The Chamorro people are a Malayo-Indonesian ethnic group native to the Mariana Island chain in the central Pacific. They mostly reside on the island of Guam, a US overseas territory. During the Second World War, they found their home to be a battleground between the United States and Japan. The experiences and suffering at the hands of the Japanese occupiers and the destruction of much of the island during the subsequent American invasion are an important tale that helped shape their identity as a people.

Who Are the Chamorro People?

For nearly 4,000 years, the Chamorro people (also spelled CHamoru) have resided on the island of Guam and some other islands in the Marianas archipelago. For centuries, they built a robust seafaring culture to ensure their survival and protect themselves from external occupiers. Archaeologists believe that they have roots in Indonesia and Malaysia. Their culture was influenced by other people they came into contact with: other Pacific islanders, the Spanish, the Japanese, and the Americans. While there have been changes through the centuries, much of their culture and identity has remained unchanged since their first arrival in the Marianas.

Before they embraced Catholicism, Chamorros believed that the world around them was full of spirits known as taotaomona who provided both daily protection and assistance in their tasks, but also created dangers and problems. In the 1500s, explorer Ferdinand Magellan arrived in the Marianas, leading to the first contact with the Europeans. The Chamorros drove his ships away and it was not until the 1660s that Spanish ships landed in Guam and launched a brutal war of conquest, which meant that only 5,000 Chamorros survived by 1700.

While Spanish rule led to mass conversion to Catholicism and changes to the Chamorro language, Chamorro culture and lifestyles survived. The population rebounded after 1700. Madrid had little interest in settling the islands, and only Caroline islands natives were allowed on Guam besides the Chamorro. This was the state of affairs when America seized Guam in 1898.

US Occupation of Guam Before 1941

A combination of imperial ambition and outrage after the explosion of the USS Maine in Havana harbor led to the Spanish-American War in 1898. The US Navy had long aimed to have a series of bases in the Pacific to extend its reach towards Asia. On June 20, 1898, the USS Charleston anchored in Agaña Bay and its captain demanded surrender from the Spanish garrison. The garrison did not resist, thinking that Spain and the US were still at peace. Within a couple of days, the Spanish formally surrendered the island, ending centuries of Spanish rule.

Most Chamorros had no idea what to expect of the American occupation. The Treaty of Paris in 1898 formally transferred control of Guam to the US, designating the island as an overseas territory. However, the territory did not become a state due to a controversial set of Supreme Court rulings known as the Insular Cases. Dating from the early 1900s, the Insular Cases claimed that territories seized from Spain were not suitable for democratic government because their inhabitants were “savages.”

Like the Spanish, the American presence on Guam was initially very limited. The US Navy did use the island as a fueling stop but did not have major dockyard facilities there. Life was slightly better for the Chamorros; in 1933 they received voting rights in local elections and the writ of habeas corpus under a set of codified laws passed by the US-appointed governor. This lasted until the coming storm.

The First Battle of Guam, 1941

A major part of Imperial Japan’s plan of conquest after Pearl Harbor included seizing several islands in the central Pacific. Their motives were somewhat similar to the United States’: to use the island as a staging point for future expansion. Japan also wanted control of the island’s resources and Guam was to be a part of the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity-Sphere.

One hour after the Pearl Harbor attacks started, Japanese carrier aircraft started striking American targets on the island, launching the First Battle of Guam. The defenses were very weak due to a shortage of funds for American garrisons in the Pacific. Guam’s military contingent consisted of 274 sailors, 153 Marines, and 120 Insular Force guardsmen, many of whom were Chamorros. On December 10, 400 Japanese marines landed and drove the American and Guamian defenders inland.

The governor of Guam, USN Captain George McMillin, knew that the garrison had no chance to resist. After offering some token resistance, McMillin ordered the garrison to lay down their arms after two days, fearing total annihilation of the garrison and civilian population. 19 Americans and Guamians were killed and 42 wounded in the short battle. Some 5,500 Japanese were landed over the following days to take over the American fortifications. This battle enabled Japan to establish firm control over the entire Marianas chain. It also heralded a new era for the Chamorro people.

Japanese Occupation Policies

During its 31 months under Japanese occupation, Guam was ruled by a Japanese military government supported by a few thousand soldiers, sailors, and marines. The Japanese expanded the island’s airfields and developed the port facilities to accommodate warships and submarines to support operations to the east of the island. Unlike Saipan or Tinian, Guam did not have a large Japanese population on the island to support the military administration.

The Japanese briefly renamed the island “Great Shrine Island” and sought to incorporate it into its Pacific empire. Under Japanese occupation, locals were required to have a white paper to be allowed to move around the island. Food was rationed to feed the garrison and a curfew was in place every day. Anyone who violated the rules or was accused of assisting the Americans was brutally tortured or murdered. However, most Chamorros were allowed to go about their daily lives without harassment for much of the war. While the Japanese made an attempt to encourage locals to adopt the Japanese language and culture, this had little impact.

As the Americans advanced closer to the Marianas, Japanese attitudes started to change. The garrison drew larger and their commanders grew more paranoid. In July 1944, the Japanese ordered 18,000 civilians (mostly Chamorros and some others) into concentration camps in the Manenggon Valley. Japanese forces tortured and murdered anyone who refused. They remained there until their liberation by American troops.

Chamorro Resistance to Japanese Rule

Many Chamorros resented the Japanese occupation and resistance was common, especially as liberation grew near. Their resistance was not like their Filipino counterparts; it was mostly nonviolent and small in scale. Nonetheless, it was crucial for the islanders to resist in order to maintain their dignity, help the Americans, and ensure their survival.

After the surrender in 1941, six American sailors escaped into the center of the island, fearing Japanese captivity. American radioman George Tweed was one of them. For a brief period, he wrote an underground newspaper for the Chamorro. He was hidden on a ranch after the other five were caught and executed. Right before the American landings, he was rescued by an American warship. Japanese patrols had spent the war hunting him, but the locals managed to protect him.

In order to control the island, the Japanese relied on collaborators, mainly Chamorros brought there from Saipan. They also allowed two priests to preach to the locals in an effort to earn their cooperation. One of them, Father Jesus Baza Duenas, publicly denounced Japanese rule and refused to collaborate with them. In their frustration, they murdered him and his nephew. Today, he is considered one of Guam’s most important martyrs of the war.

Desperate for news, Chamorros began creating a network of illicit radio stations in small villages in Guam. Owning a radio not tuned to a Japanese frequency was a serious crime and risked capital punishment. Despite such risks, the Chamorros were encouraged by reports of an American invasion to liberate the island in the summer of 1944.

The Second Battle of Guam, 1944

The Second Battle of Guam began on July 21, 1944 when US marines and soldiers assaulted the beaches on the western side of the island as part of Operation Forager. For two weeks, the US Navy had been shelling and bombing Japanese fortifications across the island. 59,000 American attackers faced off against 18,000 Japanese defenders in a brutal battle that lasted a month. By the end, around 3,000 Americans died and the Japanese garrison was pretty much wiped out.

For the Chamorros, the battle was a nightmarish experience. Unlike the Japanese takeover in 1941, this battle destroyed much of the island, including historical sites. The conditions in the camps at Manenggon worsened and Japanese soldiers suspected the locals of aiding the Americans. Part of the collective punishment of the islanders involved them being forced to build fortifications for the Japanese. Refusal could lead to death. Many people prayed that they would not get killed in the crossfire. Others were concerned that the Americans did not know where they were.

