Trade between these parts of the world was in full swing by as early as the time of Roman Emperor Augustus (BC 27- AD 14) via the Silk Road (remember that from 6th grade Social Studies?). Those Roman folks were crazy for silk, spices, and all the other unique (to them) goods that China provided. The Chinese folks in turn really wanted European silver.  Many more things were traded among merchants along this route however—intangible things like art, religion, technology, language, and architecture. 

Unfortunately this swell back and forth didn't last forever. With the fall of the Byzantine Empire in 1453, the overland trade route was abandoned and contact between these two parts of the world significantly decreased. 

Europeans didn’t stop wanting all the sweet Chinese goods though, so they began trying to establish other ways to get to China. This led to the age of great sea exploration, including Columbus’ journey to the Americas. Less famous however is the man who succeeded in sailing to China.

In 1513, Portuguese sailor Jorge Alvares was the first European to reach China during this Age of Discovery. He landed on an island near the city of Guangzhou on the coast of southern China. The Portuguese then began to look for a place to establish their trade.

Initially the Chinese were not exactly pleased with the presence of these Europeans. At first they only allowed them to dock their ships in the harbor but soon they began to tolerate them more and more. In 1552 the Portuguese were given permission to built storage sheds onshore and gradually received permission to take more and more ownership of an area today known as Macao. This became the first place Europeans established a permanent port in the Far West. They were allowed their own governing body (supervised by the Chinese) and paid rent to the Chinese government.

China was content enough with the setup and with the Portuguese, so they did not allow any other European power the privilege of an onshore settlement. This meant that major shipping powers like England and the Netherlands had to rent properties in Macao from the Portuguese. 

As such, everything was going pretty well there for the Portuguese. There were livin’ it up as Europe's main entryway into China and East Asia as a whole. That is, until China made them only trade locally. And things got worse when Britain launched an attack against China. 

China was trying to stop Britain from trading so much opium to its citizens. Britain was like, “Mmmmm but how else are we supposed to get rich off of you?” And so began the Opium Wars. At the end of it all in 1860, Britain came away with control of the territory of Hong Kong and access for themselves and the rest of the world to a bunch of other ports along the Chinese coast. And so Macao was no longer the primary European trading hub that it once was.

But the Portuguese continued to hang on to their little piece of China. They got some income by legalizing gambling and soon became quite the hot spot for that. The Portuguese continued to hang around in their little piece of China for so long that eventually the Chinese government agreed to let them become an official Portuguese colony in 1887.

Throughout the rest of the century, both World Wars, and the Cold War, Macao just kinda hung out. They went through various forms of agreements with China, sometimes totally independent, sometimes owned by China yet still under Portuguese administration. Finally in 1999, Macao was officially handed over to the People’s Republic of China. 

Kinda.

Macao today is technically an autonomous territory within China. Which means it’s part of China…but not. It has its own government, currency, and education system. But it is protected by China’s military. Somewhat confusing. Either way, the Portuguese are out of the picture. Unless they want a good place to gamble—Macao still has that in spades (Oh-Hoo! Get it? Spades? Like cards n stuff?).

Keeping with the Mongol way of things, Batu first sent emissaries to ask the leaders in this land if they would like to pay tribute to the empire and avoid being conquered. When they refused, Batu swooped in with his troops and wiped out a lot of stuff, beginning with the city of Ryazan. They then moved on and burnt the cities of Kolomna and Moscow. Eventually Batu’s forces divided and conquered pretty much every major city in Rus, except for one that finally agreed to just pay tribute and two that the Mongols physically couldn’t get to. By 1240, Kiev was captured, and with that, the land of Rus was under Mongol control.
 
Batu and Co. were feeling pretty good about all they had accomplished, until he realized that not all of the people of Rus were under his domain. Turns out many of them had fled west into the Kingdom of Hungary. That of course was not to be tolerated. Batu send emissaries again, asking for the Hungarians to turn over the people from Rus. The emissaries were killed and Batu was not pleased. He decided to conquer Hungary, Poland, and basically as much of Europe as he could 'cause, you know, why not?
 
Batu and his general Subutai swept through central Europe, conquering Hungary and Poland by 1241. They were beginning plans to push further, towards Austria and Italy and the rest of Europe, when bad news reached them. Ögedei, the Great Khan and Batu’s uncle, had died. In such a loosely structured empire as this, a peaceful transfer of power was not guaranteed. Batu and his armies headed back home to lend support to their preferred successor. 
 
