The Death of Tiberius Caesar, 37 AD

2024-03-11T12:16:52-05:00March 11, 2024|HH 2024|

“Tiberius, therefore, under whom the name of Christ made its entry into the world, when this doctrine was reported to him from Palestine, where it first began, communicated with the Senate, making it clear to them that he was pleased with the doctrine…Heavenly Providence had wisely instilled this into his mind in order that the doctrine of the Gospel, unhindered at its beginning, might spread in all directions throughout the world.”—Greek Historian Eusebius Pamphilius, circa 300s

The Death of Tiberius Caesar, March 16, 37 AD

It was in the reign of Tiberius Caesar that our Lord Jesus Christ was crucified, and what an imposing reign it was. He was born the first son of Tiberius Nero, an acclaimed Roman General, and not to be confused with the later, evil persecutor of the church, Emperor Nero. His mother was the beautiful and politically-astute Livia Drusilla. When he was an infant, Tiberius’ father sided with Mark Antony during Rome’s civil war and lost his family’s fortune and status as a result. To rise again was a tough prospect in newly-empirical Rome, but the young Tiberius’ fortunes changed when he was adopted at the age of nine into the family of the Caesars by none other than Augustus himself. This came about as Augustus married Tiberius’ mother, Livia, which caused her to set aside her first husband. Such were the tumultuous family lives of the Roman elite.


Roman emperor Tiberius (42 BC-AD 37) and his mother Livia (59 BC–AD 29)

Added to this were Augustus Caesar’s newly-acquired responsibilities as Emperor and chief god-head of the Roman State, a position Augustus had inherited from his uncle, the daring and recently assassinated Julius Caesar, and secured by shedding the blood of his detractors. Augustus himself would have no sons of his own—his only child being his daughter Julia—and so the mantle of Caesar would eventually be passed on, yet again by adoption, to Tiberius.


Julius (100 BC-44 BC)


Augustus (63 BC-AD 14)

The position of emperor was in many ways as thankless a post as it was supremely empowering. These three Caesars—Julius, Augustus and Tiberius—were the first three emperors of Rome, and in many ways they established the role’s jurisdiction and precedents, and were more successful and respected than any of their successors. Forty-three of the approximately seventy Roman emperors died violently, thirty-seven of them by targeted assassination.


Tiberius (42 BC-AD 37)

But in the times of Augustus and Tiberius, law and order was effectively maintained, as was religious awe for their deified state, and the nearly ornamental Roman Senate became their constant foil. In Plutarch’s words: “The Romans made Caesar dictator for life in the hope that the government of a single person would give them time to breathe after so many civil wars and calamities. This was indeed a tyranny avowed, since his power now was not only absolute, but perpetual, too.”


The temple of Augustus and Livia in Vienne (modern day France), a standing reminder of the worship and deification of rulers

Tiberius’ training to become emperor began in childhood, and considering the times and conditions, he could not have hoped for a better tutor. His stepfather Augustus was wise even in his ruthlessness; a measured man who fully established Rome as the pinnacle of order for which it is nowadays often praised. It was under him that a first census was taken of the inhabitants of the Roman Empire, and in the gospel of Luke we find that to be the cause of Mary and Joseph’s journey to Bethlehem, where Christ Jesus was then born in a stable, as prophesied.


Christ was born in Bethlehem during the rule of Augustus

In the interim before his own reign, while his step-father Augustus still reigned, Tiberius made a name for himself as an astute scholar, an immaculately-trained politician, and an impressive military leader. He also chose to marry Vipsania Agrippina for love. This latter misstep of Roman sensibility did not go unpunished—all the military popularity and obedient sonship in the world could not secure a lasting marital alliance in Rome, and so, Tiberius found himself ordered to set her aside and marry Julia, the twice-widowed daughter of Augustus himself.


Vipsania Agrippina (unknown-20 AD), first wife of Tiberius


Julia the Elder (39 BC–AD 14), daughter of Augustus and second wife of Tiberius

Now presumptive heir to the empire, Tiberius was bound to the house of Caesar by both adoption and marriage. The marriage would prove childless and miserable, his new wife proving a remorseless adulteress. The law of Julia’s own father Augustus decreed that Tiberius should denounce her for her infidelity, but such a move would result in angering his father-in-law. So, Tiberius sought postings far away from his new wife, preferring self-exile to humiliation, and in the turmoil of her scandals it is recorded his once pleasing temperament turned “unpleasant.”


