned among the wealthy and influential in America.

The Players in the Trial

New York’s legal system was not prepared for the media frenzy that followed Thaw’s arrest. The Thaw-White case saw two dramatic trials, each with its own unique blend of courtroom strategy, high-society scandal, and intense media buzz. In the first trial, Justice Thomas W. Fitzgerald—whose name was already thickly mired in controversy due to his evasions of creditors—presided over a legal spectacle with all the exhibitionism of a telenovela.

Fitzgerald attempted to keep order, but the defense’s strategy of claiming temporary insanity relied less on the facts and more on dramatic effect, aiming to portray Harry K. Thaw as a man driven by the forces of the universe to avenge the broken purity of his young wife, Evelyn Nesbit. The defense attorneys were skilled dramatists, but they couldn’t sway the jury, leading to a deadlocked verdict and a mistrial.

For the second trial, Thaw’s family reformed his defense team, bringing in Delphin Delmas, the famed “Napoleon of the California Bar,” to play lead in the new judicial spectacle. This time, the approach centered squarely on proving Thaw’s legal insanity—a strategy that finally succeeded. Delmas portrayed Thaw as a tragic victim of lineage and tortured mental breakdown, skillfully aligning the narrative to fit the court’s expectations for an insanity defense.

This shift convinced the jury, and Thaw was ultimately released on the grounds of insanity, and sent to Matteawan State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. There, he lived a life mostly without restraint or inconvenience, although that didn’t stop him from absconding at the first possible chance.

Beyond the courtroom, Thaw’s family leveraged their wealth to control public opinion, taking advantage of the media’s infatuation with the case to reshape Thaw’s image from a privileged and unstable man to a tortured figure beset by family curses and romantic obsession. Newspapers, social circles, and high society were swept up in a wave of gossip and manipulated storylines, keeping the focus on Thaw as a tragic figure rather than his crime. Even then, money made the world go round.

Thus, Thaw’s case lingered in public memory as a dark tale of money, influence, and the uncanny ability of wealth to shape outcomes—even when the evidence was undeniably murky. It is a story of how glamor and corruption could turn a simple murder case into a national commentary on class inequality.

A consistent image of the Old West portrayed in movies, media, and TV shows usually involves the Saloon—the local bar with various patrons—cowboys, gamblers, women in corsets drinking whiskey or beer, and passing through swinging doors. But is this depiction actually true to life?

Where Did the Very First Old West Saloon Open?

The first Western saloon is generally held to be Brown’s Saloon in Brown’s Hole, Wyoming, established in 1822. It catered to fur trappers who frequented the local trading fort near the Green River. As western expansion continued, similar saloons were built in nearly every western town. Usually, the saloons served some form of homemade whiskey made from ingredients at hand—tobacco, sugar, corn, or anything that could feasibly be used as an ingredient.

What Was the Shocking Reality of Culture Inside Frontier Saloons?

Saloon culture varied, but often most vices were tolerated to a degree. “Respectable” women were not allowed inside saloons (which was a factor in the prohibition movement of the early 1900s, primarily led by women). Saloons were also generally a “whites-only” environment, excluding Indians and Oriental people particularly. Black men could occasionally enter depending on their level of respect. Privacy was also a custom, as questions about personal business were looked down upon. Gambling, drinking, carousing, and all the other activities commonly seen in movies were generally true of the saloon environment. An honor system also persisted regarding paying for drinks, offering drinks, and refusing drinks, even from total strangers.

Saloons also served as a meeting place within the town. As a sort of neutral ground, the saloon offered a place for parties to meet to discuss business and served as a place for just about any social gathering.  

Why the Most Famous Lawmen and Outlaws Owned Western Saloons

Several of the Old West’s most famous figures were also saloon owners at one point or another. Wyatt Earp owned or worked in saloons in Idaho, California, Alaska, Kansas, and most famously the Oriental Saloon in Tombstone, Arizona. Judge Roy Bean had a combination Saloon and courthouse on the Rio Grande River in Val Verde County, Texas, where he required jurors to purchase drinks when court was in recess. Other notable saloon owners were Wild Bill Hickock, Bat Masterson, and Doc Holliday. It seems just about every famous figure in the Old West had some sort of saloon interest.

Why Poker Was Not the Most Popular Gambling Game in the Wild West 

Five-card draw poker is the most popularized gambling game in most westerns, but faro, a card game with French origins, was the more popular game in saloons. Poker was common, and the most famous hand—two aces and two eights, the “dead man’s hand”—was held by Wild Bill Hickok when he was shot in Deadwood, South Dakota, during a poker game. Dice games and other card games were common, as were gunfights and brawls over such games.

What Finally Caused the Sudden Downfall of the Old West Saloon?

As westward expansion continued, the West became more “civilized,” and the saloon culture began to slowly fade for several reasons. When mining became unprofitable for various reasons, or when the railroads bypassed certain towns, the clientele waned. The prohibition movement of the late 1800s also caused a major decline in saloons, and many closed by the early 1900s. Continuing social pressures regarding morality also reduced patronage.

When prohibition was repealed, the Old West was done—the railroads stretched from coast to coast, the automobile was taking over as a means of transportation, and the Old West towns with their saloons had become a thing of the past, later to be romanticized in books and film a generation later.

The Nez Perce were among the last tribes to hold out against white subjugation as the 19th century drew to a close. Desperate to retain their cultural freedom, the Nez Perce people were led by the steadfast Chief Joseph as their resistance came to a dramatic conclusion. The chief was a man who was admired by many of his contemporaries but was seen as a problem by the US government. Despite his most vigorous efforts, the US military forced Joseph’s eventual surrender—but they couldn’t capture his spirit.

