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The Great Wall of China Is Held Together By Rice

(1907 photograph of the Great Wall of China, photographed by Herbert Ponting (1870-1935), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

The official construction of the Great Wall of China, one of the most well-known landmarks on earth, began around 220 BCE under the First Emperor of the Qin Dynasty. King Zheng, as he was called before conquering his rival monarchs, became the First Emperor by defeating all the other contenders in the Warring States Period (c. 475-221 BCE). After his victory, the emperor decided to join together all of the preexisting walls in the northern regions of China to serve as a defense against the threat posed by Mongolia. Where there were gaps in the fortifications, the First Emperor constructed new walls to tie all the useful defenses in the north into one network. Though the First Emperor began the Great Wall, it originally consisted mainly of packed earth ramparts. The Great Wall of China that we know (and photograph) today, however, came much later.

The newer, impressive, brick portions of the Great Wall of China were built by the Ming Dynasty (c. 1368-1644) as a protection for their capital city, Beijing, located in the vulnerable north of China. The Ming Dynasty drastically upgraded the earlier, more rustic, Great Wall of China by making it much larger and stronger than it had been before.

The design and construction of the Ming Dynasty Great Wall of China still astounds and impresses modern observers. The builders used huge bricks that were fired with precision in a kiln. To hold the bricks in place, the Chinese created a special mortar which researchers claim is much stronger than the modern variety. The formula the Ming Dynasty builders used was simple, and the ingredients used in the mortar were easy to obtain, but the end result was extremely strong and durable. They used sticky rice mortar—they mixed rice with lime and other common ingredients of mortar. The starch, and other ‘sticky’ qualities of the sticky rice, worked wonders for the builders of the Great Wall, keeping the bricks stuck in place until this day.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

 

Miyamoto Musashi

Miyamoto Musashi (Japanese duelist, soldier, artist, construction worker, and author, c. 1584-1645)

“Whatever attitude you are in, do not be conscious of making the attitude; think only of cutting.”

  • From Myamoto Musashi’s The Book of Five Rings (Lord Majesty Productions, 2005 edition).

 

Alexander The Great May Have Danced His Way Into The Port Of Telmessus

(Alexander painted by Placido Costanzi (Italian, 1702-1759) and dancers from a banquet of song and dance. Isfahan, possibly late Safavid or Zand era. artist is unknown, all [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

Around 334-333 BCE, after Alexander the Great took Halicarnassus and before he reached Gordium, the Macedonian king’s army reached the port city of Telmessus. The details about what happened once Alexander arrived at the city differed from account to account, and historian to historian. Yet, all accounts arrived at the same conclusion—the city surrendered without a battle.

Of all the accounts describing the fall of Telmessus, the version provided by the Macedonian writer, Polyaenus, is by far the most dramatic. If his version was true, the fall of Telmessus was a salacious event filled with beautiful women, lavish feasts and, finally, bloody massacre.

According to Polyaenus, the capture of Telmessus was not masterminded by Alexander, but was the idea of Nearchus, one of the Macedonian king’s companions. Apparently, Nearchus had a friend residing in the city, and this friend informed Nearchus that the Persian garrison in Telmessus was starving for some female companionship.

Sensing an opportunity, Nearchus rallied as many beautiful women as he could find that sympathized with the forces of Alexander. The women were arranged into a large dancing troupe and were supplied with baskets of alcohol, food and anything else they might need. Then, they were smuggled into Telmessus.

Once the women were inside the city, and they knew they were not suspected of treachery, the dancers announced that they would perform for the Persian soldiers. They either threw their own party for the city’s garrison, or they performed in a party already being held by the soldiers. Either way, the wine, food and women were in great abundance.

The beautiful dancing women and the festive atmosphere drove caution from the minds of the Persians. After a night of partying, they grew sleepy from the heaps of food and their minds grew hazy from overindulgence in drink. The incapacitated soldiers were so impaired that none of them noticed that the members of the new troupe of dancers were all pulling metallic objects from their baskets and bags.