The guy he backed, Mongke, was elected Khan (after some struggle) in 1251. In return for his support, Batu was made viceroy and achieved quite an influential status as someone who helped choose the emperor. His piece of the empire became known as the Golden Horde, the most well-known and longest lasting of the parts of this empire. Even after Batu’s death in 1255 this dynasty continued to flourish for the next century and existed in smaller pieces until the 1500’s, out lasting every other piece of the empire.

Such is the tale of Ghengis Khan’s grandson and how he (perhaps) could have conquered Europe but settled for Russia and the longest lasting dynasty within the Mongol empire which was the largest in human history.

Thanks to the foundation of the tradition of a harvest festival, a feast at this time of year continued to be celebrated throughout the colonies. As the Puritan way of life faded, the focus began to shift away from the religious significance of the meal and towards an emphasis on appreciating family and home. And football. Just kidding, no football yet.

This widespread tradition first became a national, officially recognized holiday in 1777 with a declaration by the Continental Congress—so eaaaarly days of the US of A. But alas, Thanksgiving’s struggle for annual, national recognition was not yet won. Although Presidents Washington, Adams and Monroe proclaimed days of thanksgiving, by 1815 it was no longer nationally declared. The joy of the season lived on however, as individual states would declare their own times of thanksgiving feasting.

In order for Thanksgiving to achieve the national recognition it desired, it needed a Champion. Someone to shout its praise from the rooftops and fight for its place at the official holidays’ table. That champion rose from obscurity as the editor of a popular magazine to fight for this cause. That champion was Sarah Josepha Hale.

In 1827 she began her campaign to have Thanksgiving officially recognized by the President as in days of old. After trying and failing to persuade president after president she found her man—good ol’ Abe. She and President Lincoln saw the potential of this holiday to help unify the torn country. He liked the idea so much that he called for two days of Thanksgiving—August 6 after the Battle of Gettysburg (which probably appealed more to people supporting the Union than the Confederacy...) and the last Thursday in November. Yaaaaaay we have the date! 

Although Lincoln did call for national days of Thanksgiving, he didn’t establish it as an annual event. As such, each president had to re-declare it every year with the last Thursday in November as the customary date. That is, except for that one time when FDR tried to move it up a week to lengthen the Christmas shopping season, hoping to boost the economy. This threw people off so much that Congress stepped in and officially declared that Thanksgiving be celebrated on the last Thursday of November annually. Yaaaaaay we have a permanent date!

These days the president continues to play a key, key role in the celebration of Thanksgiving—every year, he pardons a turkey. It is a bit unclear as to where this tradition began, but in 1989 we have the beginnings of the official ceremony when George H. W. Bush called to "Reprieve," "keep him going," or “pardon” the turkey. Since then every year the president is presented with a turkey to pardon.

It’s a nice tradition. Doesn’t make a lot of sense (I mean, are they implying that all turkeys have committed a federal crime and have been sentenced to capital punishment and the only way for one to escape its fate is a presidential pardon?), but a nice tradition nonetheless. 

So that’s Thanksgiving. Now go stuff your face!

Let's learn about the baddest of bad lady pirates! Spoiler alert: Elizabeth Swan ain't got nuttin.

Mary Read was born in London. While her mother’s husband was off at sea she became pregnant by another man and Mary was born. The husband died while at sea and Mary’s half brother also died during this time. In order to continue to receive support from the husband’s side of the family, Mary was disguised her brother, so as to prevent them from ever finding out she existed. Mary embraced this charade and the freedom that came along with it. At the age of 15 or 16 she volunteered to become a sailor and later also soldier.

Sailing home at the end of a campaign in the Netherlands her ship was captured by pirates. Offered the chance to join them (her true identity still unknown), she became a pirate. And boy was the pirate life for her! She flourished, fighting bravely, winning booty and duels—once on behalf of a lover. She continued to keep her identity a secret (except to her lover of course) and was well respected by her crew-mates.

Anne Bonny, born in Ireland, was also an illegitimate child. She was raised by her father in relative wealth however and did need to pretend to be a boy growing up. This didn’t stop her from being just as much a rebel as Mary though. She ran away from home, married a rough sailor, and moved to the Caribbean (prime pirate country). But the marriage did not last long. Soon she met, fell in love, and eloped with pirate Captain Calico Jack, joining his pirate crew. She never really hid her identity as a woman, though she did at times wear men’s clothing. Probably cause it’s way more practical for the whole pirate thing. 

