text:
This time, you overdid it.
You were feeling fine — feeling great, in fact — so you pushed yourself to just past your limit. Now you're paying for it. Your head hurts, your shoulders scream, your knees feel like they're broken, and your feet are killing you.
What you wouldn't give to lie down for a week or so. But, as you'll see in the new book "Limping Through Life" by Jerry Apps, there are some things that you just have to work past. …
Twelve-year-old Jerry Apps figured that he was just plain tired.
And no wonder — he'd spent that January day sledding with his friends, followed by a hearty supper, barn chores, and helping his father shovel a path through the snow from house to barnyard. It was well past 8 p.m. when Apps tried to do homework, but he could barely stay awake.
The next morning, he felt worse — he had a sore throat and his leg hurt "like the dickens." Like most farm kids in the 1940s, he was used to cuts, scrapes, and minor pain but this was bad. His mother kept him home from school.
It would be weeks before Apps would return to his one-room schoolhouse.
For nearly a decade, post-World War II, Americans lived in fear of an epidemic that "dashed hopes … generated near terror" and caused "panic in some communities." In Wisconsin alone, some 60,000 cases were reported in 1952. A vaccine for the disease wouldn't be available until 1955 — but until that time, polio "dramatically changed" young lives.
One of them was Jerry Apps'.
His parents were told that Apps wouldn't walk again, but doctors never said he couldn't drive a tractor — so later that spring, Apps' father put his son out to field. Doctors also never said Apps couldn't play baseball, so teachers encouraged him to hit the diamond. They never said he wouldn't ride a bike, and that's how Apps later got to high school, almost five miles from his parents' farm. And they never said he wouldn't serve in the armed forces, so Apps was a proud ROTC member who almost went to Korea. …
Let me say this, straight up: you'll never whine about being sick again, once you've read "Limping Through Life."
At the outset, author Jerry Apps' story is one that "old-timers" can appreciate, especially if they farmed back before electricity and TV came to rural America . They'll appreciate a trip down Memory Lane to times past — but for Boomer readers, that lack of amenities isn't the jaw-dropper here.
What's astounding is that Apps' parents and other elders instinctively seemed to know how to help him regain his mobility, despite a grim prognosis. Apps seems nonplussed about that incredible resourcefulness, as if it was just another thing on the farm — a practical attitude that, mixed with humility, is a sure winner.
I daresay that this isn't a book for younger readers, but Boomers, polio survivors, and long-time farmers will truly enjoy it. If that's you, then read "Limping Through Life." You'll be glad you did it.
"Limping Through Life: A Farm Boy's Polio Memoir" by Jerry Apps c.2013, Wisconsin Historical Society Press $22.95 / higher in Canada 238 pages


text:
Travel from Vigevano to Lecco and discover Lombardia city of 46.6 Thousand inhabitants. The distance from Vigevano to Lecco is 73 kilometers; with Wanderio you can compare the available train so that you can organize your trip choosing the fastest route, the most comfortable or the cheapest one. For example, by choosing a train from Vigevano to Lecco, you'll get to your destination in about 2 hours on average; the average train ticket prices are 8 €.
Compare flights, trains, buses and transfers to get from Vigevano to Lecco
2h 13m
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You can get from Vigevano to Lecco by train, thanks to the 19 daily routes provided by Regionale, Suburbano. The train ride from Vigevano to Lecco takes about 2 hours on average and the average train ticket is 7.9 €. Travelling Italy by train can often be cheap.

subset: commoncrawl


text:
product description
Related Products:
Tanaka, Shigeki
Carbon Steel
Artisan Made
Blade Style - Hon Kasumi Style
Buffalo Horn
Carbon Steel - Blue #2 (Aogami)
Carbon Steel - Damascus
Japanese/Asian Knives
Left Handed Chef Knives
Single Bevel
Maker: Shigeki Tanaka (click to see more by this maker)
Price: $430.95
Item num: 87116
Blade length: 7.50 in.Cutting edge length: 7.10 in.Total length: 12.75 in.Blade height (at heel): 2.20 in.Blade thickness (near bolster): 0.25 in.Item weight: 10.30 oz.Shipment weight: 21.1 oz.Blade: Kasumi-yaki blade formed from a suminagashi jigane and aogami #2 hagane (Hrc 63-64)Bolster: Buffalo horn ferruleHandle: Ho wood
Description: Deba Hocho have a thicker blade and are suitable for cutting through meats and many other heavy cutting tasks. It is traditionally used for filleting fish as well as cutting chicken, pork and beef. Its heaviness and thickness allows for easy chopping through fish bones, while its ability to take on an extremely sharp edge allows for delicate work and the filleting of even the smallest fish.
This damascus deba is hand forged by 4th generation blacksmith Shigeki Tanaka. For more than 100 years, the Tanaka family has been noted for their fine quality farming tools. Due to declining demand for farm tools, the family began making cutlery. To increase their technique, they apprenticed their youngest son, Shigeki, to a famous Takefu knife maker. Since returning to his father's shop, Shigeki has become noted for the quality of his knives.
The blade features a jigane, which is made by folding together layers of different types of carbon steels. This unique process creates a Jigane with sixteen exceedingly thin, alternating layers, called suminagashi or damascus. This is then hand forged to a layer of high carbon steel (aogami #2) and tempered to Rockwell c63 - 64. This process imparts a visual tension to the blade and a brilliant, long lasting cutting edge. Because blue steel is a carbon steel, these knives must be dried after use to prevent rust or tarnish. The maker's mark is hand chiseled on the blade and a ho wood and buffalo horn handle is installed.
Traditional Japanese chef's knives differ from European-styled knives in that they are sharpened with a bevel on only one side. The opposite side is slightly hollowed. Because of this, these knives can generally be honed to a sharper edge than can double bevel knives.