Remnants of Tiberius’ villa at Sperlonga, on the coast midway between Rome and Naples

In 14 AD, Augustus Caesar died, and with all other heirs having fallen dead or into disrepute, Tiberius was named all-powerful successor. He was fifty-four years old. The majority of his reign was marked by peace and lack of conquest. The perpetual tussle for power with the Senate remained, but in the lives of Roman citizens, it was a primarily prosperous time in an era of predominant discontent.


Extent of the Roman Empire under Tiberius

One issue alone began to rise above all others during his reign, sprung out of the deserts of Judea and deemed inconsequential in far-off Rome. The earthly ministry of Jesus Christ would prove to be more infectious and lasting than any emperor could imagine. While espousing respect for their earthly authorities in the form of governors and Caesars, this growing sect of “Christians” fell into contention with Rome over the issue of worshipping any other deity save “the one true God”—an absurd hold-out in the sophisticated minds of polytheistic Rome.


Pontius Pilate presents Christ to the people during His trial

However, according to later historians Eusebius Pamphilius and Tertullian, when Tiberius received his reports on Jesus’ preaching from Pontius Pilate, his heart was moved. In the Senate he raised the motion of deifying Christ, suggesting they include Him among the Roman pantheon. This, however, was refused by the Roman Senate and corresponded perfectly with the Christians’ own doctrine that held the divinity of Christ as not dependent on a vote by Roman politicians.


The Roman Senate convened

This motion having failed, Tiberius still decreed that the followers of the now sacrificed Christ were not to be persecuted, his time spent in the barbarian outposts of the empire perhaps leading him to understand the nuances of peaceable detractors verses pagan ones. And so, under his reign, Christianity was allowed a tolerable foothold in the Roman world from which it did not budge when the fires of persecution were lit by his successors.

Tiberius himself spent his last decade of life mourning the death of his only son by becoming a recluse, far from his duties in Rome and ever more preoccupied in depraved pursuits. Like his own stepfather Augustus, Tiberius found himself at the end of his life choosing the least offensive family member as his heir from an unappealing lot: Gaius Caesar, better known by his childhood nickname Caligula, meaning “little boots.” “I am nursing a viper in Rome’s bosom”, Tiberius observed of his choice, but he named Caligula his son and successor, cementing the beginning of the end of Roman superiority.


Gaius Caesar (AD 12-41), better known by his nickname Caligula


The Death of Tiberius

Tiberius met his own end, racked with disease and commanding little loyalty from his household. He took to bed after injuring himself in a javelin-throwing contest and, having determined his injuries insufficient to kill him, the commander of his Praetorian Guard insured they would do the job themselves by smothering old Tiberius with his own blankets. Thus ended the harsh but useful life of the deified Tiberius Caesar, a blind servant of Providence and now only a footnote in the life of the true Son of God whom he had crucified.

The Boston Massacre, 1770

2024-03-11T11:40:21-05:00March 11, 2024|HH 2024|

The Boston Massacre, March 5, 1770

When looking back at our nation’s road to independence, there were a number of inciting incidents considered to be formative in setting the tone for the manner in which such an unprecedented endeavor would proceed. A string of emotionally-charged battles for the loyalties and conscience of the colonies were engaged in, long before the war of bullets and bayonets.


The Boston Tea Party, as depicted by Nathaniel Currier of the famed Currier & Ives

We can easily recall the acceleration of The Boston Tea party or the stirring first shots fired at Lexington, the guarding of Concord Bridge or our first and second Congresses meeting under threat of death. But it was The Boston Massacre of 1770 that showcased on the world stage the ideological mettle of some of those who would become our greatest founding fathers. In this single story we encounter many familiar names, in various roles and often at odds with each other, most of whom eventually found themselves pulling together during our revolution.


Detail of the marker shown inset below

One frigid evening in the spring of 1770, five years before America’s Declaration of Independence, a historic confrontation occurred. An angry crowd of civilians gathered outside of Boston’s Customs House, one of many such protests against the imposed taxations and sanctions of merchandise in the colonies. The recent imposition of an ever-growing presence of soldiers being stationed in Boston to enforce these measures often led to a seething discontent amongst the civilians who held their King and his Parliament in rightful suspicion. Tensions were running high between citizens themselves, and political fractioning had become substantial by the time British occupation began.


