Arkansas's Only Revolutionary War Battle

            You may be surprised to learn that one of the final actions of the Revolutionary War took place right here at our state’s first European settlement, Arkansas Post. Known as Colbert’s Raid, the brief but intense battle serves as a reminder that even as peace was being negotiated an ocean away, conflict still took place on the American frontier.

            In the early morning hours of April 17, 1783, British Captain James Colbert led a force of approximately 100 men, including British soldiers and Chickasaw warriors, against Fort Carlos III and the small village clustered around it at Arkansas Post. Ironically, the attack came months after a peace treaty had been signed between Spain and Britain on January 3, 1783. However, news of that agreement had not yet reached the residents of Arkansas Post.

            The Spanish garrison stationed at Arkansas Post was quite small. In fact, it only consisted of 33 soldiers from the Louisiana Fixed Infantry Regiment, supported by four Quapaw warriors and a handful of officers, including Captain Jacobo du Breuil and Lieutenant Luis de Villars. Despite their limited numbers, they would soon be forced to defend both the fort and the civilian population that relied upon it.

            Colbert’s men began their attack at approximately 2:30 a.m., which caught those at the settlement off guard. Colbert and his soldiers quickly swept through the village and captured Lieutenant de Villars, his family, and several other residents before most of the townspeople could flee to the safety of the fort. With hostages secured, the attackers turned their attention to Fort Carlos III, hoping to seize control of the strategic post.

            What followed was a determined defense. From behind the fort’s walls, Spanish soldiers and their Quapaw allies mounted a counterattack, using both their defensive position and coordinated resistance to hold off the assault. The fighting lasted for several hours, but Colbert’s men were ultimately unable to breach the fort’s defenses. Facing mounting resistance and limited success, they withdrew. Spanish losses were light, with just two men killed and one wounded, while Colbert’s force suffered at least one dead and one injured.

            The aftermath came swiftly. One week later, a combined Spanish and Quapaw force of around 120 men tracked down Colbert’s camp. In a decisive move, they overtook the raiders and freed the prisoners taken during the attack, which effectively ended the ordeal.

            Colbert’s Raid holds a unique place in both Arkansas and American history. It is recognized by historians as the only Revolutionary War battle fought in Arkansas and one of two engagements of the war that took place west of the Mississippi River. Though small in scale, it underscored the strategic importance of Arkansas Post as a gateway for controlling river traffic and regional trade.

            The raid also reflects the broader geopolitical landscape of the time. Spain had entered the war in 1779, as an ally of the American colonists, successfully capturing British-held posts along the Mississippi, including Manchac and Baton Rouge. By 1783, British forces in the region had been largely pushed out, leaving them to rely on smaller operations like Colbert’s Raid in an effort to disrupt Spanish authority and commerce.

            Ultimately, Colbert’s Raid stands as a final clash of the Revolutionary War that highlights the complex relationships between European powers, native allies, and colonial forces in the western reaches of the conflict. Even in its closing days, the war’s reach extended far beyond the better-known battlefields located in eastern United States, touching remote places like Arkansas Post.

            To learn more about Colbert’s Raid and the history of Arkansas Post, consider visiting Arkansas Post National Memorial. Managed by the National Park Service, the site is located near Gillett (Arkansas County) in the heart of southeastern Arkansas. Inside the park’s visitor center, guests can watch a 20-minute film that brings the settlement’s story to life. The center also houses a collection of artifacts and exhibits that trace the long and significant history of Arkansas’s first settlement and its earliest days as Arkansas’s first territorial capital. For more information, visit the park’s website at www.nps.gov/arpo.

            And as I close out this week’s All Around Arkansas, I’d like to wish you and yours a very happy Easter.

The Tiny Town of Slovak

 

                In Arkansas, where quirky town names are almost as common as wide-open landscapes, drivers can stumble across some real head-scratchers. Venture across the flat fields of the Delta, and you might pass places that sound as if they belong on another continent—or were named after long-forgotten settlers. One such place is Slovak (Prairie County), a name that might conjure images of Europe rather than rural Arkansas farmland. But Slovak isn’t just a curious label on a highway sign. Behind the name is a story that stretches thousands of miles across the Atlantic.

            Drive east through the Delta, and you might pass right by Slovak without noticing it. It’s a little more than a speck on the map. Grain bins dot the horizon, church steeples rise above fields, and two-lane highways cut through the farmland. Yet if you slow down long enough, you’ll find a history far larger than the town itself.

            Slovak began as the dream of immigrants who crossed the ocean in the late 1800s and early 1900s, searching for land and opportunity. Many came from what is now Slovakia, then part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Like countless immigrants before them, they were drawn by the promise of fertile soil and a fresh start. They found that promise in the rich farmland of the Arkansas Delta.

            But the land they settled was far from ready for farming. Early settlers faced dense vegetation, swampy ground, and the relentless heat of Delta summers. Fields had to be cleared, marshy areas drained, and homes built from scratch. The work was slow and often exhausting, but over time, the settlers carved productive farms from the wilderness.

