History That Doesn't Suck - 54: The Best Opening Scenes in HTDS History

Episode Date: December 23, 2019

“Our top spot goes to …” This is the story of stories (yeah, super “meta”). You know regular HTDS episodes always start with a cold open. You probably have a favorite. So do we. Today, Greg and Cielle count down their top seven favorite openings, from George Washington’s loss at Fort Necessity to our current point in the Civil War. It’s a peek into the minds behind HTDS, a bit of nostalgia for long-time listeners, and the perfect HTDS introduction for the newly initiated. Enjoy, and Happy New Year! ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

From the creators of the popular science show with millions of YouTube subscribers comes the MinuteEarth podcast. Every episode of the show dives deep into a science question you might not even know you had, but once you hear the answer, you'll want to share it with everyone you know. Why do rivers curve? Why did the T-Rex have such tiny arms? And why do so many more kids need glasses now than they used to? Spoiler alert, it isn't screen time. Our team of scientists digs into the research and breaks it down into a short, entertaining explanation, jam-packed with science facts and terrible puns. Subscribe to MinuteEarth wherever you like to listen.

What did it take to survive an ancient siege? Why was the cult of Dionysus behind so many slave revolts in ancient Rome? What's the tragic history and mythology behind Japan's most haunted ancient forest? We're Jen and Jenny from Ancient History Fangirl. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and as in the classroom, my goal here is to make rigorously researched history come to life as your storyteller. Each episode is the result of laborious research with no agenda other than making the past come to life as you learn. If you'd like to help support this work, receive ad-free episodes, bonus content, and other exclusive perks, I invite you to join the HTDS membership program. Sign up for

a 7-day free trial today at htdspodcast.com slash membership, or click the link in the episode notes. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. Or a few stories, as the case may be. Today I'm here with C.L. Salazar, my partner in crime. Hey guys! And we are counting down the top seven openings, in our subjective opinion, that we've ever done here on History That Doesn't Suck. Yeah, it's the top seven from our whole catalog because top 10 was already taken.

Yeah, it's way too cliche. So we're going to start with seven. We'll count down to number one. In number seven, we decided that this would go to episode 36, The Mexican-American War Part Four, Los Niños Errores, St. Patrick's Battalion, and the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. This is a fascinating, often overlooked story from a really rather forgotten and overlooked war. And this episode of mostly Irish, but larger European Catholic immigrants who joined the US Army then defected the Mexican Army, it explores a lot of issues about identity, faith, and really we thought it was fantastic and hope you enjoy it. It's just after sunrise on the morning of September 9th, 1847, as armed guards march 23 prisoners of war toward the Plaza de San Jacinto in San Angel, Mexico. It's a miserable sight. Dirt and grime from their final, valiant fight at the Battle of Churubusco three weeks back still cling to their torn blue uniforms and pale faces.

Struggling to maintain balance with their hands tightly bound, their feet slip as they walk on cobblestone roads, made slick by the morning's rain. Soon, though, they see what their forced march is about. Among the plaza's lovely trees and its nearby rose-colored colonial church is a 40-foot-long, 14-foot-tall gallows. Each of its 16 swaying ropes ends in a hangman's noose. This is the end for these captured soldiers of St. Patrick's Battalion. Or should I say, Batallón de San Patricio? Because, to be clear, the condemned are primarily Irish and other Catholic Europeans

who immigrated to the United States and joined the U.S. Army, but then defected to fight for Mexico. See, much of primarily Protestant America has become unnerved by the spike in recent years of Catholic immigration, and that's resulted in many Americans developing some serious anti-Catholic sentiment. Sadly, some U.S. Army officers haven't proven immune to this prejudice. As they harassed the immigrant Catholic soldiers under their command through excessive corporal punishment, or even denying them much-needed medical attention, unspecified hundreds slowly defected to predominantly Catholic Mexico.

Once there, the Mexican military gladly organized these Catholic, often Irish soldiers, into an army unit named after Ireland's patron saint. They fought fiercely for Mexico until their recent capture. But the U.S. Army doesn't see their captives as heroes who stood up for their dignity and faith. They see turncoats, traitors, deserters. And to that end, they'll make the men of St. Patrick's Battalion pay to the fullest extent possible under U.S. law. And today, that means death by hanging for 16 of them. For the other seven present, that means 50 lashes and branding with a hot cattle iron. The 16 are herded to the gallows

and forced as pairs into the back of eight wagons, each of which sits under two nooses. Meanwhile, guards tie the other seven to trees in the plaza as hired Mexican mule drivers, armed with one of the cruelest, most damaging whips ever dreamt up by man, the knotted, rawhide cat-of-nine-tails, take their places behind them. Now I need to tell you that one of the men tied to a tree is John Riley. This physically imposing 6'2 Irishman with blue eyes and black hair is the commander of St. Patrick's Battalion.