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A new emergency energy assistance program to help people facing financial hardships pay their electric and gas bills recently became law.
The Michigan Energy Assistance Program, sponsored by state Sen. Bruce Caswell, was signed into law Tuesday by Gov. Rick Snyder.
Caswell, R-Hillsdale, said the measure is intended to better help those in need while maintaining fiscal responsibility at the state and local levels. The money is used to help people pay their electric and gas bills in the event of a hardship.
"We were collecting about $90 million a year on this state program," Caswell said of the program before it was streamlined. The state collected money from utility users though providers such as Consumers Energy and DTE Energy.
"What we found out in looking into it, only $60 million was going in to pay utility bills," Caswell said. The other $30 million was going to weatherizing homes and other energy efficiency projects.
"We get other federal money for weatherization, so we removed from the state program the $30 million not being used for energy assistance," he said.
With the old energy assistance program, Caswell said, "everything was predicated on people getting a shutoff notice. If you didn't get a shutoff notice, we couldn't do anything to help you."
"It was an inefficient way of taking care of people," he said.
Caswell said the bill puts in place "a process where the Department of Human Services will contract with local entities, like the Salvation Army and the Community Action Agency."
Caswell said such agencies can help determine how much burden-sharing the customer can realistically pay instead of paying for the entire bill, which can in turn free up more funding.
"If we can get them to pay 80 percent of their bill and we pay 20 percent, that's OK," Caswell said.
For this year, Caswell said, the state will remove the energy assistance charge from customers' electric bill and will cover the expenses from the general fund.
"Seventy percent of the people who come into this program, we see them one time and that's it," Caswell said. The other 30 percent, he said, are customers who request repeated help.
According to information provided by Amy Palmer, executive director at the Lenawee United Way, 36 out of 255 calls placed to the organization's 211 line in November were requests for electric service payment help.
Palmer said helping with utility payments has consistently been the top need since 211 was launched in February 2009.
New law aims to improve state's energy assistance program
A new emergency energy assistance program to help people facing financial hardships pay their electric and gas bills recently became law.


text: Walt has been part of the Lancaster soccer community for the past 17 years. He brings a wealth of playing and coaching experience to Penn Legacy. Walt is incredibly passionate about the game and his love for the game is contagious. He holds a USSF National 'C' Coaching License, USSF National 'D' Coaching License, and was DoC for the Manheim Twp SC for many years. He also was a former Goal Keeper Coach for Manheim Twp. High School Boys Soccer team. He has been a very successful youth coach and played College and Semi-


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Apple has tried to revolutionize TV via its Apple TV product, but as Steve Jobs said recently on D8, that industry is so balkanized that it's very difficult to enter. He also claimed that Google will experience the same difficulties with its upcoming Google TV.
Mr Jobs has a good point. The cable and satellite companies own the TV experience and won't let anyone take it from them. However, can anyone really stop an inevitable change? Can anyone stop natural evolution? I don't think so. The modernization of the TV is bound to happen, and it's one I am expecting for a few years now. I have my own theory as to how this needs to happen:
First, you need to build an open software platform, and a hardware reference -- a solution that fits at the innards of a thin HDTV. That HDTV must have access to an Ethernet connection and/or WiFi. Each TV manufacturer must include with every new TV model shipped this small (standard, upgradeable?) hardware piece that also has a network-upgradeable firmware. The software included must be compatible with all the other new TVs in the market. And it must run applications -- similar, if not exactly the same, to the ones you can find on your smartphone. The reason why all TVs must run the same platform is that if each manufacturer goes with their own incompatible implementation this will never take off. You can't have AIM with video support via your TV's webcam on one TV, with only MSN Messenger support on another TV. All TVs are either compatible, or the much needed revolution won't happen.
Of course, the two front-runners for this revolution are Apple with their iOS operating system, and Google with GoogleTV/Android. But I personally believe that for either company to get ahead they must ditch "the box". People don't want to buy yet another box (aside their PS3, XBoX, Wii, AppleTV, WD TV, TiVo, Comcast etc.) to shove it somewhere in their living room too. What people want is something that comes with the TV and works out of the box. People don't want to think in terms of "a box that's separate from Comcast's". They want to think in terms of "I don't need Comcast anymore, my TV can do miracles and serve me the content I want, all by itself".
Sure, people don't buy new TVs often, so baking the hardware/software solution inside an HDTV will make the whole idea more difficult to take off. However, I'm confident that this solution is cleaner, and young people (the advert-important 18-49 age group) will go for it. Just like many went for these 3D HDTVs this year. This is a solution that offers the user experience these technology-inclined individuals want (because they're accustomed to it via their smartphones), and with cheaper content.
The reason why I decided to write this article is because I've been thinking lately that the next big battleground for consumer technology (after the PC, and cellphone wars) is the TV -- a conclusion I reached through my recent experience with Netflix and Hulu Plus on my Sony PS3. I get all these movies, shows, documentaries that make me want to ditch my Comcast box (which costs me a whopping $90 per month for the HD channels and DVR -- and that's without the movie channels or HBO). The only thing that's missing from the new experience is Live TV (e.g. sports). But if a "smart" platform reaches our TVs, that lets you run applications, and have access to Netflix/Hulu/etc. content via their native applications for that platform, then Live TV will be inevitable. And if it's to come later than sooner, there's always the solution of an aerial antenna for these few times that you might want to watch Live TV. The bottom line is: it's much cheaper, it's on-demand, it's interactive, and it's offered via a modern user experience.
The only real obstacle in the kind of future I present in this article are Comcast, AT&T, and Verizon. These companies make big business over their cable TV solutions, and it's unfortunate that they're also internet providers. Do you really think that Comcast will let you stream this highly competitive content over their network? I didn't think so. It'd be like committing business suicide.
Yes, some of these Satellite and Cable providers already offer On Demand TV/movies. However, these services offer a very narrow view of what the TV can do. The TV can, and should do more. The TV can and should function like a more powerful device, that does more than stream video (example of what it could do). None of these old-style cable TV providers can take the TV to the next level. They are not software people. And their network was built upon very specific ideas, ideas that it would make it very expensive for them to replace that infrastructure (Comcast is working on an h.264-based box for years now, and yet we're still on mpeg-2 because of the huge cost involved changing all the cable boxes). In other words, innovation must come from the outside. From companies that are used to creating "platforms" instead.
So it all comes down to net neutrality. If this much-discussed law passes, at last, eventually our TVs will get revolutionized. Maybe it will take a few more years for all the TV manufacturers to settle down to the same platform, but it will happen.
However, if the law never passes, and all the IP-based content providers get blocked or slowed down to the point that only SD quality videos can get streamed without hiccups, it'd be a huge shame. It'd definitely be one more reason for me to have this love-hate relationship that I have with the tech world for a few years now. It would further make me wanna have that herd of sheep in the mountains, and never look back to the "civilized" world.