            The growing community was first known as Slovactown before settling on the simpler name Slovak. What held the settlement together, though, wasn’t a courthouse or a schoolhouse. It was the church.

            The parish of Saints Cyril and Methodius became the center of community life. Named for the missionaries who brought Christianity to the Slavic peoples in the ninth century, the church served as both a spiritual home and a cultural anchor for the immigrants who built the town. Sunday services, weddings, funerals, and festivals all revolved around its walls.

            For generations, the church has been more than a place of worship. It has preserved language, traditions, and a sense of belonging that ties families in Arkansas to their ancestral homeland. During community gatherings, older residents still share stories of parents and grandparents who arrived speaking Slovak and slowly learned English while working the fields.

            Food has always been a powerful link to the town’s heritage. During community festivals and gatherings, recipes carried across the Atlantic generations ago still appear on tables. Kolaches, sweet pastries filled with fruit or cheese, remain a favorite. Hearty soups, smoked meats, and other Central European dishes once fueled long days of farm work and continue to bring families together today.

            Like many small rural communities across the Natural State, Slovak has grown quieter over the years. Modern highways, shifting agricultural trends, and the pull of larger cities have reshaped life across the Delta. Younger generations often leave for jobs elsewhere, and farming itself has changed as operations become larger and more mechanized.

            Even so, the spirit of the town hasn’t disappeared.

            Families still gather for church services and reunions. Familiar surnames appear on mailboxes and gravestones. Stories of immigration, hard work, and community life continue to circulate around kitchen tables.

            It’s easy for places like Slovak to slip under the radar. They rarely appear on travel itineraries or national headlines, and their populations could fit comfortably inside a single city block. Yet towns like this reveal a quieter side of how America was built—not just through major cities and famous figures, but through small, determined communities planting roots in unlikely places.

            In Slovak, immigrants drained wetlands, carved farms from the Delta soil, and built a church long before paved roads arrived. They carried their language, recipes, and traditions with them, weaving those customs into the fabric of Arkansas life.

            Driving through Slovak might take less than a minute. Understanding its story, however, may take a little longer.

Saying Goodbye to an Old Friend at the Museum

                Last Thursday afternoon, I found myself walking through a place that once felt like a second home. I had returned to Historic Arkansas Museum in Little Rock (Pulaski County) for a memorial service honoring a friend and former co-worker, Pat Proctor.

                The occasion was a solemn one, but the gathering was warm. Faces I hadn’t seen in years filled the room: people like Aisha, Felicia, Katie, and Leon, who had once shared lunch breaks, exhibition openings, and the everyday rhythms of museum work. Some had retired, some had moved on to other careers, but for a little while, we were all back where we used to be, remembering someone who had been part of our small family (commonly called our HAMily).

                The service itself was simple and heartfelt. Stories were shared, laughter occasionally broke through the sadness, and the memories painted a picture of someone who had meant a great deal to those around them. Memorial services often carry a quiet weight, but this one also carried something else, gratitude for the time we had known our friend and for the place that had brought us together in the first place.

                After the service ended, several of us walked outside onto the historic museum grounds. The afternoon air was cool, and the sun was shining, and for a moment we stood quietly among the historic buildings that have been preserved there. For those of us who once worked at the museum, the grounds hold a particular kind of familiarity. Every path, fence line, and weathered board carries memories.

                Historic Arkansas Museum sits in the heart of downtown Little Rock, but when you step inside its gates, it feels like stepping into another century. The museum is best known for preserving and interpreting some of the oldest surviving structures in central Arkansas. Several of the buildings date back to the early 1800s, when Little Rock was still a rough frontier town along the Arkansas River.

                Among them are the Hinderliter Tavern (the oldest standing building in Little Rock), the Woodruff Print Shop, and other restored structures that once formed part of the early settlement. These buildings survived events that reshaped the city, including the turmoil surrounding the American Civil War. Their survival is remarkable in itself; many structures of that era were lost to time, fire, or development.

                The museum as we know it today owes much to the vision of Louise Loughborough. In the 1930s, when historic preservation was still a relatively new idea in Arkansas, Loughborough recognized the importance of saving what remained of the city’s early architecture. She worked tirelessly to protect the Hinderliter House and eventually helped establish what became the Arkansas Territorial Capitol Restoration, the early name for the museum.

                Over time, the site grew into a full museum dedicated not only to historic buildings but also to Arkansas history, decorative arts, and traditional crafts. Galleries filled with artifacts, tools, and artwork help tell the story of the state, from its territorial days to the present. Outside, interpreters demonstrate historic skills such as blacksmithing, printing, and woodworking, bringing the past to life for visitors of all ages.

                For many Arkansans, school field trips to the museum are a childhood memory. I remember visiting the museum in the fifth grade. Students wander through cabins and workshops while learning how people lived two centuries ago. For others—like those of us gathered there last week—it’s also a workplace that becomes part of your life story.