1. He Was Joseph “The Younger”

Joseph’s given name among his people, the Nez Perce or Niimiipuu, was Hinmatoowyahatqit. His moniker roughly translates to “Thunder Rolling Down the Mountain.” His anglicized name, Joseph, was inherited from his father, who was baptized and given the name Joseph upon his conversion to Christianity. The elder Joseph was also a chief, and his son followed in his footsteps upon his father’s death. Generally, when sources mention “Chief Joseph,” they are referring to Joseph the Younger, while his father is referred to as “Chief Old Joseph” or some variation that includes the elder designation.

2. His Father Denounced Christianity

Joseph the Elder’s relationship with whites evolved over time. To the surprise of many, he’d originally been willing to work with the settlers and government, attempting to establish a precedent of peace. He converted to Christianity and was baptized in 1838, taking the name Joseph. However, after gold was discovered in Nez Perce lands, white prospectors began arriving in unprecedented numbers, and the US government took back millions of acres that had previously been promised to the Nez Perce in a treaty. These actions caused Joseph the Elder to renounce his Christian faith, even going so far as to tear up his Bible.

3. He Led His People Over 1,000 Miles Seeking Freedom

In 1877, the US government ordered the Nez Perce to proceed to an assigned reservation. Chief Joseph led a group of about 800 who did not wish to comply, and they fled. Their goal was to reach Canada. The US army pursued them for over a thousand miles, with about twenty battles occurring along the way.

Chief Joseph’s people fought valiantly but were faced with tumultuous weather and low resources. Exhausted, they made the decision to surrender in October after four months of evading the US government. When Chief Joseph surrendered, his group was about forty miles from the Canadian border, but his people were starving and too ill-equipped to continue. Only 87 warriors remained, and the fallen included Joseph’s brother, Olikut. They were also under the impression that surrender would guarantee them a reservation in their beloved homeland. Instead, they were sent to Fort Leavenworth in Kansas and then onto Indian Territory in Oklahoma, an environment hundreds of miles from home and very disparate in climate.

4. His Flight Is Considered One of the Greatest in History

The flight of Chief Joseph’s Nez Perce is considered one of the most well-orchestrated retreats in military history. With only about 200 warriors included in the group of Nez Perce people, engagement with the army was avoided and only attempted when conditions were ideal, managing to outclass their pursuers and continue on their journey. In comparison, about 2,000 members of the US military were in pursuit of the group as they fled to Canada.

5. William Tecumseh Sherman Complimented Him

After the Civil War, celebrated General William Tecumseh Sherman’s focus turned to other military matters, most significantly the subjugation of the American Indian. When Ulysses S. Grant became president, Sherman was promoted to General of the Army.

Sherman is perhaps best known for his “total war” approach and his famous “March to the Sea.” The Indigenous people of America were the target of his brutal tactics. Though he was named for Tecumseh, a Shawnee chief, Sherman showed no mercy, believing that the tribes stood in the way of American progress. Despite this, he did respect the efforts of some Indigenous leaders, including Chief Joseph. He spoke admiringly of Joseph’s leadership, stating, “The Indians throughout displayed a courage and skill that elicited universal praise…[They] fought with almost scientific skill.”

Sherman was not the only one to laud Joseph’s military skills. The chief was called “The Red Napoleon” by the press and praised in numerous newspapers. The New York Times reported that the skills of Joseph and his warriors were “as if they had been acquired at West Point.”

6. Joseph Gave One of History’s Most Famous Speeches

Upon his surrender, Chief Joseph gave one of history’s most famous speeches. It is still used in the modern era in the study of oration and humanities. While it was short, less than two hundred words, when translated, the speech was meaningful and impactful. In it, Joseph laments the loss of his soldiers and the suffering of the tribe’s children and speaks of his heart becoming “sick and sad.” The last line of the speech is one of the most effectual, “From where the sun now stands I will fight no more forever.” Joseph’s words are remembered for the way that they powerfully articulated the situation of all Indigenous Americans at the hands of the United States.

While it is the one most attributed to him, “I Will Fight No More Forever” is not Joseph’s only work of impressive oration. In 1879, Joseph traveled to Washington DC, and gave a speech known as “Good Words,” in which he highlighted the broken promises from the US government, saying, “Good words do not last long unless they amount to something.”

7. The US Used His Compatriots’ Actions as an Excuse to Imprison Him

When Joseph surrendered, he apparently did not speak for all of the members of his group. Another Nez Perce leader, White Bird, left the US army camp the night after the surrender, absconding and successfully making the trip to Canada, where they joined the Hunkpapa Lakota leader Sitting Bull, who had also sought refuge in the neighboring nation. General O.O. Howard, who had been charged with securing the Nez Perce, stated that this meant Joseph had violated the terms of surrender, and in return, the US government would not be bound to return them to their homeland in Washington. It is unknown whether or not the government ever intended to return the Nez Perce home, but the promise had been made by General Nelson Miles. Whether he was lying or overruled by White Bird’s actions, his promise was shattered when Joseph’s people were sent directly to Leavenworth, Kansas.

8. He Met With the President(s)

Despite the trauma he went through during the Flight of 1877 and subsequent internment in the Midwest, Chief Joseph refused to stop fighting for his people. He met with three US presidents over the remainder of his lifetime: Rutherford B. Hayes, William McKinley, and Theodore Roosevelt, each time making pleas for his people’s return to their homeland in the Wallowa Valley in Washington.

His meeting with Rutherford B. Hayes was perhaps the most notable, marked with his “Good Words” speech. His travels to Washington DC took him to other stops along the way, including a visit to New York’s Madison Square Garden in 1897, where he watched Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show and met with old enemies General Howard and General Miles. The group was said to have “conversed congenially.” Joseph was popular in the East and was seen as a celebrity. However, resistance to the Nez Perce in the Pacific Northwest meant that the presidents were hesitant to take any action to repatriate them, and Joseph’s pleas for his people fell on deaf ears.