Old State House in Boston; the cobblestone circle is labeled “Site of the Boston Massacre”, however the event technically occurred nearby on what now is a busy Boston street

Samuel Adams’ organized group of freedom zealots—“The Sons of Liberty”— made great effort to intimidate those merchants and civilians not cooperating with a boycott of certain government goods. Some of these intimidations escalated to violent altercations: an apprentice boy was killed during a scuffle in February, and an army sergeant went missing on the first of March—presumed murdered.


A handbill, advertising an upcoming Sons of Liberty meeting, dated December 17, 1765


Samuel Adams (1722-1803)

With tensions high, the events of the evening of March the 5th outside the Customs House of Boston further split colonial loyalties in two. With the rioting outside growing ever more heated, and abuse being hurled on the lone sentry standing guard, British army Captain Thomas Preston called out his soldiers as reinforcements and ordered them at attention in front of the government building. Matters only escalated when the soldiers presented arms and the Bostonians began throwing ice and debris at the soldiers who eventually began firing on the civilians, killing five and wounding many. First-hand accounts of the event were chaotic, full of discrepancies, and any order to fire on the civilians was adamantly denied by Captain Preston himself. Nevertheless, the following morning Preston and all eight soldiers were arrested for murder.


A reenactor portrays Captain Thomas Preston during a street reenactment of the Boston Massacre

The race for the hearts and loyalties of public opinion was on. When delivering his address at the funeral for “the fallen”, James Otis wore a Roman toga, evoking not only in words but in dress an ever-growing republican perspective toward the tyranny of the mother country. The later-renowned Paul Revere—a silversmith at the time—etched a powerful and exaggerated depiction of the scene, labeling it a unprovoked “massacre”. His close friend Samuel Adams rigorously distributed these etchings amongst his circles, and loudly declared the King’s soldiers to be murderers. Soon all thirteen colonies were ablaze with horror over the incident.


James Otis (1725-1783)


The Bloody Massacre, a 1770 engraving by Paul Revere of the Boston Massacre

Meanwhile, Samuel Adams’ cousin—a devout patriot, lawyer and native Massachusetts man, John Adams—went against public sentiment and accepted the thankless role of defense attorney for the accused soldiers, making himself “the most despised man in Boston”. Adams defended his choice by insisting that if colonial rights were not capable of being pressed and guarded under the rule of law, then the practical consequences would be anarchy and injustice.


John Adams (1735-1826)

The English common law—ensuring its subjects their rights since the Magna Carta and reaffirmed with blood by Cromwell’s Parliament—was the colonists’ refuge in this national argument for representation. Adams argued they could not decry the current King’s trampling of it, and then in turn deny its provisions of a fair trial to the accused soldiers. His opponent in this trial was the Enlightenment’s protégée, Thomas Paine, writer of the esteemed pamphlet Common Sense, who catered to the emotion of his incensed audience, citing a dangerous license to justifiable measures when in the cause of personal liberties.


Thomas Paine (1737-1809)

But a fair trial was held at last, a jury of Massachusetts men were called, and while the statues observed may have been English, the proceedings of it became distinctly American. It would become the first time reasonable doubt was upheld in court and the first time a jury was sequestered: it was a case of many firsts.

In the end the jury found Captain Preston and six of his eight soldiers innocent of all charges, citing self-defense. The remaining two were charged with manslaughter and had their thumbs branded in punishment. While it proved to be a great personal victory for John Adams and launched him into the national spotlight, yet greater still was the ideological victory in the colonies’ long term struggle for freedom.


The gravestone, in the Granary Burying Ground, Boston, of the victims of the Boston Massacre, as well as the 12-year-old apprentice boy killed shortly before as tensions were rising

While many visionary patriots who were impatient for imminent revolt to occur grieved the case’s outcome as a setback, the integrity of the legal process had been upheld. The condemnation of mob action and the equality of the justice rendered to the accused earned their cause a reputation for the moderation and impartiality that became synonymous with American courts, derived as it was from God’s law.

I will close with John Adam’s own closing remarks to the judge and jury:

