Someone Catch This Pīlum

So, this was an era when you could walk around and run someone through with a sword if they annoyed you too much. I mean, we’re not talking about outright murder here, although that certainly went on, but under the guise of “being civilized” any offending chap could get a lance to the kisser if he offended ones honor.

“You, sir! This tea is tepid! Prepare to be skewered!”

But we’re not talking about Europe here, we’re talking about Japan; Feudal Japan. Although I dare say that a cold cuppa would get the hackles up and result in someone losing a head, Japan managed to take “being upset” into a fine art form. Honor could be slighted if someone looked at you funny, said something in a less than perfect manner, or happened to be semi-related to a guy from two hundred years ago, who happened to walk past a donkey, which belonged to a bloke, who once sat opposite a guy, who upset your great, great, great grandfather.

Anyway, it’s complex.

But into this little boiling pot of “just give me a reason to tetsubo your face,” one very good reason  for spilling blood was if you felt that the person you were about to shank thought that he was tougher than you. Yup, some dude thinks he’s all-that in the scrapping department and you think you’re tougher? Kick the living crap out of him and prove otherwise.

Enter the Michael J. White of this era: Miyamoto Musashi, AKA Shinmen Takezō, AKA Miyamoto Bennosuke, AKA Niten Dōraku, AKA Your Neck My Sword Let’s Do This.

AD 69 | The Batavian Rebellion – The Civilis Revolt 

 The Empire of Rome: spreading their civilization and parasites everywhere it wasn’t wanted; planting flags in everything that didn’t belong to them, and then subsequently running around with 5,000 thugs to beat the snot out of anyone who didn’t like the new regime.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the Romans – bit of a fangirl, you could say – but not everyone appreciated the fish sauce and subsequent taxes that came with it; unrest was pretty common. And back then “unrest” wasn’t worth the trouble unless it came at the end of a 6 foot wooden haft and a Roman-skull-skewering metal point.

The Batavian Rebellion was one of the most successful uprisings, and yet I wouldn’t blame you if you had never heard of it. It doesn’t tend to get much limelight, but it should, because within this juicy story there are Romans getting the civilization kicked out of them, Romans fighting other Romans, disgruntled legions, grown men crying, and plenty of “whoah, that’s messed up” moments.

On This Day in History, December 7th 1941 | Pearl Harbor. December 8th? America Declared War on Japan: http://www.catchthispilum.com/december-8th-1941-america-declares-war-on-japan/

Seventy years ago America declared war on Japan, but this wasn’t “The World Police” picking on the little guy here, because – perhaps oddly, with some hindsight – Japan started it. But why the heck would a little island all the way over there pick a scrap with one of the largest countries in the world?Well this is the Second World War, and Germany has just ripped off its t-shirt and is currently body slamming the entire freaking world, so … why not?

You see the problem for Japan is one of natural resources: coal, natural gas, rubber, oil, and minerals; Japan has none of those things. Japan has fish and weird TV shows.Now if you happened to own a country with such a deficit in resources, one possible solution would be to trade for them, and Japan certainly did that in spades. But another possible solution would be to invade the living shit out of resource rich countries and take them by force, and Japan did that a fair bit, as well.

There have been a lot of battles throughout history, and whether they were the result of petty arguments, disagreements, or other – more meaningful – aggravations, they all have one thing in common: they affected the subsequent area, people, and timeline thereafter in some way. The scale on which those butterfly effects rippled through time varies, however; sometimes considerably so. A random border dispute – even between major armies – might not change the strategic or political landscape that greatly, and while one of the casualties may have gone on to change the world in some respects, generally speaking this type of engagement doesn’t change much outside of the immediate geographical area and timeframe. And then sometimes battles affect a much greater arena; perhaps entire royal families come and go, or countries disappear into the sands of time. And sometimes the outcome of a battle affects everything, everywhere, and is felt for hundreds – or thousands – of years.

Actium is such a battle.

This is the time of Caesar; the same fellow who found himself on the senate floor in a pool of his own blood, and a bunch of mates surrounding him, holding daggers, and wearing guilty-looking expressions. The problem was that Caesar was actually a pretty popular fellow with the lower classes of Rome, and you can’t just bump-off someone like that without repercussions. Which perfectly played into the political machinations of Mark Anthony as he used the power of the mob to oust the assassins and put them to flight, thus ushering in his own power move, right?