9. He Died of a Broken Heart

As time went on, Joseph’s frustrations were met with declining health. He became ill in September 1904 with an unknown illness. He asked his wife to get his headdress because he wished to “die as a chief.” He passed away not long after, at age 64, on September 21. His death occurred on the Colville Reservation in Washington, where his people had been returned in 1885. Still, it was hundreds of miles from their home in the Wallowa Mountains, and Joseph was never able to see his homeland in his lifetime. The physician who attended to Chief Joseph stated that he “died of a broken heart.”

As American settlement in the West increased in volume, tensions between the US government and Indigenous peoples rose as well. One by one, as the US population moved east, tribes were pulled into conflicts with settlers and the US military. Genocide ensued. Indigenous peoples were killed, jailed, and placed on reservations, usually far from their original homelands. One of the last tribes to be subdued was the Nez Perce, living in the mountains of Oregon. The events leading to their defeat culminated in a desperate journey to a last hope for freedom.

This was the Flight of 1877.

1. The War Was a Fighting Retreat

Beginning in the summer of 1877, the Niimiipuu, or Nez Perce, tribe was forced from its homeland in the Wallowa Mountains in Oregon. It was instructed to head to a reservation, but a band of about 800, led by Hinmatoowyahatqit, or Chief Joseph, refused to comply.

Instead, they wished to find a new homeland where they could continue to live in cultural freedom. They began their search but were interrupted by an angry US military. Eager to confine the group to the reservation system, the US soldiers pursued the Nez Perce. The loss at the hands of the Lakota and allied tribes at the Battle of the Greasy Grass the previous year had left the US government feeling the need to punish what they viewed as noncompliance.

As the Nez Perce crossed more than a thousand miles and four US states, over plains and mountains, they battled the pursuing US Army approximately twenty times, turning their exodus into a fighting retreat. This time period was referred to as the Nez Perce War.

The Nez Perce set their sights on Canada, but just forty miles short of the Canadian border, they were exhausted and depleted. With no options left, they surrendered to US forces on October 5, concluding four months of flight and signifying the end of the conflict.

2. Chief Joseph Is Often Confused With His Father

Sharing an anglicized name with his father, Chief Joseph is sometimes confused in history with his also influential father. His birth name, Hinmatoowyahatqit, roughly translates to Thunder Rolling Down the Mountain, and he was also referred to as Young Joseph as a child. His father, Tiwi-teqis, is sometimes referred to as Old Chief Joseph or Joseph the Elder and led the Nez Perce until his death in 1871, after which his son stepped in to lead. Joseph the Elder was baptized in 1839 but later renounced Christianity as he began dealing with the US government in treaty negotiations.

3. There Were Few Warriors

Though approximately 800 Nez Perce set out on the expedition to Canada, few of them were actually fighting men. About 250 warriors made up the entirety of the Nez Perce forces that participated in the battle engagements. On the opposing side, the US army and militia forces numbered approximately 2,000. The remaining Nez Perce camp was made up of noncombatants carrying everything they owned and herding more than 2,000 horses. By the time surrender came in October, about 200 of the Nez Perce had perished from exposure and other hardships on the journey.

4. The Man Who Gave the Nez Perce Their Ultimatum Was Viewed as a Hero for Equality

Oliver Otis, “O.O.” Howard was a Maine native and graduate of West Point. He was known as the “Christian soldier” due to his dedication to his faith. A Civil War veteran who lost an arm in the conflict, Howard was a Medal of Honor recipient. He was appointed Commander of the Department of the Columbia and, as a result, was responsible for arbitrating claims between US settlers and the Nez Perce. In 1876, he refused to recognize Nez Perce rights and began moving US troops to the area, anticipating conflict. In May 1877, he issued the ultimatum that would initiate the flight of the Nez Perce. Howard ordered all non-treaty Nez Perce people to the Lapwai Reservation in Idaho, with the consequence of military action for noncompliance. He was instrumental in the later pursuit of the tribe and participated in several battles.

In sharp contrast to his approach to the Nez Perce, O.O. Howard is remembered by many as a historical figure who was a champion for equal rights. Howard was a staunch abolitionist and, after the Civil War, was appointed the Commissioner of the Bureau of Refugees, Freedmen, and Abandoned Lands. The Freedmen’s Bureau, as it was commonly referred to, helped address the obstacles facing newly freed slaves as they attempted to integrate into society. The mission of the Bureau was to ensure equality for African Americans throughout the United States in work, land ownership, and education. In 1867, Howard helped establish Howard University and served as its president from 1869-1873. A historically Black college that is still in existence today, Howard University was built in Washington, DC, and as of 2024, was considered one of the top 100 universities in the nation.

5. Chief Joseph Gave a Famous Speech

At the surrender, Chief Joseph delivered a brief but impactful speech to the army officers, including General Nelson Miles, who handled the surrender. In the dialogue, Joseph laments the situation his people are in—the death of the elderly on the journey, the suffering of children in the cooling weather, and his tribe’s lack of resources, including food and clothing. The last line of the speech is the one most often memorialized: “From where the sun now stands I will fight no more forever.” His words helped create Joseph’s legacy as a man of reason who advocated for his people until the end, work that would continue for the remainder of his life.

6. Some Did Escape

Under the leadership of Chief White Bird, approximately 300 Nez Perce escaped to Canada after the surrender. Near Saskatchewan, they located a Lakota Camp that was home to Sitting Bull and his people, and were welcomed. Though the Lakota were historical enemies of the Nez Perce, they supported the newly arrived refugees, sharing their meager resources. Some of the Nez Perce, including White Bird, chose to remain permanently and start new lives in Canada, while others eventually returned to the United States to be reunited with their families on the reservation.

7. A Change in Climate Killed Many

After they surrendered, the Nez Perce believed they would be resettled in Idaho, per Howard’s original order, near their original homeland in the Pacific Northwest. However, they were first deported to Leavenworth, Kansas, then to Indian Territory in Oklahoma. This vast change in climate from that of their homeland resulted in health complications for many of the people.