“I am for the prisoners at the bar, and shall apologize for it only in the words of the Marquis Beccaria: “If I can but be the instrument of preserving one life, his blessing and tears of transport, shall be a sufficient consolation to me, for the contempt of all mankind.” As the prisoners stand before you for their lives, it may be proper, to recollect with what temper the law requires we should proceed to this trial. The form of proceeding at their arraignment, has discovered that the spirit of the law upon such occasions, is conformable to humanity, to commonsense and feeling; that it is all benignity and candor. And the trial commences with the prayer of the Court, expressed by the Clerk, to the Supreame JUDGE of Judges, empires and worlds: ‘God send you a good deliverance’.
…I will enlarge no more on the evidence, but submit it to you. Facts are stubborn things; and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passions, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence… The law, in all vicissitudes of government, fluctuations of the passions, or flights of enthusiasm, will preserve a steady undeviating course; it will not bend to the uncertain wishes, imaginations, and wanton tempers of men. To use the words of a great and worthy man, a patriot, and an hero, and enlightned friend of mankind, and a martyr to liberty; I mean Algernon Sidney, who from his earliest infancy sought a tranquil retirement under the shadow of the tree of liberty, with his tongue, his pen, and his sword, “The law, (says he,) no passion can disturb. Tis void of desire and fear, lust and anger. ‘Tis menc sine affectu; written reason; retaining some measure of the divine perfection. It does not enjoin that which pleases a weak, frail man, but without any regard to persons, commands that which is good, and punishes evil in all, whether rich, or poor, high or low—Tis deaf, inexorable, inflexible.” On the one hand it is inexorable to the cries and lamentations of the prisoners; on the other it is deaf, deaf as an adder to the clamours of the populace.”


Boston Massacre Memorial


A later (1878) portrayal of the events of March 5, 1770

The Sinking of the HMS Birkenhead, 1852

2024-03-11T11:13:08-05:00February 24, 2024|HH 2024|

“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”—John 15:13

The Sinking of the HMS Birkenhead,
February 26, 1852

There was a time not so long ago in this country where, if a woman or child found themselves in less than ideal surroundings, they might look around and find with some ease an assortment of fellas that could be counted on were their situation to go sour. It’s long been a mark of Christian cultures that the welfare of the weaker is the duty and diligence of the stronger, that a stranger’s plight is not considered a remote burden for those possessing the capability to aid it.

This grounding quality of culture has not been entirely lost to us, but it has been diluted to such a degree that when studying certain portions of history, the willing choices and resolute sacrifices made therein appear almost fantastical. Such bravery is the legacy and conduct of the men and women aboard the doomed troopship, HMS Birkenhead.


The HMS Birkenhead

The year was 1852: Queen Victoria had been reigning for fifteen years over the British Empire, a massive and sprawling landmass of rich assets and varied people groups requiring the presence of troops to ensure governance. HMS Birkenhead was commissioned to carry many of these soldiers and their accompanying families bound for South Africa’s Cape of Good Hope, Britain’s many incursions there having escalated to all-out war and reinforcements were needed. HMS Birkenhead weighed 1400 tons and was the Royal Navy’s first iron steamer with a state-of-the-art paddle wheel that gained her record speeds.

The first set of troops embarked from Portsmouth and then the ship stopped at Cork in Ireland, picking up more men who perhaps best resembled the sort who found themselves wearing the British uniform. They were men without prospects in famine-riddled Ireland, and found the most lucrative employ to be that in Her Majesty’s army as it supplied wages that could provide for a family and the benefit of some social standing. Often the aspirations of empire were not fervently espoused by the very men sent to enforce them, but the common tenants of their shared upbringing which emphasized good character, loyalty, and unwavering discipline, made them into one of the most effective and typically gallant fighting forces in the world.


Friends and family say farewell to emigrants leaving Ireland during The Great Famine of 1845-1852


Adderley Street in Cape Town, South Africa as it appeared in 1897

On February 23 a large component of the troop, their wives, children and provisions, disembarked near Cape Town. The remainder stayed aboard HMS Birkenhead as it steamed round the cape of South Africa, hugging the coastline and making its way to Algoa Bay and their intended destination.


An 1856 map of Algoa Bay, the intended destination of the ill-fated HMS Birkenhead

In the dead calm of a pitch dark morning on the 26th of February, the Birkenhead struck an uncharted rock off Danger Point at such speed it instantly tore the iron hull apart. Water flooded the lower compartments in seconds, trapping and drowning those bunked there. The damage and the impact of the wreck were evident to even the most safely situated passengers, the men hastily readied their families and rushed them to the deck, finding hordes of lone soldiers already up there receiving orders from Captain Salmond to begin emergency measures as the ship was sinking.


The coast of Gansbaai, South Africa, near where the Birkenhead was wrecked

Despite having offloaded a substantial number of passengers at Cape Town earlier, the all-too-familiar predicament of limited lifeboats arose, and not a single life vest was to be found. There were some 630 people aboard the Birkenhead—the exact number is not known since the ship’s manifests were lost in the wreck—with only 26 of them being women and children. Compared to such grand and comparatively lengthy maritime disasters as that of the Titanic or the Lusitania, these numbers seem easily surmountable, but it was the speed with which the Birkenhead sank that made its tragedy so dire and the corresponding sacrifice of her men so necessary.


