We Should Have Lost: the Battle of Trenton in December 1776. By that point in the Revolutionary War, George Washington’s rag-tag army was heavy on rag and low on just about everything else—including food, shoes, and sleep. Meanwhile, 1,400 of Britain’s Hessian mercenaries were doing pretty well for themselves, partying with American loyalists in New Jersey where they were plied with booze and food.

And yet we won? Lucky for the Americans, Hessian colonel Johann Rall was sort of the Paris Hilton of German mercenaries. Spreading some yuletide cheer at a local Christmas night shindig, Rall got so engrossed in a card game that when a local farmer showed up with urgent news, Rall just had him leave a note. Six hours later, Washington and 2,400 of his starved, ill-equipped troops did the unthinkable—they launched a successful attack against the Hessians, even though their gunpowder was too wet to work. Instead, many of them simply used their muskets as clubs. The hungover (and surprised) Hessians were overwhelmed, and Rall was fatally shot. As the doctors cut away his clothing to treat his wounds, they found crumpled in his pocket the note he’d received (and apparently never read) the night before. It was a warning that George Washington was about to attack.

This summer, we’ll be re-running parts of “The 20 Greatest Mistaikes in History,” Maggie Koerth-Baker’s cover story from March-April 2007. For other installments, click here.

Employee of the Month: Harold “Kim” Philby

From Russia With Love: In 1940, Kim Philby passed his security clearance with flying colors and was inducted into His Majesty’s Secret Service—the legendary British foreign intelligence office known as MI6. During the next 20-some years, Philby slowly worked his way up the chain of command and was eventually promoted to head of Soviet Affairs. For a while, he was even being groomed to be MI6’s next Director General. But, unbeknownst to MI6, Philby had another employer. Since 1934, he’d secretly been working as an agent for the KGB.

Neither Shaken, Nor Stirred: Strangely enough, MI6 officials had actually received several warnings about their star employee; they’d simply chosen to ignore them all. As early as 1939 (the very year Philby was recruited by British intelligence), a defecting KGB agent had reported a suspected spy whose background matched Philby’s exactly. His testimony, however, was almost immediately discounted. Another defector came forward with similar information in 1945, only this time the ex-commie disappeared before he could give his full account. Regardless, no one really seemed to suspect that Philby was up to anything—that is, until 1950, when his background was reviewed in preparation for his possible appointment as Director General, and the earlier defector statements were reread. The promotion was quickly sidelined—and yet, Philby was kept on at MI6. Even a year later, when he became the prime suspect accused of helping two other British double agents escape to Russia, Philby received no more than a slap on the wrist. He eventually resigned under pressure, but was financially compensated and retained as an intelligence agent-for-hire. In 1963, after yet another Soviet defector fingered Philby, MI6 finally got on the ball and began a thorough investigation, only to find that their mole had defected to Moscow.

This summer, we’ll be re-running parts of “The 20 Greatest Mistaikes in History,” Maggie Koerth-Baker’s cover story from March-April 2007. For other installments, click here.

The First Car: Built by a retired French artillery officer named Nicolas-Joseph Cugnot in 1769, the world’s first automobile was a three-wheeled, steam-powered monstrosity that could cruise around the local village at a mind-bending 2 mph. (Some sources say it could go as fast as 4 mph, but quibbling aside, the thing was slow.) Additionally, every 10 to 20 minutes, the machine had to come to a complete stop while the operator built up enough steam pressure in the boiler to get moving again. Despite being slightly less efficient than just putting on a pair of shoes and walking, the French government decided the proto-auto had at least one practical use—hauling heavy cannons to battle sites.

So Why Haven’t You Heard Of It? Because shortly into one of its first trial runs, Cugnot lost control of his contraption and crashed it into a stone wall. (Let us all take a moment of silence to reflect on that event, remembering that this vehicle topped out at a speed somewhat slower than your average mall-walker.) Apparently, the French military was equally troubled by the fact that something so slow could get that out of hand. They cancelled their funding for the project, effectively postponing the era of the automobile by more than 100 years. However, all things considered, Cugnot landed himself a pretty sweet deal. The French government awarded him a pension for his genius, and though it was briefly cancelled during the French Revolution, Napoleon reinstated it shortly before Cugnot’s death in 1804.