According to Himin Maqsmaqs, or Yellow Wolf, the main challenge of the Nez Perce’s captivity was the temperature and weather. He cited the death of most of the newborn children and many of the elderly as a direct result of the climate. The hot, flat locale was a stark contrast to the mountains, cool air, and water features of their home territory. Eventually, the Nez Perce were allowed to return to their original region and placed on reservations in Idaho and Washington State, though they were still many miles from their homeland, forbidden to return. Chief Joseph never saw his home again, passing away on September 21, 1904. His doctor listed his cause of death as a “broken heart.”

8. You Can Follow the Nez Perce Path Through Yellowstone Today

Well over a century later, visitors to Yellowstone National Park can follow parts of the Nez Perce’s flight route. The Nez Perce entered the park in August 1877 and encountered tourists along the way. Several sites in the park are named for the tribe, including Nez Perce Creek and Nez Perce Ford, where they crossed the Yellowstone River. Wyoming Highway 296, leading to the park, is also referred to as the Chief Joseph Scenic Byway.

9. Though Scattered, the Nez Perce Remain

Though they were confined to scattered reservations, the Nez Perce people persevered. Today, the Nez Perce is a federally recognized tribe with more than 3,500 members living throughout the United States and Canada. Many continue to live on the reservation in Idaho, but Nez Perce communities are located throughout the country in Oklahoma, Kansas, Washington, Oregon, Montana, and Canada.

Imagine the ruckus if a modern US naval captain refused to bring his nuclear-powered warship back into port. How would the president react? It is unlikely he would encourage the navies of foreign nations to actively attempt to apprehend the wayward vessel, but such a scenario became the reality of President Sam Houston of Texas in the spring of 1843.

The Disobedient Texan Navy

Houston was not a happy man in spring 1843. Three times in the past year Mexican armies had invaded Texas and twice occupied San Antonio. Though repulsed, a retaliatory expedition to the Rio Grande turned into a gross act of stupidity when some militiamen chose to disobey orders and carry the war into Mexico.

This force was crushed, the survivors imprisoned, and forced to draw lots, witnessed the cruel slaughter of their comrades in the face of Mexican firing squads. On top of all this, however, Houston was facing yet another act of gross insubordination from the Republic’s navy. Its commander, the fiery Captain Edwin Moore, refused presidential orders to return to Galveston, and instead announced “his intention… to proceed to sea and under the flag of Texas…in a direct violation of…orders, and cruise upon the high seas with armed vessels, contrary to the laws of this Republic” (Houston, p. 338-340).

With his own navy flaunting his presidential authority, Houston made the drastic decision to seek the aid of foreign nations in an attempt to drive Moore from the high seas. Texas’s navy had served its purpose, Houston argued, and he was determined to sell the vessels off at auction. The money would help restore Texas’s empty treasury, but with the fleet gone wrong, Houston’s decision to enlist foreign aid seemed justified. If the wayward Moore was allowed to carry on his merry way, Houston feared Texas must “suffer herself to become the object of contempt, or the victim, of insubordination and anarchy” (Houston, p. 338-340). How did it come to this?

Houston’s Frustrations

Houston was no sailor and saw in the Texas Navy far more hassle than benefit. Emerging during the revolutionary struggle of 1835-36, the first Texas navy boasted four ships, schooners and brigs, whose mission was ostensibly to guard Texas’s rivers and coasts, and if possible, harass Mexican shipping in the Gulf. Cost and combat would take a toll on these modest vessels. Almost a year to the day since the victory at San Jacinto, the Texian flagship, Independence, a two-masted schooner with six guns, including a Mexican piece taken at San Jacinto, was assailed by two Mexican vessels near the mouth of the Brazos River.

Outnumbered and unable to bring her full broadside to bear, Independence struck her colors. Imprisonment awaited her crew and the vessel entered Mexican service. By May 1837, Houston was urging the Texan Congress to sell what remained of the flotilla. The cost of maintaining these vessels, which were not strong enough even to guard Texas’s coasts, was too great a financial burden to bear for the infant republic. They were duly sold at auction and thus ended the first incarnation of the Texan navy. A second Texan navy would soon materialize.

The reason behind this resurrection was the simple transfer of power. Houston was out and Mirabeau B. Lamar was in. In terms of policy the two men could not have been more different. Houston believed in consolidating what the Texians held, being fiscally responsible, and not involving themselves in expansionistic adventures. Most of all, he sought to leave Mexico alone. Lamar had other ideas.

The Second Navy of Texas

To the Georgian-born Lamar, Texas had to expand as far afield as Santa Fe. Moreover, within its own confines, Indigenous peoples, suspect in their loyalties, had to be removed, lest they threaten the independence that had been won in 1836. Lamar therefore embarked on several Indian wars during his time in office to the detriment of the Texan republic. Worse was to come when Lamar pursued an active policy of aggression against Mexico.

Separatist movements in several Mexican states, most notably the recently declared Republic of the Yucatan, had to be supported by the Texians. The most efficient means of supporting the Yucatecans, Lamar believed, was from the waters of the Gulf. Lamar secured contracts with American shipyards to build brigs and sloops of war and engaged the services of Edwin Moore, a former US naval officer, to command Lamar’s small navy.

This navy, which emerged from the shipyards throughout late 1839 and early 1840, was a modest flotilla like its predecessor, but it would spend more time outside of Texas waters than within them. Operating from islands off the Yucatan coast, and utilizing the naval facilities of New Orleans, Moore’s ships engaged in a variety of tasks, including charting, suppressing smugglers, delivering armaments, and seizing prizes.

