text:
The Red Game Of War

WAR and rumors of war.

That, and naught else, was what was to be heard flying across the country from west to east along its southern border. Conductors, brakemen, porters, and the desert-dusty cattlemen who boarded the train at the last stop seemed unaware of anything else under the dome of heaven but war. And none so humble that he did not know how to conduct that war impending to the south; and none so reticent but that, on the slightest provocation, he would proceed to exposit just how that war should be conducted.

Of course, the passengers, having nothing to do, talked war all the time. It was difficult, speeding through the peaceful country, to realize that these well-tailored, well-mannered, courteous men—some of them even with spectacles—could be so easily divorced from their spectacles and clothes and become raw savages, as ferocious as their talk. Up-to-Date Destruction

THE cool way in which they discussed battleships, submarines, aerial bombs, torpedoes, and all the rest of the wonderful up-to-date machine contrivances and devices for the abrupt and violent introduction of foreign substances into the bodies of their fellow mortals would have been peculiarly edifying to the contemplative mind of a philosopher. For, come to think of it, that is just what war is—the introduction of foreign substances into men's bodies with violent and disruptive intent. The hunting animal so introduces claws and fangs. The savage so introduces arrowheads and spear points. We, in the clear white light of the full dawn of the twentieth century, so introduce pieces of iron which we propel enormous distances by virtue of our laboratory method of chemically mixing gunpowder. Also, we introduce pellets of lead, at high velocity, said pellets being cunningly jacketed with steel so that, while being still disruptive, they will not spread and be too disruptive. So a concession must be made, after all, to the refining influence of civilization. Basically, the game is the same old red game of introducing foreign substance. But to-day we at least introduce it according to certain set rules, agreements and conventions. The intent, as of old, is to destroy the fellow creature who blocks our way of life or desire, but we do it with more technique and consideration. Hearts in the Game

THE foregoing is not urged in the slightest spirit of sarcasm. What is, is beyond all peradventure. And the genus Homo is just precisely what he is—a highly intelligent animal with an amazing spiritual endowment that, on occasion, individually and collectively, functions in violent and destructive ways. War must be dreadfully human, else why did all those well-cultured, ethically trained men in the smoking room and observation car talk the way they did? Far in the sands of western Texas our soldiers, who have been policing the border for the past two years, rode in to meet the train at every desert station in order to buy and eagerly read the newspapers for the latest war quotations. Where the heart is there the treasure is, and, to judge by the delight shown in their faces as they scanned the bull market in war stock, these soldier boys of ours certainly had their hearts in the game for which they were drilled and uniformed. Yes, and it is a safe wager that in the heart of the last one of them, weary from long waiting was the query "How long, O Lord, how long ere things break loose and we are started on our way?" War and the rumors of war—there was no escaping: one breathed it, read it, heard it, dreamed it—yes, and ate it. For did not the primitive humor of the negro waiter in the dining car achieve the following sally: "Good morning, sah. Two nice scrambled Mexicans this morning, sah?" We Are Still Warriors

SAID the Pullman conductor to me: "Lucky you're getting off at Houston. Big celebration to-day. Twelve thousand of our regulars are going to parade. San Jacinto Day, you know."

Verily, it is so. We set aside holidays for the celebration of old wars and ancient battles. And we thrill, and get tickly sensations along the spine and moisten our eyes as we remember those old days and the deeds of our fathers. Not until we have evolved sufficiently to set aside days in honor of the inventions of industry and the discoveries of science will we cease going to war. In the meantime we are what we are, and it is most evident that we are still warriors. But Houston was disappointed. The feet of war—or rather, the feet of twelve thousand of our young men—did not tramp along Houston's streets on San Jacinto Day. The feet of the young men even then were speeding south. The night before, Houston had seen them to bed in their wide-pitched camp. In the morning they were gone. Houston rubbed its eyes and stared at the great martial vacancy left on its landscape. No finer meed of praise can be given to the evacuation of Houston, when the word came over the wire from Washington, than to state that it was equal to the celerity and dispatch of our American circuses in their palmiest days. For Girls Will Weep

FROM Houston to Galveston, flying fast as electricity could drive, across the green flat land one caught the first far glimpse of long lines of moving, canvas-topped commissary wagons and marching columns. In the electric car were three girls who looked as if they had been weeping. For ever girls will love a soldier and ever girls will weep when the war medicine is made and the young men go forth. While many of the men marched, those of the Fifth Brigade, having been selected to lead the way to Mexico, were hurried to Galveston by train. One such train, a long one, we overtook and slowly passed. The windows were crowded with the bright, expectant faces. Just boys they were—a long, moving picture of live, laughing faces. Young fellows, that was all, just young fellows—all trim, fine-bodied huskies, smooth-shaven, boyish, bold, eager-eyed, efficient-looking, capable, adventurous, serving out their wanderlust of youth, as youth will do; for youth will be served, whether at Tampico or Vera Cruz, and youth is prone to like its service to be in foreign parts and oversea. They were distinctively American faces, the great majority that laughed to us from the troop train. The percentage of blonds was high, and numbers of them were astonishingly blond. The brunets sparkled amid the blond types—ranged all the way from fairest yellow hair and palest blue eyes down through the richer tones to dark gray eyes and deep brown hair. And as we passed that line of bright faces, first one girl, and then another, and, finally, the third, recognized her lover and was recognized. Greetings and love calls flew back and forth, until we drew ahead whereupon the three girls dissolved in fresh tears. But I'll wager, just the same, no lucky young dog in that lucky Fifth Brigade, vanguard of the advance across the Gulf of Mexico, could have been persuaded by all the lovelorn lassies in the United States to stay behind, even though staying behind could be accomplished with honor. How was it that Laurence Hope voiced the plaint of the woman against the soldier lover? ". . . Desiring in my very arms the fiercer rapture of the fight." And war rolled south on revolving wheels while the feet of the young men dangled and rested. Yes, and the iron-shod feet of War rested likewise, for car after car was loaded with army wagons and army mules.

Galveston was buzzing. Boys were crying extras, and fresher extras. The Hotel Galvaz buzzed. Spurred officers came and went.

"Plenty of war talk in the village, eh?" queried the elevator boy. Said the barber with impressive solemnity to the boot-black: "They's goin' to be something' doin' inside twenty-four hours—you listen to me." Every porch in the city was a-clatter. Youth everywhere strained at home ties and duty in its desire to stampede to the nearest recruiting office. Old mothers who had lost sons and husbands in the Civil War days wept reminiscently in their rocking-chairs. And while the youngsters were eager to volunteer, the oldsters were sitting back saying: "Let the youngsters go. When the pinch comes'll be time enough for us. Hell, ain't it, how a fellow gets patriotic when any other country gets gay with ourn?" One soldier: "Well, what are they waitin' for? We're ready, ain't we?" Other soldier: "Been ready two years an' over."

Not Holy War, but Adventure

AND both gaze yearningly out across the blue waters of the quiet Gulf and already see themselves upon it and steaming south for Tampico and Vera Cruz, or any other place so long as it is not this piping place of peace. I remember the young men of Japan when they went out to war. Never did any generation of young men desire more madly to go out upon the red way. But they went almost holily to encounter the White Giant of the North, and they little expected and less desired to return. Now our young men taking the sea path south are going out differently. Primarily, it is adventure. As a matter of course they are patriotic, but they have no sense of any seriousness before them. They feel they face no giant enemy in the south. They tell over again the tale of the Alamo, and recite with glee how Sam Houston lambasted Santa Anna at San Jacinto. Why, what they won't do to the Mexican is. . . and they discover that speech is a most frail and inadequate means of expression of young blood and rollicking spirit. What Is Youth Without Danger?

OF COURSE, if one were to pin them down to it—these bright-blooded boys of ours whose feet itch to tread wider spaces and far-places—they would admit that a few, a very few, are going to get hurt. But their next thought, which is scarce a thought but rather a blood count of emotion, would be: Aw, what's the use of youth and where's its wages if risks are not to be run in the high tide and heyday of life? What Texas Could Do

A SORT of picnic, that's what, a sort of picnic. . . somewhat different, of course, from a Sunday-school picnic, and on a colossal scale, but still a picnic. "A short campaign at the outside," say the youngsters. But the oldsters shake their heads: "Look at the Civil War—called for three-months' volunteers. You know how long that fracas lasted. You never can tell what you're goin' to do once you take holt. You can't leave go in a hurry." A youngster: "Why, we could promenade through Mexico from end to end with twenty thousand men." An oldster: "Yep, and take five hundred thousand men to police Mexico behind you while you promenaded on your way." A young Texan of the Seventh Infantry: "Huh! Not if they was Texans. Why, I want to tell you we've threw the fear of—well, of Texas—into them so they ain't never forgot us. Say, d'ye know, I've heard more than one Mexican swear they could lick the whole United States if Texas was cut out of the scrap, an' d'ye know, I guess that's just about right." "You mean . . . ?" I dared to query. His words still ringing in his ears, he saw the trap his quick speech had led him into, and he laughed, disclaimed, and said: "I guess what I mean was cut out the whole United States and Texas could lick Mexico." "Sure thing!" applauded the group; and the youngsters had the decision.