Local resistance continued through the battle. American reconnaissance platoons were guided by Chamorros who knew where the Japanese positions were. Chamorros hoped that by helping the Americans, they could ensure the safety of the people in the concentration camps. They also hoped to identify Japanese stragglers after the war was over. Many American commanders credited the locals with helping them win the battle. The liberation allowed people to go back to their homes and rebuild their lives.

Reparations for the Chamorro People

The Chamorro people suffered terribly under Japanese occupation, especially in 1944. Over 1,000 Chamorros died as a result of battle, Japanese atrocities, and diseases. The survivors also suffered severe psychological trauma following their experiences. Naturally, at the end of the war most Guam residents demanded reparations for their suffering. This proved to be a difficult struggle that lasted many decades.

Since Guam returned to being a US territory, people there were not eligible to apply for Japanese reparations payouts. Those were only for people living in independent states after the war. For decades, the Chamorros insisted that they receive compensation for their wartime suffering. The US government did not push the issue because it wanted to preserve its new relationship with Japan. The Japanese did not express an interest in offering any more money than it was already giving. This kept the Chamorros in limbo for decades.

In the 21st century, this all changed. The US Congress decided to pay the Chamorros directly instead of demanding Japan pay more reparations. The Guam World War II Reconciliation Act of 2021 mandated funds for people who survived the war. If survivors applied for restitution, they could receive it. By 2023, $4.13 million had been issued to survivors and their families. This marked a measure of closure for a people who suffered terribly during the Second World War and stayed loyal to the United States since then. The Chamorro story was one of horror and resilience in the face of cruelty.

Starting in the 700s AD, Viking raiders attacked settlements in the northern French coast. These raids led to two sieges of Paris, the establishment of a new Duchy in northern France, and indirectly, the Norman invasion of England.

The Coming of the Northmen: France Faces the Viking Onslaught (8th–9th centuries)

After several years raiding the coasts of the British Isles, Vikings began to target settlements in northern France. ​The first Scandinavian ships appeared off France in 799. They arrived at a perilous time for the locals. The local Frankish nobility struggled to maintain control over their territories and lacked the resources to defend themselves against these raiders. As a result, the Viking raids quickly increased in intensity.

The Vikings initially aimed to plunder the coastal areas, targeting abbeys, churches, and small towns for their wealth. The Vikings were experienced in raiding coastal settlements and the Carolingian rulers in France struggled to respond. The lackluster defense only encouraged more raids as the Vikings were eager to seize more riches.

In the 830s-840s, Viking raiders began establishing fortified camps in the Seine estuary to allow them to raid further inland. In 841, a Viking fleet sailed up the River Seine and plundered Rouen and the Abbey of Jumièges. These raids showed two things: the Carolingians were too weak and the Vikings were planning on staying there. This would have profound implications for the political future of northern France.

The Siege of Paris and the Crisis of the Carolingians (845–885)

In 845, one of the most important moments in Frankish history took place when thousands of Vikings sailed down to the Seine to attack Paris. The Frankish king, Charles the Bald, was poorly prepared for this attack. After the Frankish vanguard was defeated, the Viking chieftain Ragnar Lothbrok laid siege to the city. Charles decided to pay off the Vikings by giving them 7,000 livres of silver and gold.

The Vikings found that by laying siege to poorly defended cities like Paris, they could exact major tributes. Repeated attacks throughout the rest of the 9th century AD devastated towns such as Rouen, Tours, and Angers, while monastic centers like Saint-Denis and Fontenelle were burned multiple times.

In 885, a much larger Viking force numbering in the tens of thousands laid siege to Paris again. This time, Odo, the Frankish Count of Paris, managed to defeat the Vikings thanks to careful preparation and a formidable defense. He also had to pay a ransom to force the Vikings to leave, but the Frankish defense deterred additional Viking attacks on the city. A stalemate now emerged: northern France was at the mercy of the Vikings, but areas further inland were harder to reach due to stronger Frankish defenses.

Rollo and the Settlement at the Lower Seine (911)

While this stalemate persisted, a prominent new Viking ruler appeared on the scene. Rollo, a Scandinavian chieftain born in either Denmark or Norway, took control of much of the Viking-held territory in the Seine estuary and on the coast. His position was strengthened by the fact that the Carolingians were very weak, enabling him to maintain control of the territories seized by prior Viking warlords.

While the Vikings were unable to seize Paris itself, they could take control of the city’s hinterland, leaving it isolated from the rest of France. King Charles the Simple decided that he would try to negotiate with the Norsemen instead of trying to oust them entirely. In 911, both leaders met and signed the Treaty of Saint-Clair-sur-Epte. This accord enabled Rollo to take control of the vital territory near Rouen. In exchange, he agreed to make peace with the Franks and pledge allegiance to King Charles. He even converted to Christianity and married Charles’s daughter.

Rollo’s realm came to be known as Normandy, or “land of the Northmen.” From now on, the Vikings in northern France were no longer a threat to the Frankish kingdom. Instead, they were co-opted to protect their Frankish liege lords from other external threats. The treaty and subsequent events consolidated the Duchy of Normandy and stopped the rampant Viking pillaging that plagued northern France at the time.

From Raiders to Rulers: The Early Norman Dukes (10th century)

Upon the signing of the treaty between Rollo and King Charles, northern France underwent drastic changes. Many of the Vikings who lived there decided to settle down, adopt a Christian lifestyle, and intermarry with the locals in the towns in the region. The establishment of a prosperous Norman state on the French coast encouraged further migration from Scandinavia.

Rollo proved an able ruler. He fortified Rouen, established law and order, and encouraged trade along the Seine, turning his once-hostile base into a thriving center of commerce. His son and successor, William Longsword, expanded Norman control westward toward the Cotentin and eastward into the Vexin, using both the carrot and the stick. The Normans’ growing power alarmed neighboring counts, but their martial discipline and strategic marriages secured their position.

In 942, Richard I became the Duke of Normandy and he decided to increase the power of the Church in the region. He welcomed reforming monks and established more monasteries to support the Church’s growth. The close ties established between the Duchy and the Church ensured that the Normans could integrate more easily into the Frankish kingdom than if they had retained their Norse pagan beliefs.

Normandy’s Rise: Power, Prosperity, and Integration (11th century)

Normandy continued to expand as a result of the strategic decisions of its dukes and the growth in its population. The descendants of Rollo had perfected the art of balancing independence with loyalty to the French crown. Under Duke Richard II and his successors, the duchy consolidated its institutions, strengthened ducal authority, and cultivated a distinctive Norman identity.

In the late 10th century, the Norman dukes helped to put Hugh Capet on the French throne, an act that demonstrated their influence beyond Normandy. Additionally, their military power was growing. By the mid-century, over 300 permanent knights protected the castles in the duchy, not including thousands more warriors that could be called up in a crisis. The dukes imposed vassalage on the lay nobility as well. Until Richard II in the late-10th century, Norman leaders were willing to call over more Scandinavians to strengthen their numbers.

The mid-11th century witnessed the rise of Duke William, the illegitimate son of Duke Robert I of Normandy. William had become duke at eight years old in 1035 and spent the next few decades facing a host of challenges to his power. After restoring stability to his realm, William turned his attention to England. William’s great-aunt Emma of Normandy had been the mother of the childless Edward the Confessor, whose death in 1066 encouraged William to lay claim to the English throne.