The dancers, if you believe Polyaenus, massacred the whole Persian garrison that night and Alexander the Great was able to occupy the city without undertaking a siege or fighting a prolonged battle. Again, this was only one account of Telmessus’ fall—the only agreed upon assumption is that Telmessus was won without a battle—but the version given by Polyaenus is certainly the most stylish and dramatic.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

 

Source:

  • The Campaigns of Alexander by Arrian, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.
  • The Library of History, by Diodorus Siculus, edited by Giles Laurén (Sophron Editor, 2014).
  • The History of Alexander by Curtius Rufus, translated by John Yardley. New York: Penguin Classics, 1984, 2001, 2004.
  • Plutarch’s Life of Alexander in The Age of Alexander: Ten Greek Lives by Plutarch, translated by Ian Scott-Kilvert and Timothy E. Duff. London: Penguin Classics, 1973, 2011.
  • Alexander the Great by Philip Freeman. New York: Simon & Schuster Paperbacks, 2011.

Geoffrey Chaucer

Geoffrey Chaucer (English poet, 1342-1400)

“Yet we have four live coals, as I can show;
Lies, boasting, greed and rage will always glow.”

  • From Geoffrey Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales (The Reeve’s Tale), translated by Neville Coghill (Penguin Classics, 1977).

 

Julius Caesar Had Tamed Elephants Shipped From Italy To Calm His Men And Horses In Preparation For His Battles In North Africa

(Caesar painted by Lionel Royer (1852–1926) cropped into the painting: An elephant keeper riding his elephant, c. 1825, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

In 48 BCE, Pompey the Great fled to Egypt after he lost the Battle of Pharsalus. Yet, instead of finding asylum in the autonomous Kingdom of Egypt, Pompey was assassinated by the Egyptians in an attempt to gain the favor of Julius Caesar. With Pompey’s death, the main military adversary against Caesar in the Roman civil war was gone, but the war was far from over. Despite the absence of their leader, Pompey’s officers and allies continued to fight for the Roman Republic, or just simply against Julius Caesar. Though Caesar’s adversaries were spread throughout the empire, many of the greatest Pompeian leaders—Titus Labienus, Metellus Scipio and King Juba I—had gathered their forces together in North Africa.

After securing Egypt for his ally Cleopatra and defeating a hostile army from Pontus, Julius Caesar turned his attention to the Pompeians (or Optimates) amassed in North Africa. Caesar began his campaign against Labienus, Scipio and King Juba around 47 BCE when he landed his legions somewhere in modern Tunisia.

The war, however, would not be simple. Labienus and Scipio were both very able Roman generals and King Juba not only had some of the best horsemen in the Mediterranean, but he also fielded war elephants. Also, as usual, Julius Caesar’s forces were outnumbered.

To win the war in Africa, Caesar had to rely on his own military genius, as well as the extraordinary battlefield experience that his elite and hardened legions had gained through years of continuous war. Yet, the enemies in Africa had weapons that Caesar’s legions had never seen in action before—the elephants. The legions were experienced thoroughly in how to fight infantry and horsemen, but the elephants understandably unnerved even the most battle-tested troops, not to mention the horses.

To remedy this, Julius Caesar sent word to Italy requesting that some tamed elephants be shipped to his camp. When the animals arrived, the camp basically became a petting zoo. Soldiers were invited to approach the tamed elephants and touch them. With the elephants accessible to the soldiers, Caesar’s men learned what the beasts could and could not do, and they were instructed where to attack the elephants during battle for the most effect. Likewise, the horses were brought near the elephants so they would become familiar with the sight, smell and sounds of the strange creature, so that the cavalry would not waver in battle.  According to Caesar in his War Commentaries, the petting zoo ploy “succeeded to a wonder” (African War Commentaries, 72).

With the confidence of Caesar’s forces regained, the Pompeian leaders were doomed. Julius Caesar intentionally let himself be attacked at the defensible region of Thapsus in 46 BCE. There, his men ferociously charged the enemy, causing elephants and soldiers, alike, to run amuck and scatter.

The battle was another huge event in Julius Caesar’s path to victory. Scipio was killed in the battle and King Juba committed suicide soon after it was over. Cato, a key politician of the Roman Republic, also killed himself in the aftermath of the battle. The only major Pompeian officer involved in Thapsus who survived the year was Labienus, who would die a year later fighting Caesar’s forces in Spain.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Sources:

  • War Commentaries by Gaius Julius Caesar and Aulus Hirtius, translated by W. A. McDevitte and W. S. Bohn, 2014.
  • Julius Caesar by Philip Freeman. New York: Simon & Schuster Paperbacks, 2008.