The Looming Figure of Huerta

A MINUTE later they were agreeing with the oldsters in one detail of managing the war, namely, that simultaneously with the movement on Tampico and Vera Cruz, the National Guards and Rangers should cross over and take possession of every Mexican border town and water hole clear to the Pacific. "The first line of defense is the enemy's territory," was the unanimous judgment. Little they reck, these younglings of our nation, of what is before them. Their feet are a-tingle to be out on the old red way of man. Colts and calves play in the pastures. Our young men must also play, must romp, must be doing something, either sowing their wildness of youth at home, or, preferably, fighting abroad, vindicating themselves, and the fighting machine of an army which they compose—and, deeper, unreasoned, and unguessed, vindicating the institutions which have molded them and which are woven into the fibers of them. But always, over it all, back of this glorious dance of youth, one visions the group of the old ones at Washington, the wise ones, the graybeards. And, over it all and back of it all, most significant and sinister of all, looms the tragic figure of the man known among men as Huerta. And a well-known man is he. This day they are chattering his name from London clubs and the war offices of world powers to the bazaars of India and the deep-matted, twilight rooms of the temples and tea houses of Nippon. The current theory of Huerta's conduct in embroiling Mexico with the United States gives one pause to contemplate as amazing a situation as is conceivable in a particular man's affairs. Huerta, according to the classic Mexican custom established of very old, old time, has securely slated down in Europe 10,000,000 of pesos as a nest egg—or so runs the rumor on which is builded the theory. Huerta, it is said, was born a peon without a penny or a hope for two pennies all at one time to his heritage. Huerta, in the course of his dictatorship, by the devious ways long established of Mexican rulers, has accumulated and cached in Europe 10,000,000 of pesos extracted from the toil of his brother peons. Madero saved Villa's life when Huerta desired to execute Villa. Huerta, by custom established of old time, contrived to have Madero shot to death without witnesses, while Madero was in the act of attempting to escape in the darkness of night from a guard of Huerta's soldiers. This, by the way—this attempting to escape on foot by prisoners—is also a custom of old time invariably never practiced by Mexican captives of Mexicans. Yet statistics would tend to show conclusively that it is quite generally practiced. Only—well, sometimes statistics just must be doubted. Could the Dictator Escape?

VILLA, still the theory runs, remembering the murder of his benefactor, red of beak and claw from many victories, is advancing south upon the failing Huerta with the sworn intent of avenging Madero's death. This means taking the life of Huerta. Perhaps not exactly that. There is the possibility that Villa will merely take Huerta prisoner and that Huerta, some dark night, in an automobile, without witnesses, may inadvertently emulate Madero's feat with the same unfortunate and unforeseen end that Madero met. The how of Huerta's passing, if he falls into Villa's hands, is immaterial. The fact that he will pass is ordained. So grows the picture and the theory of the tragedy of Huerta. Huerta, sometime peon, rules in Mexico. His ten millions reside in Europe. Death, in the form and visage of Villa, draws closer to him day by day from the north. Problem: how then may Huerta escape Villa and win to his treasure oversea? It is an interesting problem. To Huerta it is mighty interesting. Might he not, the objection is sure to be raised, have escaped to the coast and away to Europe before ever the American flag was affronted at Tampico? Certainly not. Before he could have covered the distance between the palace and the railroad station he would have had a mob at his heels. The likelihood of getting away alive from the station would have been remote; and, even if successful in riding out his train from his capital a living man, the likelihood of his reaching Vera Cruz still alive, much less of embarking alive from Vera Cruz, would have been too remote for consideration. At Dice With Fate

SO HUERTA remained in Mexico City with his problem. And, granting the theory, we get the picture of that desperate man in his high capital; ten millions of treasure awaiting him across the salt sea, ruler and prisoner in his great palace, playing the big game of life with death in the toss, Villa, who will kill him, sure as fate, drawing nearer day by day from the north. And Huerta plays the game. The gringo is civilized and a humanitarian within the limits of technique. There is only one way for Huerta to escape. The gringo must come and get him. The gringo would never turn him over to the tender mercies of Villa. The gringo would see him safe out of the country and turn him loose to connect with his ten millions. Very well. Isn't the gringo doing it? Hasn't the gringo already started to come and get him? Huerta was no idiot over the technique of formal saluting of a flag. It is a pretty situation. Primitive, 'tis true, but splendid pictorially and dramatically. Incidentally, it will be rather an expensive rescue of one man on the part of the United States. The price will run to hundreds of millions of money, while no one dare forecast how many of the lives of our young men will be paid—all for the saving of the miserable life of a man who is himself already redly responsible for so many miserable deaths of other men. But, correct or not, theory or fact, that mixed-blooded man is playing a big game of some sort there in his palace on the site of the ancient Aztec palace where Cortez long ago so magnificently played a freebooting game. Strange, also, is it to contemplate that in the veins of this mixed-blooded man runs the strains of the blended races of Cortez and Montezuma. Oh, well, not so long ago, and certainly a considerable time after Cortez and his captains were dead and dist, we, too, went a-freebooting, pilfered the owners of most of a continent of their land, and enunciated that working axiom that the only good Indian was a dead Indian. Yet there is a difference. We are reformed, and have developed quite a different and indisputably a better technique. The Order Comes

THE last days at Galveston saw war glower red and redder. Extras appeared with increasing rapidity on the streets; and street boys, made giddy by such sudden wealth, took advantage of the excitement to sell any old paper as the very latest extra. The buzzards—for so are war correspondents named—began to gather. It is interesting to note that, within ten hours previous to the receipt from Washington of the order for the Fifth Brigade to embark, correspondents who had been on the way from New York and Chicago descended upon Galveston in a flock. Scarcely had they arrived when the order came. The whisper invaded the dining room of the Hotel Galvez, but the news was received without excitement. Here and there an officer rose from the table and went out quietly to begin a night of unsleeping activity. That was about all. In the ballroom the Fourth Infantry band continued to play and those officers danced who were not lucky enough to belong to the Fifth Brigade. Also, in the writing room every desk was occupied for a few minutes by young lieutenants getting off letters to the girls who just couldn't help loving a soldier at a distance. In the misty gray of early morning the columns of marching soldiers in their dull olive drab had the seeming of long, lean torpedo-boat destroyers. They were not individuals to the eye, but war projectiles. Upon coming closer they showed a goodly, sturdy lot of trim, well-set fellows, clean and fit, marching as veterans march. Off for Vera Cruz

THE twenty thousand spectators that flooded the transport docks did not seem to be at all in the way. There was no confusion, no shouting of orders. So quiet and orderly did the embarking of three thousand men with all their necessary gear proceed that one almost wondered if any orders were being issued. Army wagons, buckboards, motor cars, and reluctant mules streamed steadily on board. It seemed that near the whole city was pouring into four transports without crowding them. One pathetic note was the soldiers' dogs. Now it must be understood that solders' dogs are different from other dogs. They always accumulate about the fixed camps where the men remain for months. They are very wise. They know unerringly an officer from a soldier. They know enough never to presume or to intrude on an officer. Where officers walk they never walk. They recognize that an officer's tent and the vicinity of an officer's tent are taboo, and never are they guilty of drinking from an officer's water bucket. And they—soldiers' dogs of the Fifth Brigade—were bound for Mexico along with their masters. They crept demurely up the gangway in the thick of the lines of ascending soldiers, and when detected by a vigilant officer at the head of the gangway, they obeyed, as soldier's dogs should, and marched back down the gangway. And when so detected they betrayed no recognition of their masters, for no soldier can recognize his dog—so heinous a circumstance is attempted stowaway. Nor did they whine or complain or voice a bark. They disappeared, these solders' dogs, and further deponent sayeth not, save that these same dogs ran down the gangway at Vera Cruz. It may be nice to be an army woman in time of peace, but in war it is not so nice. Have our army women learned the control that plays so large a part in their husbands' business? Everything was quiet with them: there were no scenes, no violent sobbings, no hysteria. There were heavy eyes and moist eyes, last words, and yet again last words after, and that was all. In short, in this act of saying farewell to their men folks the army women are splendid. Some I saw acceding to their husbands' wishes—saying a last good-by and departing before the whistles of the transports blew. One in particular I noted—a captain's wife. He led her down the gangway to the wharf and kissed her a long good-by, after which he returned on board. Then, her lips trembling, she turned and went straight down the dock to the shore. Not once did she turn her head and look back. A color sergeant, his wet-eyed wife beside him, held a very young baby in his arms. For a long time he gazed down on the tiny mite of life and said nothing. A young lieutenant hung about his mother, pressed the last lingering kiss on her lips, and, hand lingering in hand and loath to sever, he bowed his head in old-time gallantry and kissed her hand.

On the Face of the Waters

HIGH in the Gulf of Mexico, the lights of Galveston astern, the four transports, massed with lights from stem to stern, are being formed into a square, two abreast, under direction of destroyers that glide like a long row of shadows out of the gloom; that give orders through megaphones, and that glide away into the gloom, talking across the sea to one another in the medium of chimes and lights—red lights and white that flash and disappear in blinding lucidity on the short signal masts. Up above in the wireless room of the transport the words of the war men back at Galveston are being snatched out of the air. Day on the Gulf of Mexico! All is peace under an azure sky. The sapphire sea is scarcely rippled by the trade wind gently blowing, and across this placid sea stream the white transports—soldier-loaded—with an ominous destroyer convoying on either flank, while a third destroyer scouts ahead. A blur of smoke rises on the horizon and we know that the battleship Louisiana has come up from Vera Cruz to meet us. We know while all that is visible of her is the blur of smoke, for her name and errand have long been snatched out of the air by wizards' apprentices in the wireless room.