Legacy of Conquest: Normandy and the Wider World

Following Edward’s death in January 1066, his brother-in-law Harold Godwinson moved quickly to seize the crown. William claimed that Edward had previously promised him the throne and invaded England in the fall of 1066 to stake his claim. During that fateful year, Harold not only faced the threat of William’s Normans to the south but also had to defend his kingdom from invasion by King Harald Hardrada of Norway in the north.

Although Harold prevailed against the Norwegians at the Battle of Stamford Bridge, the Normans emerged victorious and Harold was slain at the Battle of Hastings on October 14, 1066. After his coronation in December, William became king of England as well as the duke of Normandy. England and Normandy remained separate realms after William’s death, with his eldest son Robert taking over in Normandy and his second son William II becoming king of England. The territories were reunited in the person of Henry I, William’s third son.

The Normans carried to England their distinctive blend of Viking audacity and Frankish organization. They centralized political administration, and created a new aristocracy bound by loyalty to the new king. Their castles dominated the surrounding countryside as a statement of the new regime. Norman rule reshaped English society and governance, leaving long-lasting legacies in law, architecture, and language.

Across the channel, the duchy itself remained a cornerstone of English power in France until King John was forced to cede the duchy to France in the early 13th century. Born from Viking raids and forged in Frankish politics, Normandy had become a model of adaptability, resilience, and growth. Its influence extended long after the end of the Duchy and to this day, the legacy of the Viking settlers remains imprinted on the territory.

Three sword archetypes capture the public imagination more than any other: the knightly longsword or arming sword, the various swords of Japan, and the thrust-based swords wielded during the Renaissance and later, such as the rapier, estoc, and (much later) the smallsword.

Every weapon design is a response to the needs of the people who would use it. This means they take into account the presence of armor, environmental considerations, any laws governing the wearing and/or use of weapons, and even fashion sense. During the Renaissance, there was a transition from the relatively broad cutting blades to lighter, nimbler weapons that focused on the thrust, broadly categorized and termed as the “rapier.”

What were the factors that determined this change? What exactly is the rapier, and how did these swords influence the culture of the Renaissance?

Broad Societal Changes in the Renaissance

Medieval life was largely defined by a strict class hierarchy: commoners who worked the land and performed other skilled trades, clergy who handled religious and academic matters, and nobility who collected taxes, made laws that governed whatever portion of land they had been given, and conducted military operations to protect the other classes.

The feudal system ultimately collapsed due to several factors: the Black Death, increased food surplus, and the reopening of old trade routes. Cities began to flourish, and people who formerly lived in the countryside began moving to more urban environments, outside the protection of their former feudal lords. This migration influenced a mindset of civilian self-defense and influenced the kinds of weapons that people would use: cities tended to be tightly packed with a lot of narrow streets and alleyways that would prevent the use of cutting weapons in wide arcs. Therefore, the stab became a more important tactic in fencing for self-defense.

This being said, in a sword fight, the cut was still used, but it was more of a diversion or to cause minor wounds than the primary means of ending an earnest fight. It is exceptionally easy for a sword blow to be lethal. A cutting blow can end a fight more quickly because it can cut through muscle or sever tendons.

Conversely, a thrust is more likely to cause fatal damage because the point can penetrate deeper into flesh; if one were to strike the torso, it could easily penetrate the abdominal wall and into the viscera, leading to a more fatal wound if less immediately so. Another reason for the thrust is that the shortest distance between the tip of a sword and the enemy is a straight line. It is quicker than the arc of a cutting attack. However, it is relatively easy to displace a thrust and move offline to defend against it.

Which Swords Were Used the Most?

In the early Renaissance, the classic single-handed, double-edged knightly arming sword gradually gave way to what we call the sidesword. In Spain, it was called espada ropera (dress sword); in Italy, it was called spada da lato (sword of/at the side). When discussing swords, know that period texts often just use the local word for “sword.”

The sidesword was, as a rule, a lighter variant of the arming sword with a narrower profile, intended for nimble movement. Over time, the design of the sidesword gradually lengthened and thinned into what we recognize and label as the rapier. The Spanish term ropera is thought to be where we get the word “rapier.”

There were some larger swords similar to older medieval designs, but these were used in specialized military contexts. For example, the Zweihander of Germany was used as a shock weapon to shatter pike block formations. The montante of Spain could be used similarly, but also as a space-clearing weapon.

What Were the Properties of Popular Renaissance Swords?

Most of the swords developed during the Renaissance used increasingly longer and thinner blades that shifted the point of balance close to the hilt. The wielder could have greater point control and thus more precise targeting. This was a gradual transition. In the Medieval Period, swords often had a basic cruciform handguard; this is why you often hear a longsword referred to as a cruciform sword. The designs of handguards gradually became more complex with additions like finger rings, which connected to the ricasso of the blade. It is commonly said that rapiers that were developed later had no edge; this is often incorrect.

Earlier cut-and-thrust swords had a thin hexagonal or lenticular cross-section. Later, as the thrust became more prominent, the need for stiffer blades required triangular or diamond-shaped cross-sections, better suited for keeping the blade rigid.

Handguards of swords became more complex because methods of hand protection (shields, gauntlets) that had been used in the Medieval Period were largely phased out in the new civilian context. Also, ornate furnishings indicated wealth and social status, which was paramount to the social perception of a man in this time period. Elaborate patterns and the use of precious metals were the order of the day.

The styles of handguards varied: Spanish rapiers used fully enclosing handguards because their system led to increased hand vulnerability. Italian rapiers used longer quillons on their guards to allow better blade control at range.

How Renaissance Swords Influenced Fashion and Behavior

In the Renaissance, the sword became a status symbol as well as a weapon of war, and fashion developed to accentuate it. For example, capes, cloaks, slashed fabric, and similar accessories abounded. Capes could be used as an off-hand accompaniment to ensnare an opponent’s weapon, blind them, or trip them.

The wearing of a sword was seen as an indicator of high social status, masculinity, and personal/family honor. It then followed that dueling over perceived slights became commonplace. There were laws put in place against dueling. Still, just like today, they were often circumvented by the wealthy elite whose family connections made punishment politically risky—or who simply could afford to pay the fine. Punishments ranged from a fine to execution, with the latter being more common for those of lower social status.

Dueling Culture

The idea of dueling was hardly new to the Renaissance, but it is likely the earliest period in which it was a ubiquitous, documented cultural institution. In the Medieval Period, there was the concept of judicial dueling, also known as trial by combat, but the culture of personal gentlemanly honor brought it to an unprecedented level. If someone were issued a challenge, refusing it without a valid reason was seen as cowardly.

There was an accepted procedure. It wasn’t just a matter of two people drawing swords in a busy Florentine street. Often, challenges were negotiated with a set date, time, location, and weapons to be used, and win conditions (i.e., to satisfaction, first blood, or death). The terms had to be agreed upon by both parties for the duel to be considered valid.

The two duelists would each appoint a second, or trusted party, to aid them during and prior to the duel. Immediately prior, the seconds would meet and try to negotiate a peaceful resolution.

Duels were fought “to satisfaction,” which usually meant the offended person felt that his honor had been restored. This could range from a sincere apology from the other (allowed up until the point at which the duel actually started), first blood, or death. Although fatalities did occur, it was rare given the laws against murder. Also, defeating an opponent without killing them was seen as a mark of dominance and skill.