He recruited many of its members. He's the reason it even exists. So as you can imagine, many in the U.S. Army see him not just as a deserter, but as the man personally responsible for all the American blood spilt and lives taken by this highly effective battalion. So while the specifics of his case prevent him from receiving a death sentence, General David Twiggs, who's present and overseeing the battalion's hangings and floggings, is offering a bonus if a mule-driving flogger manages to kill John with his 50 lashes. One, the general exclaims. the seasoned mule drivers now use their cat of nine tails to expertly rip the flesh from the seven men's backs john doesn't make a sound two

three general twigs pauses between each lash. The slower he counts, the greater the chance John and the others might bleed to death. Around the 20th lash, the American commander even claims to lose count and in the process adds nine extra lashes to the 50 called for by law. Whoops. As the whipping continues, the mule drivers show their efficacy. One U.S. Army captain present today will later write, Why those thus punished did not die under such punishment was a marvel to me. Their backs had the appearance of a pounded piece of raw beef,

the blood oozing from every stripe as given. Close quote. Pain-induced shrieks rend the air, but none come from John. Despite the best efforts of his assailant, the Irishman never makes a peep. With 59 lashes administered and John still breathing,

General Twiggs now moves to the next part of the punishment, branding. U.S. soldiers press the faces of the bloodied, battered seven against their respective trees, then apply the piping hot cattle brands shaped into the letter D for deserter into each man's left cheek. Again, screams follow. And again, none belong to John Riley. The scent of charred flesh fills the air as General Twiggs inspects the brandings.

When he gets to John, he notices the soldier branded the D upside down, and that will not do. The general pronounces that John will be rebranded, even if the soldier has to, quote, burn his damned head off. Close quote. The two-inch letter D now sears the Irishman's right cheek, and this is it. Finally, after 59 lashes and two third-degree burns on his face, John lets out a scream. He then passes out cold as U.S. soldiers mock him for not being so tough after all. But we aren't done. They throw cold water on John, bringing him back to the land of the living only so they can drag his half-dead body toward the gallows. Ah, right, the gallows. General Twiggs hasn't executed the 16 men standing in the wagons yet. He wanted to ensure that their last experience on

earth would be watching the flogging and branding of their brothers-in-arms and commander. Now the shoe's on the other foot. The bloodied, branded seven are dropped front and center so they can watch their friends hang. Catholic clergy see to the men's last rites. U.S. soldiers cover the condemned's faces with white caps, descend from the mule-drawn wagons, and then... 15 necks break instantly, but one poor soul slowly suffocates. It's John Reilly's best friend, Patrick Dalton. And all the bleeding, branded John can do is watch. Patrick and six of the other dead are taken to a cemetery for burial. Meanwhile, the seven flogged, branded, and still bleeding men are forced to dig graves right then and there for the other nine dead. With this task completed, one final thing remains. Pipers now strike up the shameful air known as the Rogue's March

as other U.S US soldiers hold John and the other six men to the ground and shave their heads with straight blades. And with that, the day's humiliation, punishments, and executions are over. John and his six men are thrown back in jail. The execution of others from St. Patrick's Battalion will wait for another day. That is a heavy story. And we're going to bring you another heavy story. In the number six spot, we have episode 30, The Oregon Trail.

This clip gives a glimpse into some of the hardships of pioneer life. It tells the story of a pregnant mom losing one of her children and having to move on down the trail. So get your tissues ready. And if you need a little levity, the episode is full of gratuitous mentions of our favorite late 80s computer game, The Oregon Trail. So you'll have to give the whole episode a listen, but there you go. Enjoy. Salida Jane Henderson, more familiarly known as Letty, just wants a taste. It's only fair.

Her big sister, 11-year-old Lucy, took a sip. Lucy's friends did too. So, in the timeless tradition of younger siblings wanting to mimic what older brothers or sisters are doing in order to feel big too, Lettie must insist. Why can't she? Well, let's be clear.

Lucy and her friends shouldn't have tried the laudanum. Older or not, it's never a good idea to take medicine unnecessarily. But kids are curious, so they each took a small taste and, ugh, it tasted nasty. By the way, you might remember this opium-based treatment was administered to Thomas Jefferson as he lay on his deathbed in episode 27 because this stuff doesn't just taste gross, it's potent. You can't have any of it, Lucy tells Letty. Good call, Lucy. Sure, she's playing the do as I say, not as I do card, but come on, we've all been

there and Lucy's still quite little herself. I'm just glad she's refusing to give any to her even littler sister. But the precocious, determined girl won't be told what to do. It's hard not to develop an independent spirit out here in, well, wherever here is, somewhere in the American Northwest. It's 1846, and Lettie's family has faced down the elements, illness, and hunger while traveling hundreds of miles across unforgiving terrain with their party. So no, Lettie's not going to let this go so easily.

As soon as Lucy walks off elsewhere in the camp, Lettie grabs the bottle of laudanum kept in the bag that's hanging from a nail on the sideboard of their family's wagon and drinks it. Ah, she drinks all of it. Little Lettie suddenly feels wiped out. It's not bedtime, but she can barely keep her eyes open. This isn't normal.