title: The Red Game Of War


text:
The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Arithmetic

ARITHMETIC (Gr. ἀριθμητική, from ἀριθμεῖν, to count), the science of the properties and relations of numbers when expressed with figures or relations of figures. The accepted opinion is that we have derived this science from the Greeks, who obtained it from the Phœnicians; but if we consider that the Chaldeans, one of the oldest nations, have given us the knowledge of certain astronomical cycles or periods, of which the determination required an advanced knowledge of arithmetic, it is evident that its origin is of much earlier date. The Hebrews and Greeks used the first nine letters of their alphabet for the numbers 1 to 9; the next nine letters for 10, 20, &c., to 90; and the others for hundreds; while for thousands they recommenced the alphabet and added to each letter a mark or iota. The Romans followed a similar system, of which our Roman numerals are a specimen. But arithmetic did not reach its more modern state of progress until the introduction of the Arabic figures now used by all civilized nations. The Arabs admit that they obtained these figures from Hindostan in the 10th century. They call them Indian figures, and arithmetic the Indian science. Boëthius, in his work De Geometria, informs us that the disciples of Pythagoras used in their calculations nine peculiar figures, while others used the letters of the alphabet; and it is probable that this philosopher, who had travelled considerably, had obtained this knowledge in Hindostan, and communicating it as a secret to his disciples, caused it to remain sterile in their hands. The Greeks in the ordinary way of writing expressed the fractions thus: while β, γ, δ, &c., stood for 2, 3, 4, &c., β', γ', δ', represented ½, ⅓, ¼, &c. The oldest text book

on arithmetic employing the Arabian or Indian figures, and the decimal system, is undoubtedly that of Avicenna, the Arabian physician, who lived in Bokhara about A.D. 1000; it was found in manuscript in the library at Cairo, Egypt and contains, besides the rules for addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division, many peculiar properties of numbers. (For a translation of a portion of this remarkable manuscript by Marcel, see De Montfévrier, Dictionnaire des sciences mathématiques, vol. i., p. 141 et seq.) It was not till the beginning of the 13th century that the science of arithmetic began to be diffused in Europe. One of the earliest writers on the subject was John Halifax, better known as Sacro-Bosco, who in the 13th century composed an arithmetic in Latin rhymes, in which the shapes of the figures are nearly identical with those of the present day. The monk Planudes, who flourished in the early part of the 14th century, wrote a book entitled “Indian Arithmetic, or the Manner of Reckoning after the Indian Style,” of which several manuscripts still exist. Contemporary with him was Jordanus of Namur, author of the Algorithmus Demonstratus, and also of a treatise on arithmetic which Jacques Faber published with commentaries immediately after the invention of printing. A great development of the science now took place. In the 16th century Clavius and Stifelius (Stiefel) in Germany and Digges in England were conspicuous for their services to this science, and the Arabian or Indian figures came into use among the learned; but it was not till the 17th century that arithmetic began to be a regular branch of common education. —The value of our system of arithmetical notation, as is well known, consists in the adoption of a scale and of a system by which the place of the figure in the order in which it appears causes its value to increase in multiples of that scale. The universally adopted scale is the decimal, probably derived from the number of fingers of the human hand, but other scales might have been adopted as well; and the advantages which some persons suppose might have been derived from the adoption of a different scale, as the duodecimal or twelve, the tonal or sixteen, &c., are more apparent than real. A smaller scale would, however, have simplified arithmetical operations, as was forcibly demonstrated by Leibnitz, who showed how with the smallest possible scale, the binary, and the consequent use of only two figures, 1 and 0, operations were so much simplified that there might be even a saving of time in reducing a decimal expression into a binary one, performing the operation, and restoring it back again into the decimal system. The regular series of numbers, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, &c., is expressed in the binary system thus: 1, 10, 11, 100, 101, 110, 111, 1000, 1001, &c.; in the ternary system, in which three is adopted as the basis, it is 1, 2, 10, 11, 12, 20, 21, 22, 100, &c.—When

goes beyond the practical calculations by numbers, and treats of the properties of numbers in general, it enters the field of algebra. The properties of numbers are of two kinds: some are general and inherent in the numbers themselves, while others depend on the decimal system adopted. Thus the law that the sum of two numbers multiplied by their difference is equal to the difference of their squares is a general property; while the fact that if the sum of the figures is divisible by 9, the whole number is divisible by 9, is a property depending on the adoption of the decimal system; if we had adopted the duodecimal system, 11 would have that property.—Besides ordinary arithmetic, we may distinguish a palpable arithmetic performed by the sense of feeling by the blind; an instrumental arithmetic, where the solutions are obtained by peculiarly contrived instruments; a tabular arithmetic, where problems are solved by means of tables computed for the purpose, &c.—Pestalozzi, the great German pedagogue, applied his method to instruction in arithmetic with the most eminent success. It was introduced into the United States by Warren Colburn of Massachusetts, by the publication of treatises on this subject which have largely influenced the authors of arithmetical text books, a great variety of excellent practical works having since been published, to which we refer for further information in regard to the practical details of this science.—For many curious facts on the properties of numbers, see Gauss, Disquisitions Arithmeticæ, or Legendre, Théorie des nombres.

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Orton, Arthur


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Ottley, Francis


text: Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Meilleur, Jean Baptiste


text:
Page:Deserted Tenements Act 1817(ukpga 18170052 en).pdf/1

[27th June 1817.]

HEREAS by an Act of Parliament paed in the Eleventh Year of the Reign of His late Majety King George the Second, intituled An Act for the more a effectual ecuring the Payment of Rents, and preventing Frauds by Tenants, it is amongst other Things enacted, that from and after the Twenty-fourth Day of June One thouand even hundred and thirty-eight, if any Tenant holding any Lands, Tenements, or Hereditaments at a Rack Rent, or where the Rent reerved hould be full Three-fourths of the Yearly Value of the demied Premies, who hould be in Arrear for One Year's Rent, hould deert the demied Premies, and leave the ame uncultivated or unoccupied, o as no ufficient Ditres could be had to countervail the Arrears of Rent, it hould and might be lawful to and for Two or more Jutices of the Peace of the County, Riding, Diviion, or Place (having no Interet in the demied Premies), at the Requet of the Leor or Landlord, Leors or Landlords, or his, her, or their Bailiff or Receiver, to go upon and view the ame, and to affix or caue to be affixed on the mot notorious Part of the Premies Notice in Writing what Day (at the Ditance of Fourteen Days at leat) they would return to take a Second View thereof; and if upon uch Second View the Tenant, or ome Peron on his or her Behalf, hould not appear and pay the Rent in Arrear, or there hould not be ufficient Ditres upon the Premies, then the aid Justices


text: A Complete Guide to Heraldry/Chapter 27

title: A Complete Guide to Heraldry/Chapter 27


text: Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Bagot, Charles


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Paget, Augustus Berkeley


text:
The Trouble Makers Of Mexico

HE commonest, as well as the gravest, mistake in human intercourse is that very human weakness of creating all other individuals in one's own image. What "I like" I can see no reason but what everybody else should like. What is good for me is good for you. If I am fascinated by a certain book, I am astounded to learn that you do not like that book. If I find vegetarianism provocative of good health in me, ergo, it will be provocative of good health in you. If black coffee produces sleeplessness in me, I am appalled when you drink two cups of black coffee in the evening. When my wife and I fall out, it is because I ignore the fact that she feels, reasons, and acts in ways different from my ways. She, likewise, makes the same mistake about me. Her entire family and mine may fail to patch the matter up, and, in the end, a judge, equipped with wisdom of the race embodied in our law, may divorce us because we are different from each other—incompatible, in short. I once knew the dearest, sweetest, and most sympathetic of women, who was unable, when she lacked in appetite, to comprehend that anybody else could be hungry.

Useless Tragedy

IN THE same way different groups of people, of the same race and country, fail to understand one another. The cowboys of the open range never understood the settler with his barbed-wire fences. The East does not understand California to-day in her attitude on the Japanese question. The East thinks California is like the East and that Californians are like Easterners. In brief, the East recreates California in her own image. Since such mistakes of understanding are common among groups of people of the same breed and country, it is patent that deeper and more disastrous mistakes may be made among people of different races dwelling in different countries. The chief cause of our misunderstanding to-day of the Mexicans is that we have created them in our own American image. With a comfortable sense of fairness we have put ourselves inside the Mexicans, along with our morality, our democracy, and all the rest of our points of view, and accepting therefore that the Mexicans should think, feel, and act just as we would under similar circumstances, we are shocked to find out that they won't do anything of the sort. Instead of having our eyes opened by this cardinal error, we proceed to reason that their conduct should be made to become like our conduct, and that we should treat them and deal with them as if they were still just like us, with a history behind them similar to ours, with institutions similar to ours, and with an ethic similar to ours. Here, in the portals of Vera Cruz, the talk about Mexico and Mexicans buzzes high all day long and far into the night. Never was there a more animated and indefatigable debating society. One listens to the talk and wonders what it is all about, what bearing it has on the situation. I, for one, cannot comprehend how it is germane whether Madero was a patriot or a grafter; whether Huerta is a heroic figure of an Indian or a lunatic black Nero; whether Huerta murdered Madero or Madero committed suicide; whether the Huerta government should have been recognized by the United States long ago or that United States intervention should have taken place long ago. What I see, with all the talk of little things filling my ears, is a torn and devastated Mexico, in which twelve million peons and all native and foreign business men are being injured and destroyed by the silly and selfish conduct of a few mixed breeds. I see a great, rich country, capable of supporting in happiness a hundred million souls, being smashed to chaos by a handful of child-minded men playing with the tragic tools of death made possible by modern mechanics and chemistry.

A Republic Where Nobody Votes

THESE child-minded men are playing with the tools of giants. It is like a family of small children playing with sticks of dynamite on the front porch, in the basement, and up in the attic of their dwelling. One can see a hurry call sent into the nearest police station by the good citizens of the neighborhood for a squad of police to take the dynamite away from the children. From garret to basement the dwelling of Mexico is being torn to pieces by the dynamite in the hands of the contending factions. The stay-at-home American listens to the slogans uttered by the various leaders of this anarchy, makes the mistake of conceiving the leaders in his own image and of thinking that "Liberty," "Justice," and a "Square Deal" mean the same to them that they mean to him. Nothing of the sort. In the four centuries of Spanish and Mexican rule, liberty, justice, and the square deal have never existed. Mexico is a republic in which nobody votes. Its liberty has ever been construed as license. Its justice has consisted of an effort at equitable division of the spoils of an exploited people. That even theives' honor did not obtain among these thieves is shown by the numerous revolutions and dictatorships. In a country where a man is legally considered guilty of a crime until he proves himself innocent, justice must mean an entirely different thing from what it means to an American. And so it is with all the rest of the bombastic and valorous phrases in the vocabulary of the Mexican. Now the foregoing must not be taken as a denial of any right or good in the people of Mexico. On the contrary, the great mass of the Mexicans have nothing to do with the matter at all; but, being different form the American, being unversed and uninterested in the affairs of government, they sit supinely back and let the petty handful of leaders despoil them and the country.