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Mr. Mellaire was right. The men would not accept the driving when the Elsinore won to easier latitudes. Mr. Pike was right. Hell had not begun to pop. But it has popped now, and men are overboard without even the kindliness of a sack of coal at their feet. And yet the men, though ripe for it, did not precipitate the trouble. It was Mr. Mellaire. Or, rather, it was Ditman Olansen, the crank-eyed Norwegian. Perhaps it was Possum. At any rate, it was an accident, in which the several-named, including Possum, played their respective parts.
To begin at the beginning. Two weeks have elapsed since we crossed 50, and we are now in 37--the same latitude as San Francisco, or, to be correct, we are as far south of the equator as San Francisco is north of it. The trouble was precipitated yesterday morning shortly after nine o'clock, and Possum started the chain of events that culminated in downright mutiny. It was Mr. Mellaire's watch, and he was standing on the bridge, directly under the mizzen-top, giving orders to Sundry Buyers, who, with Arthur Deacon and the Maltese Cockney, was doing rigging work aloft.
Get the picture and the situation in all its ridiculousness. Mr. Pike, thermometer in hand, was coming back along the bridge from taking the temperature of the coal in the for'ard hold. Ditman Olansen was just swinging into the mizzen-top as he went up with several turns of rope over one shoulder. Also, in some way, to the end of this rope was fastened a sizable block that might have weighed ten pounds. Possum, running free, was fooling around the chicken- coop on top the 'midship-house. And the chickens, featherless but indomitable, were enjoying the milder weather as they pecked at the grain and grits which the steward had just placed in their feeding- trough. The tarpaulin that covered their pen had been off for several days.
Now observe. I am at the break of the poop, leaning on the rail and watching Ditman Olansen swing into the top with his cumbersome burden. Mr. Pike, proceeding aft, has just passed Mr. Mellaire. Possum, who, on account of the Horn weather and the tarpaulin, has not seen the chickens for many weeks, is getting reacquainted, and is investigating them with that keen nose of his. And a hen's beak, equally though differently keen, impacts on Possum's nose, which is as sensitive as it is keen.
I may well say, now that I think it over, that it was this particular hen that started the mutiny. The men, well-driven by Mr. Pike, were ripe for an explosion, and Possum and the hen laid the train.
Possum fell away backwards from the coop and loosed a wild cry of pain and indignation. This attracted Ditman Olansen's attention. He paused and craned his neck out in order to see, and, in this moment of carelessness, the block he was carrying fetched away from him along with the several turns of rope around his shoulder. Both the mates sprang away to get out from under. The rope, fast to the block and following it, lashed about like a blacksnake, and, though the block fell clear of Mr. Mellaire, the bight of the rope snatched off his cap.
Mr. Pike had already started an oath aloft when his eyes caught sight of the terrible cleft in Mr. Mellaire's head. There it was, for all the world to read, and Mr. Pike's and mine were the only eyes that could read it. The sparse hair upon the second mate's crown served not at all to hide the cleft. It began out of sight in the thicker hair above the ears, and was exposed nakedly across the whole dome of head.
The stream of abuse for Ditman Olansen was choked in Mr. Pike's throat. All he was capable of for the moment was to stare, petrified, at that enormous fissure flanked at either end with a thatch of grizzled hair. He was in a dream, a trance, his great hands knotting and clenching unconsciously as he stared at the mark unmistakable by which he had said that he would some day identify the murderer of Captain Somers. And in that moment I remembered having heard him declare that some day he would stick his fingers in that mark.
Still as in a dream, moving slowly, right hand outstretched like a talon, with the fingers drawn downward, he advanced on the second mate with the evident intention of thrusting his fingers into that cleft and of clawing and tearing at the brain-life beneath that pulsed under the thin film of skin.
The second mate backed away along the bridge, and Mr. Pike seemed partially to come to himself. His outstretched arm dropped to his side, and he paused.
"I know you," he said, in a strange, shaky voice, blended of age and passion. "Eighteen years ago you were dismasted off the Plate in the Cyrus Thompson. She foundered, after you were on your beam ends and lost your sticks. You were in the only boat that was saved. Eleven years ago, on the Jason Harrison, in San Francisco, Captain Somers was beaten to death by his second mate. This second mate was a survivor of the Cyrus Thompson. This second mate'd had his skull split by a crazy sea-cook. Your skull is split. This second mate's name was Sidney Waltham. And if you ain't Sidney Waltham . . . "
At this point Mr. Mellaire, or, rather, Sidney Waltham, despite his fifty years, did what only a sailor could do. He went over the bridge-rail side-wise, caught the running gear up-and-down the mizzen-mast, and landed lightly on his feet on top of Number Three hatch. Nor did he stop there. He ran across the hatch and dived through the doorway of his room in the 'midship-house.
Such must have been Mr. Pike's profundity of passion, that he paused like a somnambulist, actually rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and seemed to awaken.
But the second mate had not run to his room for refuge. The next moment he emerged, a thirty-two Smith and Wesson in his hand, and the instant he emerged he began shooting.
Mr. Pike was wholly himself again, and I saw him perceptibly pause and decide between the two impulses that tore at him. One was to leap over the bridge-rail and down at the man who shot at him; the
other was to retreat. He retreated. And as he bounded aft along the narrow bridge the mutiny began. Arthur Deacon, from the mizzen-top, leaned out and hurled a steel marlin-spike at the fleeing mate. The thing flashed in the sunlight as it hurtled down. It missed Mr. Pike by twenty feet and nearly impaled Possum, who, afraid of firearms, was wildly rushing and ki-yi-ing aft. It so happened that the sharp point of the marlin-spike struck the wooden floor of the bridge, and it penetrated the planking with such force that after it had fetched to a standstill it vibrated violently for long seconds.
I confess that I failed to observe a tithe of what occurred during the next several minutes. Piece together as I will, after the event, I know that I missed much of what took place. I know that the men aloft in the mizzen descended to the deck, but I never saw them descend. I know that the second mate emptied the chambers of his revolver, but I did not hear all the shots. I know that Lars Johnson left the wheel, and on his broken leg, rebroken and not yet really mended, limped and scuttled across the poop, down the ladder, and gained for'ard. I know he must have limped and scuttled on that bad leg of his; I know that I must have seen him; and yet I swear that I have no impression of seeing him.
I do know that I heard the rush of feet of men from for'ard along the main deck. And I do know that I saw Mr. Pike take shelter behind the steel jiggermast. Also, as the second mate manoeuvred to port on top of Number Three hatch for his last shot, I know that I saw Mr. Pike duck around the corner of the chart-house to starboard and get away aft and below by way of the booby-hatch. And I did hear that last futile shot, and the bullet also as it ricochetted from the corner of the steel-walled chart-house.
As for myself, I did not move. I was too interested in seeing. It may have been due to lack of presence of mind, or to lack of habituation to an active part in scenes of quick action; but at any rate I merely retained my position at the break of the poop and looked on. I was the only person on the poop when the mutineers, led by the second mate and the gangsters, rushed it. I saw them swarm up the ladder, and it never entered my head to attempt to oppose them. Which was just as well, for I would have been killed for my pains, and I could never have stopped them.
I was alone on the poop, and the men were quite perplexed to find no enemy in sight. As Bert Rhine went past, he half fetched up in his stride, as if to knife me with the sheath knife, sharp-pointed, which he carried in his right hand; then, and I know I correctly measured the drift of his judgment, he unflatteringly dismissed me as unimportant and ran on.
Right here I was impressed by the lack of clear-thinking on any of their parts. So spontaneously had the ship's company exploded into mutiny that it was dazed and confused even while it acted. For instance, in the months since we left Baltimore there had never been a moment, day or night, even when preventer tackles were rigged, that a man had not stood at the wheel. So habituated were they to this, that they were shocked into consternation at sight of the deserted wheel. They paused for an instant to stare at it. Then Bert Rhine, with a quick word and gesture, sent the Italian, Guido Bombini, around the rear of the half-wheelhouse. The fact that he completed the circuit was proof that nobody was there.