Development of Rapier Fencing

One of the most enduring tropes in fiction features Renaissance nobles dueling with rapiers. Many fencing treatises written during this period elaborate on the rapier’s use. Keeping to the theme of looking at the world through a gradually more scientific lens, much of fencing theory treated swordsmanship as an expression of geometry. Swordsman Camillo Agrippa’s manuscript portrays, for example, meticulous diagrams of the different ranges given by adjusting one’s posture.

Rapiers became popular throughout most of Europe, with each country having developed its own fencing styles. The Spanish and Italian schools of thought became the most influential. The Italian style emphasized a lower stance, a broader range, and aggressive, linear movement. The Spanish style employed upright stances with circular footwork and precise, angled control of the blade from close quarters, similar to the idea of hard and soft styles in Eastern martial arts.

Transition Into the Modern Period

The specialized rapier was eventually shortened into the smallsword, which became popular during the late 17th century and onward. Dueling and the use of the rapier declined in popularity. Firearm development meant more accurate, more reliable, and faster-loading rifles, which led to the sword being supplanted by the bayonet among infantry troops. Amongst cavalry officers, the sword of choice became the saber.

Governments began to centralize their authority, resulting in more robust enforcement of public safety. Therefore, swords gradually fell out of fashion. Wearing one, unlike during the Renaissance, marked a person as vulgar or prone to starting fights. In fact, laws against the wearing of swords became commonplace in cities. This was also done to curb the prevalence of dueling.

The rapier and its cousins evolved into the sport of modern Olympic fencing with the epee and the foil. Both of these swords contain sportified versions of French rapier fencing, which evolved from the Italian rapier.

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.

In 1899, Winston Churchill managed to sneak out of a schoolhouse being used as a prison by the Boers. He managed to travel 300 miles to freedom with limited supplies and no knowledge of local languages. This event helped catapult him to fame and launched his political career.

Why Was Churchill in South Africa?

The Great Anglo-Boer War of 1899-1902 attracted an enormous press contingent, making it one of the most covered conflicts up to that point. Journalists could telegraph their dispatches to their newsrooms rapidly. The British Education Act of 1870 helped increase literacy in Britain drastically, creating a desire for up-to-date coverage. Portable cameras became more widespread as well, making it easier for reporters to take photographs without having to carry heavy equipment. Since South Africa had already attracted a lot of media attention even before the outbreak of war, it was no surprise that a lot of journalists wanted to witness the coming storm. Several hundred reporters from around the world covered both sides of the war.

Enter Winston Churchill. In October 1899, he arrived in Cape Town as a war correspondent for The Morning Post. Britain was preparing for hostilities with the semi-independent Boer (AKA Afrikaners) Republics. A military man, Churchill viewed war and the resulting fame as a necessary springboard for his political career. He had unsuccessfully run for Parliament in July 1899 and believed that war heroism would make him a more attractive candidate in the next election. His late father Lord Randolph Churchill had significant experience of the region and Winston himself hoped to get himself as close to the fighting as possible.

In November, he convinced his friend Captain Aylmer Haldane to take him on a reconnaissance mission. Haldane consented, bringing him on board an armored train headed north from the town of Estcourt. At the time, British forces were preparing to launch a relief operation to save the besieged garrison of Ladysmith. Like Churchill, British commanders underestimated the Boers, assuming that they were a group of ill-equipped farmers. They were in for a rude shock.

The Seizure of Churchill’s Train

On November 15, 1899, Boer commandos led by the future South African statesman (and, ironically, future friend) Louis Botha ambushed Churchill’s train. On board were detachments of the Dublin Fusiliers and Durham Light Infantry. Near the Blaauwkrantz River, Boer riflemen hit the engine and forced the train to reverse onto rocks which they had placed on the tracks to stop the train. Churchill, Haldane, and the other soldiers disembarked and began firing towards the Boers. The engineer was hit and panicked, hoping to flee. Churchill kept him on the locomotive and helped get the rest of the contingent organized. However, the Boer riflemen were lethal shots and killed and wounded several soldiers before they could react.

About 40 to 50 wounded men were crammed into the train’s locomotive before it steamed off as the unwounded soldiers ran beside it, using the locomotive to block Boer fire. However, several men remained on the track, Churchill and Haldane included. The fighting was brutal and four men were killed, and 30 wounded. The British stretched themselves thin on the tracks, hoping to present a smaller target. They took cover behind several train cars, though they proved little impediment to the projectiles fired by the Boers. Churchill himself got separated at one point from the men when he tried clearing some of the debris off the tracks.

When he returned to join Haldane and the stranded soldiers, he ran into a detachment of Boer commandos that were lying in wait. One of them, Field Kornet (commander) Sarel Oosthuizen, ordered him to surrender. Since Churchill left his revolver on the train, he had no choice but to be taken prisoner. Haldane and 56 others were captured, many of them wounded. Churchill had witnessed conflict before as a reporter and in his prior years as a soldier. However, this was the first time he came face-to-face with soldiers from an enemy army.

Prison in Staats Model School

Churchill was lucky that his captors treated him as a normal prisoner. Because he was technically a civilian with a weapon, they could have shot him out of hand. However, he wore army khaki and had one of the helmets of the Fusiliers. Even though he pleaded to be let go on account of his status as a journalist, the Boers knew who he was and figured that the British would offer a good deal of money to ransom him. Therefore, they sent him along into captivity with the rest of the captured Brits. Despite his bravery, some British officers thought he was too reckless.

After briefly being held in an armory, Churchill was taken to the city of Pretoria, then the capital of the Transvaal, one of the two Boer Republics. He was sent to a school where the Boers kept British officers as prisoners. This school, the Staats Model School, was a single-story brick building, divided into five sections. The building was surrounded by a ten-foot-high iron fence and was located in the central part of Pretoria. By the time the British liberated the prison, they found around 160 prisoners were held there, mostly officers.

Unlike conditions for enlisted men in squalid camps, the Staats Model School proved to be nicer for officer prisoners. They had access to a library and could receive news from sympathetic locals, such as a man nicknamed the “Dog Man” who whispered updates while walking his St. Bernard. There was a garden and playground area where Churchill and others spent their nights plotting escapes. He was miserable and angry, often arguing with his captors over the righteousness of the war. It wasn’t long before he began to execute a plan to break out.

The Daring Escape

After four weeks in captivity, Churchill managed to make his escape. He spoke with Captain Haldane and a sergeant named Brockie and they agreed to sneak out through a gap in the fence near the latrine. On December 12, Churchill made it out and waited an hour near the compound until it became clear that his comrades could not follow. His decision to continue was risky; he didn’t have many rations, a map, or a compass. He also didn’t speak Dutch, Afrikaans, or any native African languages.

Wearing civilian clothing, he snuck through the streets of Pretoria at night past several policemen who were supposed to be watching for saboteurs and spies. Many people were out and about, but few paid him any mind. Churchill did not attempt to linger for long; he knew that the Boers would discover his absence and begin to hunt him down. He didn’t have a map, but he could use the stars to navigate and he also knew that Pretoria had a railway headed for Delagoa Bay in the Portuguese colony of Mozambique. He began walking down the track for the long trek east.

The next morning, the Boer guards at the school realized that he was missing during the morning roll call. He had stuffed his bed with items he didn’t want to bring because he wanted the guards to assume he was still in bed. He even left a note taunting the Boers. The Transvaal government issued warnings to its border posts and police stations that they needed to search for him. A £25 reward was issued for his arrest and hundreds of people were involved in searching for him.