Proclivities

ALSO, there have even been isolated cases of leaders, such as Juarez, to go no further, who were animated by ideals somewhat resembling our own. In the Madero revolution there were similar men. The test of the matter is the whole matter, and the whole matter is that no measure of liberty, justice, and the square deal has been achieved in all Mexico in the last four hundred years. There is all the difference in the world between fighting and government. Anybody and anything can fight. Dogs and cats, centipedes and scorpions fight. Fighting is a very primitive sort of exercise. Governing is a high achievement, especially governing with peace and honesty and fair dealing, and this is something which the Mexicans have never succeeded in doing from the day they broke away from Spain's palsied grasp. After the fall of Iturbide, in 1824, a republican constitution was adopted and promulgated. In the forty-seven years between 1821 and 1868 the form of government was changed ten times, federal republics, central republics, and dictatorships alternating one with another. In those forty-seven years over fifty persons succeeded one another as presidents, dictators, and emperors. One authority states that in the same period there were three hundred attempts, more or less important, at revolution. Clearly, the Mexicans have demonstrated a penchant for fighting, but what they have not demonstrated is the high ability requisite for governing.

The Turbulent Element

EVEN the deeper read and widely traveled American, able somewhat to refrain from seeing Mexico in his own image and in his image of his own country, is guilty of the error of seeing Mexico in the image of a Latin country. The people of Mexico are not Latins. They are Indians. And they are Indians, only somewhat resembling the Indians of the United States. They are not merely a different tribe. They are a different race of Indians. Sixty-five per cent of the inhabitants are pure Indians; 15 percent are pure Spanish, Americans, English, and other foreigners. The remaining 20 per cent are mixed Indian and Spanish. It is this mixed 20 per cent that, according to the stay-at-home American notion, constitutes the Mexican, and practically the totality of the Mexican population. And it is just precisely this 20 per cent half-breed class that foments all the trouble, plays childishly with the tools of giants, and makes a shambles and a chaos of the land. These "breeds" represent neither the great working class, nor the property-owning class, nor the picked men of the united States and Europe who have given Mexico what measure of exotic civilization it possesses. These "breeds" are the predatory class. They produce nothing. They create nothing. They aim to possess a shirt, ride on a horse, and "shake down" the people who work and the people who develop. These "breeds" do politics, issue pronunciamentos, raise revolutions or are revolutionized against by others of them, write bombastic unveracity that is accepted as journalism in this sad, rich land, steal pay rolls of companies, and eat out hacienda after hacienda as they picnic along on what they are pleased to call wars for liberty, justice, and the square deal. They claim the government of Mexico is theirs, these gentlemen with shirts, on the backs of stolen horses. And government, to them, means just precisely the license to batten upon the labor and industry of the country. The trouble is, so lacking are they in the ability for government, that they cannot maintain for any length of time the battening government of their dreams. They continually quarrel over the division of the spoils, and fight among themselves for a monopoly of the governmental battening privilege.

Devoid Even of Theives' Honor

AS I have said before, they are devoid even of theives' honor. They cannot trust one another. They cannot believe one another. For once, each correctly conceives the next one in his own image. Aware, in his heart of hearts, that he wants nothing less than 100 per cent of the swag, that only by accident could he ever be guilty of telling the truth to a fellow robber, that he is continually bent upon overreaching and double-crossing his fellow comrades of looters, he cannot expect anything else from his fellows. To paraphrase Kipling, the consistency of these half-breeds is to know no shred of consistency. Because of this they are not even successful robbers. Tammany could give them cards and spades in the game they play and win out against them hands down. They are brave on occasion. But they are not courageous. Their honor and valor reside in their tongues. They are turncoats from moment to moment. They will dine in the homes of their gringo friends one evening, and, before daylight, go gunning for their gringo friends and for the pay rolls and gold watches of their gringo friends. They are what the mixed breed always is—neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. They are neither white men nor Indians. Like the Eurasian, they possess all the vices of their various commingled bloods and none of the virtues. It is impossible for the average American to understand them. Honor is one thing to them, another thing to an American; so likewise with truth, probity, and sincerity. There is no comprehending them by the rules of conduct and forms of reasoning habitual to the American. As a sample of this, I relate the following Federal explanation of the killing of six Americans at San Pedro, in the State of Chiapas.

A Topsy-Turvy Attitude

THIS is they way the Mexicans authorities explain the mishap: When the Americans took possession of Vera Cruz, the authorities in Chiapas, fearful for the safety of the handful of American small farmers because of the inflamed condition of the populace, sent a detachment of rurales to rescue them. When the Americans saw the armed body of rurales approaching, fearing they were about to be attacked, they barricaded themselves in one if their houses. So intent was the rescue party on saving them that a hot fire was opened on the house. For three hours the rurales toiled heroically at the task of rescue, pouring a heavy fire into the house form every side. At the end of this time, the six American men being dead, the rurales stormed the house and saved the lives of an American girl of eighteen and an American boy of fourteen, whom they bore away to be mobbed through the streets of Tuxtla Gutiérrez ere they were safely put in jual. Now it is not the killing that is the point of the illustration. It is the explanation made by the Mexicans of the horrible mistake made by the Americans in not understanding that the rurales were rescuing them. Surely no American brain nor north European brain could conceive of such an explanation. Cur reasoning processes are different. We could no more imagine that such an explanation would hold water than would we commit a three hours' attack on persons we were trying to save. I should be inclined to doubt my harsh generalization on this half-breed class in Mexico were I alone in my opinion. It is because of this that I give the following extract from the "Encyclop?dia Britannica," which epitomizes the condition of affairs obtaining in Mexico from the time of Mexico's independence to the beginning of Diaz's rational despotism: "On both sides in Mexico there was an element consisting of honest doctrinaires; but rival military leaders exploited the struggles in their own interest, sometimes taking each side successively; and the instability was intensified by the extreme poverty of the peasantry, which made the soldiery reluctant to return to civil life, by the absence of a regular middle class, and by the concentration of wealth in a few hands, so that a revolutionary chief was generally sure both of money and of men."

The Self-Destroyers

NOT only is this half-caste class but one-fifth of the total population of Mexico, but only a very small portion of this half-caste class is actively engaged in fomenting the anarchy that is destroying the country and merits the harsh strictures applied to it. Educated Mexicans assert that Huerta, Carranza, Villa, and Zapata do not represent more than one hundred thousand people. There is no such thing as a national movement or a popular movement. Here is a spectacle of fifteen millions of people, without equipment or ability for government, being harried and destroyed by a group of one hundred thousand who likewise have neither equipment nor ability for government. Surely, there can be no discussion of this. What is is. What is is incontrovertible. And the unhappy situation of misgovernment in Mexico to-day is a fact and is incontrovertible.

Two Indians at the Head of Mexico

THERE are three millions of the half-castes. When they permit, as they do, by their passivity, the pernicious and anarchic activity of the small group of one hundred thousand of them, they are themselves negatively responsible for the present state of affairs. The point is that they likewise have no aptitude for government. Heavens, when it comes to the mere matter of ability to make organized trouble, the very half-breeds themselves are dependent on the peons! The two strongest men to-day in Mexico are the ex-bandit peon and Indian, Villa, in the north, and Huerta, the Tiaxcalan Indian, in the south. The attitude of the hundred thousand active half-breeds is that the government belongs to them and not to the fifteen millions. It is their government, and, by the Eternal, they are going to do what they please with it. Civilization? They are not interested in civilization. Civilization can go smash, and, i' faith, they will smash it themselves if they have a mind to. These men have talked republic since the year 1824, yet Mexico has never been a republic. Certainly it was not a republic under the capitalistic dictatorship of Porfirio Diaz. Elections here are either slates put through by dictators and their cliques, or straight-out revolutions, in either case the one object being unadulterated loot. Now they do not say this, these child-minded men. They spout patriotism and valor, liberty, justice, and the square deal—all of which glorious phrases mean nothing of the sort, but are synonymous with loot. They are not men in a world of men, these half-breed trouble makers. They are child-minded and ignoble-purposed. The stern stuff of manhood, as we understand manhood, is not in them. This stern stuff is in the pure-blooded Indians, however; but it manifests itself all to rarely, else it would be impossible for the many millions of Indians to have endured slavery for four hundred years at the hands of their tiny group of masters.

If Only He had Settled Villa

HUERTA is the flower of the Mexican Indian. Such Indians have appeared, on occasion, in the United States. Huerta is brave. Huerta is masterful. But even Huerta has never betrayed possession of high ideals nor wide social vision. And Huerta has made mistakes. Two of these mistakes, to be mentioned in passing but which are not apposite to the contention of this article, are: (1) his not killing Zapata when he had the chance; (2) his very grievous error in not killing Villa the time he had him backed up against a wall facing a firing squad. It was on this latter occasion that he compelled Villa, on his knees, arms clasped about Huerta's legs, to beg Huerta for his life. Villa has not forgotten that little episode. And it is fair to assume that sometimes the memory of these two mistakes flits regretfully through Huerta's mind as he sips a drink at the Country Club and contemplates Villa moving irresistibly down on him from the north; both his coasts blockaded by American warships and all arms and war munitions embargoed; Zapata at his back to the south and west like a hungry tiger; his credit exhausted, but a small portion of his own country left in his hands, and his own people in his capital city ripe to turn on him the instant he totters. I should not like to be Villa or Zapata if only for five minutes Huerta should get hold of me. Nor should I like to be Huerta if only for five minutes Zapata or Villa should get hold of me.

Will the Peon Get the Land?