Again, in the swift rush of events, I must confess that I saw but little. I was aware that more of the men were climbing up the ladder and gaining the poop, but I had no eyes for them. I was watching that sanguinary group aft near the wheel and noting the most important thing, namely, that it was Bert Rhine, the gangster, and not the second mate, who gave orders and was obeyed.
He motioned to the Jew, Isaac Chantz, who had been wounded earlier in the voyage by O'Sullivan, and Chantz led the way to the starboard chart-house door. While this was going on, all in flashing fractions of seconds, Bert Rhine was cautiously inspecting the lazarette through the open booby-hatch.
Isaac Chantz jerked open the chart-house door, which swung outward. Things did happen so swiftly! As he jerked the iron door open a two- foot hacking butcher knife, at the end of a withered, yellow hand, flashed out and down on him. It missed head and neck, but caught him on top of the left shoulder.
All hands recoiled before this, and the Jew reeled across to the rail, his right hand clutching at his wound, and between the fingers I could see the blood welling darkly. Bert Rhine abandoned his inspection of the booby-hatch, and, with the second mate, the latter still carrying his empty Smith & Wesson, sprang into the press about the chart-house door.
O wise, clever, cautious, old Chinese steward! He made no emergence. The door swung emptily back and forth to the rolling of the Elsinore, and no man knew but what, just inside, with that heavy, hacking knife upraised, lurked the steward. And while they hesitated and stared at the aperture that alternately closed and opened with the swinging of the door, the booby-hatch, situated between chart-house and wheel, erupted. It was Mr. Pike, with his .44 automatic Colt.
There were shots fired, other than by him. I know I heard them, like "red-heads" at an old-time Fourth of July; but I do not know who discharged them. All was mess and confusion. Many shots were being fired, and through the uproar I heard the reiterant, monotonous explosions from the Colt's .44
I saw the Italian, Mike Cipriani, clutch savagely at his abdomen and sink slowly to the deck. Shorty, the Japanese half-caste, clown that he was, dancing and grinning on the outskirts of the struggle, with a final grimace and hysterical giggle led the retreat across the poop and down the poop-ladder. Never had I seen a finer exemplification of mob psychology. Shorty, the most unstable-minded of the individuals who composed this mob, by his own instability precipitated the retreat in which the mob joined. When he broke before the steady discharge of the automatic in the hand of the mate, on the instant the rest broke with him. Least-balanced, his balance was the balance of all of them.
Chantz, bleeding prodigiously, was one of the first on Shorty's heels. I saw Nosey Murphy pause long enough to throw his knife at the mate. The missile went wide, with a metallic clang struck the brass tip of one of the spokes of the Elsinore's wheel, and clattered on the deck. The second mate, with his empty revolver, and Bert Rhine with his sheath-knife, fled past me side by side.
Mr. Pike emerged from the booby-hatch and with an unaimed shot brought down Bill Quigley, one of the "bricklayers," who fell at my feet. The last man off the poop was the Maltese Cockney, and at the top of the ladder he paused to look back at Mr. Pike, who, holding the automatic in both hands, was taking careful aim. The Maltese Cockney, disdaining the ladder, leaped through the air to the main deck. But the Colt merely clicked. It was the last bullet in it that had fetched down Bill Quigley.
And the poop was ours.
Events still crowded so closely that I missed much. I saw the steward, belligerent and cautious, his long knife poised for a slash, emerge from the chart-house. Margaret followed him, and behind her came Wada, who carried my .22 Winchester automatic rifle. As he told me afterwards, he had brought it up under instructions from her.
Mr. Pike was glancing with cool haste at his Colt to see whether it was jammed or empty, when Margaret asked him the course.
"By the wind," he shouted to her, as he bounded for'ard. "Put your helm hard up or we'll be all aback."
Ah!--yeoman and henchman of the race, he could not fail in his fidelity to the ship under his command. The iron of all his years of iron training was there manifest. While mutiny spread red, and death was on the wing, he could not forget his charge, the ship, the Elsinore, the insensate fabric compounded of steel and hemp and woven cotton that was to him glorious with personality.
Margaret waved Wada in my direction as she ran to the wheel. As Mr. Pike passed the corner of the chart-house, simultaneously there was a report from amidships and the ping of a bullet against the steel wall. I saw the man who fired the shot. It was the cowboy, Steve Roberts.
As for the mate, he ducked in behind the sheltering jiggermast, and even as he ducked his left hand dipped into his side coat-pocket, so that when he had gained shelter it was coming out with a fresh clip of cartridges. The empty clip fell to the deck, the loader clip slipped up the hollow butt, and he was good for eight more shots.
Wada turned the little automatic rifle over to me, where I still stood under the weather cloth at the break of the poop.
"All ready," he said. "You take off safety."
"Get Roberts," Mr. Pike called to me. "He's the best shot for'ard. If you can't get 'm, jolt the fear of God into him anyway."
It was the first time I had a human target, and let me say, here and now, that I am convinced I am immune to buck fever. There he was before me, less than a hundred feet distant, in the gangway between
the door to Davis' room and the starboard-rail, manoeuvring for another shot at Mr. Pike.
I must have missed Steve Roberts that first time, but I came so near him that he jumped. The next instant he had located me and turned his revolver on me. But he had no chance. My little automatic was discharging as fast as I could tickle the trigger with my fore- finger. The cowboy's first shot went wild of me, because my bullet arrived ere he got his swift aim. He swayed and stumbled backward, but the bullets--ten of them--poured from the muzzle of my Winchester like water from a garden hose. It was a stream of lead I played upon him. I shall never know how many times I hit him, but I am confident that after he had begun his long staggering fall at least three additional bullets entered him ere he impacted on the deck. And even as he was falling, aimlessly and mechanically, stricken then with death, he managed twice again to discharge his weapon.
And after he struck the deck he never moved. I do believe he died in the air.
As I held up my gun and gazed at the abruptly-deserted main-deck I was aware of Wada's touch on my arm. I looked. In his hand were a dozen little .22 long, soft-nosed, smokeless cartridges. He wanted me to reload. I threw on the safety, opened the magazine, and tilted the rifle so that he could let the fresh cartridges of themselves slide into place.
"Get some more," I told him.
Scarcely had he departed on the errand when Bill Quigley, who lay at my feet, created a diversion. I jumped--yes, and I freely confess that I yelled--with startle and surprise, when I felt his paws clutch my ankles and his teeth shut down on the calf of my leg.
It was Mr. Pike to the rescue. I understand now the Western hyperbole of "hitting the high places." The mate did not seem in contact with the deck. My impression was that he soared through the air to me, landing beside me, and, in the instant of landing, kicking out with one of those big feet of his. Bill Quigley was kicked clear away from me, and the next moment he was flying overboard. It was a clean throw. He never touched the rail.
Whether Mike Cipriani, who, till then, had lain in a welter, began crawling aft in quest of safety, or whether he intended harm to Margaret at the wheel, we shall never know; for there was no opportunity given him to show his purpose. As swiftly as Mr. Pike could cross the deck with those giant bounds, just that swiftly was the Italian in the air and following Bill Quigley overside.
The mate missed nothing with those eagle eyes of his as he returned along the poop. Nobody was to be seen on the main deck. Even the lookout had deserted the forecastle-head, and the Elsinore, steered by Margaret, slipped a lazy two knots through the quiet sea. Mr. Pike was apprehensive of a shot from ambush, and it was not until after a scrutiny of several minutes that he put his pistol into his side coat-pocket and snarled for'ard:
"Come out, you rats! Show your ugly faces! I want to talk with you!"
Guido Bombini, gesticulating peaceable intentions and evidently thrust out by Bert Rhine, was the first to appear. When it was observed that Mr. Pike did not fire, the rest began to dribble into view. This continued till all were there save the cook, the two sail-makers, and the second mate. The last to come out were Tom Spink, the boy Buckwheat, and Herman Lunkenheimer, the good-natured but simple-minded German; and these three came out only after repeated threats from Bert Rhine, who, with Nosey Murphy and Kid Twist, was patently in charge. Also, like a faithful dog, Guido Bombini fawned close to him.
"That will do--stop where you are," Mr. Pike commanded, when the crew was scattered abreast, to starboard and to port, of Number Three hatch.