Hundreds of Miles Through the Veldt

The initial walk was very difficult. He stumbled through the veldt (plain) and almost drowned in a river. However, he managed to sneak aboard a coal train headed to Mozambique, covering himself with coal to hide from any observers. When the train had to stop at a station, he jumped off before the police could find him. He knew that there was a reward for him and a lot of people were involved in trying to arrest him. Search parties were systematically checking farmhouses and outbuildings, assuming that he was hiding in one.

His lack of rations became a real problem. Any farmer that he wanted to ask for food from could turn him over to the police. He walked for several nights, drinking any water he could obtain and stealing food from local farms. One night, he almost collapsed due to exhaustion. When he came upon a coal mine near the town of Witbank, he knocked on the door, fearing that he would die without getting help. To his surprise, an Englishman named John Howard answered. He was the manager of the Transvaal and Delagoa Bay Colliery. Howard and his colleagues, Charles Burnham and an engineer named Dewsnap, agreed to hide Churchill at the bottom of the mine. They slipped him food and water in a tin and plotted to get him to the border. He waited at the mine for six days until the Boer patrols stopped coming around the area.

At approximately 2:00 a.m. on December 19, Howard and Burnham smuggled Churchill onto a freight train at the Witbank siding. Burnham had arranged for a train to carry wool and cotton bales to Delagoa Bay and Churchill was to be transported on it. They carved out a small cavity in the center of a rail truck, where Churchill was “bundled” with a few provisions, including a pistol and some whiskey. For 60 hours, he waited motionless while the train thundered towards the border.

Freedom in Lourenço Marques

At last, on December 21, his train crossed the border to Mozambique. After the train pulled into the station at Lourenço Marques, Churchill jumped out, filthy and covered in wool fibers. He walked straight to the British Consulate, where the Union Jack was flying. When the staff tried to turn him away, he yelled, “I am Winston Bloody Churchill! Come down here at once!” The staff got his story and gave him a room so he could clean up. He took the next steamship headed for the South African port of Durban so that he could get back to reporting on the war. Having been out of touch with much of the outside world, he was stunned to learn of the international attention paid to his story of escaping Pretoria.

When his ship docked in Durban on December 23, he was met with a reception usually reserved for conquering generals, as his escape had become a rare spot of good news for a British public reeling from early war defeats. Almost every British colonial official and military officer in the city wanted to meet with him. He was lifted onto the shoulders of the crowd and carried in a jubilant procession through the streets of Durban to the steps of the Town Hall. There, he gave a speech predicting victory over the Boers and decided to run for Parliament again.

Churchill still hoped to cover the war from up close. While still on contract with The Morning Post, he joined a newly-created cavalry regiment called the South African Light Horse. He witnessed some of the worst fighting of the war at the Tugela River and at Spion Kop. In a stunning turn, he even personally rode to the Staats Model School to liberate his old comrades. When Britain had its so-called “Khaki Election” in 1900, he won a seat in Oldham for the Conservative Party. His exploits in South Africa were just one chapter in his journey to fame.

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).

In a mere matter of months in 1898, the United States managed to destroy what remained of the Spanish Empire. The American siege of Santiago in Cuba was a textbook assault by a joint army-navy force and it presaged America’s use of amphibious assaults in later wars.

How Did the Sinking of the USS Maine Trigger the Cuban Campaign?

For decades following the Civil War, American political leaders had their eyes on Cuba as a strategically valuable piece of territory to control. Spain had ruled the island since Christopher Columbus claimed it for the Spanish crown in 1492. After the loss of continental Latin America, Cuba became the main Spanish possession in the Americas. Its sugar plantations and ports made it a tantalizing target for American policymakers who hoped to establish some form of control over the island. When Cuban rebels rose up under the leadership of José Marti in 1895, American hawks found an opportunity to assist the rebels. Spain’s ruthlessness in attempting to crush the Cuban rebels encouraged the American public to offer the Cubans further support.

In January 1898, Spanish loyalists in Havana rioted due to fears that the liberal government in Madrid would give Cuba independence. These disturbances led to the US consulate in Havana demanding American protection for US citizens in the city. The Navy Department agreed to send the USS Maine to Havana harbor in case Americans in Cuba needed to be evacuated. At this point, the administration of William McKinley was opposed to going to war with Spain, though public pressure in America was increasing.

In February, the Maine was docked in the harbor when the ship exploded and hundreds of men died. A navy investigation claimed that a Spanish naval mine destroyed the ship, though most historians believe it was an internal explosion. In April, the US Congress issued a demand that Spain evacuate Cuba. When Madrid refused, the Americans declared war and began mobilizing forces to fight.

Why Was Santiago de Cuba the Primary Target of the 1898 Invasion?

The American plan at the onset of the Spanish-American War was to blockade Cuba and send weapons to the revolutionaries, with the aim of toppling Spanish rule without introducing any army personnel. This came alongside additional operations to seize Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines. The administration had more faith in the navy than it did in the army and believed that Spain would sue for peace if its navy was destroyed and its ground forces in Cuba were cut off. The plan was based on years of intelligence gathering by the US and claims made by Cuban revolutionary leaders then in talks with the United States government.

However, the Spanish Caribbean Squadron under Rear Admiral Pascual Cervera y Topete went into the harbor of Santiago, where they were protected by earthworks dug by the Spanish garrison. The US Navy could not enter the harbor without risking its warships. Therefore, the plan changed. American forces would land near the city of Santiago and besiege the fortifications. In doing so, they would drive the Spanish fleet out of the harbor, where it could be destroyed by the Americans at sea.

To land in Cuba, the US military assembled a formidable force. The V Corps, commanded by Maj. Gen. William Shafter, had around 20,000 men in its ranks. It contained two infantry divisions, a cavalry division, and a large artillery train. It was supported by Cuban General Calixto Garcia and his force of some 5,000 men. The Spanish commander Gen. Arsenio Linares had a force of 10,000-12,000 men available to defend the city, composed of a mixture of Spanish regulars and loyal Cubans. They occupied formidable positions around the city and sought to hold off an American advance. The fighting in Santiago became the focal point of fighting for the entire war.

Who Were the Rough Riders and Buffalo Soldiers at San Juan Hill?

After US forces landed in Cuba, they drove through several Spanish blocking forces and arrived at the outskirts of the defenses of Santiago. One of the hills the Spanish controlled was called San Juan Hill, and its seizure would allow American artillery to place guns directly targeting Santiago. General Shafter ordered men of the Cavalry Division to dismount and seize the hill on foot. Concurrently, American forces were to take El Caney village and Kettle Hill (connected to San Juan Hill). The Spanish, composed of 750 men in several different battalions on the hills, were very well fortified, but outnumbered and outgunned by the Americans.

Three regiments played a crucial role in taking both hills. Lieutenant Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, who had resigned as Assistant Secretary of the Navy to serve in the war, was temporarily in command of the 1st Volunteer Cavalry Regiment, nicknamed the Rough Riders. His men were joined by the 9th and 10th Cavalry Regiments, both of which were majority-Black units (Buffalo Soldiers). These three units stormed up Kettle Hill under a maelstrom of fire to seize Spanish trench lines in advance of a larger American assault on San Juan Hill. Roosevelt gained a lot of sympathetic press due to his heroics. The Buffalo Soldier regiments did not, a reflection of the hostility Black men in the military faced at the time.

Elements of the 1st Infantry Division marched up San Juan Hill. They were supported by Lt. John Henry Parker and his detachment of Gatling Guns, which laid down suppressing fire to assist the infantrymen’s advance. After several hours, the Americans took the rest of the Spanish positions and El Caney, dooming the Spanish inside the city. General Linares began to prepare negotiations for the surrender of the city when it became clear that Spanish troops elsewhere were not coming to his aid.