EGYPTIAN and Mayan hieroglyphics cannot obfuscate the mind of the stay-at-home American as do the phrases and slogans of the Mexican "breeds." A hieroglyphic mans nothing. The phrases and slogans of the Mexicans do not mean what they seem to mean. Countless Americans think the present revolution is and expression of the peon's land hunger. Madero raised that cry. Zapata still raises the same cry. Orozco promised the peons free farms in his plan of Tacubaya, when he was already the bought tool of the great hacienda land owners who had employed him to cause confusion to Madero. Carranza, in veiled words and vague promises, shied at the division of the great haciendas. Villa still shouts "free land." But how about the peon? There are twelve million peons. They have had four centuries to get interested in the subject. Considering the paucity of the numbers of their masters, they have evidently not considered the matter to any purpose. I doubt, by a count of noses, if one-fourth of one per cent of the peons of Mexico are bearing arms for the purpose of gaining free land or gaining anything else their leaders desire. Villa confiscated the great estates if Chihuahua. To each adult male in the State of Chihuahua he gave sixty acres of land. But there was a string on the gift. For ten years the land was to be inalienable. His explanation of this string is that the peon has lost his ancient land hunger, and that, if given the land outright, he would immediately sell or gamble away his holding. Of course the peon should have the land. Some day he will have it. But when no more than one-fourth of one per cent of the peons have risen to take the land, the feebleness of the peon land hunger is fully told. So another magic phrase means one thing to the American mind and quite a different thing to the Mexican mind. It is impossible to conceive of twelve million Americans, gnawed by the land hunger, arming and sending into the field one-fourth of one percent of their number to fight for the land. Either the peon is different from the American, or land hunger is one thing to the one and another thing to the other. Apparently both contentions are true. The American is an Anglo-Saxon. The peon is an Indian, and a Mexican Indian at that. Furthermore, the Mexican Indian, before the Spaniard came, did not hold land individually; he held it communally.

Born Guerrillas

FURTHER to discredit this one-fourth of one per cent of peons bearing arms, two things must be taken into account. Numbers of them are restless and rough-natured only, rather than sustained by a belief in the rightness of the war they wage. Numbers of them are criminal and disorderly individuals. Numbers of them fight on either side according to the fortunes of battle. Numbers of them are happy-go-lucky, preferring the fun and adventure of guerrilla warfare to the stay-at-home, plodding life of the farmer. The second thing is no less important. They like the job. They have got the habit of revolution. What peon, with any spunk in him, would elect to slave on a hacienda for a slave's reward when, in the ranks of Zapata, Carranza, or Villa, he can travel, see the country, ride a horse, carry a rifle, get a peso or so a day, loot when fortune favors, and, if lucky, on occasion kill a fellow creature—this last a particularly delightful event to a people who delight in the bloody spectacles of the bull ring. The totality of the Mexicans being so incapable of government that a handful of disorderly and incapable "breeds" can play ducks and drakes with the whole land, poor Mexico is in such a situation to-day that, unaided from without, the game of ducks and drakes can be played interminably. There is no other Perfirio Diaz in sight. There is no strong "breed" capable of whipping the rest of the disorderly "breeds" and the country into shape. There is no popular movement on which such a strong man might depend for support. Nor is there a national cause. The educated Mexicans, the wealthy Mexicans, the business and shopkeeping Mexicans, hail American intervention with delight. The vast majority of the peons ask merely to be let alone, and not to be drafted into the fighting ranks of this leader and of that leader and of the many leaders continually arising. Victories, presidencies, and dictatorships can be only temporary. The handful of anarchs cannot pacify Mexico, because Mexico does not need pacifying. They cannot pacify themselves, which is the actual need of Mexico, because they are too weak, too inefficient, too turbulent, too disorderly. Spain, despite her world empire, which she picked up at a lucky stroke, much as a Hottentot might pick up a Koh-i-noor, never possessed any genius for government. The descendants of the Spaniards in Mexico, interbred with the native Indians, have likewise displayed no genius for government. Facts are facts. What the Spaniards and their descendants have not succeeded in doing in Mexico during the last four hundred years is an eloquent story. Mexico must be saved from herself. What Mexico really needs is to be saved from the insignificant portion of her half-breeds who are causing all the trouble. They should not form the government at all. And yet they are the very ones who insist on forming it, and they cannot be eliminated by those who should form it, namely, the twelve million peons and the nearly three million peaceably inclined half-breeds.

title: The Trouble Makers Of Mexico


text:
Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Lybrand, Archibald

LYBRAND, Archibald, congressman, b. in Tarlton, Ohio, 23 May, 1840, and was graduated from the Wesleyan university of his native state. He entered the army in 1861 as a private in the 4th Ohio infantry, later becoming captain of the 73d regiment of Ohio infantry, was in the battles of Chancellorsville and Gettysburg, and was wounded at Peach Tree Creek, and again at Dallas during the Atlanta campaign. After the war he became mayor of Delaware, Ohio, where he practised law, and partner in the Delaware chair company, to which for many years Mr. Lybrand has devoted much time. He is also a large landholder and has extensive farming interests. In 1897 he was elected to congress as a Republican, and was re-elected in 1899, representing the 8th Ohio district.


text: Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Shellabarger, Samuel


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Paget, James


text: Author:Peter Henri Van Der Weyde

title: Author:Peter Henri Van Der Weyde


text:
Page:Deserted Tenements Act 1817(ukpga 18170052 en).pdf/2

514 Jutices might put the Landlord or Landlords, Leor or Leors, into the Poeion of the aid demied Premies; and the Leae thereof to uch Tenant, as to any Demie therein contained only, hould from thenceforth become void: And whereas it is expedient, for the due Protection of the Interet of Landlords, that o much of the aid Act as requires a Tenant to be in Arrear for One Year's Rent hould be altered, and that the Proviions of the aid Act hould be extended to Tenancies where no Right of Entry in cae of Non-payment is reerved to the Landlord; be it therefore enacted by the King's mot Excellent Majety, by and with the Advice and Conent of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and Commons, in this preent Parliament aembled, and by the Authority of the ame, That from and after the paing of this Act of the Proviions, Powers, and Remedies by the aid recited Act given to Leors and Landlords in cae of any Tenant deerting the demied Premies, and leaving the ame uncultivated or unoccupied, o as no ufficient Ditres can be had to countervail the Arrears of Rent, hall be extended to the Cae of Tenants holding any, Lands, Tenements, or Hereditaments at a Rack Rent, or where the Rent reerved hall be full Three Fourths of the Yearly Value Year's Rent of the demied Premies, and who hall be in Arrear for One Half Year's Rent (intead of for One Year, as in the aid recited Act is provided and enacted), and who hall hold uch Lands and Tenements or Hereditaments under any Demie or Agreement either written or verbal, and although no Right or Power of Re-entry be reerved or given to the Landlord in cae of Non-payment of Rent, who hall be in Arrear for One Half Year's Rent, intead of for One Year, as in the aid recited Act is provided and enacted.


text: Index:Deserted Tenements Act 1817(ukpga 18170052 en).pdf


text: Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Patterson, Robert (pioneer)


text:
Page:Cadet Handbook and Section Roll.pdf/24

The examination will include a few simple practical tests in—

The following syllabus of training for Senior Cadets is published for the guidance of all concerned and will be adhered to as closely as local conditions permit.

In order that the syllabus may be followed, it will be necessary to train the different quotas separately as far as possible in companies or sections.

This may not be practicable in many small training localities, and in these cases Brigade Majors and Area Officers will see that the instruction is carried out on progressive lines and as far as possible in accordance with the syllabus.


text: Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Pearson, Jonathan


text: Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/McLene, Jeremiah


text:
With Funston’s Men

AYBREAK on a glassy sea and startled flying fish are struggling to fly in the absence of wind. Seaward the destroyers, like cardboard silhouettes, pass across the blood-red orb of the sun just clearing the horizon. Ahead still steams our convoying battleship, the Louisiana. Astern, in line at half speed, steam our three sister transports. Coastward are the blinking lighthouse, a long blur of land that with growing day resolves itself into a breakwater, a low shore, a towered city, and a harbor of many battleships. So many battleships are there that they have spilled out of the crowded harbor until several times as many are in the open roadstead. And there are naval supply ships, hospital ships, a wireless ship, and colliers. And overhead, to give the last touch of modern war to the scene, a naval hydroplane burrs like some gigantic June bug through the gray of day. Here, where Cortez burned his ships long centuries gone, and where Scott bombarded and took the city two generations ago, lie Uncle Sam's warships with every man on his toes. Yes, and every soldier gazing eagerly ashore from crowded transports is on his toes. All is peaceful, yet the feeling one gets of the many ships, the burring flying machines, and the thousands of men is that of being on tiptoe to begin.

On Tiptoe for Excitement

ASHORE all is as peaceful and as markedly on its toes as is the sea. Everywhere marines and bluejackets are cooking breakfast. From the roof of the Terminal Hotel sailors are wigwagging. Sailor aids of sailor officers gallop back and forth on commandeered Mexican horses, and commandeered automobiles dash by with the officers on the seats and armed sailors standing on the running boards. American women, quite like American women at home, with never an earmark of being refugees from the interior of Mexico, are breakfasting on the cool arcaded sidewalks of hotels bordering the Plaza. Overhead whirl huge electric fans along the lines of the tables where our women breakfast so composedly and sailor sentries pace back and forth. Sentries are everywhere. So are the newsboys with their eternal extras. Through the confusion of bootblacks, flower sellers, and picture post-card peddlers stride naval and marine officers in duck and khaki, and from the hips of all of them big revolvers and automatics swing in leather holsters. Down the street, in the thick of mule carts and mounted sailors, pass bareheaded Mexican women returning from market with big fish unwrapped and glistening in the sun. In the Hotel Diligencia's bedroom where I write these lines under lofty, gold-edged beams, there is a spatter of fresh bullet holes on the blue wall. In the lace-patterned mosquito canopy over my bed is a line of irregular rents which, folded as they were originally, show the path of a single bullet. The glass of the French windows that open on the balcony is perforated by many bullets. The wrecked door shows how our sailors entered behind the butts of their rifles in the course of the street fighting and house cleaning. From the fretted balcony one can see the ruins of plate glass and mirrors in the shops and hotels fronting the street and plaza.