It was a striking scene. MUTINY ON THE HIGH SEAS! That phrase, learned in boyhood from my Marryatt and Cooper, recrudesced in my brain. This was it--mutiny on the high seas in the year nineteen thirteen--and I was part of it, a perishing blond whose lot was cast with the perishing but lordly blonds, and I had already killed a man.
Mr. Pike, in the high place, aged and indomitable; leaned his arm on the rail at the break of the poop and gazed down at the mutineers, the like of which I'll wager had never been assembled in mutiny before. There were the three gangsters and ex-jailbirds, anything but seamen, yet in control of this affair that was peculiarly an affair of the sea. With them was the Italian hound, Bombini, and beside them were such strangely assorted men as Anton Sorensen, Lars Jacobsen, Frank Fitzgibbon, and Richard Giller--also Arthur Deacon the white slaver, John Hackey the San Francisco hoodlum, the Maltese Cockney, and Tony the suicidal Greek.
I noticed the three strange ones, shouldering together and standing apart from the others as they swayed to the lazy roll and dreamed with their pale, topaz eyes. And there was the Faun, stone deaf but observant, straining to understand what was taking place. Yes, and Mulligan Jacobs and Andy Fay were bitterly and eagerly side by side, and Ditman Olansen, crank-eyed, as if drawn by some affinity of bitterness, stood behind them, his head appearing between their heads. Farthest advanced of all was Charles Davis, the man who by all rights should long since be dead, his face with its wax-like pallor startlingly in contrast to the weathered faces of the rest.
I glanced back at Margaret, who was coolly steering, and she smiled to me, and love was in her eyes--she, too, of the perishing and lordly race of blonds, her place the high place, her heritage government and command and mastery over the stupid lowly of her kind and over the ruck and spawn of the dark-pigmented breeds.
"Where's Sidney Waltham?" the mate snarled. "I want him. Bring him out. After that, the rest of you filth get back to work, or God have mercy on you."
The men moved about restlessly, shuffling their feet on the deck.
"Sidney Waltham, I want you--come out!" Mr. Pike called, addressing himself beyond them to the murderer of the captain under whom once he had sailed.
The prodigious old hero! It never entered his head that he was not the master of the rabble there below him. He had but one idea, an
idea of passion, and that was his desire for vengeance on the murderer of his old skipper.
"You old stiff!" Mulligan Jacobs snarled back.
"Shut up, Mulligan!" was Bert Rhine's command, in receipt of which he received a venomous stare from the cripple.
"Oh, ho, my hearty," Mr. Pike sneered at the gangster. "I'll take care of your case, never fear. In the meantime, and right now, fetch out that dog."
Whereupon he ignored the leader of the mutineers and began calling, "Waltham, you dog, come out! Come out, you sneaking cur! Come out!"
ANOTHER LUNATIC, was the thought that flashed through my mind; another lunatic, the slave of a single idea. He forgets the mutiny, his fidelity to the ship, in his personal thirst for vengeance.
But did he? Even as he forgot and called his heart's desire, which was the life of the second mate, even then, without intention, mechanically, his sailor's considerative eye lifted to note the draw of the sails and roved from sail to sail. Thereupon, so reminded, he returned to his fidelity.
"Well?" he snarled at Bert Rhine. "Go on and get for'ard before I spit on you, you scum and slum. I'll give you and the rest of the rats two minutes to return to duty."
And the leader, with his two fellow-gangsters, laughed their weird, silent laughter.
"I guess you'll listen to our talk, first, old horse," Bert Rhine retorted. "--Davis, get up now and show what kind of a spieler you are. Don't get cold feet. Spit it out to Foxy Grandpa an' tell 'm
what's doin'."
"You damned sea-lawyer!" Mr. Pike snarled as Davis opened his mouth to speak.
Bert Rhine shrugged his shoulders, and half turned on his heel as if to depart, as he said quietly:
"Oh, well, if you don't want to talk . . . "
Mr. Pike conceded a point.
"Go on!" he snarled. "Spit the dirt out of your system, Davis; but remember one thing: you'll pay for this, and you'll pay through the nose. Go on!"
The sea-lawyer cleared his throat in preparation.
"First of all, I ain't got no part in this," he began.
"I'm a sick man, an' I oughta be in my bunk right now. I ain't fit to be on my feet. But they've asked me to advise 'em on the law, an' I have advised 'em--"
"And the law--what is it?" Mr. Pike broke in.
But Davis was uncowed.
"The law is that when the officers is inefficient, the crew can take charge peaceably an' bring the ship into port. It's all law an' in the records. There was the Abyssinia, in eighteen ninety-two, when the master'd died of fever and the mates took to drinkin'--"Go on!" Mr. Pike shut him off. "I don't want your citations. What d'ye want? Spit it out."
"Well--and I'm talkin' as an outsider, as a sick man off duty that's been asked to talk--well, the point is our skipper was a good one, but he's gone. Our mate is violent, seekin' the life of the second mate. We don't care about that. What we want is to get into port with our lives. An' our lives is in danger. We ain't hurt nobody. You've done all the bloodshed. You've shot an' killed an' thrown two men overboard, as witnesses'll testify to in court. An' there's Roberts, there, dead, too, an' headin' for the sharks--an' what for? For defendin' himself from murderous an' deadly attack, as every man can testify an' tell the truth, the whole truth, an' nothin' but the truth, so help 'm, God--ain't that right, men?"
A confused murmur of assent arose from many of them.
"You want my job, eh?" Mr. Pike grinned. "An' what are you goin' to do with me?"
"You'll be taken care of until we get in an' turn you over to the lawful authorities," Davis answered promptly. "Most likely you can plead insanity an' get off easy."
At this moment I felt a stir at my shoulder. It was Margaret, armed with the long knife of the steward, whom she had put at the wheel.
"You've got another guess comin', Davis," Mr. Pike said. "I've got no more talk with you. I'm goin' to talk to the bunch. I'll give you fellows just two minutes to choose, and I'll tell you your choices. You've only got two choices. You'll turn the second mate over to me an' go back to duty and take what's comin' to you, or you'll go to jail with the stripes on you for long sentences. You've got two minutes. The fellows that want jail can stand right where they are. The fellows that don't want jail and are willin' to work faithful, can walk right back to me here on the poop. Two minutes, an' you can keep your jaws stopped while you think over what it's goin' to be."
He turned his head to me and said in an undertone, "Be ready with that pop-gun for trouble. An' don't hesitate. Slap it into 'em--the swine that think they can put as raw a deal as this over on us."
It was Buckwheat who made the first move; but so tentative was it that it got no farther than a tensing of the legs and a sway forward of the shoulders. Nevertheless it was sufficient to start Herman Lunkenheimer, who thrust out his foot and began confidently to walk aft. Kid Twist gained him in a single spring, and Kid Twist, his wrist under the German's throat from behind; his knee pressed into the German's back, bent the man backward and held him. Even as the rifle came to my shoulder, the hound Bombini drew his knife directly beneath Kid Twist's wrist across the up-stretched throat of the man.
It was at this instant that I heard Mr. Pike's "Plug him!" and pulled the trigger; and of all ungodly things the bullet missed and caught the Faun, who staggered back, sat down on the hatch, and began to cough. And even as he coughed he still strained with pain-eloquent eyes to try to understand.
No other man moved. Herman Lunkenheimer, released by Kid Twist, sank down on the deck. Nor did I shoot again. Kid Twist stood again by the side of Bert Rhine and Guido Bombini fawned near.
Bert Rhine actually visibly smiled.
"Any more of you guys want to promenade aft?" he queried in velvet tones.
"Two minutes up," Mr. Pike declared.
"An' what are you goin' to do about it, Grandpa?" Bert Rhine sneered.
In a flash the big automatic was out of the mate's pocket and he was shooting as fast as he could pull trigger, while all hands fled to shelter. But, as he had long since told me, he was no shot and could effectively use the weapon only at close range--muzzle to stomach preferably.
As we stared at the main deck, deserted save for the dead cowboy on his back and for the Faun who still sat on the hatch and coughed, an eruption of men occurred over the for'ard edge of the 'midship-house.
"Shoot!" Margaret cried at my back.
"Don't!" Mr. Pike roared at me.
The rifle was at my shoulder when I desisted. Louis, the cook, led the rush aft to us across the top of the house and along the bridge. Behind him, in single file and not wasting any time, came the Japanese sail-makers, Henry the training-ship boy, and the other boy Buckwheat. Tom Spink brought up the rear. As he came up the ladder of the 'midship-house somebody from beneath must have caught him by a leg in an effort to drag him back. We saw half of him in sight and knew that he was struggling and kicking. He fetched clear abruptly, gained the top of the house in a surge, and raced aft along the bridge until he overtook and collided with Buckwheat, who yelled out in fear that a mutineer had caught him.
Continue to Chapter 43