                Standing on those grounds again, I was struck by how much history the place holds, not just the official kind recorded in exhibits, but the personal kind that lives in memory. Every museum preserves objects, but places like this also preserve relationships. Co-workers become friends. Visitors become regulars. Over time, the museum becomes part of the city’s shared story.

                As the afternoon sun dipped lower, our group slowly began to drift apart. There were hugs, promises to stay in touch, and the familiar “we should do this again sometime.”

                Walking back toward the gate with my friend, Katie, I glanced once more at the old buildings standing quietly against the skyline of modern Little Rock. They’ve witnessed nearly two centuries of change—wars, growth, and thousands of Arkansans passing through.

                Last Thursday, they witnessed something else: a group of old friends remembering one of their own. And in a way, that felt fitting. Places dedicated to preserving history remind us that every life leaves a mark. Our friend may be gone, but the memories remain—woven into the stories we tell, the friendships we keep, and even the old places that brought us together in the first place.

Close Encounters in the Natural State

                When we think of Arkansas, scenes of its winding rivers and streams, beautiful landscapes, and wide-open Delta skies come to mind. Yet, for over a century, some of our fellow Arkansans have gazed upward, encountering phenomena they struggled to explain.

                Reports of unidentified flying objects (UFOs), now referred to as UAPs or unidentified anomalous phenomena, have woven their way through the history of the Natural State, with sightings dating to the 19th century. One of the earliest series of reports emerged in 1896 and 1897, when witnesses across the country reported seeing enigmatic “airships.” Here in Arkansas, residents near Hot Springs (Garland County) and the Ouachita Mountains described a cigar-shaped craft illuminating the night sky. The newspapers of the time covered these accounts with a blend of amusement and intrigue, with some local lawmakers even humorously suggesting a tax on these strange vessels, as if they were transporting goods.

                Whether the sightings were hoaxes, misidentified aircraft, or simply something unexplainable, they signaled the start of Arkansas’s long-standing relationship with the mysteries that hover above us.

                Fresh interest in UFOs took off in the 1950s and 1960s. In 1952, a resident from Prairie Grove (Washington County) reported a disk-shaped object flying swiftly across Cove Creek Valley. While such reports were common nationwide, they struck a particular chord in rural areas, where crystal-clear nights made any unusual lights stand out.

                A particularly remarkable series of sightings took place on August 4, 1965. Across northwest Arkansas, many residents shared their encounters with strange aerial objects. In the small community of Viney Grove (Washington County), one witness described a slender, silver craft with illuminated windows hovering just above the treetops. Others from Blytheville (Mississippi County), Fayetteville (Washington County), and Fort Smith (Sebastian County) shared similar experiences, recounting accounts of lights or aircraft operating in ways that defied conventional understanding.

                The magnitude of these reports caught the attention of Project Blue Book, the United States Air Force’s investigative program running from 1952 to 1969. Though the majority of sightings were eventually attributed to natural phenomena or standard aircraft, a fraction remained unresolved—an aspect that has only fueled ongoing speculation.

                In 2024, Arkansas witnessed an intriguing surge in reports of unidentified aerial phenomena. Across the state, many individuals recounted experiences involving bright lights hovering in the dark, rapid-moving objects, and formations of orbs spaced evenly across the night sky. Some of these sightings have occurred near military sites, including the notable Little Rock Air Force Base in Jacksonville (Pulaski County), leading to speculation about potential secret aircraft testing. 

                Experts remind us that the majority of contemporary sightings often have logical explanations. Unfamiliar with certain patterns, observers might mistake commercial drones, military maneuvers, high-altitude jets, weather balloons, or even satellites like SpaceX’s Starlink for something more mysterious. Atmospheric phenomena can also cause light distortions and optical illusions, particularly during twilight hours.

                However, not every sighting can be so easily brushed aside. The federal government itself has recently acknowledged that some UAP cases are clouded by insufficient data, making it difficult to draw definitive conclusions. This admission signals a shift from the age-old ridicule surrounding these narratives to a more curious and open-minded discourse.

                The cultural impact of UFO sightings has solidified its place in Arkansas society. In the beautiful Ozarks, enthusiasts converge at conferences, enthusiastically sharing their stories and theories. Organizations like the Mutual UFO Network actively collect reports and engage in interviews, providing a platform where skeptics, scientists, and believers can gather to deliberate what witnesses might have actually encountered.

                For many Arkansans, the allure of these sightings transcends the question of extraterrestrial life. It delves into the realm of mystery. Set against a backdrop of natural splendor and expansive skies, the night invites contemplation. That strange gleam over a soybean field or a distant mountain can provoke questions that echo long after the light disappears.

                From the mysterious airships of the 1890s to the glowing formations of today, the skies above Arkansas continue to evoke a sense of wonder. In a world that often feels confined by existing maps and measurements, perhaps it’s only fitting that a few lights in the night still elude straightforward explanations.