Feats of Sailor Ingenuity

MEXICAN officers seem to have notions different from ours in the matter of prosecuting war. When the landing of our forces was imminent, General Maas, who was the Federal commander at Vera Cruz, released the criminal portion of the prisoners confined in the fortress of San Juan de Ulloa. These were the hard cases, the murderers and robbers and men guilty of violent and terrible crimes. The politicals General Maas was very careful not to release. And when our forces did land, General Maas fled for the hinterland before the fighting began, having first instructed his soldiers to shift for themselves. While the released prisoners did take some part in the street fighting and housetop sniping, in the main they devoted themselves to pillage. Hard cash was what they went after, as for instance the smashed safes in Mr. Tansey's office at the Pierce Oil Refinery attest. Falling back before our men, these convicts terrorized the country people, looting everything of value and not refraining from attacking the women. So merciless were they that the outraged peons captured and summarily executed two of them who had lingered behind their fellows. Yes, there is a decided evolution in technique of war as practiced by modern soldiers. Our fighting ships are ten and fifteen million-dollar electrical, chemical, and mechanical laboratories, and they are manned by scientists and mechanicians. They had the street cleaners out ere the bodies were picked up. In a matter of several hours they repaired and ran the two scrapped locomotives which the Federals had thought too worthless to run out. And while this was going on other sailors were rigging short wireless masts on top of a day coach and equipping the car with a complete wireless apparatus. The ice plant of Vera Cruz had broken down, and Vera Cruz without ice was a condition not to be tolerated, so by afternoon the sailors had repaired the plant, and the sick and wounded as well as all the rest of the city had its ice again. When four knocked-down automobiles were discovered, volunteers were called for and in less than three hours the cars were assembled and were being driven about the city on military business by the jackies who had assembled them. As civilians remarked, our sailors are able to practice all trades and professions under the sun with the sole exception of wet-nursing. Even so, I have seen them carrying Mexican babies for tired mothers across the stretch of railroad which the Federals destroyed. And the way our sailors drove and rode horses, mules, and burros was even more wonderful than their other achievements. They came off our ships sailors; they will return soldiers.

Navigating a Mexican Horse

THEY tell of one young sailor who mounted a commandeered horse in a lull in the fighting. He had not minded the fighting, but it was with somewhat of the spirit one embarks on a forlorn hope that he got his legs astride the animal. "Well," he said as he settled himself in the saddle, "commence." "What do I do now?" asked another jacky, mounting at the Plaza. "Go ahead half speed," was the advice. "Keep your helm amidships to the corner, then starboard your helm and proceed under forced draft." It is true that, when under forced draft, the jackies hold on inelegantly by main strength of gripping legs; but the point is that they do hold on. I have looked in vain to see one of them separated from his mount. One misadventure only have I witnessed: and then the sailor, at a dead gallop, abruptly put his helm hard over at a sharp corner and capsized his four-legged craft. When the band struck up "The Star-Spangled Banner" at Admiral Fletcher's flag raising, a marine, mounted on a Mexican horse, took its ear and turned it forward. "Listen to that, hombre," said the marine; "that's real music. It's American music." On the Arkansas occurred an incident which serves to show to what extent our men were on their toes prior to landing. Lieutenant Commander Keating of the Arkansas battalion had selected the best and strongest of his men for shore work. The men who were not selected were sad and sore. At the last there remained but one man more to select, and two of the youngsters urged what was considered equal claims of health, strength, and record. How to decide between them was beyond the Lieutenant Commander. The boys themselves suggested the way. They put on boxing gloves and fought for it. Those who saw the battle aver that it was the hottest bout between amateurs they had ever witnessed. At the end of four rounds it was a draw and Lieutenant Commander Keating was more perplexed than ever. His final solution of the problem was the only way it could be fairly solved. He took both lads. Later he reported that, as in everything else, they had played equally splendid parts in shore fighting and shore work.

Incredible Marksmanship

ONLY very brave men or fools without any knowledge of modern shell fire could have fired upon our sailors and marines from the Naval School. Broadside on, at close range, lay the Chester. When the first shots were fired upon our men, the Chester went into action for a hot five minutes. Had the taxpayer at home witnessed the way those upper story windows were put out by the Chester's shells, he would never again grudge the money spent in recent years in target practice. Onlookers say that it reminded them of Buffalo Bill's exhibitions of rifle shooting. The outside of the Naval School was little damaged. Inside it was a vast wreck. Practically every shell entered by way of the windows and exploded inside. When I visited the building, which is a huge affair, many buzzards were appropriately perched on the broken parapets. Inside, through burst floors, rent ceilings, and masses of fallen masonry, one could trace the flight of the shells through massive partitions to the spots where they had exploded.

There was all the evidence of the hot five minutes. In the big patio were great heaps of fallen cement balustrades from second-story balconies. Some of the shells went clear through the building, crossed the patio, and burst in the rear rooms. Many years had been consumed in the constructions, equipping, and organizing of that building, and in five minutes it was to all intents and purposes destroyed. Such is the efficiency of twentieth century war machinery. Laboratories furnished with most delicate and expensive instruments were knocked into cocked hats by single shells. One lecture room was filled with beautiful models of ships. One model, of a full-rigged ship, twenty-five feet in length, with skysail yards and all sails set, precise in every minutest detail aloft and alow, was undamaged save for a rent in her mainsail from a fragment of shell. Other and smaller models, shattered and dismasted, covered the floor with all the destruction of an armada. On a blackboard was scrawled "Captured by the U. S. S. New Hampshire, April 22, 1914." In other lecture rooms, on blackboards alongside academic problems of war as demonstrated by Mexican cadets, were chalked records of boys from the Utah, the San Francisco, and the Arkansas. Bloodstained cots and pillows showed that more than roof beams and masonry had been shattered. Through knee-deep riffraff of discarded uniforms, sketches, maps, and examination papers, clucked and strutted on live thing left from the bombardment—a trip Mexican rooster that bore all the marks of a fighting cock. But it was in the second story that the worst devastation was wrought. Roofs, floors, and walls were perforated and smashed to chaos. "Mind your foot," was the constant cry as one trod gingerly over débris and wove in and out among yawning holes. The touch of the eternal feminine was not missing. My lady's boudoir seemed to have received the severest fire. Fourteen shell holes punctured the walls, the ceiling had partly fallen in, a great hole gaped in the floor, and one shell had burst directly on the brass bed. The floor was hillocked with masses of masonry and broken furniture, and all about were scattered pretties and fripperies of the lady—empty jewel cases, powder puffs, silver-mounted brushes. Most conspicuous of all was a pair of red, high-heeled Spanish slippers.

Aboard the Rescue Train

DOWN in the railroad station, where I boarded the rescue train that runs out each day to the Federal lines, our sailors and marines were cooking, washing clothes, and teaching the Mexican youth how to pitch baseball. All along the track, until the country was reached, our men were encamped and performing sentry duty. A guard of bluejackets, under the command of Lieutenant Fletcher of the Florida, manned the train. The engine was run by our enlisted men, who had repaired it, as was also the wireless by the men who had installed it. Even the porter of the Pullman car was an unmistakable American negro. Two miles beyond our last outpost we came to the break where the Federals had torn up two miles of track, burning the ties and carrying the rails away with them. Here, also, was a blockhouse of advanced Federal outposts. Under a white Turkish towel, carried by a sailor, Lieutenant Fletcher met and conferred with the Mexican Lieutenant in charge. The latter was small, stupid-tired, and a greatly embarrassed sort of man. The contrast between the two Lieutenants was striking. The Mexican Lieutenant strove to add inches to himself by standing on top of a steel rail. But in vain. The American still towered above him. The American was—well, American. Little of Mexican or of Spanish was in the other. It was patent that he was mostly Indian. Even more of Indian was in the ragged, leather-sandaled soldiers under him. They were short, squat, patient-eyed, long-enduring as the way of the peon has been even in the long centuries preceding Cortez, when Aztec and Toltec enslaved him to burden bearing.

The Oxlike Peon Soldier

ONE could not help being sorry for these sorry soldier Indians, who slouched awkwardly about while our Lieutenant scanned the far track across the break in the hope of some sign of our countrymen fleeing from the capital. Sorry soldier Indians they truly were. When I though of our own fine boys of the fleet and the army back in Vera Cruz, it seemed to me that it could not be war, but murder. What chance could such lowly, oxlike creatures, untrained themselves and without properly trained officers, have against our highly equipped, capably led young men? These soldiers of the peon type are merely descendants of the millions of stupid ones who could not withstand the several hundred ragamuffins of Cortez and who passed stupidly from the hash slavery of the Montezumas to the no less harsh slavery of the Spaniards and of the later Mexicans.

But Even Peons Can Hurl Death

AND yet one must not forget that each one of these sorry soldiers bore a modern rifle, the cartridges for which, loaded with smokeless powder, are capable of propelling a bullet to kill at a mile's distance and farther, and, at closer range, to perforate the bodies of two or three men. Also, each of these sorry soldiers, at command, by the mere crooking of index fingers, could release far-flighted messengers of death. Also, the mark of the cross, rightly applied to the steel-jacketed nose of the bullet, can turn that bullet into a dumdum that makes a small hold on entering a man's body and a hole the size of a soup plate on leaving. It requires no intelligence thus to notch a bullet. Even a peon can do it. War is a silly thing for a rational, civilized man to contemplate. To settle matters of right and justice by means of introducing into human bodies foreign substances that tear them to pieces is no less silly than ducking elderly ladies of eccentric behavior to find out whether or not they are witches. But—and there you are—what is the rational man to do when those about him persist in settling matters at issue by violent means?

Even Peace Lovers Must Be Prepared

I AM a rational man. I firmly believe in arbitrament by police magistrates and civil courts. Nevertheless, on occasion, I find myself in contact with men who are prone, say, to rob me of my purse, and who elect to do it by violent and disruptive means. So, on such occasions, I am compelled to carry an automatic in order to dispute with such men my path in life which they are blocking and ambuscading. Personally, and for a lazy man, carrying a big automatic is a confounded nuisance. I hope for the day to come when it will not be necessary for any man to carry an automatic. But in the meantime, preferring to be a live dog rather than a dead lion, I keep thin oil on my pistol and try it out once in a while to make sure that it is working.