All was going well, until Calico Jack noticed Anne getting very close with a young member of his crew. He was outraged and threatened to bring the pain to this young upstart. It was then that Mary Read revealed her true identity. WHAT?? MARY READ WAS THE YOUNG SAILOR THAT ANNE SEEMED TO BE FALLING FOR BUT REALLY THEY WERE JUST BONDING (cause, you know the only chicks on the high seas)??
Coincidences man, they make the world go round. 

Contrary to what we might expect to happen, Mary was not ostracized at all. Rather she continued to be embraced as a valuable member of the crew. She and Anne were well respected, an integral and equal part of the crew. From then on neither woman had to hid their identity—cursing like any pirate, handling pistols and machetes with skill, at times wearing women’s clothing, at times men’s (again…practicality).  

They continued to own it until Calico’s ship was captured. By now theirs had become a notorious band and the British government had been determined to bring an end to their reign of terror. All of the pirates were tried, convicted, and hanged. Except Anne and Mary. Because they were both pregnant. The court decided to imprison them until their children were born, and then they’d probably hang them.

Mary tragically died in prison before giving birth.

And Anne…well we don’t really know. There is no record of her execution or death in prison. It is possible that her father had the resources to bail her out, but again there is no record. Perhaps she escaped to pirate another day. We will likely never know.

The year was 1618. The place was Bohemia (roughly modern day Czech Republic). At this time, due to the Reformation that was sweeping through Europe, there was great unrest and an upsetting of the political status quo. States began dividing along Protestant and Catholic lines. 

Bohemia had been absorbed into the Holy Roman Empire in 1526 and was somewhat unusual in the amount of religious freedom the people there experienced. Bohemians were pretty happy with this and were naturally not super stoked when the Roman Catholic Church began to restrict this freedom. In 1617 Catholic officials began to halt the construction of Protestant churches that they claimed were on land belonging to Catholic clergy.

The Protestants, staying true to their name, protested. Strongly. They saw this as a violation of the Letter of Majesty (a declaration signed by the Holy Roman Emperor granting religious tolerance to both Catholics and Protestants living in Bohemia). The leaders of this disgruntled movement met to discuss ways they could get rid of the local governors who had been less than civil to the Protestants. After a second meeting the leaders joined with other angry Protestants and the whole angry crowd marched over to the Bohemian Chancellery. There they found and tried the two offending governors (Vilem Slavata of Chlum and Jaroslav Borzita of Martinique), and found them guilty. At 3 pm they threw them (along their secretary Filip) out of the tower window.

Lucky for them, waiting at the end of their fall was a sizable pile of manure. After landing in it, they escaped unharmed. Twas a defenestration to be sure (told you that definition would come in handy). Because they threw them out of Prague Castle which is in Prague this came to be known as the Defenestration of Prague. After surviving, Filip fled to  Vienna to tell the emperor what happened. The Catholics there declared his survival as a miraculous sign of heaven’s favor. The Protestants naturally disagreed…emphasizing the fact that they fell in poop.

Besides being just an amazing story, why are we talking about people getting thrown out of a window?

Weeeeeeeeell you may remember my mention of the Thirty Years War a paragraph or two ago. This defenestration increased the division and animosity between the Catholics and Protestants in Bohemia and marked the beginning of an uprising. 

The Protestants in Bohemia called out to their Protestant friends elsewhere in the Holy Roman Empire and Europe. Ferdinand (heir to the throne), not wanting to be left without allies, reached out to his Catholic friends in Germany, Spain, and the Catholic Church itself. With the help of his allies Ferdinand scored a major defeat of these rebels in 1620. With leftover confidence he went after their Protestant allies in Germany, thus dragging them and their friends, the likes of Great Britain and Denmark into the fray. This initially religious conflict continued to be worked out with military strength until 1648 (hence the name…cause math) when the Thirty Years War was ended with a series of treaties called the Peace of Westphalia.

By the end of course they were no longer fighting over the spiritual significance of a manure pile…but a load of crap was at least partially responsible for thirty years of intense conflict. Which, you know…I find interesting.

Franz was the Archduke of Austria and heir to the Austria throne after the deaths of his cousin and father. The Austrian empire at this time (referred to as Austria-Hungary) was dealing with some major internal friction. The empire consisted of many different ethnic groups and religious traditions that did not exactly get along with each other or had much love for the ruling family. 
 