What Role Did Cuban Insurgents Play in the American Victory?

The American offensive would have been much more difficult to execute without the support of the Cuban Liberation Army under General Calixto Garcia. Around 5,000 Cubans helped shield the flank of the American advance and cleared the beaches before the Americans landed on the island. Garcia’s men had plenty of battle experience against Spanish forces. They also knew the terrain and were prepared to help the Americans avoid the worst effects of yellow fever and malaria, historically rampant in Cuba.

Elsewhere on the island, Cuban insurgents attacked Spanish garrisons relentlessly. They aimed to keep the Spanish from reinforcing the defenses of Santiago and to keep the defenders guessing where the Americans might land, in addition to Siboney. The American War Department happily provided humanitarian and military aid to the Cubans, intending to turn them into a formidable guerrilla force.

Armed with Winchesters and Krag-Jorgensen rifles, they happily hunted down Spanish troops all throughout the island and withstood Spanish counter-insurgency sweeps. Even when Spain began transferring the Cubans into concentration camps, the insurgents maintained control over large swaths of the countryside and developed a political infrastructure to assume control once the Spanish were driven out.

Despite American sympathy for the Cubans, many American officers and politicians denigrated the Cuban rebels. They were regarded as savages who could not fight a conventional battle. When US forces took control of Santiago, the Cubans were prohibited from taking part in the surrender ceremony. General Garcia fiercely protested, but to no avail. Even when Cuba formally gained independence in 1902, the US still sought to influence Cuban domestic politics, which played a role in Cuba’s turn towards Communism in 1959.

Why Did the Battle of Santiago Mark the End of the Spanish Empire?

Once the Americans began fortifying the heights around Santiago, Admiral Cervera took his squadron of six ships out to sea. He feared that American artillery would destroy his ships at anchor. The poorly maintained Spanish ships proved sluggish and were prone to catching fire. Commodore Winfield Scott Schley led an American squadron of six to eight ships blockading the harbor and began to chase the Spanish down.

The American ships were better built and their crews better trained. Over the next couple of hours, Commodore Schley’s ships hammered the Spanish at very low cost to themselves. Cervera’s flagship, Infanta Maria Teresa, was destroyed and the Americans captured the Spanish admiral at sea. Every Spanish ship burned easily and the Americans won a victory as lopsided as the Naval Battle of Manila Bay. 323 Spaniards died, 151 were wounded, and roughly 1,700 were taken prisoner. Remarkably, American casualties amounted to one dead and one wounded.

The destruction of the Spanish fleet proved fatal for Spanish forces in the Caribbean. Hundreds of thousands of troops were stationed in Cuba and Puerto Rico, but their continued presence was only tenable if they could be supplied and reinforced by Spanish ships. Once Admiral Cervera’s ships were sunk, Madrid could not send supplies across the Atlantic, dooming its overseas garrisons. They had no choice but to sue for a peace that would mark the end of their overseas empire.

How 1898 Transformed the United States Into a Global Empire

Victory over Spain enabled the United States to become a major power in the Americas and the Pacific. The United States acquired territories covering over 115,000 square miles and displayed a knack for expeditionary warfare. On the other hand, Spanish power was degraded and the ensuing political instability in Madrid led indirectly to the Spanish Civil War. Gaining control over Guam and the Philippines (along with Hawaii in a separate process) enabled the United States to project its naval power across the Pacific. Even though the United States got stuck in an insurgency in the Philippines, few observers around the world doubted that America was a global power.

By removing the last vestiges of the Spanish Empire, the US effectively turned the Caribbean into an American lake, clearing the way for the eventual construction of the Panama Canal and ensuring American strategic dominance in the Western Hemisphere.

Since President Monroe formulated the Monroe Doctrine in 1823, the United States always sought to assert its influence over the whole American continent, and it now had a free hand to do so while Europe competed over control of Africa and Asia. The United States took control of Guantanamo Bay and established a naval base and a prison, which it still controls to this day. Additionally, the United States began deploying troops and ships to several Central American and Caribbean countries as part of its efforts to protect American property and business. While this strategy did backfire at times (the insurgency in Haiti and the Cuban Revolution of 1959), it affirmed the power that the United States continues to have over the region.

One of the most successful US military campaigns at the end of the 19th century was the conquest of Puerto Rico. Unlike the other battles to conquer Spanish-controlled territory, the seizure of Puerto Rico came at a low cost in lives and led to the US gaining control over a strategically significant territory.

Why Did the United States Invade Puerto Rico in 1898?

After the sinking of the USS Maine in Havana in February 1898, the United States declared war on Spain, taking the opportunity to occupy as many Spanish colonies as possible. Washington hoped to establish itself as a dominant force in the Western Hemisphere and to show Europe that its military was a force to be reckoned with. Its main targets were Cuba, Puerto Rico, the Philippines, and Guam.

Puerto Rico was a Spanish-controlled island that had long been on the radar of American policymakers as a strategic base. Unlike Cuba, it did not have an active revolution taking place there when the US invaded. In 1897, Spain decided to grant the island a degree of autonomy to avoid a repeat of the revolutions then convulsing what remained of the ailing Spanish empire.

The locals were divided: some wanted more autonomy or full independence, others supported the status quo. The economy was based almost entirely on agro-exports and life was difficult for most of the one million-or-so inhabitants. The population was a mix of Spanish-born peninsulares, island-born criollos, and a significant population of African descent, with slavery having been abolished only 25 years earlier in 1873.

The influential naval theorist Alfred Thayer Mahan argued for years that American control over Puerto Rico was crucial for American power projection. The Office of Naval Intelligence had been gathering information on Spanish defenses on the island since 1896. As early as 1894, the college began formulating plans for a war with Spain including an invasion of Puerto Rico. In the months before the landings, American spies traipsed the island to gather intelligence about Spanish manpower on the island.

How Did General Nelson A. Miles Execute the Guánica Landing?

After the American declaration of war, the US Navy began bombarding Spanish ports in Puerto Rico to prevent Spanish ships from attacking American transport ships heading for Cuba and Puerto Rico. From May to August, American warships launched salvos at the fortifications of San Juan, the island’s capital. Additionally, the US Navy devastated Spanish vessels sailing to intercept them. Over several months, two warships and several smaller steamships were sunk by the blockading American forces.

These successes enabled the Americans to prepare an amphibious assault against Spanish positions. The grizzled combat veteran Major General Nelson Miles was assigned command of an American force numbering around 16,000 men. He planned to land the vanguard of his forces on the southern part of the island in Guánica Bay.

Afterwards, he would launch a multi-pronged assault on San Juan. His force consisted of two divisions and several independent brigades of regulars and volunteers. The Spanish under Governor-General Manuel Macías y Casado had a similar number of men stationed all over the island, but many of their best troops had been sent to Cuba.

On July 25, a detachment of American sailors and marines seized the Guánica Lighthouse. American troops began to pour ashore, helped by the fact that most Spanish troops were on the northern part of the island. General Miles had disregarded his orders and his landing on the southern shore surprised both the Spanish and his own superiors. He advanced quickly towards the city of Ponce and continued to attack Spanish positions in southern Puerto Rico.

What Role Did Puerto Rican Civilians Play in the American Advance?