This summer, we’ll be re-running parts of “The 20 Greatest Mistaikes in History,” Maggie Koerth-Baker’s cover story from March-April 2007. For other installments, click here.

It’s Just A Pebble: That’s what a South African farm wife told amateur geologist Schalk van Niekerk in 1866 when he took interest in a rock that her children were playing with. Niekerk offered to pay for it, but she told him to take it. So he did—to all the experts he could find in the backwater colony of the Cape of Good Hope.

It’s A Diamond: Or so Cape Colony’s foremost geologist, William Atherstone, announced in 1867. By his calculations, the “stone” was actually a 21-carat gem worth about £500.

No, It’s A Pebble: You’d think van Niekerk’s little gem would have sparked a South African diamond rush, but instead, the discovery just made people very, very skeptical. At the time, South Africa’s geography was thought to be unfit for producing diamonds, and no one was interested in changing their opinion. Instead, van Niekerk’s diamond was widely considered a scam—an attempt by yokel colonists to pull one over the eyes of wealthy, would-be investors. In fact, the Illustrated London News refused to publish an image of the stone, lest it tempt the naive. Even the jeweler who positively ID’d the diamond refused to send people out to look for more.

No, It’s a Diamond!: It’s worth noting that, while all this naysaying was going on, many more diamonds were being found in the area.

Pebble!: Finally, in the winter of 1868, a mineralogist was sent to Cape Colony to investigate. After ostensibly traveling across the entire colony, Professor James Gregory declared that there were no diamonds in the whole of South Africa. Hilariously, his explanation for the diamonds that had been found in the area was one that involved ostrich dung. According to Gregory, the birds must have eaten the diamonds in faraway lands, traveled to South Africa, and deposited them about the landscape via droppings. Not exactly Occam’s Razor, is it?

Diamond!: Unfortunately for Gregory, shortly after his investigation, a massive 83-carat diamond was found in the very area he’d declared diamond-free. The gem became known as the Star of South Africa and launched the region’s first mining investments. To this day, diamond industry honchos still refer to bad judgments or misstatements as “pulling a Gregory.”

This summer, we’ll be re-running parts of “The 20 Greatest Mistaikes in History,” Maggie Koerth-Baker’s cover story from March-April 2007. For other installments, click here.

President James Garfield’s Mistake: Denying lawyer Charles Guiteau a diplomatic post and/or not realizing that Guiteau was seriously mentally disturbed.

Charles Guiteau’s Mistake: Believing you can make up for not getting a job by shooting your would-be employer in the back.

President Garfield’s Doctors’ Mistake: Operating. After Garfield was shot on July 2, 1881, a crack medical team led by Dr. Willard Bliss immediately moved into position to save his life. Their goal: Find and remove the bullet. Unfortunately, this proved to be difficult—and remarkably detrimental to Garfield. At one point, Bliss stuck his unwashed finger into the entry wound to fish around for the bullet. Later, a different doctor stuck his whole hand (up to his wrist) into the president’s gut—puncturing his liver in the process. In fact, if anything, Bliss and the other doctors turned out to be worse for Garfield’s health than the actual bullet. Over the course of the next 79 days, 16 of the country’s “finest” doctors managed to turn a 3-inch hole into a 20-inch long, festering tunnel. What’s more, telephone inventor Alexander Graham Bell joined in for a last-ditch effort to find the bullet—using a metal detector. And while his contraption did register metal in Garfield’s body, it seemed to be spread across such a wide area that the bullet was impossible to pinpoint. The likely reason? Bell forgot to account for those pesky metal springs inside Garfield’s presidential bed.

After the president finally succumbed to his physicians’ ministrations on September 19, his autopsy revealed that the bullet had come to rest in a spot that wasn’t life threatening at all. If the doctors had simply left him alone, Garfield would have recovered. Public reaction to this revelation was predictably harsh. Bliss and his cohorts were accused of malpractice, and even the assassin joined in the jeering. In fact, during his trial, Charles Guiteau put the blame squarely on the doctors. “I simply shot him,” Guiteau said. Accurate or not, his defense didn’t work. Guiteau was convicted and hanged.

This summer, we’ll be re-running parts of “The 20 Greatest Mistaikes in History,” Maggie Koerth-Baker’s cover story from March-April 2007. For other installments, click here.