So when Franz visited Bosnia-Herzegovina (a part of the empire) in 1914 he was heading into some choppy seas. Bosnia-Herzegovina had been recently annexed by Austria against the wishes of neighbor Serbia who believed they had a better claim to them due to the great number of ethnic Serbs living there.
 
Franz was in Seravejo, the capitol of Bosnia, for a nice parade and inspection of the troops, with the hopes of stirring up some much needed goodwill. He had poor taste in the date however. It was the anniversary of the Battle of Kosovo in which the Ottomans annihilated the Serbs, which remained a day of profound significance to all Serbian nationalists. It was also his wedding anniversary. Oh boy. 
 
Little did he know, he and his wife were not the only visitors that day, someone else was there too…THE BLACK HAND! (nifty superhero parody cartoon). As cool as it sounds, this was not a superhero but rather an anti-Austrian rebellion cell. They laid a trap for poor Franz in Seravejo. Seven young Bosnians hid themselves along the parade route armed with bombs and handguns, as well as cyanide capsules to use on themselves should something go wrong and they be captured. 
 
On the morning of June 28th the car containing the Archduke and his wife passed the first assassin, but he lost his nerve and let them pass. Next they approached the hiding place of Nedjelko Cabrinovic. He lobbed a bomb at them but it bounced off the folded up roof of the carriage, rolled underneath the next car, exploded, and injured a few police officers and bystanders but did no harm to the target. Cabrinovic promptly jumped in a nearby river and took the cyanide in an attempt to kill himself, but the river was mostly dry and the cyanide too weak, so he was arrested.
 
Poor Franz refused to take a hint and continued on his merry way. Unbeknownst to him he passed by at least two more armed assassins, but they too couldn’t go through with it. So perhaps everything would turn out okay.
 
Except the motorcade took a wrong turn. After realizing their error they began to back up in order to turn around. The cars had no reverse gear though so they had to be manually pushed backwards…right into the lap of Gavrila Princip, the last assassin (who had also taken a wrong turn). He rushed forward and shot the Archduke and his wife at point blank range, killing them both. Princip was quickly arrested.
 
Austria-Hungary held Serbia responsible and naturally desired to get revenge. Germany backed Austria-Hungary. France and Russia backed Serbia. Great Britain backed France and Russia. And then there was World War I.
 
Odd how major events in history could have so easily been avoided if an individual or two made slightly different choices. Or asked for directions. 

England has historically been rather possessive of Ireland. Irish people are generally very upset about the English ruling their country. This angst does not just apply to Irish people living in Ireland however—Irish immigrants to America (and their children) continued to be really upset at England. And this was not just idle hatred. They worked to change things.

At this point you may be thinking, “Gee, what can a handful of civilian immigrants living an ocean away do about the liberation of an entire nation during the 1800’s? It’s not like they can just hop across the pond for a hot sec, raise a ruckus and then get back home in time for supper. What did they do, just organize, produce magazines and propaganda, raise money and send it over to their brothers in the homeland?"

….Man, why you gotta steal my thunder like that. Rude. 

That’s exactly what the Irish-Americans did. In 1859 a Civil War veteran named John O’Mahoney founded the Fenian brotherhood in New York City with the goal of creating an Ireland free of the influence of the British crown. 

As you so perceptively mentioned earlier, it wasn’t feasible for them to go to Ireland themselves and fight. Well, they took stock of their resources and surroundings and thought to themselves, “Hey, we hate England. We can’t attack them, but Canada is right next door. And England owns Canada. So if we invade Canada we can hold them hostage until the British give us Ireland back."

The Fenians began making plans. The US government heard about this and pretty much did nothing—they still had not gotten over the fact that Britain supported the Confederacy during the war.

The first Fenian raid occurred in April of 1866 at Campobello Island, New Brunswick. It was quickly dispersed after the British navy showed up. After this the Brotherhood split into two factions--those who thought invading Canada was a terrible idea (with O’Mahoney), and those who still thought it was still a great plan.

This faction of the Fenians launched another attempt in June of '66. They successfully held off Canadian forces at the Battle of Ridgeway but soon had to fall back to Buffalo due to lack of reinforcements and supplies. Several more, minor raids were attempted by the Brotherhood through 1870 but none of them found much success.

While the purposes of the Fenians were never reached, their attempts at invasions did encourage the Canadians to work towards unification. After successfully fending off these later raids, Canada no longer relied on British military to protect their borders and were one step closer to gaining their own independence. Yaaaaay Canada!