Moore’s primary duty was to maintain a passive presence in the Gulf. The Yucatecan government offered pay for the upkeep of the Texan fleet, so long as they came to defend the Yucatan against the Mexican navy. This deal was readily accepted by Lamar, but upon Houston’s return to office in December 1841, things changed once again. Houston saw in the provocative activities of the navy nothing less than an impending disaster. One that came in 1842 when Mexican armies invaded Texas three times.

In this perilous situation, Houston was forced to make use of Moore’s vessels, tasking the commodore with a blockade of the Mexican coast from Tabasco to Matamoros. Moore’s fleet returned to the Yucatan, operating from its ports even after Houston recalled them. When the threat of invasion at last waned, Houston once again planned to dismantle Texas’s troublesome navy.

From his viewpoint, the navy was a liability whose actions had provoked a serious military response from Mexico. Aiding the cause of the Yucatecans was in Houston’s mind a foolish adventure, for the Yucatecans were in no real position to support the Texians. Moreover, conditions aboard ships were deplorable. The men, from average sailor to Moore himself, had not been paid in years. Yet when Moore received Houston’s orders early in 1843 to return his ships to Galveston for the express purpose of their being sold at auction, the commodore refused outright.

Professional security played a part in this decision, but so did Moore’s resentment of Houston’s orders. Houston had never appreciated the navy to begin with and saw in it only a financial burden beyond the Republic’s abilities to meet. Moore was determined that the second Texan navy would not suffer the fate of the first.

Such was his determination that he kept his ships from Texian ports for months throughout the first half of 1843, actively engaging Mexican shipping in the meantime. Such outright disobedience was treason in Houston’s eyes, for Texas’s foreign policy was now effectively being shaped by the broadsides of a rogue sailor in charge of a fleet operating without any form of political oversight.

Moore carried on his war against the Mexican navy from New Orleans, bringing Mexican naval forces to battle on two occasions in April and May 1843. On both occasions, from his flagship, Austin, Moore gained the better of superior Mexican forces. He did so while he and his men were openly labeled as pirates by Houston.

To answer this charge, and because of the need to resupply his ships, Moore at last returned to Galveston on July 14, 1843. This return effectively ended the tumultuous second life of the navy of Texas.

Moore vs Houston

Edwin Moore was inflamed to write a passionate defense of his actions by the charges leveled against him by Houston. Declared a pirate, the very worst insult to be cast upon a naval officer, Moore took to his pen, and produced a 200-page defense of his operations, entitled ‘To the People of Texas.’ “I have been accused of the most heinous crimes known to the laws of this or any country,” he declared, by a man who was openly contemptuous of the navy that had so long served Texas. It was not for Houston to stand in judgement of him, Moore asserted, but to the Texians themselves, to whom Moore addressed himself “and confidently look for justice at their hands” (Moore, p. 4).

The people of Texas absolved Moore of the charges of piracy, and he was allowed to remain in the navy, as it was. But Houston had the last say on the matter. The navy would never go out again. It was far too great a risk and serves to illustrate the larger problem of command and control inherent in the Republic of Texas.

The armed forces of a nation must be subordinated to the civilian authorities appointed over them. In Texas, however, that authority could easily be challenged if the will of the chief executive stood contrary to the men themselves. Sam Houston was made painfully aware of this several times during his tumultuous second term as president, both on land and sea.

Wanting to maintain a peaceful posture towards the Mexicans, Houston’s restraint in times of war stood in contrast to the desires of many within his own government, and armed forces in the field. Following the repulse of the Mexican invasions in 1842, Houston was forced to send an expedition to the Rio Grande to show the flag. But in disobedience of orders, a substantial portion of the men decided to invade Mexico, much to their detriment.

On the high seas things were far worse. Houston was powerless to enforce his orders upon a wayward Moore whose own views stood more in line with those of Lamar and allowed them to disobey the orders of his nominal commander-in-chief. Through the months of April and May 1843, Moore was actively waging war upon Mexico outside any real authority save his own. Contemptuous of the charges of piracy levelled against him by Houston, Moore returned and was vindicated. But the precedent he had set could not be replicated for the damage it would do to Texas could well have been irreparable.

Grounded at last, the last vessels of the Texian navy were sold off until only the Austin remained. Taken into the US navy after Texas’s annexation, it proved to be far too leaky a vessel to do anything more than serve as a receiving ship off the coast of Florida. It proved an inauspicious end to an inauspicious organization.

Sources

• The Writings of Sam Houston 1813-1863. Volume III December 20,1822-January 31, 1844, eds Amelia W. Williams and Eugene C. Barker. (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1940).
• Moore, Edwin. To the People of Texas (1843: repub: University Park, TX, Southern Methodist University Press, 2011).

In 1902, the Lodge Committee in the US Senate held hearings on alleged American war crimes during the counterinsurgency in the Philippines. While these hearings did not lead to major prosecutions, they did help convince the American government to wind down the war effort and set a precedent in Congressional oversight.

The American Occupation of the Philippines

From 1898 to 1902, American forces were locked in a brutal counterinsurgency against the Philippine revolutionaries led by Emilio Aguinaldo. For years, the Filipinos had fought against Spain and were happy to have American support when the United States offered to kick the Spanish out during the Spanish-American War. However, Aguinaldo and his allies underestimated the American desire to occupy the islands themselves. When talks between both parties broke down, American forces took advantage of a clash on the outskirts of Manila to launch an offensive against Aguinaldo’s forces. In a series of battles, American forces overwhelmed their smaller, weaker Filipino opponents.

As American forces advanced out of Manila, they found themselves fighting in difficult terrain against an enemy supported by much of the civilian population. This became a major issue for American troops and led Washington to deploy more men to help control the ground the American VIII Corps had taken. American commanders quickly learned that the fighting was similar to what many of them had experienced when fighting Native American tribes in the Wild West. As a result, the campaign became less of a conventional military offensive and more of an occupation and a counterinsurgency.