Something's wrong, and I think she knows it. So Lettie does what so many little children do when something's off. She goes to her mom, who's cooking at the campfire. Now, I can only imagine how her mom, Rhoda Henderson, feels. Not only has it been another long day on the trail, which is already tough, she's also nine months pregnant and has to prepare dinner. You know, I'm quite aware of what it's like to work a long day and come home to children who need you the moment you step through the door.

I'm sure many of you do too, but I won't pretend for a second that I have any idea how drained nine-month-pregnant pioneer Rhoda is. That's why I'm really sympathetic to the trail-traveling expectant mother for not asking, why are you so tired, lady? And somehow, against all odds, playing detective well enough to realize her baby girl has a whole bottle of laudanum in her system. Instead, busy, physically and mentally exhausted Rhoda responds, run off and don't bother me. So Leti does, but she's so sleepy. She finds the beds, lays down and falls asleep. Leti, dinner. Rhoda calls out when the meal is finally prepared. No response. Rhoda searches and finds her little one in a deep sleep.

Ah, best not to bother the girl, she figures, and rejoins the rest of the family. She returns after dinner. Huh, Letty's still out cold. Okay, this nap's lasted too long. Rhoda goes to wake her young daughter. In my head, I can picture the young mother crouching down despite the discomfort of her large, full-term, skin-stretched belly to nudge her girl. No response. So she nudges harder, maybe muttering, come on, Letty, time to get up, while doing so. Still no response. What? I imagine the annoyance turning to panic, the nudges becoming hard, visceral shakes, as Rhoda shrieks of Lettie, Lettie! Cut through the evening sky. It's too late. The bottle of laudanum has lulled little Lettie to an eternal slumber. My heart breaks just trying to imagine the pain that Rhoda, her husband Robert,

and the four surviving Henderson children must be feeling right now. To lose their little Lettie so early in life, and to do so out here, where they'll likely never be able to visit her grave. Her probably shallow and likely to be disturbed by the elements or foragers grave. I imagine the sobs, the simultaneous prayers and curses ascending to the heavens. Robert takes the black walnut boards they use for a table and makes a coffin for his daughter, then buries her, as Lucy tells us, quote, by the roadside in the desert, close quote. It's devastating, but between illness, the elements, wild animals,

fighting, and just straight-up accidents, death is all too common of a tale out here. Only three days after Letty's death, the Hendersons slowed down their company once again. Rhoda's in labor. There, in the dirty, unsterile conditions of the desert, she gives birth to a baby girl, Olivia. But no rest for the weary.

Lucy reports that her mother gave birth while they, quote, stopped for a few hours. Close quote. See, this journey's already months behind schedule, so company members could die of exposure if they don't finish the journey before winter really hits. Rhoda lays in the covered wagon, grieving Letty, bleeding, clinging to merely hours old Olivia as the off-road path their fragile bodies. To quote Lucy again, we were the first party to take the southern cutoff and there was no road. The men walked beside the wagons and tried to ease the wheels down into the rough places. In spite of this, it was a very rough ride for my mother and her newborn babe. Close quote. Such is life and death on the Oregon Trail. Yeah, that's a sad one. My wife actually turned that episode off and

had to tell me I'm not allowed to write such sad openings anymore. Unfortunately, history doesn't really, alas, care. Sorry to my wife. Moving along, though, in number five, we have an episode whose title plays off of the title of one of Frederick Douglass's three autobiographies. This is episode 38, The Early Life and Times of Frederick Douglass. And this tells the story of his early life in Maryland and escape from slavery before becoming a lifelong advocate of equal rights for all Americans, regardless of race or sex. We consider him a true American hero, and think you'll agree after hearing this clip. It's an early summer morning, and an enslaved Maryland teenager named Frederick

is out in the stables feeding horses. At this precise moment, he is, as he'll later write, Frederick doesn't detail that any further, but I'm picturing the young man at the top of a ladder, several feet off the ground, reaching into the loft for grass or hay, when suddenly, someone seizes his legs and pulls him down, slamming him to the floor. Damn, who does that? It's the teen's wiry, greenish, gray-eyed master, Edward Covey. And as Frederick tries to suck wind amid the pain flowing through his body, Edward gleefully pulls out rope and starts tying a slipknot around the injured youth's legs. Okay, time out. Here's some background. Frederick's actual master is Thomas Auld,

but he's renting Frederick to Edward for the year. We're currently about eight months into this quote-unquote renting of Frederick, putting us in August 1834. Frederick won't recall today's exact date, but he'll always remember it's a Monday. That's because it was Friday afternoon when overworked and likely suffering from heat exhaustion, Frederick fainted while fanning, that is seed cleaning, some wheat. Edward responded by repeatedly kicking Frederick in the side and instructing him to get up. That of course didn't work, so Edward took a slat of hickory wood and cracked him over the head. Now, Edward beats Frederick weakly, but fearing for his life this time, Frederick somehow managed to get up and walk barefoot through flesh-tearing briars