As it is with rational men to-day so it is with nations. The dream of a world police force and of a world court of arbitration will some day be realized. But that day is not to-day. What is is. And to cope with what is, it behooves nations to keep thin oil on their war machinery and know how to handle it. Texas was long notorious as a gun-fighting State. To-day it is against the law for a man to carry a revolver in Texas. Times do change. But there is always the time between times. As one regarded the Mexican Lieutenant with his peon soldiers, it was patent that the old order still obtained, and that each peon was equipped with sufficient cartridges to destroy the rationality of a hundred men like me.

The Man He Could Lick

AND we stood there under our white Turkish towel, surrounded by armed men, and quested across a stretch of ruined railroad for the sight of some of our own men, women, and children making their way down to the coast from mobs that looted, plundered, and cried death to them. "I've found him at last," said a friend, a Texas civilian and ex-roughrider. All the way out on the train he had been lining himself up against one and another of the husky broad-shouldered sailor boys and lamenting that he could not find a man he could lick. Now he gazed with satisfaction at the little Mexican Lieutenant and muttered in my ear: "I just wish it was up to him and me to settle this whole war. Take him on on any terms—bite, gouge, or anything up to locking us, stripped, in a dark room."

The Goal of the Refugees

A TRAIN appeared in the distance between green walls of jungle. Through our glasses we could make out parasols and sunshades that advertised women of our race who had escaped the perils of the mob-ridden interior. Permission was reluctantly accorded us, and we advanced a mile along the destroyed track to meet our countrymen. Glad as we were to see them, their gladness at seeing white men from the coast was almost pathetic. For three days and nights they had not had their clothes off nor lain in a bed, nor had they ever been certain of their lives during that time. It seems the Mexican officers have a very simple and clever technique of waging war on civilians of the United States. The officers themselves rob civilians of revolvers. This enables the next mob of death-shouting Mexicans to put words into deeds without the slightest risk of being hurt. Of course the Mexican army cannot be held responsible for all the actions and the murders committed by such mobs. Also, officers are richer by the number of weapons they accumulate from fleeing Americans. By the time our refugees reached the train and saw the American uniform they were stating that it was the finest thing they had ever seen in their lives. As the train backed into Vera Cruz the landscape continued to grow more beautiful, for it was covered everywhere with sailors and marines on sentry duty or in camp. But the sight of the inner and outer harbors filled with our warships was the finishing stroke.

Experiences at Mexican Hands

SAID one of the refugees, a doctor: "I just wish the fellows at Washington who are running things could have had our experience. It would change their views on diplomacy and on army and navy appropriation bills. I tell you, if they had been robbed and mobbed and thrown into jail along with their wives and children, and heard the roar going up all about them of 'Muerto los gringos!' and then, finally, got down the country as we have, with their tongues hanging out, and seen these warships and bluejackets—I tell you they couldn't get back to the States quick enough to start working for a larger army and navy." The views of American residents of Mexico should be of value at the present time, and I shall repeat them without comment to show how blows the wind with those whose personal interests are vitally involved. "Somehow," said one of them, "we don't enjoy seeing the United States call on the A B C class in Spanish and Portuguese to help her out of this mess." Another declared: "This waiting and watching, our Fabian offensiveness, is a whole lot easier at Washington than at Vera Cruz. Besides, I can't help working over what the Mexicans have done or are doing to my wolfhound. That dog—why sir, just standing on her four legs, she could reach her head over and take anything from the center of this breakfast table." "How are the people at home feeling now?" inquired a refugee. "They got us into this mess. Are they going to get us out of it?"

Refugee Criticism of Policy

THE thorough agreement of all American residents is that the present crisis was brought on by the policy of our Government, and that the only way out is to go on through. The taking of Vera Cruz by the naval forces of the United States precipitated the bad feeling against Americans that has been fermenting during the past several years, and if the United States should recede from its present position, it will forever be impossible for Americans again to live in Mexico. As one man, a twenty-year resident, said: "I've lived here ever since I was man-grown. I know what I am talking about. Humpty Dumpty has had a great fall. Chile, Brazil, and Argentina can never put him together again. Only our army and our navy can put us Americans back again and insure us a fair deal. And when I speak of ourselves I mean the people who have made Mexico what it is to-day, or, rather, what it was the other day before the Tampico flag incident. More than any other country—than all other countries added together—have we put in the capital, the brains, and the technical skill; we've supplied the mechanical engineers, the mining engineers, the agricultural chemists, and the scientific farmers. By virtue of what we have done in Mexico we have a right here, and we should be protected in that right, expecially since our Government by its own action has endangered that right."

"Just Turn Texas Loose"

SAID a man of action, his State obvious by his remark: "Never mind the rest of the United States. Just turn Texas loose and we'll lick them to a frazzled finish." "Huh!" from another man of action. "Send a single man upcountry with a big bag of money and the whole thing could be settled out of hand." Another long dweller in the land: "I've lived in Oaxaca fifteen years, and I make the statement, founded on personal knowledge, that 80 per cent of the middle class and educated Mexicans throughout Oaxaca would hail intervention by the United States. They are tired of this era of continual revolution." A mining engineer: "My people represent millions invested in development. We are not afraid of the next step the United States may take. What we are afraid of is that she may not take any step." A locomotive engineer: "Well, our country has got us in bad. It's up to her to get us out good." A marine guarding a sand hill: "This is a hell of a war."

Our Diplomatic Utterances

A BUSINESS man from the City of Mexico: "They have insulted me, broken windows of my home, and looted my store. Also they have robbed me of my automobile; on the way down to Vera Cruz a Mexican officer took my revolver away from me. At the present moment I have two hundred pesos and the clothes I stand up in, and my country is talking compromise." Another business man: "For years the United States has been watching and waiting. Now it has made one step into Mexico, imperiled all our lives, caused us incalculable losses of property and personal possessions, and is hesitating whether to withdraw form that one step or not." A university man: "I thought I understood the English language. I find now that I don't. My brain is fuzzy and trying to get ordinary sense out of our diplomatic uutterances." An officer of marines: "We've lost many times as many sailors as were lost in the Spanish-American War, and yet this is not war. We have merely occupied a customhouse and courteously taken the government of Vera Cruz out of the hands of Mexican officials." A staff officer of the Second Division: "It is not a question with me of the merits or demerits of the affair. I am the servant of my country. It spent a whole lot of money training me. When it says advance, I advance; when it says retreat, I retreat. Nevertheless, I remember that my old father was always fond of quoting Davy Crockett's 'Be sure you are right and then go ahead.' Well, we've come ahead from Galveston to Vera Cruz. And here we stop. What's the matter? Did the United States go ahead and then find out that it was not right?" Another officer: "It wasn't the flag incident at Tampico; it was the sum of many incidents preceding the flag incident." A lawyer: "But, as a jury decided long ago in England, two hundred blackbirds do not make a black horse." "And twenty thousand looted refugee Americans plus a thousand insults to our nation make a sum no larger than the smallest of the parts, and therefore no casus belli," was the retort of a fellow lawyer. "Whisper!" says an American farmer from Cordova. "Within a week look to see Huerta in Vera Cruz, safely on board a foreign warship, and headed for Europe." Again is limned the lurid picture of that Indian dictator in his high city—with Villa threatening death from the North, with Zapata unpacified in the South, with a great treasure cached in Europe—trying to solve the desperate problem of how to get from his high city to the sea coast and to Europe. "Against American shells?" queries the latest newspaper man from the United States. "No," answers the refugee. "Nor against Villa. He is sandbagging the palace to withstand attacks from the populace!"

title: With Funston’s Men


text:
User talk:Karmos

Welcome
Welcome

Hello, Karmos, and welcome to Wikisource! Thank you for. I hope you like the place and decide to stay. Here are a few good links for newcomers:
 * Help pages
 * Style guide
 * Inclusion policy
 * For Wikipedians

You may be interested in participating in Add the code active projects, PotM or CotW to your page for current wikisource projects.
 * Proofread of the Month
 * Community collaboration
 * Requested texts

You can put a brief description of your interests on your user page and contributions to another Wikimedia project, such as Wikipedia and Commons.

I hope you enjoy contributing to Wikisource, the library that is free for everyone to use! In discussions, please "sign" your comments using four tildes ( ~ ); this will automatically produce your IP address (or username if you're logged in) and the date. If you need help, ask me on my talk page, or ask your question here (click  [ edit] ) and place  before your question.

Again, welcome! Beeswaxcandle (talk) 22:34, 11 December 2012 (UTC)

title: User talk:Karmos


text:
User talk:Dufekin

Welcome
Welcome

Hello, Dufekin, and welcome to Wikisource! Thank you for. I hope you like the place and decide to stay. Here are a few good links for newcomers:
 * Help pages
 * Style guide
 * Inclusion policy
 * For Wikipedians

You may be interested in participating in Add the code active projects, PotM or CotW to your page for current wikisource projects.
 * Proofread of the Month
 * Community collaboration
 * Requested texts

You can put a brief description of your interests on your user page and contributions to another Wikimedia project, such as Wikipedia and Commons.

I hope you enjoy contributing to Wikisource, the library that is free for everyone to use! In discussions, please "sign" your comments using four tildes ( ~ ); this will automatically produce your IP address (or username if you're logged in) and the date. If you need help, ask me on my talk page, or ask your question here (click  [ edit] ) and place  before your question.

Again, welcome! Beeswaxcandle (talk) 22:35, 11 December 2012 (UTC)

title: User talk:Dufekin


text:
Page:EB1911 - Volume 02.djvu/424

 The variety in the planning of the chevets must be remarked. There might be only one chapel opening from the semicircular ambulatory, as at Langres, Sens, Auxerre, Bayeux and Lausanne. Canterbury cathedral, designed by William of Sens, is perhaps the most perfect example. There were three separated chapels, as at Rouen, St Omer, Semur, &c., or there might be five filling the whole space, which became the general later scheme. Chartres furnishes an intermediate plan, in having the alternate chapels much shallower than the others. The chapels might be circular or polygonal or alternately square and round. Of the last the cathedral of Toledo is a wonderful example. The plan with parallel apses also continued in use, as at the beautiful abbey church at Dijon and St Urbain at Troyes. Apsidal transepts were built at Noyon, Soissons and Valenciennes.