At the height of the war in 1900, the United States had just over 74,000 men stationed on the islands, not including naval and marine contingents supporting ground operations. Around 30,000 to 40,000 men were engaged in patrolling the islands to fight the rebels, while the remainder were engaged in garrison and reconstruction duties. Against this force were 80,000 to 100,000 men and women, although the Filipinos were very disorganized after the capture of Aguinaldo and the deaths of many of his subordinates.

The Culture in the US Military

The tactics employed by American forces to crush the Filipinos were brutal and enabled by their commanders. At the start of the war, 26 out of 30 American general officers who deployed to the Philippines had experience fighting the indigenous peoples in the American West. They brought with them a mindset that insurgents like the Filipinos were “savages” that needed to be crushed by brute force. Some American veterans even referred to the Filipinos as Indians. The United States, at the time facing enormous racial tensions and violence at home, saw the conflict largely through a racial prism that infected the mindset of its troops.

The US Army often had difficulty identifying who was an insurgent versus a civilian. They began using the practice of the “water cure,” today known as waterboarding, on random Filipinos suspected of supporting the guerrillas. Additionally, they burned down villages suspected of supplying the guerrillas. These incidents were not random; they were approved by American commanders, who hoped that ruthless force could end the revolt. Because the United States never recognized the independence of the Philippines, the US military did not treat Filipino prisoners as POWs but as detainees that could be abused and mistreated.

The scale of the abuse and ill-treatment came to a head with the Samar campaign in 1901-1902. After an ambush on American troops in the village of Balangiga, President Theodore Roosevelt ordered the US to “pacify” the island. Brigadier General Jacob Smith ordered his subordinates to torch every village they could and said he considered everyone over 10 years old a combatant. After a series of atrocities, the general and Marine Major Littleton Waller were put on trial for misconduct and murder. While Waller’s acquittal caused an outcry, there had been an attempt to hold them to account, while other American officers who committed the same atrocities evaded scrutiny.

The Anti-Imperialist League and Opposition Within Congress

In June 1898, a coalition of American politicians, businessmen, and academics formed the American Anti-Imperialist League. Their purpose was initially to oppose the American annexation of the islands, but soon evolved to demanding a full American withdrawal and recognition of Philippine independence.

Among their members were the author Mark Twain, businessman Andrew Carnegie, and former president Grover Cleveland. Their motives for opposing the war differed. In some instances, members opposed the war on moral grounds, claiming that America’s annexation of the islands was against the values of the country. Others, especially southern politicians, feared that the war would lead to an influx of Filipinos to the US and sought to pander to nativist attitudes.

When news of the atrocities began to reach American newspapers, the League pounced on the Roosevelt administration. Handing out leaflets and organizing protests, the League convinced a significant number of members of Congress to declare their opposition to the war. Even some supporters of the war and administration officials were concerned about the optics of American war crimes making it to the newspapers. Increasingly, members of the public began demanding accountability for American actions overseas.

Leading the charge was Senator George Frisbie Hoar. When news of Smith and Waller’s actions began to reach the US, he convinced Republican senator Henry Cabot Lodge to hold hearings through the US Select Committee on the Philippines. Lodge, an ally of President Roosevelt, hoped that these hearings would dispel any notions that the US was committing war crimes on a systemic level. Membership of the committee included seven supporters of the administration and six opponents, and the hearings began in January 1902.

The Start of the Hearings

As soon as the hearings began, it became clear that Senator Lodge was attempting to limit the damage they could do to the administration. Witnesses being called were supposed to be from a “safe” list provided by Secretary of War Elihu Root. Attempts by some anti-war Democrats to call Filipino leaders like Aguinaldo and Apolinario Mabini as witnesses were shut down by Lodge and his allies. Lodge initially held the hearings behind closed doors. He only allowed representatives from three major press associations to attend, citing inadequate space as a justification.

However, these efforts failed. Future president William Howard Taft, then the governor of the Philippines, tried to downplay the atrocities committed by American forces. However, in the course of the questioning, he admitted that the use of torture (especially the “water-cure”) was widespread. His attempt to claim that the Filipinos were the main actors behind the war’s atrocities led to accusations of perjury. Additionally, his admission of the use of torture led to mockery of his other claims that the US presence on the islands benefited the Filipinos.

Subsequently, Lodge called General Robert Hughes, David Barrows, a school director on the islands, and General Elwell Otis, who commanded the VIII Corps for a period of time. Hughes admitted that American troops burned down villages and homes as a way of collectively punishing the islands. Otis openly claimed that there was no state of war, something even Lodge’s allies on the committee found unbelievable. As the hearings continued, it became clear that the administration was losing the narrative.

Testimony From US Troops and Commanders

Committee members insisted on having some members of the military testify before the committee to discuss American troop conduct. The press began receiving letters from American troops describing what they witnessed in the Philippines. The Anti-Imperialist League published many of them in case they weren’t exposed in the hearings. A captain from Kansas wrote: “Caloocan was supposed to contain 17,000 inhabitants. The Twentieth Kansas swept through it, and now Caloocan contains not one living native.” Others exposed the rampant racism that was pervasive among American ranks.

Major Cornelius Gardner, who was the provincial governor of Tayabas, the province next to Batangas, submitted a report which Lodge laid before the committee on April 10. The report indicated that American commanders were encouraging their men to burn villages and torture locals for information. He claimed that he was very concerned that these atrocities would only cause more attacks from the locals on American troops. The military actively tried to discredit him and even announced an investigation into his conduct. Even though Lodge agreed to allow his letter to be read in public, he was not allowed to testify in person at the committee.

Other American soldiers testified that they witnessed atrocities, including the future actor Richard Garrick, then a soldier stationed in the Philippines. General Arthur MacArthur was brought to testify, where he distanced himself from General Jacob Smith’s orders to kill everyone over ten years old on Samar. Other American officers claimed that the use of concentration camps was normal and that conditions in the camps were better than those in the villages around them. As testimony went on, Lodge’s allies routinely feuded with Hoar’s allies, engaging in shouting matches over the rules set by Lodge.