to his actual master's home seven miles away and ask for protection. Thomas Auld was mortified when he saw blood-soaked Frederick, but after the shock wore off, he assured Frederick that Edward is a, quote, good man, industrious, and religious, close quote, who would never kill him. Besides, Tom explained, he'd lose the rent money, so if Frederick didn't go back, Tom would beat him instead. So Frederick went back. Well, a slave named Sandy Jenkins hid him on Saturday, but Frederick returned on Sunday when falsely pious Edward acted like everything was fine. And that brings us back to the horse-feeding, loft-reaching Frederick being thrown to the ground

and tied around the legs this undated Monday morning. But as Edward works the ropes around his young rented slave's legs, Frederick recovers enough from his violent contact with the stable floor to kick free. He then grabs Edward by the throat. Hard. To quote Frederick, I held him, uneasy, causing the blood to run where I touched him with the ends of my fingers. Close quote. Are you going to resist, you scoundrel? Edward asks, trembling with fear. Yes, sir.

Frederick, who knows full well the law is not on his side, coolly responds. Edward answers by screaming for help, and his cousin, William Hughes, appears. Now, to this point, Frederick's tried to play defense. He's still holding Edward's throat to keep him from attacking. But as this becomes two on one, Frederick has to take the offense. When attacking, William tries to tie up his right hand. Frederick makes use of the only free appendages he has, his legs, and kicks the cousin square on the ribs. That's it for William. Bent over in pain, he taps out, leaving Edward to fend for himself. You mean to persist in your resistance? Fearful and choked, Edward inquires. I do, come what might. You have used me like a brute for six months and I am determined to be used so no longer. Frederick boldly replies.

Okay then, all chips in. Frederick's iron grip still on him, Edward pulls the teen toward the stable doors and reaches for a stick. Screw that, Frederick grabs at him with both hands, bringing him to the ground in the cow yard. At this point, a hired-out slave named Bill happens along. Still locked in a mutual grip with Frederick, Edward calls to him for help.

What shall I do, Mr. Covey? Bill asks. Let's note that Frederick tells us Bill, quote, knew precisely what Covey wished him to do, close quote, but, to continue quoting, affected ignorance, close quote. Well played, Bill. Well played. Take hold of him! Take hold of him! Edward hollers. Indeed, Mr. Covey, I want to go to work, Bill replies. This is your

work. Take hold of him, Edward angrily utters. My master hired me here to work and not to help you whip Frederick, Bill replies. Bill, don't put your hands on me, Frederick chimes in. My God, Frederick, I ain't going to touch ye. And with that, Bill walks off. Bold, huh? Thing is, Edward can't lay a finger on Bill. And to quote Frederick, Bill knew it. Samuel Harris, to whom Bill belonged, did not allow his slaves to be beaten unless they were guilty of some crime which the law would punish. But that's not the case with Edward's

slave, Caroline. Unlike Frederick or Bill, Edward actually owns her. Furthermore, she could do some damage. Edward describes her as, quote, a powerful woman and could have mastered me very easily, exhausted as I now was. As Caroline goes to milk the cows, Edward ekes out the same call he did to Bill. Take hold of him! Incredibly, Caroline also refuses, and she'll get whipped for this later. Some two hours have now passed since the struggle began. Edward finally lets go as he exclaims while panting with difficulty. Now, you scoundrel, go to your work. I would not have whipped you half so much as I have had you not resisted. Yeah, sorry, Edward. Frederick's not buying it. Frankly,

I don't think any of the rest of us are buying it either. Frederick is only 16 years old. Well, that's his best guess. He doesn't know his birth date. But at any rate, the law is not on his side. He could suffer severely for standing up for himself, yet Frederick did, and in his remaining few months here, Edward will never touch him again. In fact, Frederick will never be beaten again. He tells us that after this battle, quote, I felt as I never felt before. It was a glorious resurrection from the tomb of slavery to the heaven of freedom. My long-crushed spirit rose, cowardice departed, bold defiance took its place. I now resolved that, however long I might remain a slave in form, the day had passed forever when I could be a slave in fact. I did not hesitate to let it be known of

me that the white man who expected to succeed in whipping must also succeed in killing me. From this time, I was never again what might be called fairly whipped, though I remained a slave four years afterwards. I had several fights, but was never whipped. Close quote. Yeah, you agree with us, don't you? Frederick is a hero. Now we're going to head across the pond. Coming in at our number four spot, we have episode 17, Death of a Nation's Father. This opening takes place in revolutionary France and shows how events taking place on the other side of the world can have a huge impact on the United States. Plus, it was a ton of fun to use our French and bring in some really unusual sound effects.