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Ever since my children were old enough to be in school and notice how others talked, they've laughed at how I've pronounced some words. When I wash the dishes, I "woish" or "warsh" (mainly it's the former) as I grew up in Ohio & that's how we pronounced it. I really have to think when I say it anymore in order to pronounce it the correct way "w-ah-sh". There is no "oi" or "r" in that word – at least that's what the children say! I also realized after I moved to North Texas that "pop" is the sound firecrackers make – not the carbonated liquid we drink. That is "soda". Unless you are under 18 – then everything is "Coke". "What kind of coke do you want? A root beer or a Dr. Pepper?" UGH! A supervisor I used to have a long ways back used to laugh when I told him I was going "home". Somehow – and I've picked up on this when I listen to others from the Midwest – the "o" in that word just sounds different. Now when I go back to visit my relatives in southwestern Ohio, they tell me I have picked up a bit of the Texas twang. Oh, well!
Thanks to a link from http://creativegene.blogspot.com that led me to http://desktopgenealogistunplugged.blogspot.com I found a quiz on "What Accent Do You Have?" I took the quiz & my accent is from the "Midland". It says:
"You have a Midland accent" is just another way of saying "you don't have an accent." You probably are from the Midland (Pennsylvania, southern Ohio, southern Indiana, southern Illinois, and Missouri) but then for all we know you could be from Florida or Charleston or one of those big southern cities like Atlanta or Dallas. You have a good voice for TV and radio.
If you would like to take your own quiz – you can either go to http://desktopgenealogistunplugged.blogspot.com to get the link or go directly to: http://www.gotoquiz.com/what_american_accent_do_you_have .
Go ahead – try it! See what you come up with!