Al-Ghazālī

Al Ghazālī (Sufi Theologian and Philosopher, c. 1058-1111)

“The outward eye derives from the world of sensation and visibility, while the inward eye derives from another world–namely, the world of dominion.”

  • From The Niche of Lights (First Chapter) by Al Ghazālī, translated by David Buchman. Utah: Brigham Young University Press, 1998.

 

Who Was The Last Surviving Veteran Of The American Civil War? It Is A Much More Controversial Debate Than You May Think

(Battle of Spottsylvania by Thure de Thulstrup  (1848–1930), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

The United States of America is a very sentimental country. Its citizens, like those of other countries, idolize its great figures, glorify its achievements and even bemoan its own unjust actions from the past. It should be no surprise that one such area of history the citizens of the United States are understandably drawn to is the U. S. Civil War (1861-1865), a topic viewed in America with simultaneous fascination and horror. With the Civil War being such an important piece of U. S. History, intense debates can arise out the most mundane of questions—such as, who was the last surviving veteran of the American Civil War?

In this debate two names are prominent: Walter Washington Williams (c. 1842-1959) and Albert Woolson (c. 1847-1956). Mr. Williams claimed to have been a member of the Confederate Army, and for a long time was the frontrunner in the battle to seize to the spot as the last living veteran of the Civil War. Very close behind Williams, however, was Mr. Woolson, who had a stronger trail of evidence than his competitor. There were other self-proclaimed Civil War veterans who died between Woolson and Williams, nevertheless, Albert Woolson’s Civil War career remained the best documented of all these veterans.

To get a sense of the divide between the supporters of these two men, compare Ken Burns’ 1990 documentary series, The Civil War, against articles on the subject published by the Smithsonian. On the one hand, Burns affirms that Walter Washington Williams was the last surviving Civil War veteran. In another take, Smithsonian writer and author, Richard A. Serrano, championed Albert Woolson and claimed Williams to be a fraud.

Walter Washington Williams claimed to be the forage master for Confederate General Hood’s Texas Brigade during the American Civil War. For the most part, his story was believed and he was even given an honorary rank of general by President Eisenhower (presidential term, 1953-1961). After Williams’ death in 1959, the Texas Historical Survey Committee put up a memorial in his honor, stating he was “Reputed to have been [the] last surviving soldier of the Civil War (1861-1865).” Click HERE for a picture of that monument.

As for Albert Woolson; he claimed to have joined the Union Army after his father died at the Battle of Shiloh. Woolson enlisted in 1864 and became a drummer boy for the 1st Minnesota Heavy Artillery Regiment. He died in 1956, three years before the death of Walter Washington Williams. Until after the 1950s, the decade when both of these men died, Woolson was, for the most part, overshadowed by his rival, Williams. Now, however, the supporters of Albert Woolson seem to be gaining the upper hand in the debate of who was the last surviving veteran of the American Civil War. The seemingly impeccable trail of evidence backing up Albert Woolson’s claims, compared against the more dubious evidence of veterans such as Walter Washington Williams, makes Woolson the last undisputed Civil War veteran to die.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

Black Elk

Black Elk (1863-1950)

“We were in our own country all the time and we only wanted to be let alone. The soldiers came there to kill us, and many got rubbed out. It was our country and we did not want to have trouble.”

  • From Black Elk Speaks (chapter 9), narrated by Black Elk and recorded by John G. Neihardt (the edition used here is University of Nebraska Press, 2014).

 

Homer

Homer (Ancient Greek poet; The Iliad is thought to have been written around 700 BCE)

“So now my destiny confronts me. Let me at least
sell my life dearly and not without glory, after some great deed
for future generations to hear of.”

  • From The Iliad (Book 22, approximately between lines 300-310) by Homer, translated by E. V. Rieu and revised by Peter Jones (Penguin Classics, 2014).

 

U. S. General William T. Sherman Was Shipwrecked Twice In One Day During One Odd And Unbelievable Adventure

(General William Tecumseh Sherman from 1865 in front of a sinking ship painted by painting by Willy Stöwer (* 1864; † 1931), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

In early 1853, William Tecumseh Sherman was a captain of the United States Commissary Department, but he was looking for a change in profession. Around this time, some buddies sent Sherman an invitation to join a banking venture named Lucas, Turner & Co. Although Sherman enjoyed, and was comfortable in, his military life, he admitted that he would not mind a higher wage. Therefore, he petitioned his superiors for leave to journey to California to meet with his potential business partners and assess their banking operation.