Hope you enjoy. A dark green horse-drawn carriage moves slowly through the streets of Paris amid thick fog and intermittent rain. Armed guards standing four men deep line its three-mile route. Another 1,200 foot soldiers and hundreds of cavalry escort the carriage as 60 drummers keep this veritable army marching in time. I realize this might seem a bit extreme, but inside that carriage is the king of France,

Louis XVI. And you have to take all the precaution in the world when you execute your own king. Three men ride inside the carriage with Louis. Lieutenant Lebrasse and a sergeant are across from him, while Louis' loyal confessor, an Irish Catholic priest named Henry Edgeworth, sits by his side. Not a soul speaks a word. And with all of Paris' doors and windows firmly shut, only the monotonous sound

of drums and soldiers' thudding boots reach his majesty's ears. Not that he's listening. Throughout the nearly two-hour carriage ride, Louis resolutely prepares for death by reading from Psalms. But I have to wonder, does his mind drift back to last night when he briefly reunited with his family and told them he would be executed in the morning? Oh, how he and his wife, Marie Antoinette, and their two children wept as they embraced and kissed each other for the last time. When he closes his eyes now, does he see his poor teenage daughter, Marie-Thérèse, in his mind's eye, fainting from sheer terror and devastation at their parting? Or does Louis picture the cherubic face of his

six-year-old boy, Louis-Charles, stained with tears and overcome with sobs as he processes the fact that his daddy will be killed tomorrow? The boy sat between Louis' knees only 12 hours ago. You know, he's Louis' heir too. Le dauphin de France. At least Louis' death means he won't ever know his heir, his son, will suffer abuse at the hands of his jailers and die by the time he's only 10.

Maybe Louis is avoiding all these thoughts. Maybe that's why he's so intent on reading from Psalms. I can't tell you which translation he has, but let's go with Isaac Lemaitre's Catholic and French translation. Perhaps Psalm 23. Le Seigneur est mon pasteur. Je ne puis manquer de rien. Il me fait reposer en d'excellents pasteurages. At 10 a.m., the carriage arrives at its final destination. Place de la Révolution. In the 21st century, it will be known as Place de la Concorde and be filled with fountains, statues, and most notably,

an ancient Egyptian obelisk that will be gifted to France by the Viceroy of Egypt, Muhammad Ali, in the 19th century. Today though, January 21st, 1793, only two things adorn the square. One, a large empty pedestal where a statue honoring Louis XV sat until revolutionaries recently tore it down. And two, a scaffold with a guillotine. And it's here, only a few yards away from the empty pedestal that once honored his grandfather, that Louis will die in 22 minutes. Determined to die well, Louis

confidently steps out of the carriage and into the humid cold. Murmurs spread across the crowd of 20,000 citoyens gathered to witness this morning's regicide. Though in truth, they can barely see Louis. The gendarmes guarding him are so numerous, it's really hard to catch a glimpse. Three executioners grab at his majesty. He pushes them off. They mean to take his coat. He'll have none of that. He doesn't need these nameless assassins. Louis removes his coat and unbuttons his collar himself. New outrage sets in though when they try to bind Louis' hands.

He did not expect this humiliation. Thankfully for everyone's sake, including the king's, his faithful confessor Edgeworth de-escalates the situation by assuring Louis these final humiliations will only make his execution a greater similitude of the death of the Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. With this thought alone, Louis consents. The king ascends the scaffold steps with difficulty. It's only six feet off the ground, but the stairs are steep and Louis struggles to find his balance with his hands tied behind his back. Again, Edgeworth is there for him, letting the king lean on him with each step. Upon reaching the top, this man of God continues to speak religious comfort to Louis while his royal hair is quickly cut away to ensure the guillotine finds his neck with precision. All is prepared. Louis now boldly

stands at the front of the scaffold. He means to address the 20,000 spectators. With one look at the drummers, his royal glare brings them to a stop. Then, he speaks. He says more, but we don't know what. General Santel denies his once king any last words. The order is given for the drummers to recommence, drowning Louis out. The king is now bound on a plank, which is slid into place with his head secured in a stock that places his neck in line with the guillotine's blade. Fils de Saint-Louis, ascendez au ciel!

calls out Edgeworth. The famed and once royal executioner, now lets the 12-inch thick angular blade fall. And... Vive la République! Vive la Liberté! Some cry out as Samson, on top of the scaffold, holds Louis' decapitated head by the hair for all to see. The crowd presses forward, pushing past the armed guards.

Some are bloodthirsty, literally. They dip handkerchiefs or their fingers in their decapitated sovereign's blood, taste it, and joke that it's well salted. Mmm, il est bourrement salé! Others buy locks of the dead king's hair, while another group dances around the scaffold, spontaneously singing La Marseillaise. Allons enfants de la patrie, le jour de gloire est arrivé. I've got the podcast for you. I'm Sean Piles, and I host NerdWallet's Smart Money Podcast. On our show, we help listeners like you make the most of your finances. I sit down with

NerdWallet's team of nerds, personal finance experts in credit cards, banking, investing, and more. We answer your real-world money questions and break down the latest personal finance news. The nerds will give you the clarity you need by cutting through the clutter and misinformation in today's world of personal finance. We don't promote get-rich-quick schemes or hype unrealistic side hustles. Instead, we offer practical knowledge that you can apply in your everyday life. You'll learn about strategies to help you build your wealth, invest wisely, shop for financial products, and plan for major life events. And you'll walk away with the confidence you need to ensure that your money is always working as hard as you are.