American forces were pleasantly surprised to be welcomed by the locals. Many Puerto Ricans had a poor standard of living and resented the declaration of martial law issued in 1898. While Spain had conceded autonomy and many Puerto Ricans served in Spanish uniform, Madrid never truly commanded the respect of the masses, while America was seen as a more successful, industrialized nation than Spain. The Cuban Revolutionary Party had a Puerto Rican section that encouraged pro-American sentiment on the island before the invasion.

After the occupation of Ponce, General Miles issued his “Proclamation to the Inhabitants of Porto Rico.” He declared that the United States was a liberating force that would protect local property and rights. Additionally, he promised that US forces would treat the civilian population well. Its benevolent tone and the correct behavior of US troops encouraged large numbers of locals to provide intelligence to the Americans. No major insurgency developed in the rear of General Miles’s forces. US troops found themselves liberally supplied with food and other necessities by gracious Puerto Ricans.

General Miles did face some challenges from the locals. A minority of islanders remained in Spanish ranks, either fighting pitched battles against the Americans or staging ambushes. Additionally, bands of peasants known as “Partidas Sediciosas” attacked major farms and stores due to the collapse of law and order. While these bands technically “helped” the Americans, they caused a problem because Miles did not want chaos to engulf the island while he seized it. He was forced to deploy troops to suppress these bands.

What Were the Major Battles of the Puerto Rican Campaign?

General Miles brought reinforcements ashore soon after seizing Ponce and divided his force into four columns. He planned to exploit the Spaniards’ confusion and use speed as a strategic weapon. All four columns were to unite outside San Juan for the final assault on the capital. Over the next several weeks, American and Spanish forces fought a series of engagements that led to the American conquest of the island.

On August 5, Brigadier General Peter C. Hains’s column moved east from Ponce to capture the port of Guayama. His men trounced a smaller Spanish force, but halted before formidable fortifications on Guamaní Heights. A couple of days later, Major General James H. Wilson fought one of the most intense engagements of the campaign when he conducted a multi-front offensive against Spanish positions at Coamo. Notwithstanding a slight failure to seize the lighthouse at Fajardo, American forces made steady progress towards San Juan.

As the US columns converged on the central mountain range, they faced their toughest test at Asomante, near Aibonito. For several days, American troops conducted reconnaissance of Spanish positions, aided by Puerto Rican scouts. On the morning of August 12, American troops under Colonel Samuel Reber attempted to storm Spanish artillery positions on the high ground. However, Spanish forces and local auxiliaries poured fire into the American attackers, forcing them to withdraw. Later that day, retreating Spanish forces were attacked on the Guacio River, leading to hundreds of casualties. On August 13th, a ceasefire was declared between both countries and Miles ordered his forces to halt before they could take control over San Juan.

How Did the Treaty of Paris Solidify American Control?

After conducting negotiations in France, American and Spanish diplomats made a peace agreement. On December 8, 1898, the Treaty of Paris was signed, ratifying a major victory for the United States. Spain was not only stripped of most of its overseas possessions, it also lost control over the Caribbean markets. The negotiations primarily concerned the future of Cuba and the Philippines, but the treaty’s provisions concerning Puerto Rico turned out to be very important for the island’s future.

Under Article II of the treaty, Spain officially ceded Puerto Rico to the United States. The US was granted full ownership of all former Spanish military installations and approximately 120,000 acres of public land previously owned by the Spanish Crown.

Crucially, Article IX of the treaty specified that the “civil rights and political status of the native inhabitants… shall be determined by the Congress.” This allowed the US to rule the island as an unincorporated territory indefinitely. This ambiguity caused significant problems because it allowed the United States to defer the decision on whether the island should be granted independence or statehood.

For the next couple of years, the US maintained a military occupation of the island. The US implemented freedom of speech, press, and religion, established an eight-hour workday for government employees, and abolished the government lottery. However, a major hurricane devastated the island, killing thousands and causing a mass exodus of islanders. The US passed the Foraker Act in 1900, transferring the island to civilian control. However, the Supreme Court ruled in the “Insular Cases” that Puerto Rico was a territory that could not be granted full statehood. These decisions polarized Puerto Rican opinion and led to campaigns to change Puerto Rico’s status.

The Legacy of the Puerto Rican Campaign

The invasion of Puerto Rico was a textbook amphibious assault by the United States that secured the island at minimal cost. General Nelson Miles highlighted his military competence by exploiting Spanish weaknesses and driving the enemy back repeatedly. He did this without the customary 3-to-1 numerical advantage that an attacker usually requires when assaulting a defending force. In doing so, he secured control over an island that still plays a crucial role in US defense policy.

Decisions by the United States over the following decades did not endear Washington to many Puerto Ricans. Despite American promises of liberty and economic advancement, much of the island’s public remained in poverty for decades, thanks to poor decisions from the island’s administrators and the wreckage from the hurricane. The “Insular Cases” made many islanders feel like second-class citizens. Additionally, much of the American public held deeply racist views towards Puerto Ricans.

In the decades that followed, the islanders made gains to reverse some of the decisions made by the US in the aftermath of the war. The Jones Act of 1917 granted Puerto Ricans US citizenship. In 1948, Luis Muñoz Marín became the first locally-elected governor. However, many hardliners continued demanding independence through force. The 1950s saw several terror attacks, including an attempted assassination of President Harry Truman.

Since the 1960s, Puerto Rican politics has been dominated by the rivalry between the PPD (pro-commonwealth) and the PNP (pro-statehood), with multiple non-binding referendums consistently showing a population deeply divided over its future. The US may have occupied the island in an efficient manner, but it has failed to identify a sustainable path forward for its residents.

Mexico never forgot the stain of 1836, but internal strife held back its hand from immediate reconquest. But Mexico never forgot, and in 1842 its armies once again marched over the Rio Grande in an effort to reclaim possession of Texas. The Texians, however, had something to say on that account.

The Renewed Mexican Threat

The fateful year of 1836 was on Sam Houston’s mind when he stood before the Congress of Texas as the Republic’s President. It had been an eventful one for him after all, crowned in glory with his victory over the Mexicans at San Jacinto, and the captivity of that nation’s political and military leader, Generalissimo Santa Anna. The geopolitical implications of his capture were monumental. At a stroke, Texas was hacked from the body of Mexico, its border pushed southward to encompass the northern banks of the Rio Grande. A national humiliation for the Mexican nation, and one Santa Anna himself would never forget.

But revenge would have to wait. Santa Anna’s was a Mexico in turmoil. The old Federal Republic had bound them together, but the growing authority of the militarists in Mexico City left many inclined to secede. The flames of rebellion spread far and wide as several states formed their own republics. On top of this, Mexico suffered the sting of foreign military interventions. Insults to French citizens, for example, led to a naval expedition descending upon Vera Cruz in 1838. In the subsequent fighting, Santa Anna, given command over Mexican forces, was blown from his horse. The loss of a leg led to his return to politics at a time when tensions with Texas began rising again.

Indeed, in addressing his fellow Texians in the last month of 1841, Houston warned that “Mexico…has, at no time since 1836, been in a position so favorable for annoying our country as at the present moment.” (Houston, p. 415).

Santa Anna’s return to power south of the Rio Grande was not the main reason. Instead, his cause for war rested largely upon the shoulders of the Texians. In the five years since its independence, the Lone Star Republic strutted about like a conqueror, for conquest was on its mind.