From his location in New Orleans, Sherman boarded a steamship heading toward Nicaragua. Once he had arrived there, the passengers took smaller boats across the Nicaragua River and Lake, and made the rest of the voyage to San Juan del Sur by mule.

Now the passengers were ready to depart Nicaragua for California. Sherman boarded the propeller ship, S. S. Lewis, which Sherman later remembered was commanded by Captain Partridge. For the voyage, Sherman was given his own stateroom with three berths located on the deck of the ship. Little did Sherman know, however, just how dramatic his sea voyage upon the S. S. Lewis would turn out to be.

 

 

  (Portrait of General W. T. Sherman by George Peter Alexander Healy (1818–1894), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

The first bit of excitement aboard the S. S. Lewis occurred when two women recognized Sherman to be a man of action. Naturally, they asked him to put in a word with the ship’s purser to move their chambers to the above-deck rooms, rather than their “unendurable” quarters below deck. Assuming a gentlemanly air, Sherman did as they asked and had them reassigned to the top of the ship. There was a problem, however, the purser moved the women into the two extra berths in Sherman’s stateroom—the purser’s log entry read, “Captain Sherman and ladies.” The two women’s presence became so overwhelming that Sherman asked to be assigned a new berth, and gladly moved in with five other passengers below.

When the S. S. Lewis had only about one day left of its journey to California, disaster struck. Around 4:00 A.M., Sherman awoke to a thud and the sound of grinding. Furthermore, the ship’s engine stopped and he heard panicked running on the deck of the ship. Sherman, who had slept in his clothes, emerged from the hull of the ship to a scene of crewmen guarding the lifeboats from frenzied passengers. Captain Partridge even threatened to use his firearm if the passengers would not calm down.

Once the passengers were calm, the crew ushered everyone into lifeboats and promptly reached the shoreline. Sherman himself, fearlessly snacking on some crackers and sardines he scavenged from a wet cupboard, patiently waited with the ship’s captain, attempting to calculate their position. He was one of the last passengers to leave the ship. Thankfully, no one was killed and very few, if any, were injured in the panic.

 

 

  (Photograph of Gen. William T. Sherman (c. 1865), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

Once Sherman reached the beach, he immediately began another odd adventure. Sherman, along with an eighteen-year-old boy, ventured inland to ascertain their location and to find help for the passengers stranded on the beach. Soon, the two encountered four men living in a shack. These men told Sherman that a nearby schooner used by loggers would likely help Sherman reach San Francisco, where he could find adequate help to save the shipwrecked passengers.

With this new lead, Sherman and his companion hunted down the schooner. When he found the ship, Sherman was not very impressed. The schooner was manned by only two people—a captain (or “captain,” as Sherman wrote, quotations included) and a single twelve-year-old boy for a crew. Nonetheless, Sherman hopped aboard and the picaresque crew set sail.

 

 

  (Photograph of William T. Sherman circa 1860 and circa 1865, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

The voyage, however, did not last long. Sherman only had time to get comfortable on one of the schooner’s logs before the bow of the ship began to submerge. In quick succession, the nose of the ship slipped under the water and the ship capsized, tossing Sherman and the others into the water. Fortunately, the ship, and the logs it was carrying, turned out to be very buoyant, and the upturned schooner remained afloat.

Sherman and the crew of the schooner were in luck; there were other ships nearby, which promptly came to their rescue. Sherman and the other waterlogged men were pulled out of the depths and ferried to safety. Once he made landfall, Sherman was able to send help to the survivors of the S. S. Lewis shipwreck.

 

 

  (William T. Sherman and his staff in the 1860s, photographed by Mathew Brady  (1822–1896), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

So, after surviving two sinking ships, Sherman reached San Francisco and received a tour of his friends’ banking establishment. Ultimately, he took up the offer and resigned (temporarily) from the military to take a position at Lucas, Turner & Co. Yet, Sherman was a bit weary of his future. He wrote in his memoirs about the shipwrecks: “I was not in the least alarmed, but thought two shipwrecks in one day not a good beginning for a new, peaceful career.”

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Source:

  • Memoirs of General W. T. Sherman by William T. Sherman. Delaware: Renaissance Classics, 2012.