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2010 was a tough year for all job seekers – especially those in the tech industry – and it doesn't look like it is going to get any easier in the New Year. Economists predict only moderate job growth in 2011 – signaling continued competition for the jobs that are available. If lucky enough to snag an interview, job seekers are subject to intense scrutiny…and some weird and wacky questions to prove they are right for the job. Career and jobs community, Glassdoor.com, has combed through more than 80,000 interview questions shared by job candidates to find the top 25 oddball interview questions from 2010.
Getting More than Just Numbers from Your Web Analytics Make Web analytics more actionable and achieve the associated business benefits.
Why Half of All Social Media Initiatives Fail Avoid these 10 social media pitfalls.
10 Essential iPad Accessories Get the most from your iPad with these accessories.
These IT certs have been earning workers above average pay premiums, and are likely to continue to gain value over the next three to six months. ... More >>


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|8 Ohms
|Frequency Response
80 Hz – 33 kHz
(100 Hz – 29 kHz)
|87 dB
|4 ¼"H x 49" W x 1 ½" D
|SDA Module
|1 7/8"H x 17" W x 8" D
|Bar Weight
|10 lbs
|SDA Weight
|7 lbs
|Shipping Weight
|25 lbs
|Mounting Options
Keyhole slots, wall bracket, threaded inserts for aftermarket brackets.
Included adjustable rubber feet for shelf/table mounting.
Wall mount bracket, rubber feet rack mounts, CL2 (in-wall rated) 15' speaker cable
Connects module and bar.
|5 years
* The product in this article was sent to us by the developer/company.
I've been writing about games and entertainment since 2006 after starting out at Xbox Ohio. Since then, I have made the jump to Gaming Nexus and have enjoyed my time here. I am an avid gamer that has a solid old school game collection that includes the likes of Final Fantasy games, Earthbound, Gitaroo-Man, MvC2, and a whole slew of others. I have a primary focus on Xbox/PC games and PC peripherals and accessories. If you ever want to game against me, you can look me up on XBL with the gamertag GN Punk. View Profile