The Legacy of the Hearings

On June 28, 1902, the committee concluded its hearings on atrocities in the Philippines and published a 3,000-page report on what it uncovered. However, because there was no consensus on what the hearings actually proved, it was written to reflect the administration’s line, leading it to whitewash much of the testimony that exposed wrongdoing. Excepting those against Smith and Waller, no further criminal charges were filed and the media turned its attention elsewhere.

Hoping to turn the page and take advantage of the weakness of the Filipinos, President Roosevelt announced a general amnesty for everyone in the conflict and an end to major military operations. This meant that, while no Filipino would be tried for taking part in the insurrection, no American would be tried for involvement in war crimes committed there. Hostilities did not totally end; Muslim rebels in the southern islands continued fighting the Americans until 1913. American forces committed additional atrocities there, such as the Bud Dajo Massacre. Attention in the US turned elsewhere: the war in Europe, the invasion of Mexico, and growing labor tensions at home. While Congress debated the future status of the Philippines, few Americans thought about what happened there.

The hearings did set a precedent. Never before had the US Congress held an extended hearing on alleged atrocities committed by American forces during a war. The brutality of the American crushing of the rebellion meant that many Americans were unwilling to control the islands for a long time and supported efforts by Congress to recognize Philippine independence. Additionally, the taboo of Congress addressing American troop conduct was shattered.

In 1971, Senator J. William Fulbright chaired hearings that exposed American troop misconduct towards Vietnamese civilians. These hearings, like the Lodge Committee, did not lead to serious prosecutions, but they helped turn the American public against the war.

Defeated exiles wandered into Texas, but could find no home there. Despite this, an indigenous Confederacy headed by the Cherokee Chief Di’wali established itself in northeastern Texas as it gained independence from Mexico. Like their kinsmen in the United States, the leaders of the nascent Texan Republic did not take kindly to the Native Americans within their midst and would launch a brutal war of extermination to expel them.

Texas’s Shifting Indian Policy

Texas’s first president was a Cherokee citizen who wanted no trouble between his new country and his adopted nation. Sam Houston spoke Cherokee and knew their customs well. He had both lived amongst them and fought at their side, and had married one of their own. Who better than him to negotiate with Di’wali for his people’s neutrality during Texas’s struggle with Mexico, a neutrality faithfully maintained throughout the dire early months of 1836. It was something Sam Houston would not forget and through his first term as president of the Republic of Texas he forbade the more expansionist minded of his fellow Texians to harass their neighbors.

But in the ascension of Mirabeau B. Lamar to the presidency in 1838 those tendencies were unleashed with a fury. Whereas Houston proclaimed the Texians only wanted Di’wali and his people to live in peace, Lamar, born of Georgia slaveholders with a romantic’s penchant for poetry, abjectly refused to condone such coexistence within the confines of the Republic of Texas. It was the culmination of a 25-year struggle for tribal recognition in Texas.

The Origins of an Indigenous Confederacy

By 1820, the Indian peoples east of the Mississippi were beset. Expansion westward was the name of the American game, and through war and broken treaty they had left many indigenous peoples bereft of the lands of their ancestors. Many resisted and all were ultimately crushed. Those who sought to assimilate by adopting American ways of dress, government, and social graces, suffered a similar fate and were forced westward on what would become universally known as the Trail of Tears.

But there were many such trails. Beyond the Sabine river Texas beckoned. Tens of thousands of acres of fertile country sparsely populated by a frontier community of hardy Tejanos, prone to the raids of Comanches and Apaches from the west, were opened to a select few colonists by the Mexican authorities. Amongst the would-be settlers was a man known to future Texians as Chief Bowles, but to his own people as Di’wali.

Born in the mid-18th century when the Cherokee could still claim to control a vast stretch of territory from the Ohio River to northern Georgia, Di’wali had been a migrant for decades, carrying his people ever westward to avoid the encroachments of the Americans. In Texas he hoped to achieve what American empresarios achieved, and gain land recognition for his people from the Mexican government. But the Mexicans dithered, and Di’wali’s band began to morph into something bigger: an independent confederacy.

After uniting several Cherokee villages into a council with himself at its head, Di’wali began to attract the refugees of a dozen other tribes throughout the 1820s and 1830s. These decades witnessed the height of tribal evictions, forcible removals of entire nations at the barrel end of American muskets dispatching tens of thousands of native peoples from the lands of their birth.

In northeastern Texas elements of the Cherokee, Shawnee, Kickapoo, Delaware, Alabama, Quapaw, Choctaw, Coushatta, Caddo of the Neches, Biloxi, Ioni, Mataquo, and Tahocullake, banded together in a loose alliance based on mutual support under the wide authority of Di’wali. Such was their growing presence that by the mid-1830s Mexican authorities were at last making overtures towards recognition when the Texas Revolution got in the way. A revolution that would forge a nation bent ultimately upon the ruin of Di’wali.

An Intolerant Republic

Di’wali’s confederacy was powerful enough to worry the Texians in the midst of their war with Mexico and prompted them to send Sam Houston to negotiate a treaty with Di’wali at the dawn of 1836. The agreement recognized the confederacy’s existence and defined its territorial boundaries. But Houston’s word was not good enough, for the Texian government rendered the treaty null and void after the threat of Mexico had passed.

For the next two years Houston strove manfully to honor his agreements. In February 1836 he wrote to Di’wali, “All the good men [of Texas] wish you to have no trouble…and live upon your lands in peace.” (The Writings of Sam Houston 1813–1863: Volume I 1813–1836, pp. 355-356). But what of the bad men of Texas?