So turn to the nerds to answer your real-world money questions and get insights that can help you make the smartest financial decisions for your life. Listen to NerdWallet's Smart Money Podcast wherever you get your podcasts. See, President Macron? it could be worse. Coming back to the United States and now getting to our top three,

we come to episode 13, The World Turns Upside Down at Yorktown. This episode's opening tells the tale of Thomas Jefferson making a dramatic escape from the British. It's also an example of the meaningful role enslaved Americans often fulfilled in the Revolutionary War. You'll hear about Martin Hemings risking his life to save Tom's. Hope you enjoy it. Jack Jewett's enjoying a night at the Cuckoo Tavern in Louisa, Virginia, when he learns that 180 British dragoons are in town. They're taking a short break at a nearby plantation before continuing their urgent night ride further west. Given their trajectory, Jack knows where these

horse-mounted soldiers are headed. Charlottesville. It's the only thing that makes sense. That's where Virginia's state legislature and governor are meeting tomorrow. Clearly, the British intend to capture the state's leaders. Well, being the patriot and militia man that he is, Jack isn't going to sit idly by and let this happen. Hell no. He chugs his beer. Okay, I can't prove that, but I really like to picture him dramatically draining an old school beer stein and a few gulps, slamming it on the table, wiping the frothy foam from his mouth with his shirt sleeve, then running out of the tavern. I mean, come on, that's an awesome

image, right? Okay, sticking strictly with the historical record, Jack books it out of the cuckoo tavern, mounts his horse, and takes off towards Charlottesville somewhere between 9 and 10 p.m. It's a hard ride. He's ahead of the soldiers, but he's traveling through the woods rather than on the roads just to make sure he doesn't get caught. According to tradition, Jack rides hard enough in this wooded terrain that when branches strike him, they leave deep cuts that scar his face for the rest of his life. It's now nearly dawn.

Jack pulls hard on the reins, bringing his charging horse to an abrupt stop. Like his steed, he's exhausted, but there's no time to lose. He jumps off his horse. His six foot four, 220 pound frame thuds on the dirt path in front of Monticello. Okay, pause. We'll head inside with Jack in one second, but first, in case you don't know, Monticello is just a few short miles southeast of Charlottesville, and it's the home of none other than Thomas Jefferson. But as you picture it in your mind, don't conjure up the image of the dome-topped building still standing today,

found on the backside of both the nickel and the ever-so-rare but still in circulation $2 bill. Monticello doesn't look like that in 1781. This is before Tom's massive French-influenced 1790s renovation. So for now, you'll want to picture a two-story brick structure. It's neoclassical, so its appearance is very old-school Greco-Roman. It's got some serious columns going on. They not only support the roof, but a sweet second-story deck overlooking the front of the house. And why has Jack come here? Well to see Tom, of course. This radical Virginian with a long face, sandy red hair, and blue to hazel eyes, who did the lion's share of the work in writing the Declaration of Independence, is now the governor of Virginia. In fact, he's also hosting the legislators, so this is where

the warning is needed. Okay, pause over. Now that you can picture the scene and know why we're here specifically, let's get back to Jack and his just-before-sunrise arrival. Jack tells Tom of the British dragoons. Tom makes exactly the kind of decisive move you'd expect from a brilliant political leader in such a state of emergency. He orders breakfast for everyone. Look, this guy lives in a state of emergency. He's had way too many false warnings to get really worked up when he hears the British military is coming for him. After breakfast, though, they evacuate. A carriage whisks away Tom's wife, Patty, and the kids. The legislators head back to Charlottesville. Slaves hide the valuables while Tom grabs important documents.

Tom's now set to take off, but before he does, he grabs his spyglass and ascends a nearby hill. He wants to get a peek at the alleged danger. Up above Charlottesville, he looks around. Nope. No British troops. Just the lush green of Virginia. Another false call, it seems. He reaches down to pick up his sword cane. Oh, you heard me right. Tom definitely carries a sword cane. He's about to set off, but can't quite shake the need to look through his spyglass just one more time. He extends the miniature telescope, holds it against his face, and... Aw, crap! Jack was right! British dragoons!