There was a catch: Caesar had named his grandnephew – and recently adopted son – Gaius Octavius as his sole heir. And you know what you get when you are Caesar’s son and heir to everything? A fat wad of cash the size of a Kardashian posterior, that’s what. Octavian instantly became one of the wealthiest citizens in the Republic, inherited the loyalty of the Roman populace, and – despite being a mere 18 years of age – he proved to have considerable political skills. Anthony was going to have to put his schemes to take Rome for himself on hold; he and Octavian combined forces, tucked a handsome army into their knapsacks, and headed east to kick the living cack out of Brutus and Cassius Longinus as a righteous “Caesar was our friend, you tools!”

Things were different back in the Middle Ages on so, so many levels. You didn’t get to vote your leaders in, they pretty much decided themselves. Well, that is if other country leaders allowed them to. You see, these were not lawless times … there were processes and agreements … and by-and-large the rule of the day was: if you die, your oldest son takes the reins. And it doesn’t get any simpler than that, right?

Except things can get messy, real fast, if blood legitimacy, the lack of a son, a son by from a casual fling in the hay, previous promises from generations prior, or IOU notes are brought into the mix. Suddenly “my eldest son,” becomes “what, that bastard child from the farmhand? My ass he’s taking the crown! Anyway, it was promised to my uncle Phil six generations back, so I’m cashing in!”

nd thus we find ourselves in the early part of Medieval times; times in which English rulers – following the Norman conquest of 1066 – are vassals of France for anything that they happened to own in France; yeah, you’re a king over THERE, but the minute to come and hang out playing croquet in Gascony, you’re my VASSAL, and you’ll damn well kiss my feet.

And then you have the whole problem that French aristocracy spent way too much time stealing back everything that belonged to England that used to have a French flag in it; “Guyenne? Ours now, get your arse back across the channel!”

Let’s just say that the situation was … tense.

“But what has this got to do with birthright and such?” I hear you ask. Well …

Through his mother, Isabella of France, Edward III of England was the grandson of Philip IV and nephew of Charles IV, both of France. Which means that the English king had some mighty fine French royal blood pumping through those veins of his. Shoot, if something were to happen to Charles IV, well old Edward III would have a GREAT claim on the throne, right?

Well Charles did die.

And he died without a male heir.

And with him the senior lineage of the House of Capet went with him.

France had a succession issue.

But … but hold on a second! He had a 1 year old daughter, Mary, surely she coul-NOPE! You see, France passed a law twelve years prior that forbid “the wimmen folk” from being eligible to succeed to the throne, so Mary could never become queen. France still had a problem.

But wait, all was not lost! His wife – Jeanne – was pregnant with his child when his passed, so holy heck in a handbasket, there was hope that she would have a boy! Philip of Valois – the next most senior branch of the Capetian dynasty – was set up as the heir presumptive, and the country sat on their hands for the next two months in wild anticipation of the royal birth.

*bites knuckles* I’m excited.

“It’s a GIRL!!!!!”

Oh … poo.

So, Philip became the King of France, there was wild rejoicing, lots of bunting, a few drinks, and the Medieval times rolled on as peaceful as a Barry Manilow concert.

1785, and a fledgling America has a bit of a problem: the Barbary corsairs were making a right royal pain in the ass of themselves. Sure, the 17th Century was the height of their pirating-like ways, but even as late as 1785, they were proving to be a nuisance to the rest of the world. Operating out of the ports Salé, Algiers, Tunis, and Tripoli; the Mediterranean was not a safe place to be plowing a merchant vessel through, or – for that matter – a place to live on the coast, lest you find yourself in shackles and sold off as a slave.

Let’s just say that the Mediterranean was not a particularly safe place to strap on some waterwings and take a dip.

Or West Africa’s entire Atlantic seaboard.

Or the North Atlantic.

Or even South America, for that matter.

Basically, if you were a modern, forward-thinking country, and you wanted to sail your rich little cargo over to someone willing to buy it, odds on back then, it might get intercepted by the Barbary corsairs and half-hitched into their floating bags-of-holding. Your lewts, they belongs to them. kthxbye.