The precise location of the Birkenhead wreck off the coast of South Africa

Famously now, the order was given for the men to form ranks on the slanting, shuddering deck and the call of “women and children first” was given, establishing for the first time the “official” great maritime protocol. Form ranks they did—hundreds of her Majesty’s best men, in the prime of their life and at the height of their vigor, they kept order and decorum as their women and children were lowered away to safety in the largest and most serviceable of the lifeboats.


An artist’s depiction of the wreck of the Birkenhead

“Almost everybody kept silent, indeed nothing was heard, but the kicking of the horses and the orders of (Captain) Salmond, all given in a clear firm voice.”—survivor Ensign G.A. Lucas

All of this done and the boats rowed to safety out of harm’s way from the suction of the sinking ship, Captain Salmond gave the order of “every man for himself”. The shore was less than two miles away, but while the weather was clement and the sea somewhat calm, shark-infested waters waited for each man who stood his ground till the deck was awash. A mere twenty-five minutes elapsed from the initial collision to the full submersion of the giant vessel.


A great white shark, photographed in the same waters as those in which the Birkenhead went down

Counteracting Captain Salmond’s encouragement to make their way to the lifeboats and save themselves was Lieutenant-Colonel Seton, a 38-year-old Scotsman and the soldier’s commanding officer. He recognized that such a rush would mean that the lifeboats could be swamped and the lives of the women and children onboard would be endangered. He drew his sword and ordered his men to stand fast. The untried soldiers remained at their post even as the ship began to split in two.

“The order and regularity that prevailed on board, from the moment the ship struck till she totally disappeared, far exceeded anything that I had thought could be effected by the best discipline… Everyone did as he was directed and there was not a murmur or cry amongst them until the ship made her final plunge—all received their orders and carried them out as if they were embarking instead of going to the bottom.”— survivor Captain Edward Wright, 91st Regiment (Argyllshire Highlanders)


The calm, orderly scene on deck as the Birkenhead went down

A young ensign named Alexander Russell had been put in charge of the largest of the lifeboats. Once the Birkenhead had sunk and a scene of mass death surrounded them, he found himself beseeched by the wives and children of the men in his care to row back to the site and help rescue any who might be helped. Reluctantly he did so, but despite pandemonium, horror, and a frenzy of fins churning the water, not a man dared endanger the small vessel by clinging to it. Ensign Russell himself was so moved when one family recognized their father amongst the carnage that he dove over the side to aid the struggling man and perished himself, taken by the sharks.

“Oh that I could forget what I saw that night. I would not pass such another. It was an awful sight to see despairing men fighting for anything to support them in the water.”—survivor Ensign G.A. Lucas

Later that morning the schooner Lioness reached the lifeboats and rescued the women and children. She then headed for the scene of the disaster and reached the site of the wreck that afternoon. Mercifully the same shallow shoals which had wrecked the Birkenhead kept her mainmast and rigging above the waterline as she settled down to the seabed, and clinging to it were forty men who had endured the harrowing night.


A diver examines and records the remains of the Birkenhead’s paddle during a dive to the wreck site in 2011

A few successfully made it the two miles to shore by swimming, clinging to overturned lifeboats or using makeshift rafts of broken boards. Once ashore, those exhausted and battered men had to trek for miles in South Africa’s hottest month of the year in search of water and help. But still they showed selflessness: men who had been swimming for hours helped carry their fellows too maimed by sharks or shoal to walk. No one, once found, was to be abandoned and eventually it was Dutch farmers who welcomed them and gave them shelter.

Of the more than 630 people onboard the Birkenhead, only 193 were saved, but none of those who perished were women or children. There is a code of conduct now thus named: The Birkenhead Drill—more recognizable perhaps as the strict prioritizing of “women and children first!” during times of crises. The chivalry which became famous on the Titanic half a century later had its roots in the conduct of these men who had been the role models of the men aboard her. Such character does not grow in isolation or spring from the necessity of the moment. These were men ready to die in the rush of a fight, but found the sacrifice required of them to be of a far more chilling sort—and they made it without complaint.