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Reproductions & Permissions
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Microfilm and microfiche reader/printer machines are available for use. Printing is in black and white and costs 20 cents per 8.5 x 11 page. One microfilm machine has digital capability. Floppy disks and flash drives may be used in the machine.
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Photographic and digital reproduction of any Library materials whether for personal use or publication requires Library permission. In either case, you must complete one of the following forms:
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Permission to reproduce or photograph material does not imply permission to publish. It is the patron's obligation to satisfy copyright regulations when copying or using materials found in the collection.


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EU has rethink over roaming charges
'Fine-tuning' apparently
The European Commission (EC) has watered down plans to force mobile operators in Europe to slash the cost of using a mobile phone abroad.
The EC had wanted mobile users to be charged the same price for using their phone while abroad as they pay in their country of residence, according to proposals put forward by Commissioner Viviane Reding earlier this year.
Now, it's emerged that this aggressive move, which would have helped cut the cost of using a phone while travelling in the EU, has been dropped because it's too complicated.
Instead, a spokesman for Reding, told Reuters that the EC had made "some fine-tuning changes to the regulation at the wholesale level".
He explained how the new proposals call for wholesale roaming charges for local/national calls are to be capped at twice the average EU mobile termination rate, while wholesale roaming charges for international calls are to be capped at three times the average EU mobile termination rate.
Analysts at Ovum have already been crunching the numbers and according to their figures, it means that wholesale roaming charges for the EU would be capped at around €0.24 a minute, while wholesale roaming charges for international calls will be capped at around €0.36p a minute.
"Reding has sensibly moved away from the home pricing principle," said Ovum which described the previous proposals as "too intrusive and also practically unworkable". And it insists that it is still "good news for consumers" who should save money when using their mobile abroad.
Last month Europe's telecoms regulators supported EC plans to cut roaming charges but said it should be done by cutting the cost of wholesale charges rather than retail prices. In a statement the European Regulators Group (ERG), which includes UK regulator Ofcom, warned that attempting to regulate retail prices could be counter productive for end users. It went on to say that while it "supports the commission's objectives, it has significant reservations about the regulatory mechanisms proposed by the EC". ®


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Yummy Berry Crumble
Pair your favorite berries
Yummy Berry Crumble
Pair your favorite berries
Berry Crumble
- 2 cups Blueberries
- 2 cups raspberries, strawberries or blackberries
- 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
- 2/3 cups unpacked light brown sugar
- 6 TBS of Butter
*Any fresh or frozen berries will work so try out different combinations...freeze some local berries now and make this in the winter. You will want to double this recipe as it is too good for just one serving.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Place berries in a bowl and in another bowl mix flour and sugar. Toss three tbs of the flour mixture in with the berries. Place the berry mixture in a square baking dish.
Combine melted butter with remaining flour mixture and crumble by hand into little bits on top of the berry mixture.
Bake until berry mixture starts to bubble, about 35 minutes.


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Who's Next?
Okay, he's done. He coached his heart out and he's tired. Its been two days and I think we have all accepted this, its time to move on and we are ready for the new guy. But who will it be? I've heard more rumors and speculation in the past 48 hours than in my entire life it seems! From Bob Stoops to now Lovie Smith? Bob Stoops, by the way, said 'no way' just so we are clear on that. Lovie Smith? Well I'm pretty sure right now his mind is on the Super Bowl not moving back to Texas. But ya just never know. One thing everyone agrees on, to become the coach of America's Team is a dream for alot of guys in the league. Its also one of the most stressful jobs out there.
There is also alot of people saying that Terrell Owens was part of the reason Parcells decided to retire. I don't doubt that. It wasn't the only reason but it had to have a hand in it. T.O. seems to be a coach's worst nightmare. This is what he had to say about Parcells decision:
"Sometimes change is good," T.O. said. "I think it was needed." Owens, currently preparing for a second round of finger surgery, said he hopes "the owner will hire a coach to take the team to the next level."
Yeah, I know… The guy who dropped the most passes in the league. But he also led the league in receiving touchdowns.
During an interview about his retirement, Parcells was asked over and over about Terrell Owens and he refused to comment. So maybe he was part of the reason, but I don't think Parcells was going to give T.O. the satisfaction.
My opinion about T.O. is, if you don't want to be a team player, then get off my team. I have tried and tried to accept him, but he keeps pulling these stunts and talking to the media. He is a great player, when he's 100% and I won't deny that. But is it worth the grief and drama he brings? I can think of many WR's that could be good for us without the controversy. But that's not for me to decide. So if Jerry says he stays then hes a Cowboy and I will have to accept that and support him on the field. Off the field… different story.
So now, we wait. That's what offseason is about anyway. We wait to see who our leader will be, we wait to see who gets cut, who gets signed, who gets hurt, who gets well. Someone asked me, "What do you do now that football season is over?" I simply answered, "Football season may be over, but I'm a Dallas fan year round, there's plenty to do!"


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Celebrate the holiday season at Chili's with a special offer every day from now until December 24. Just print your coupn, head to Chili's, and enjoy. Offers expire daily. Purchase of one or more adult entrées required. Coupn required to redeem offer and must be used on the date of the offer.
Happy Holidailys! Today's Deal is a FREE Chips & Queso with Adult Entree Purchase.


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The introduction of Harun Yahya conferences, which were held in France between the 18th and 22nd of January, 2012, were announced on large billboards on the Champs-Elysées, one of the most famous avenues of Paris.
These billboards, in which Mr. Adnan Oktar's series of Atlas of Creation, his works and French web site were announced, were displayed for a month in the most important streets of Paris.
These posters, which were previously displayed on buses in London and trams in the city of Rotterdam, Holland, there is also the introduction of iPad, iPhone and Android applications for Harun Yahya"s works as well as the message of "GOD EXISTS."
The topics of the Harun Yahya conferences held in Paris and Rouen between the dates 18th and 22nd of January were as follows:
· The End of Atheism, 2012: The Beginning of the Century of Faith
· The Miracles of the Qur'an
· The Creation of the Universe
· Molecular Collapse of Darwinism
· Islam: Religion of Peace


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Press the down arrow key to interact with the calendar and select a date. Press the question mark key to get the keyboard shortcuts for changing dates.
Press the down arrow key to interact with the calendar and select a date. Press the question mark key to get the keyboard shortcuts for changing dates.
Nid's Bungalows is family-owned and managed, offering cool, private and tasteful accommodation in the Thai-style, located centrally on the shore of Chaweng Lake in the Chaweng Beach tourist area, only 10 minutes from Samui airport and 5 minutes from Chaweng Beach.
To serve the international traveller, Nid's Bungalows offers a range of accommodation options, from new and superior levels of accommodation to a new and spacious 8-bunk Dorm for the solo traveller or value-conscious group. Nid has made the lush gardens around the bungalows and swimming pool a feature of the Resort.
The Resort offers a large lap pool and sun deck, bar and games area, free WiFi and laundry facilities.
Guests who stay with us are able to share Nid's love of animals, gardening and cooking. We make every effort to consider the environment by careful use of electricity and resources, and we grow some of our own vegetables and herbs where possible. Nid loves and takes care of many animals and, if you wish, you can make friends with them during your stay.
Safety Deposit Box – one fitted in every bungalow and for each bunk in the Dorm
Cancellation Policy:
Nid's Bungalows has a 24hr cancellation policy. Unless cancellations are made at least 24 hours in advance of the check-in date, directly by email to Nid's Bungalows, the total of the first nights' accommodation may be charged.