Filled with a new sense of urgency, Tom hightails it back to Maicello, jumps on his horse, named Caractacus after the 1st century AD Britain who fought against the Roman Empire, and rides hard to catch up with his family. Only 10 minutes after Tom departs, the British arrive at Monticello. I can't tell you who all is still at the mostly abandoned plantation, but at a minimum, Martin Hemings is here. He's a slave, primarily working as a butler, and not to get ahead of ourselves, but to answer your question, yes, he is related to Sally Hemings. Martin is her half-brother. A British soldier approaches him, pistol drawn, and aims it right at his chest while telling Martin he can either give up Tom's hiding place

or be shot. Despite being unarmed, grossly outnumbered, and a slave addressing a British soldier, Martin doesn't cower in the least. Fire away then, he defiantly replies. In hazarding his life for Tom's, Martin effectively calls the soldiers bluff. He doesn't shoot. The only damage the British do at Monticello, if we are to believe the apocryphal tales, is to drink some of Tom's wine in a toast to King George III. It's his birthday, after all, June 4th, 1781. His majesty is 43 today. But down in Charlottesville, the British have been more forceful. Sent by British commander Lord Cornwallis, Bannister Tarleton and his men destroy a cache of 1,000 guns, 400 barrels of black powder, clothes destined for continental troops, and a whole lot

of tobacco. They also catch seven members of the Virginia legislature. In fact, just before they arrived at Charlottesville, they also caught a member of the Continental Congress. They didn't catch Tom, but they've made him look bad. His reputation as governor just took a nosedive. As Tom gets away, we turn to his arch nemesis. In the number two spot, we have episode 22, An Affair of Honor, Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr. What more do we need to say, really? Adieu, best of wives and best of women. Embrace all my darling children for me. Grab your tissues for this one. The morning sun is just cresting over New York City as four oarsmen row out on the Hudson River.

They have three passengers. One is the dark-featured Hamilton family physician and friend, Dr. David Hosack. Next is another one of Alexander Hamilton's good friends, the well-respected jurist, Judge Nathaniel Pendleton. And finally, yeah, Alexander. And it's on this beautiful, oddly crisp summer morning, Wednesday, July 11, 1804, that the founding father of finance will duel against the current vice president, Aaron Burr. Alex watches his adopted hometown slowly shrink

into the distance. I wish we knew what's going through his head right now. All I can tell you for sure is that he does, at some point while being rowed up and across the Hudson, wax eloquent about the beauty around him and New York's potential. Oh, how it's grown since he first arrived some 30 years ago. All the new buildings and houses, the population's more than doubled. The Big Apple now teems with 80,000 residents. But I wonder, does this Caribbean-born New Yorker reflect on his time here too? From palling around with Hercules Mulligan to studying at King's College,

fighting the British, practicing law, serving as George Washington's Treasury Secretary. I have to imagine some or all of these New York milestones are passing through his mind. After all, it will take almost two hours to row the

nearly three miles from New York's Greenwich Village to Weehawken, New Jersey's shore. Does he think about his family? This father of eight? Well, it'll always be eight, but seven living. Come December, it'll be three years since a duel took his oldest son, Philip's, life At the same place With the same guns Alex, ever the attentive father, hasn't been the same since Yeah, I'm sure he's thinking about his kids And Eliza

He has to be thinking about his wife, Eliza I mean, this man of words woke up at 3 a.m. today to write her a hymn. But the small vessel transporting this family man is drawing close to New Jersey's shoreline. Alex's time for reflection is coming to an end. It's now just shy of 7 a.m. The dawn's light washes fully over the Hudson. The boat's seven occupants disembark on this thin beach just in front of Weehawken's cliffs. The oarsmen and Dr. Hozak stay here. This way, they won't witness the duel and they can claim ignorance of what's about to go down should the law get involved. And so, only Alex and his jurist friend Nathaniel, who's serving as his second, continue on. The two men ascend a narrow trail hidden by some vegetation.

It leads to a ledge roughly 20 feet above the Hudson that's concealed by boulders and trees. This secluded, wooded area is big and private enough for disagreeing gentlemen to settle their differences through an affair of honor. That is a duel. And it's because of these features, well, and New Jersey's lackluster prosecution of dueling,

that this ledge on the cliffs of Weehawken is a popular dueling ground. In this place of wrath and tears, where so many have previously risked or lost their lives, Alex now lays eyes on the man who first accused him of insult 23 days ago. The lame duck vice president recently defeated New York gubernatorial candidate, Colonel Aaron Burr. His age is showing.

Aaron's hair has receded and grayed around the ears since they first crossed paths decades ago. But then again, Alexander's face isn't hiding the toll taken by the passage of time or life's disappointments much better. After all, General Hamilton is as down and out politically as the vice president, with whom he now exchanges ceremonial salutations. Aaron's second, William Van Ness, now does his duty alongside Nathaniel by counting out ten paces. This done, they draw lots, the equivalent of you flipping a coin, to see which of them will choose positions. Nathaniel wins, but curiously, he, possibly with input from his principal, Alexander, chooses the dueling ground's northern side. This leaves Alex staring into the sunlight with the Hudson River and New York City in the background, while Aaron enjoys the southern side's excellent shaded view.