A bronze memorial plaque to the brave men of the Birkenhead, located on the side of the Danger Point lighthouse, just off the coast of Gansbaai, South Africa, near the site of the wreck


One of Titanic’s lifeboats, loaded with women and children

Rudyard Kipling immortalized the silent heroes in common vernacular when he wrote:

“To take your chance in the thick of a rush, with firing all about,
Is nothing so bad when you’ve cover to ’and, an’ leave an’ likin’ to shout;
But to stand an’ be still to the Birken’ead drill is a damn tough bullet to chew,
An’ they done it, the Jollies—’Er Majesty’s Jollies—soldier an’ sailor too!
Their work was done when it ’adn’t begun; they was younger nor me an’ you;
Their choice it was plain between drownin’ in ’eaps an’ bein’ mopped by the screw,
So they stood an’ was still to the Birken’ead drill, soldier an’ sailor too!”

The Battle of Iwo Jima Begins, 1945

2024-02-24T13:39:00-06:00February 24, 2024|HH 2024|

“Among the men who fought on Iwo Jima, uncommon valor was a common virtue”—Admiral Chester W. Nimitz

The Battle of Iwo Jima Begins,
February 19, 1945

Seventy-nine years ago, the battle for Iwo Jima began in the Pacific Theatre during World War II. It was fought during the last year of the war and the final push for victory extracted a brutal toll. A strong Japanese presence in its volcanic caves made every inch of ground gained a horrifying business as bayonets, flamethrowers and grenades in tight quarters proved the surest method of ferreting out the enemy. It earned Iwo Jima the nickname Hell Island.


Marines in front of a Japanese cave dug into the rock, February 23, 1945

From February 19 to March 26, the US Marine Corps, Air Force and the US Navy fought to capture Iwo Jima and its strategic base in a string of islands leading to mainland Japan. During this brutal thirty-six days of fighting on the island, nearly 7,000 U.S. Marines gave their lives. Another 20,000 were wounded. Marines captured 216 Japanese soldiers; the rest were killed in action. That made for roughly one Marine or corpsman becoming a casualty for every three who landed on Iwo Jima. Eleven of the men who fought there would be given the Medal of Honor. It was the bloodiest battle in Marine Corps history up to that point and was the stepping stone towards victory in Japan. The island was finally declared secured on March 26, 1945 and afterwards provided an emergency landing field for crippled bombers returning from their bombing raids on Japan, and an advance base for the shorter-ranged escort fighters.


An aerial view of the island of Iwo Jima (with Mt. Suribachi in the foreground) shows the pre-landing bombardment beginning on the beach, February 17, 1945


US Marine casualties are laid out on the beach while the battle still rages miles away

Three days into the conflict, prestigious War Correspondent Ernie Pyle reported this back home to the families of the men engaged:

“You may wonder why we have American troops at all here in the Marianas Islands, since we are 1500 miles away from the Philippines, China, or Japan itself. Well, it’s because in this Pacific war of vast water distances, we have to make gigantic bases of each group of islands we take, in order to build up supplies and preparations for future invasions farther on. The Marianas happen to be a sort of crossroads in the Western Pacific. Stuff can go either west or north from here. Whoever sits in the Marianas can have his finger on the whole web of the war. Thus the Marianas are becoming a heart of the Pacific war. Our naval and military leaders make no bones about it, for the Japs know it anyhow, but they’re too far away to do anything about it.”


Iwo Jima’s location in the Pacific in relation to Japan and other Pacific nations


Amphibious tractors (LVT) head for landing beaches on Iwo Jima, February 19, 1945

“Too far away to do anything about” runs the risk of minimizing what a staunch defense the Japanese had prepared against the Marines. The account of 18-year-old E.J. Hayes’ struggle up the beach is a painfully common account of the tremendous cost required of each man that day:

“After the gate was lowered and we struggled out on the beach, I looked back at the coxswain; his face had turned white as he revved up the engine of the boat and backed off from shore. Later, I was to learn why. A fellow squad member . . . told me that the boat next to us took a direct hit from a mortar shell and that body parts were flying in all directions. I was glad I didn’t see that. As we paused on the beach waiting for word to move out, it seemed that my whole world changed on that alien island. It was like going to another planet. All thoughts of home or loved ones, it seemed, had to be pushed out of my consciousness. I could never bring them into such a hellish place in my imagination.”