And this was a right royal pain in the bank account for America. In 1793 alone, eleven American ships were captured and their crews and stores held for ransom, and that’s not the type of thing that you can balance out in your Excel spreadsheet. This was a serious problem, serious enough to get the big-wigs in Independence Hall all of a do as they considered what the heck they were going to do about it.

They decided on six of these guys:

Now, granted, this may not look like much … your run of the mill frigate with enough firepower to give a Barbary pirate pause for concern … but looks can be ever-so deceiving.

The designer of this fine looks vessel was one Joshua Humphreys, and Humphreys had a bold plan in mind. You see, while the older, more established European countries were floating around in 100-gun vessels such as this:

She has 112 freaking guns of face-ripping hell.

Humphreys’ vision was this:

Long, slim, fast as a little jack rabbit, and yet armed like a rabid American gun-nut riding an eagle.

‘Murica

The design was never intended to go toe-to-toe with a 1st Rate ship of the line – against those she’d escape as fast as the winds could carry her – but against anything of her size, she’d rip them a whole new one.

I don't often write about the American Civil War, but when I do, I write about the first Manassas/Bull Run:

http://www.catchthispilum.com/july-21st-1861-the-battle-of…/

Union forces take picnic baskets and march down to Virginia to lay down a little Northerner whoop-ass.

“Hello, do you have time to talk about our brand of Christianity?”

Okay … if you’ve been following battles during the Medieval era, you would know that pretty much any old reason was good enough to throw down you pint, pick up a mace, and start caving in skulls like brain-stucco was going out of fashion. But one of the best reasons for killing someone has been, and – apparently – will always will be: religion; because nothing says “our god loves you” more than a 14 foot lance through the neck.

And in one of Europe’s largest medieval conflicts, with far reaching repercussions across territory and subsequent centuries, the Battle of Grunwald was quite significant.

Sorry, “the Battle of Zalgiris,” in Lithuania. Or the “Battle of Tannenberg” in Germany. Pssssh, it’s hard pleasing everyone here!

Enter: the Teutonic Knights.

You know, it's not often that I get to write about the English getting their asses handed to them. Granted, it happened plenty of times throughout history (#Romans, lolz), but occasionally there was a special ass-drubbing ... the type of ass-paddling that they actually deserved. Bannockburn is such an example. http://www.catchthispilum.com/june-24th-1314-the-battle-of-bannockburn/ Not only did they totally set this up 18 years prior with some asshole political moves, but on the day itself ... well ... let's just say that you don't take a completely superior force and wedge it into a narrow bit of boggy land with a river to your back. History has shown us that this doesn't work. Clearly Edward II was not a book reader. And here's to you, my fine, Scottish friends, because at Bannockburn you rocked it.

Napoleon, after rampaging around Europe in an effort to guard the principles of democracy and revolution – oh, and self-appointing himself as emperor at the same time – was slapped down and finally thrown into exile at Elba.

It lasted 9 months.

When he returned, the coalition against him – basically Europe – face-palmed, gathered up their men again, and promptly had a party.

Napoleon – not being invited – scooped up enough men to stomp faces into puree, and headed into Belgium to gate-crash, get drunk, and generally ruin the evening.

The forces arranged against him were impressive; like: “you’re going to fucking get annihilated” impressive. But he was a smart cookie, and he had a plan: drive a wedge between Wellingtons British/Dutch Allies and that of Blücher’s Prussians, elbow Blücher like some sort of French assassin, and then kick Wellington in the happy-sack all the way back to Antwerp.

Initial results had been, well, mixed.

At Quatre Bras, Ney had failed to secure the crossroads or spare forces to turn on the simultaneous battle at Ligny, where Napoleon gave Blücher the ol’ one-two and sent him scurrying, but he failed to smash the Prussians into pieces. He also underestimated their ability – and swiftness – to recover.

So with Wellington’s British amassing, Blücher licking his wounds off to the East, and Napoleon all up in the middle of it and spoiling for a fight, something, somewhere had to go down, and it had to go down fast.

It just so happened that Wellington knew where that was going to be and it was turf he had scouted out a full year before.

Waterloo ... Read the full write-up here

On This Day In History, exactly 200 years ago, Napoleon threw down the gauntlet to the allied forces arranged in front of him. And by "threw down the gauntlet," I mean "started kicking them in the wedding tackle."