Grandiosely claiming lands as far afield as California, the Texians spent a considerable amount of time and effort in pursuit of a foreign policy that was questionable to say the least. With its modest navy, the Texians harassed Mexico’s coasts and shipping, backing separatists’ movements against Mexico City, whilst simultaneously attempting to gobble up Mexican territory in New Mexico. The final straw from the Mexican standpoint came in 1841, when an expedition a few hundred men strong under the auspices of Texas’s President Mirabeau B. Lamar attempted to take Santa Fe.

Marching hundreds of miles through the summer heat, poorly supplied, the Texians managed to reach Santa Fe before surrendering without firing a shot. They were lucky to be spared by their captors, but the entire episode illustrated the idiocy of the strategic overreach so common to the Lamar administration.

It was an overreach that now goaded Santa Anna to send an army north in an invasion that Sam Houston, duly reelected to a second term as Texas’s chief executive, had to deal with. And knowing the temperament of the average Texian in the field, it was enough to give him cause to shudder.

The Mexican Invasions of 1842

The United States Marine Corps prides itself on the notion that every Marine is a rifleman. The same could be said of the Texians in 1842. As a frontier region vulnerable to attack from Native Americans and Mexicans, the Republic of Texas could look nowhere else but to its own citizens in times of war.

Hailing overwhelmingly from the United States, Texians carried American traditions of civic militarism, enshrined in the Republic’s Constitution that called for all male citizens between the ages of 17 and 55 to be enrolled in the militia, and have himself armed and supplied for at least ten days’ service if necessary.

Like the minutemen who fought the British at Lexington and Concord, the Texians were citizen soldiers and prone to all the limitations that status entailed. Officers were elected, and the independent minded Texians baulked at military discipline. Their forces were accordingly varied in quality but capable of fighting with great ferocity.

Houston knew these limitations well. The San Jacinto campaign had shown him firsthand the lack of discipline so common to these citizen soldiers. Luck and bravery won the day then, but with the country imperiled, Houston urged upon his commanders that “proper respect to discipline will ensure to Texas a speedy riddance of our invaders,” (Houston, p. 491) regardless of how strong the Mexican forces may be.

In March 1842, 700 men under General Rafael Vasquez, arrived before San Antonio. Their arrival was enough to send its citizenry fleeing eastward, whilst Texian reinforcements were too late to assist the town’s garrison, who voted to withdraw rather than fight. But Vasquez’s foothold was given up just as quickly, and within days he had turned back south since he was too weak to retain San Antonio should the Texians appear in force.

While no more than a raid, it illustrated the ease with which Mexico could project power northward and the difficulties faced by the Texians in formulating a response. With no real standing army to hand, Texian volunteers could only be called up after the fact and rush to the frontier to do battle. This could take considerable time depending on where they were raised and where they had to go, and all without the benefit of modern transportation.

Yet Vasquez’s March assault thoroughly roused the Texians from their stupor. Having been unprepared in the spring, they would remain on the alert in the coming months. The big problem for Houston now became one of restraining his people’s warlike urges to go on the counterattack. Mexico had invaded their soil, occupied one of their towns, and sent their people fleeing in fear. Such an insult had to be met with force.

Houston sought no such offensive action, but bowed before the mounting public pressure to beg the United States for volunteers and money to assist in a limited offensive towards Corpus Christi. Gathering an army under James Davis, Adjutant General of the Army of Texas, the Texians occupied Fort Lipantitlan on the Nueces River. There, on July 7, 1842, Davis encountered a second Mexican invasion force.

Outnumbered three to one, the Texians stood firm, repulsing the invaders in a sharp action that many thereafter believed had ended Mexican incursions for good. Houston himself was amongst those lulled into a false sense of security and ordered the disbanding of the field army. But events were to prove this decision to be premature.

Salado Creek

Mid-September brought a surprise to the people of San Antonio. It came in the form of an army led by a general who had once fought in French uniform against Napoleon. After leaving his native France, Adrian Woll went to Mexico and served under Santa Anna in the 1836 campaign. In late August 1842, he was ordered to launch another campaign against Texas. Crossing the Rio Grande at Presidio, Woll marched a division of 1,400 men through the hills west of San Antonio and descended upon the startled town on September 11.

Once again San Antonio had fallen. But Woll made no real attempt to move beyond it in strength. For a week he held the town while Texians volunteers scrambled to respond. Chief respondent was Colonel Matthew Caldwell, veteran of Comanche raids and 1836, who mustered some two hundred men on Salado Creek, about seven miles distant from San Antonio.

Joining a handful of Texas Rangers under their leader, John Coffee Hays, Caldwell understood that his meager force could not hope to storm San Antonio in the face of Woll’s much larger army. However, he hoped to even the odds by luring them out to battle on the open prairie fronting the tree-lined creek.

Hays took up the task with another 20 riders. Their purpose was to ride up to the Mexican lines and goad their cavalry into a chase where an ambush lay in wait. Hays’s goading had the desired effect, and he found himself chased by most of Woll’s cavalry. This forced the Mexican general into an action he did not necessarily want yet was obliged to fight by his undisciplined horsemen.

Hays’s horsemen were almost ridden down by the Mexican cavalry, but they managed to rejoin Caldwell’s men, who were cooking beef when their exhausted comrades crashed in amongst them with half the Mexican army at their backs. Opening fire, Caldwell’s Texians drove the Mexican cavalry back just as Woll’s infantry appeared on the scene. Forming his men in line of battle, Woll answered Caldwell’s fusillades with musketry of his own, but his men proved largely unwilling to close upon the Texian position.

When he eventually managed to cajole them forward, the Mexican advance stalled in the face of Caldwell’s fire. Under cover as they were, the Texian rifles easily outdistanced the muskets of their foes. Caldwell didn’t have to move a muscle to inflict damage whilst Woll’s command either had to advance or withdraw from the exposed prairie. When his attack failed, Woll decided to disengage and withdrew back into San Antonio.

But things had not all gone Caldwell’s way. Whilst his main force was engaging Woll, a company of volunteers hurrying to join him were caught out in the open by Mexican cavalry and promptly slaughtered. Known as the Dawson Massacre, it is often treated as a separate event from the Battle of Salado Creek, but the two are inextricably linked. Even so, Woll’s losses, close to 60 men killed or wounded, was enough to spoil the general’s taste for further fighting.

In a matter of days, he evacuated San Antonio for good. For the third time that year, a Mexican army retreated southward.

Consequences

The various raids into Texas in the year of 1842 were to be Mexico’s last against the Republic of Texas, but the Texians would have the last say. Encouraged by their victory at Salado, the public once again demanded Houston go on the offensive. Forced to oblige, the President raised a force to march on the Rio Grande and show the flag. Stepping beyond its waters was not in the President’s plan.

The men on the ground did so anyway, carrying the war into Mexico itself. These men, operating outside of Houston’s authority, were ultimately brought to bear in the town of Mier, where after a fierce action they surrendered. The Texians in captivity were forced to draw beans from a sack, and those who drew black ones were shot by Mexican firing squads in a notorious episode known forevermore as the black bean incident.

The incident showed there was no love lost between the two republics. But within three years, the conflict changed irrevocably as Texas was annexed by the United States, bringing its land dispute with Mexico to the very halls of Congress in Washington. These halls brimmed with the spirit of Manifest Destiny, a spirit that was to soon annex all of Mexico’s territory north of the Rio Grande at the point of the sword.

Source

• The Writings of Sam Houston 1813-1863: Volume II, July 16, 1814 – March 31, 1842, eds. Amelia W. Williams and Eugene C. Baker. (Austin: The University of Texas Press, 1939).