Smashed by Japanese mortar and shellfire, trapped by Iwo Jima’s treacherous black-ash sands, amtracs and other vehicles of war lay knocked out on the black sands of the volcanic fortress, February/March 1945


Gunfire is concentrated on the cave trenches in Mt. Suribachi

The now gloriously iconic photograph of six Marines raising the flag on top of Iwo Jima’s Mount Suribachi still swells the heart with gratitude and pride. It is well to remember it came after over a month of carnage with over six months still remaining in the fight with Japan. The youngest of those brave men who fought on Iwo are now well into their nineties. If you have opportunity to thank one, the time is now. The time to remember them is the rest of your lives.


Raising the flag on Iwo Jima

Admiral Gaspard de Coligny Is Born, 1519

2024-02-13T14:31:34-06:00February 13, 2024|HH 2024|

“The arm of the Lord had been stretched out indeed, and a mighty man of war was on their side. Coligny was to be the Joshua of the chosen people.”—Pierre Viret (French Protestant Theologian)

Admiral Gaspard de Coligny Is Born,
February 16, 1519

In times of persecution, many of our heroes of the faith proved they were men of perseverance, men who mounted eloquent apologetics, who defended the innocent from slaughter and often formed a rallying point for an entire movement. It is rare for those men to find time during such upheaval to dream; rarer still to promote those dreams to reality. But such is the legacy of Admiral Gaspard de Coligny, military leader of the Huguenots, hero of the Reformed Church in France. While perhaps most famous for being violently assassinated during the despicable Saint Bartholomew’s Eve massacre, de Coligny’s legacy of faith and vision carries on to this day, not only amongst the Protestant church but also more tangibly in the history of the New World.


Admiral Gaspard de Coligny (1519-1572)

On our tour of northern Florida, exploring the oldest city in America—St. Augustine and its northern settlements—we learn much of the vision of Admiral de Coligny, his ambitions towards discovering new lands, and his vision to create a place where his persecuted fellows might establish themselves.


The palisades at Fort Caroline in Florida

Born the third son of the Marshall of France and belonging to the powerful Châtillon family—Gaspard II de Châtillon, Count de Coligny being his full name—became heir of his family at the age of five. His mother was a devout Protestant with incredible strength of character which she passed to her sons. His eldest brother died young and the next became an Archbishop who converted to Protestantism. His devoted younger brother served as his comrade during the many wars in which he fought.


The Coligny brothers: Odet (1517-1571), Gaspard (1519-1572) and François (1512-1569)

In his youth de Coligny distinguished himself in the service of King Francis I of France, warring with the Hapsburg’s Spanish forces and with the English. Around this same time a young lawyer named John Calvin was penning his Institutes of Christian Religion, setting forth Reformed and gospel-centered tenants of faith, and dedicating them with rebuffed zeal to that very same King Francis I. While Francois de Guise—of the prominent and zealously Catholic de Guise family—won notoriety and influence during this campaign, it was de Coligny who was entrusted with the powerful position of Admiral of France.


King Francis I of France (1494-1547)


Francis de Guise (1519-1563)

In a strange twist so familiar to those who note providences, around this time a military defeat led to Admiral de Coligny’s imprisonment at the hands of the enemy. I remind the reader that in 16th century France, Catholicism was the state religion, a practice required of all citizens and devoutly adhered to by the Admiral. That said, due to the Protestant influence of his mother, years of personal correspondence with John Calvin, and the reading of an outlawed copy of the Holy Scriptures in French, de Coligny emerged from his captivity a convert to Protestantism and the next champion of the faith.


John Calvin (1509-1564), from an edition of his Institutes of the Christian Religion


King Charles IX of France (1550–1574)

With the new king, Charles IX, and his court growing ever more hostile to the Reformed faith, de Coligny initially kept his conversion quiet, though this informed his burden to expand Protestant influence and provide refuge for impending persecution should the tentative peace break. With this in mind, in 1562, de Coligny commissioned a force led by two Protestants, Jean Ribault and René de Laudonnière, to establish a settlement in Florida. They named it Fort Caroline and their choice of land was only miles north of Spanish St. Augustine and the ruthless Spaniard Admiral stationed there, Pedro Menéndez.


René Goulaine de Laudonnière (c. 1529–1574)


Jean Ribault (1520-1565)

On orders from Menéndez, the Spaniards attacked Fort Caroline, massacring the French garrison and carrying off the remaining women and children as slaves. Impermanent as de Coligny’s settlement was, and unsuccessful as the hoped-for-haven for their kindred to flee to, its example resounded amongst those English Protestants who would eventually establish Jamestown and Plymouth. The impact on the natives of the area was also significant. A peaceable and trade-centered settlement, the Huguenots’ Fort Caroline was in stark contrast to their Spanish predecessors. Generations later a historian recorded that from the dense tropical forests of Northern Florida could be heard the singing of Psalms in French, a leftover of the gospel’s impact on the few tribes who came in contact with de Coligny’s expedition.