George Armistead of Virginia was serving in the War of 1812. He was given the command of Baltimore’s Fort McHenry on June 1813. Feeling good about life, he commissioned the creation of a garrison flag “so large that the British will have no difficulty in seeing it from a distance.” For this task he turned to Mary Pickersgill, a master flag maker. With the help of her daughter, a few nieces, and an African American indentured servant she completed the flag in seven weeks. The flag was too big to be worked on in Mary’s home, so they worked on the floor of a local brewery (this flag doesn’t have the classiest history).
 
The finished product was 30 by 42 ft and each star was 2 feet wide.  Yes, the British could see it.
 
It was this flag that Armistead raised on the morning of September 14, 1814 as a sign of the successful defense of the fort. It was this flag that Francis Scott Key saw from the harbor and that plucked the poetic heartstrings of his soul to write our anthem.
 
But what happened to the flag?
 
George Armistead died in 1818 and it passed on to his wife Louisa. In 1861, after her death, it was given to their daughter Georgiana, though not without a bit of a fight.
 
According to a friend of mine who is part of the Armistead line, “the Armistead cousins fought over who got to keep it, so they compromised by cutting of pieces as keepsakes. As a result, about 1/5th of it was cut off.” This is very much evident in the state of the flag today; it went from 30 by 42 ft to 30 by 32. (Again…not super classy)
 
While the flag was occasionally displayed by the family at patriotic events, it was mostly left in the family’s attic or safe-deposit box.
 
Until 1907 that is, when Armistead’s grandson decided that the rest of the nation deserved a chance to see this important piece of American history. So he loaned it out to the Smithsonian in 1907, permanently donating it in 1912.
 
When it arrived at the museum in 1912, it was understandably not in the greatest condition. If nothing else it was really old. I mean I can’t make socks last longer than 6 months, let alone more than a century. Naturally the museum did their best to help the flag be the best that it could be. They didn’t exactly do the greatest job though.
 
In 1914 a woman named Amelia Fowler believed that all flags should be rectangles and the fact that this one (thanks to snipping off pieces through the years) was more of a square need to be rectified. So, she folded and sewed it into a rectangle. That’s like the time I outgrew a favorite pair of pants and my mom let me believe that they could work as capris. Well mom, they didn’t. I know you meant well. But you were mistaken.
 
Beginning in 1994 there was a massive restoration effort to prevent further deterioration of the flag. They undid the fold that Fowler made and removed the destructive linen backing that had also been added in 1914.
 
After all that reverse sewing and an improved display, the flag was back to being the best that it could be. And, considering it’s over two hundred years old, I’d say it’s looking pretty good.  Next time you’re in DC stop by and say hello. Just keep your scissors to yourself.

Young Francis was sent to work for his father’s family who ran a shipping business (and occasionally practiced piracy). So essentially he just carried on the family business; but like the weird side of the family’s—the shady mob side. He was probably teased by all his streetwise cousins about his clean fingernails and swank cottage life back home.

Either way, Francis did well there and soon inherited his own ship, named Judith (odd name for a ship—maybe it was meant to be disarming). It was time to wreak some havoc of his own.

One of Drake’s greatest claims to fame is that he was the first Englishman to circumnavigate the globe. Turns out that when he set sail in 1572, that was not exactly his purpose. He was given a (secret) privateer’s commission from Queen Elizabeth I to go to New World and rob Spanish ports—essentially giving him permission to be a pirate as long as it was at the expense Spanish ships. Like if you knew you couldn’t stop your dog from peeing in places he wasn’t supposed to, so you just trained him to pee in the yard of your least favorite neighbor. Actually, privateers such as himself were called “sea dogs.”

He led this pirate venture from his flagship, the Golden Hind (he had improved at naming ships). He was so successful that by the time he returned to England he was the richest pirate in the world and knighted by Queen Elizabeth.  

At this point the king of Spain was not a huge fan of England and their use of privateers. He began to prepare the famed Spanish Armada. Drake got word of this and, having none of it, took a fleet of his own and wrecked 30-40 Spanish ships and tons of supplies.

After all this sailing and piracy he decided it was time to settle down for a while. He bought a lavish estate, became a Member of Parliament, and mayor of Plymouth. Whenever he got bored though he would go out on raids against the Spanish holdings in the New World.

 In 1596, despite these incredible feats, Sir Francis died somewhat anticlimactically and tragically of dysentery. But he sure did live a full life.