His objective was simple: aside from just causing them outright pain and making them cry and run for mummy, he had to keep the Brits and the Prussians apart. This would allow him to destroy them piecemeal, point to the Russians, and say "you next, twathead."

He sent Marshall Ney to the west and the vital crossroads of Quatre Bras. The orders were simple: take the crossroads, stop Wellington and his forces from joining the Prussians, while I [Napoleon] kick the living shite out of Blucher. http://www.catchthispilum.com/june-16th-1815-the-battle-of-quatre-bras/

While mere miles away - at exactly the same time - Napoleon eyed the ever massing Prussian forces along the Ligny stream with the intent of arm-barring the shit out of them. http://www.catchthispilum.com/june-16th-1815-the-battle-of-ligny/

All he needed was to know that he flank was secure at Quatre Bras so he could get the show rolling.

What was keeping Ney so busy over there? Why could he not hear the sounds of battle already?

With the Prussians in retreat after Ligny, the French sent their hound dog after them to smash what was left: Grouchy.

And by "hound dog" I mean "sloth."

And by "smash" I mean "have a nice breakfast and lazy morning."

Needless to say, Grouchy wasn't super effective at keeping Prussians and British apart.

>> Read More

No, seriously, like “more” as in a full-on article ... you know, that whole reading thing we used to do back in the day. It has pictures, too. You should click it just to see the pictures. And maybe click on one of the many other “history is fucking amazing” stories. And share it with your friends.

Occurring at exactly the same time as Quatre Bras to the west, the battle of Ligny was the main battle between French and Prussians, as Marshal Blücher was determined to bring the French git to heel (and see him hanged!), while Napoleon was determined to trap the Prussian army and utterly destroy it.

Both sides looked to the west for help in this regard.

Both would be disappointed.

Brussels, June 15th. The Allies have learned of Napoléons escape from Elba and – somewhat aghast and appalled – they had branded him an outlaw; they cannot allow Europe to once again fall under his rule or for the revolutionary ways of France to infect the rest of the peasant-folk. With over 200,000 men amassed in Western Europe and an avalanche of bear riding Serbian mayhem coming in from the east under the Russian banner, the Coalition has Napoléon utterly, and absolutely outnumbered. With memories of just a year ago, in which the Allies had face-smashed the French from all sides of the playground, there was a general sense of “well then, let’s do that again!” in the air.

And what do you do when you are facing Europe’s biggest neck-puncher and his army of 12lb cannon balls? Well you have a party of course!

Read More: http://www.catchthispilum.com/june-16th-1815-the-battle-of-quatre-bras/

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The Battle of the Atlantic was the longest continuous military campaign of World War II. It was effectively a royal blockade and counter blockade that ran for the entire length of the war, and an ongoing game of “shove your tonnage right up your jacksey.”

Now it doesn’t really matter at this point whether the Allies or the Axis were having the best of it, what’s important is that the more the Axis managed to put big guns and torpedoes into the Atlantic Ocean, the less supplies would come through to Britain and Russia; the more ships that managed to slip out from Germany held Europe, past whatever naval blockades, and into the open oceans – where they could prowl largely untouched – well … let’s just say that this wouldn’t be a good thing.

Enter ... the Bismarck.

Read the rest (at my brand new, spanking, pretty, site):

Napoléon looked about him: it was a fine island, with clear waters, good mines, and a people who just loved to be ruled. He'd improved their mining, agriculture, taught law to lawyers, science to scientists, religion to Popes, and sex to the sex-kittens; he was a stud among studs, a bro among bros. Under his rule Elba now had a small fleet - amazing considering that he was kinda meant to be a prisoner - and has a small contingent of soldiers training every day on the marshalling fields.

Hold on .. wait a second ... the last we left this fellow, he was a prisoner on the Island of Elba; what do you mean "he has a small contingent of armed forces and a f*&king small fleet?"

Well, apparently, the Allies were not paying close attention to old Boney, because when they gave him an island to rule over, Nap' took the charge pretty damn seriously.

But this was Elba, and the population of 12,000 was a far cry from the former empire of 70 MILLION.

He sighed and skipped a stone across the clear waters of the Med'.