Pedro Menéndez de Avilés (1519-574)


The Massacre of Vassy was the murder of Huguenot worshippers and citizens in an armed action by troops of Francis, Duke of Guise, in Vassy, France, on 1 March 1562 and is identified as the first major event in the French Wars of Religion.

Back in France, the situation between Catholics and Protestants erupted into all out civil war—later referred to as France’s Wars of Religion. In 1562 the bloody Massacre of Vassy occurred in which the Duke of Guise and his soldiers brutally murdered more than sixty Huguenots at a private church gathering. Such mounting persecutions prompted de Coligny to publicly display his commitment to the Reformed cause. He was the one to bravely present the demands of the Protestants to the King, while also expressing his growing displeasure towards the initiatives of the Guise family, his opposition to their cruel policy and vindictive governance at court. These appeals were not heeded for long and violence became the negotiator of the day with Admiral de Coligny seen as the undisputed leader of the Huguenot forces.


Theodore Beza (1519-1605) French Reformer


Pierre Viret (1509/1510-1571) Swiss Reformer

Despite many Princes and grand figures rallying to the Protestant side, it was de Coligny who embodied the soul of the struggle. A brilliant and at times brutal commander, at his own personal expense he kept the disadvantaged Protestant armies motivated, formidable and eventually victorious. He communicated with such theologians as Calvin, Beza and Viret, passing on their encouragements to his troops, but always emphasizing the irreplaceable fount of courage that is God’s written word.


Admiral de Coligny in armor


Catherine de’ Medici (1519-1589)

After ten years of sporadic fighting and endless reprisals between both sides, a truce was called on the high note of a Protestant victory. To have a vantage point at all from which to negotiate with Queen Catherine de Medici and her son was impressive enough. To have it be so considerable that the Queen would offer her daughter in a marriage pact to the Protestant Prince Henry of Navarre was due almost entirely to de Coligny’s wartime genius and tenacity.


Henry IV of France and III of Navarre (1553-1610)


Margaret of Valois (1553-1615)

But where open war and outright persecution had failed, the Catholic court of France turned to subterfuge and dishonor to rid themselves of the pest of Reformed religion. The great unifying event that the marriage was supposed to represent devolved into a bloodbath. Lured into Paris to celebrate and make peace, the most notable of French Protestants were at the mercy of the Guise henchmen when on the evening of August 23, 1572, the King’s Council launched the massacre of Saint Bartholomew’s Eve. The abode of Admiral de Coligny (who had survived an assassination attempt the previous day) was the first to be targeted by the death squads, personally lead by the Duc de Guise.


Henry I, Duke of Guise (1550-1588)


The St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre occurred during the night of August 23–24, 1572

As his murderers were closing in, de Coligny declared to his attendants: “I have long been prepared to die. Save your lives if you can: you cannot save mine.” Among those with him was his young daughter Louise. Her beloved father and husband would be butchered that night along with no less than 15,000 fellow believers. How she escaped is still unknown but after the terrible massacre—which produced echoing massacres across all the larger cities of France—she sought asylum at the court of Prince William the Silent, leader of the Protestant Dutch and her father’s close ally. Louise was given Prince William’s protection and was incorporated into his household.


Catherine de’ Medici emerges from the gates of the Louvre to view bodies of Protestants murdered during the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre

Affection bloomed between them and in 1583 Louise de Coligny became Prince William’s wife, and through her descendants the blood of Admiral de Coligny runs through centuries of Protestant royalty. What France lost in the collapse of Protestantism after the Admiral’s death was America’s gain. The resulting influx of Huguenot tradesmen and churchmen built much of the Carolinas and New England, a stalwart Calvinistic backbone for our own revolution two centuries later.


William “The Silent” of Orange (1533-1584)


Louise de Coligny (1555-1620)

The noble selflessness portrayed by this great man of faith is well summarized in his own words, written to his children three years before his death:

“We must follow Jesus Christ, our Captain, who has marched before us. Men have stripped us of all they could; and if this is still the will of God, we shall be happy, and our condition good, seeing this loss has not happened through any injury we have done to those who have inflicted it, but solely through the hatred they bear toward me, because it has pleased God to make use of me to aid his Church. For the present, it suffices that I admonish and conjure you, in the name of God, to persevere courageously in the study of virtue.”

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