This done, the seconds draw to see who will officiate the duel. Once again, it goes in Nathaniel's favor. Okay, it's time to get down to business. The seconds each take one of the two beautiful, ornate, long, brass, smooth-barreled flintlock pistols from a leather case brought by Nathaniel and Alex. After loading each with a shot in full sight of the other, they cock the pistols, then hand them to their respective principals. Alex and Aaron take their marked positions. Nathaniel goes over the rules, which include the following procedure. He'll ask if they're ready.

If they say yes, he will say, present. Then they may fire. Ready? Nathaniel Pendleton calls out, his voice ringing through the woods. Stop. In certain states of the light, one requires glasses, answers Alexander Hamilton. Ah, right. He has the northern position facing the sunlight. The down-on-his-luck founding father now holds up his flintlock pistol,

sighting it several times before reaching into a pocket with his left hand, taking out his glasses and putting them on. This will do. Now you may proceed, he hollers back to Nathaniel. Ready? Nathaniel repeats. Both answer in the affirmative. Present! Rest in peace, Alex. And our top spot on our little countdown goes to episode 48, The Battle of Shiloh.

Now boys, pitch in. Between the battle sound effects and the descriptions of brutal warfare, we also hear about a rough night and injury for General Ulysses S. Grant. To quote his BFF, William Tecumseh Sherman, war is hell. And in this clip, Ulysses gets a taste of pain that's even stronger than his cigars. Here we go. General Ulysses S. Grant is hunkered down at his headquarters at Savannah, Tennessee. Yes, Tennessee. You heard that right. As a storm rages. It's been another exhausting day. He mostly spent it some five miles or more to the south,

just on the other side of the Tennessee River at Pittsburgh Landing, where his Union forces had been skirmishing with rebels. Frankly, Ulysses, or Ulysses for short, would like to move his headquarters down there, but with General Don Carlos Buell expected to arrive at Savannah any day with tens of thousands of reinforcements, well, he can't just yet. He's got to wait for Don Carlos. So Ulysses has traveled back the five miles to his Savannah, Tennessee headquarters in this miserable weather and is just getting settled in for the evening when he gets word of a Confederate attack back at the front. The cigar chain-smoking general wastes no time jumping into action. Roads are becoming more like rivers or pools of mud than thoroughfares, but no matter.

Arriving at the field, Ulysses rides out with his staff. Huh. The firing has ceased. The only sound is that of the hard rain. Looks like they've come out here for nothing. The general and his men start to make their way back through the thick muck and mud. But it's only getting harder to see. Ulysses will later describe the night as one of impenetrable darkness with rain pouring down in torrents. Nothing was visible to the eye except as revealed by the frequent

flashes of lightning. Making their way through the woods in these blind conditions, the general can only hope and trust that his horse can find its footing. Unfortunately, that trust is misplaced. One of the horse's hooves gets caught, taking the poor creature down. Securing his stirrups, Ulysses falls right along with his steed. The cold, wet mud engulfs one side of him, as the body weight of the horse puts an immense, crushing pressure on his leg. Painful and uncomfortable as the situation is, Ulysses is arguably lucky.

With the ground being more mud than dirt, it readily gives way under the horse's weight, saving him from a broken leg. Good thing he has his staff with him. With, I assume, their help, he manages to get back up and return to camp. It really wouldn't have been that bad of an injury if he didn't have to command federal forces in one of the most deadly battles in American history to date over the next few days. Two nights later, Ulysses dismounts from his horse to find he can't put weight on his leg. Without the adrenaline that comes from leading men, dodging bullets, and literally being showered with brains, the general realizes just how bad that injury has now become. He makes his way to the surgeons.

They can't even remove his boot, so they do what Civil War surgeons do best. They cut it off. Oh, sorry, that may have been unclear. They cut the thick leather boot off, not his foot. But damn, it's swollen. Trying to camp under a tree amid more rain and in unbearable pain. Ulysses goes back to the log cabin hospital just after midnight. But his hopes that he'll get some much-needed shut-eye in here are quickly dashed. The stench of blood and pus is overwhelming. Seeing the room full of his men with missing limbs

is even worse. To quote him, The sight was more unendurable than encountering the enemy's fire and I returned to my tree in the rain. Close quote. Good God. The horrors of this war are only growing.

Best get some sleep, General. The Battle of Shiloh continues in less than four hours. Thanks for joining us. We enjoyed going through some of our favorite openings, and we hope you did too. Have a happy new year, and next time we continue with the Civil War as we tell America's story. Catch you then. History That Doesn't Suck is created and hosted by me, Greg Jackson. Research and writing, Greg Jackson and C.L. Salazar. Production and sound design, Josh Beatty of J.B. Audio Design.

Musical score, composed and performed by Greg Jackson and Diana Averill. For a bibliography of all primary and secondary sources consulted in writing this episode, visit historythatdoesntsuck.com. Join me in two weeks, where I'd like to tell you a story. HTDS is supported by premium membership fans. You can join by clicking the link in the episode description. My gratitude to you kind souls providing additional funding to help us keep going. And a special thanks to our members, whose monthly gift puts them at producer status.

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