Another stage of development was reached with the building of the Sainte Chapelle in Paris, begun in 1244. With this work the Gothic system reached complete maturity. Here for the first time large traceried windows seem to have been perfected, and, moreover, the structure was so organized into a series of wide window spaces, only divided by strong far-projecting buttress piers, that the stained glass ideal found full expression and the building became a lantern for its display.

During the next half-century the influence of the Sainte Chapelle is to be traced everywhere, and its system of construction was developed to the furthest possible point in St Urbain at Troyes, begun in 1260. Exploration of the Gothic theory of structure could be carried no further. From this point the style turned in on itself, becoming more unreasonably intricate, artificial and mannerized. One of the finest examples of the style of the early 14th century is the eastern limb of St Ouen, Rouen; Troyes cathedral is also an important example of later work. As Mr Street says: “Later French architecture ran a very similar course to that in England. The 13th century was that in which it was seen at its best. In the 14th the same sort of change took place as elsewhere; and art was beautiful, but it was too much an evidence of skilfulness and adroitness. It was harder and colder also than English work of the same age; and when it fell, it did so before the inroads of a taste for what has been called Flamboyant architecture,—a gay and meretricious style which trusted to ornament for all its effect, and, in spite of many beauties, had none of the sturdy magnificence of much of our English Perpendicular style.”

M. Enlart has recently accepted the view that the germs of flamboyancy in the later French Gothic are to be found in the flowing curvilinear forms of early 14th-century work in England.

Up to the middle of the 16th century, magnificent works in the national style were still being executed. St Vulfran at Abbeville, St Maclou in Rouen, and the façade of the cathedral of Rouen, may be mentioned; some of the last works were the immense transepts of Beauvais cathedral and the façade of Tours.

We have necessarily spoken most of churches, but the palaces, castles and civic buildings form another great class hardly less interesting. The castles of Coucy and Château Gaillard may rival any cathedral. Among civic buildings may be mentioned the palais de justice at Rouen and the hôtel de ville at Compiègne, both late but beautiful and impressive types. The royal palace of Paris is now represented by the Sainte Chapelle, but accounts of its splendid hall and general arrangements have been preserved. At Poitiers is still extant the hall of the palace of the counts of Poitou; at Laon the episcopal palace is almost entire; there are considerable remains of the bishops’ palaces of Beauvais, Evreux, Rouen, Reims: and the pope’s palace at Avignon must also be mentioned in this connexion. The most perfect existing great houses of the middle ages are those of Jacques Coeur at Bourges and of the abbot of Cluny in Paris. A large number of fine houses on a small scale, dating from the 12th and 13th centuries, are still preserved at Beauvais, Auxerre, Chartres, Cordes, &c. The house of the musicians at Reims, c. 1280, is adorned by a series of seated life-sized figures playing instruments, in sculpture of a very high order. A good and concise account of the smaller houses in France is given in Hudson Turner’s Some Account of Domestic Architecture, and in C. Enlart’s Manuel d’archéologie, the best and most recent survey of the whole field of medieval antiquities in France.

What strikes the architectural student most forcibly in Spain is the concurrent existence of two schools of art during the best part of the middle ages. The Moors invaded Spain in 711, and were not finally expelled from Granada until 1492. During the whole of this period they were engaged, with more or less success, in contests for superiority with the Christian natives. In those portions of the country which they held longest, and with the firmest hand, they enforced their own customs and taste in art almost to the exclusion of all other work. Where their rule was not permanent their artistic influence was still felt, and even beyond what were ever the boundaries of their dominion, there are still to be seen in Gothic buildings some traces of acquaintance with Arabic art not seen elsewhere in Europe, with the exception, perhaps, of the southern part of the Italian peninsula, and there differing much in its development. The mosque of Cordova in the 9th century, the Alcazar and Giralda at Seville in the 13th, the Court of Lions in the Alhambra in the 14th, several houses in Toledo in the 15th century, are examples of what the Moors were building during the period of the middle ages in which the best Gothic buildings were being erected. Some portions of Spain were never conquered by the Moors. These were the greater part of Aragon, Navarre, Asturias, Biscay and the northern portion of Galicia. Toledo was retaken by the Christians in 1085, Tarragona in 1089, Saragossa in 1118, Lerida in 1149, Valencia in 1238 and Seville in 1248. In the districts occupied by the Moors Gothic architecture had no natural growth, whilst even in those which were not held by them the arts of war were of necessity so much more thought of than those of peace, that the services of foreign architects were made use of to an extent unequalled in any other part of Europe.

Of early Christian buildings erected from the 9th to the 11th century remains of some twenty to thirty are known, and there are probably others which will be found when the communications in the country become more extended. The most interesting of these is Santa Maria de Naranco near Oviedo, originally built in 848 as part of a palace. It consisted of a rectangular hall, 42 ft. long and 16 ft. wide, with entrance doorways in the centre of each side, and at each end an arcade of three arches, carried on piers and coupled columns, which led to an open loggia from which the hall was lighted. Fifty to sixty years later it was converted into a church by blocking up the end of the east loggia. The church is remarkable for its barrel vault, built in fine masonry, and for the knowledge that is displayed in meeting its thrust. Internally, in order to lessen the span, the upper part of the walls is brought forward and carried on a series of arches on each side, which are supported on piers consisting of four coupled columns, virtually constituting an interior abutment. Externally, the thrust is met by buttresses, features not found in France until about a century and a half later. All the columns are spiral-fluted, and a twisted-cord torus-moulding decorates the capitals and other features in the church. The transverse ribs of the hall, which are of slight projection, are carried on broad bands with disks in the spandrils of the arches, the disks having badges in the centre, and being bordered, as well as the bands, with twisted cords. Underneath the church is a spacious vaulted crypt, which was built as a cellar or basement storey, to raise and give more importance to the palace. The twisted cord seems to have been a favourite device in all the early churches, and is extensively employed in the decoration of San Miguel de Lino, a small church about a quarter of a mile from Santa Maria de Naranco and coeval with that church. Externally the church of San Miguel has all the character of a Byzantine church; the windows in the front are pierced with Moorish tracery, probably brought there by those Christians who were flying to the sanctuaries of Asturias from the incursions of the Moors. In another church, about 15 m. south of Oviedo, Santa Christina de Leon, all the attached staffs are decorated with spiral fluting. The choir is raised, and approached by steps on either side through a screen of three arches, of the type known as Transennae in the earlier Christian of Rome. Here, as

title: Page:EB1911 - Volume 02.djvu/424


text:
Page:Cadet Handbook and Section Roll.pdf/25

 This syllabus covers the time available at compulsory parades only. The syllabus for voluntary parades should be arranged by the Area Officer and cover the same work for each quarter as is laid down in this syllabus.

The programme of parades (C.M. Form M.14) will be made out to show under different headings the time allotted to each subject.


text: The Cadet Hand Book and Section Roll/Syllabus of Training


text:
Page:History of England (Froude) Vol 3.djvu/277

1539.] previously he had received full warning that they were on the watch to take advantage of any momentary displeasure against him in the King. They were not likely to have been conciliated subsequently by the deaths of the Marquis of Exeter and Lord Montague, for which he personally was held responsible; and he prepared for the fate which he foresaw, in making settlements on his servants, that they might not suffer by his attainder. The noble lords possessed, undoubtedly, one serious advantage against him. His own expenses were as profuse as the expenses of the State under his management. His agents were spread over Europe. He bought his information anywhere, and at any cost; and secret-service money for such purposes he must have provided, like his successor in the same policy, Sir Francis Walsingham, from his own resources. As a self-raised statesman, he had inherited only a moderate fortune. His position as a nobleman was to be maintained; and it was maintained so liberally, that two hundred poor were every day supplied with food at his gate. The salaries of his offices and the rents of such estates as the King had given to him were inadequate for such irregular necessities. In Cromwell, the questionable practice of most great men of his time—the practice of receiving pensions and presents for general support and patronage—was carried to an extent which even then, perhaps, appeared excessive. It is evident, from his whole correspondence,


text:
Page:History of England (Froude) Vol 3.djvu/278

258 that he received as profusely as he spent. We trace in him no such ambitious splendour as he had seen in Wolsey. He was contented with the moderate maintenance of a nobleman's establishment. But power was essential to him; and a power like that which Cromwell wielded, required resources which he obtained only by exposing his reputation while alive, and his good name in history, to not unmerited blame.

Weighted as he was with faults, which his high purposes but partially excuse, he fought his battle bravely—alone—against the world. The German marriage did not pass without a struggle at the council-board. Cromwell had long recognized his strongest and most dangerous enemy in the person of Stephen Gardiner. So much he dreaded the subtle Bishop, that he had made an effort once to entangle him under the Supremacy Act; but Gardiner had glided under the shadow of the


text:
Page:History of England (Froude) Vol 3.djvu/279

1539.] Act, and had escaped its grasp. Smooth, treacherous, and plausible, he had held his way along the outer edge of the permitted course, never committing himself, commanding the sympathy of English conservatism, the patron of those suspected of Romanism on one side, as Cromwell was the patron of heretics; but self-possessed and clear-headed, watching the times, knowing that the reaction must have its day at last, and only careful to avoid the precipitancy, in future, into which he had blundered after the Six Articles Bill. His rival's counter-move had checked him, but he waited his opportunity; and when Barnes was sent as commissioner into Germany, Gardiner challenged openly before the council the appointment, for such a purpose, of a man who was 'defamed of heresy.' He was supported, apparently, by the Bishop of Chichester, or the latter ventured to thwart the privy seal in some other manner. Cromwell for the moment was strong enough to bear his opponents down. They were both dismissed from the privy council. But this arbitrary act was treated as a breach of the tacit compact under which the opposing parties endured each other's presence. If the Bishop of Durham's chaplain spoke the truth, an attempt was made, in which


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Paget, John (1811-1898)