The Texas that emerged from 1836 was vulnerable from both within and without. Its borders were ill defined and easily penetrated. From the west, Comanche and Apache raiders could strike as deep as the streets of Houston, and retire just as quickly. From the south, Mexico was desperate to reverse the humiliation of San Jacinto. Rumors of Mexican agents seeking to rouse rebellion amongst the Tejanos were rampant. With threats on two fronts, the presence of Di’wali’s people within Texas was not to be tolerated, and in 1839 that toleration came to an end.

The Ruin of Di’wali at the Battle of the Neches

The accommodative policy towards Di’wali came to an end as Mirabeau B. Lamar assumed the presidency of Texas. He inherited a land rife with intrigue. The year 1838 had seen open conflict between Texian and Tejano communities near Nacogdoches as rifts began to develop amongst the Republic’s own citizenry. Operating under the belief that the Tejanos were secretly being incited to rebel by Mexican agents when a group of Nacogdochens went looking for a lost horse, they came upon a group of Tejanos armed and in league with warriors from Di’wali’s Confederacy.

Houston, then still president, and present in the town at the time, forbade any confrontation, but he could not prevent the continued violation by Texian settlers of the frontiers demarcated in his treaty with Di’wali. The following spring, Lamar unleashed Texian troops to deal with any Tejanos sympathetic to Mexico. This minor rebellion, known as the Cordova rebellion, was short lived, but documents discovered upon Mexican agents pointed to correspondence between the rebels and Di’wali.

This was all the excuse Lamar needed to declare war. At the end of May he issued an ultimatum to Di’wali, declaring “the people of Texas can recognize no alien political power within their borders” (The Papers of Mirabeau B. Lamar. Volume II, p. 593). The fact the Cherokee had resided in Texas for 20 years mattered not. Initially willing to compensate Di’wali for their lands, Lamar sang a different tune when his letter went unanswered.

By July he had assembled over 500 volunteers to press the issue by force if necessary. On July 12, a meeting between the Texians and Di’wali yielded no results other than confirmation of the imminent outbreak of hostilities. Di’wali’s tragic plight was remembered in Texian accounts as consisting of two impossible options. Should he seek to fight the Texians would kill him, but if he submitted his own warriors would slay him. At the age of 83, a wanderer without a home and the threat of violence before him, Di’wali turned away from the council, his fate sealed.

On July 15, the Texians under Brigadier General Thomas Jefferson Rusk, a hero of San Jacinto, advanced across the Neches River. Retreating before the oncoming Texians, the old warrior lured them along the riverbank until settling in a dry creek bed anchored upon its banks. The Texians faced an uphill fight but were assailed by their adversaries in a rush that was swept back in a blaze of gunfire. The running fight that followed carried on for miles, burning through most of the daylight. Di’wali himself was resplendent upon a white horse in the very midst of the battle, “a magnificent picture of barbaric manhood,” one Texian remembered (Reagan, p. 32).

That night the Cherokee withdrew, and again the Texians took up the chase. Come dawn, Di’wali was brought to bear once more near the headwaters of the Neches. Pinned by Texian fire whose intensity increased as the fighting progressed, Di’wali remained in the saddle before a bullet tore through his thigh. As he dismounted, a second ball slammed into his back. The aged warrior was finally finished off by a bullet to the head at point-blank range as he rested against a tree.

With his demise came the turning of the tide. Unable to withstand the Texian onslaught with their chieftain shot through before their very eyes and some 100 warriors already reddening the soil, the surviving Cherokee, Delaware, Shawnee and Kickapoo took to their heels. With them went the last hope of a Cherokee Texas. The Texians admitted to the low cost of five dead and three dozen wounded for their victory.

The Legacy of the Cherokee War

The Battle of the Neches established a pattern that was to be maintained by the Lone Star Republic throughout its independent existence: Indian removal was the law of the land. This is not surprising given the climate of the 1830s when Jacksonian policies of removal swept thousands upon thousands of native peoples westward to what is now Oklahoma. As the Texas Republic was effectively a satellite of the United States, its civilian and military leadership naturally carried the same prejudices.

This included the doctrine of manifest destiny. Texas may have been wrestled from the Mexicans by force but it was to be a republic for only a select few, and a republic which was hellbent upon expansion. Lured on by the rapidity of their victory over Di’wali in the summer of 1839, Lamar would embroil Texas in ever more devastating Indian wars. But in pursuit of this policy he greatly misstepped.

Unlike Di’wali’s rather sedentary confederacy, a numerically finite polity whose villages were easily assailed by the Texians, the Comanche were to be an altogether different story. They were far-reaching horsemen who could project their power into the very heart of Texas, indeed Mexico, if they felt like it. Lamar sought to curb that power by striking the head from the snake the year following his destruction of the Cherokee.

The resultant war saw one of the largest Comanche raids in history, one that carried itself all the way to the Gulf coast with the Texians able only to hit the withdrawing Comanche on their route homeward. The running fight that followed could hardly be called a Texian success and exposed the wider military weaknesses of a young republic overplaying its hand.

Yet Lamar remained heedless of the consequences. Expeditions launched towards Santa Fe and the goading of Mexico upon the seas by the minuscule Texian navy would send Texas down a path of near bankruptcy and war. A war that Lamar neatly sidestepped when his term of office ended in 1841, and Sam Houston once again stepped forward to deal with its consequences.

Texas may have won its independence from Mexico, but it was hardly a republic of liberty. The new Texan state reflected larger American societal trends especially as they related to American Indians.

Sources

• The Writings of Sam Houston 1813–1863: Volume I 1813–1836, eds. Amerilia W. Williams and Eugene C. Barker. (Austin: University of Austin Press, 1938).
• The Papers of Mirabeau B. Lamar. Volume II, eds. Charles Adams Gulick Jr. and Katherine Elliot. (Austin: A.C. Baldwin and Sons, 1922).
• Reagan, John H. Memoirs, with special Reference to Secession and Civil War. (New York: The Neale Publishing Company, 1906).