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VIII. VARIATION IN TACTICS
1. In war, the general receives his commands from the sovereign, collects his army and concentrates his
forces.
2. When in difficult country, do not encamp. In country where high roads intersect, join hands with your allies. Do not
linger in dangerously isolated positions.
In hemmed-in situations, you must resort to stratagem. In desperate position, you must fight.
3. There are roads which must not be followed, armies which must be not attacked, towns which must not be besieged,positions which must not be contested, commands of the sovereign which must not be obeyed.
4. The general who thoroughly understands the advantages that accompany variation of tactics knows how to handle his
troops.
5. The general who does not understand these, may be well acquainted with the configuration of the country, yet he will
not be able to turn his knowledge to practical account.
6. So, the student of war who is unversed in the art of war of varying his plans, even though he be acquainted with the
Five Advantages, will fail to make the best use of his men.
7. Hence in the wise leader's plans, considerations of advantage and of disadvantage will be blended together.
8. If our expectation of advantage be tempered in this way, we may succeed in accomplishing the essential part of our
schemes.
9. If, on the other hand, in the midst of difficulties we are always ready to seize an advantage, we may extricate ourselves
from misfortune.
10. Reduce the hostile chiefs by inflicting damage on them;
and make trouble for them,
and keep them constantly engaged;
hold out specious allurements, and make them rush to any given point.
 
11. The art of war teaches us to rely not on the likelihood of the enemy's not coming, but on our own readiness to receive
him; not on the chance of his not attacking, but rather on the fact that we have made our position unassailable.
12. There are five dangerous faults which may affect a general:
(1) Recklessness, which leads to destruction;
(2) cowardice, which leads to capture;
(3) a hasty temper, which can be provoked by insults;
(4) a delicacy of honor which is sensitive to shame;
(5) over-solicitude for his men, which exposes him to worry and trouble.
13. These are the five besetting sins of a general, ruinous to the conduct of war.
14. When an army is overthrown and its leader slain, the cause will surely be found among these five dangerous faults.
Let them be a subject of meditation.
 
IX. THE ARMY ON THE MARCH
1. We come now to the question of encamping the army, and observing signs of the enemy.
Pass quickly over mountains, and keep in the neighborhood of valleys.
[The idea is, not to linger among barren uplands, but to keep close to supplies of water and grass. Cf. Wu Tzu, ch. 3:
"Abide not in natural ovens," i.e. "the openings of valleys." Chang Yu tells the following anecdote: Wu-tu Chìang was a
robber captain in the time of the Later Han, and Ma Yuan was sent to exterminate his gang. Chìang having found a refuge
in the hills, Ma Yuan made no attempt to force a battle, but seized all the favorable positions commanding supplies of
water and forage. Chìang was soon in such a desperate plight for want of provisions that he was forced to make a total
surrender. He did not know the advantage of keeping in the neighborhood of valleys."]
2. Camp in high places,
[Not on high hills, but on knolls or hillocks elevated above the surrounding country.]
facing the sun.
[Tu Mu takes this to mean "facing south," and Chèn Hao "facing east." Cf. infra, SS. 11, 13.
Do not climb heights in order to fight. So much for mountain warfare.3. After crossing a river, you should get far away from it.
["In order to tempt the enemy to cross after you," according to Tsào Kung, and also, says Chang Yu, "in order not to be
impeded in your evolutions." The TÙNG TIEN reads, "If THE ENEMY crosses a river," etc.
But in view of the next sentence, this is almost certainly an interpolation.]
4. When an invading force crosses a river in its onward march, do not advance to meet it in mid-stream. It will be best to
let half the army get across, and then deliver your attack.
[Li Chùan alludes to the great victory won by Han Hsin over Lung Chu at the Wei River. Turning to the CHÌEN HAN SHU, ch.
34, fol. 6 verso, we find the battle described as follows: "The two armies were drawn up on opposite sides of the river. In
the night, Han Hsin ordered his men to take some ten thousand sacks filled with sand and construct a dam higher up.
Then, leading half his army across, he attacked Lung Chu; but after a time, pretending to have failed in his attempt, he
hastily withdrew to the other bank. Lung Chu was much elated by this unlooked-for success, and exclaiming: "I felt sure
that Han Hsin was really a coward!" he pursued him and began crossing the river in his turn. Han Hsin now sent a party to
cut open the sandbags, thus releasing a great volume of water, which swept down and prevented the greater portion of
Lung Chu's army from getting across. He then turned upon the force which had been cut off, and annihilated it, Lung Chu
himself being amongst the slain. The rest of the army, on the further bank, also scattered and fled in all directions.]
5. If you are anxious to fight, you should not go to meet the invader near a river which he has to cross.
[For fear of preventing his crossing.]
6. Moor your craft higher up than the enemy, and facing the sun.
[See supra, ss. 2. The repetition of these words in connection with water is very awkward. Chang Yu has the note: "Said
either of troops marshaled on the river-bank, or of boats anchored in the stream itself; in either case it is essential to be
higher than the enemy and facing the sun." The other commentators are not at all explicit.]
Do not move up-stream to meet the enemy.
[Tu Mu says: "As water flows downwards, we must not pitch our camp on the lower reaches of a river, for fear the enemy
should open the sluices and sweep us away in a flood. Chu-ko Wu- hou has remarked that 'in river warfare we must not
advance against the stream,' which is as much as to say that our fleet must not be anchored below that of the enemy, for
then they would be able to take advantage of the current and make short work of us." There is also the danger, noted by
other commentators, that the enemy may throw poison on the water to be carried down to us.]
So much for river warfare.
7. In crossing salt-marshes, your sole concern should be to get over them quickly, without any delay.
[Because of the lack of fresh water, the poor quality of the herbage, and last but not least, because they are low, flat, and
exposed to attack.]
8. If forced to fight in a salt-marsh, you should have water and grass near you, and get your back to a clump of trees.
[Li Chùan remarks that the ground is less likely to be treacherous where there are trees, while Tu Mu says that they will
serve to protect the rear.]
So much for operations in salt-marches.
9. In dry, level country, take up an easily accessible position with rising ground to your right and on your rear,
[Tu Mu quotes Tài Kung as saying: "An army should have a stream or a marsh on its left, and a hill or tumulus on its right."]
The Art of War, by Sun Tzu55
so that the danger may be in front, and safety lie behind. So much for campaigning in flat country.
10. These are the four useful branches of military knowledge
[Those, namely, concerned with (1) mountains, (2) rivers, (3) marshes, and (4) plains. Compare Napoleon's
"Military Maxims," no. 1.]
which enabled the Yellow Emperor to vanquish four several sovereigns.
[Regarding the "Yellow Emperor": Mei Yao-chèn asks, with some plausibility, whether there is an error in the text as
nothing is known of Huang Ti having conquered four other Emperors. The SHIH CHI (ch. 1 ad init.) speaks only of his
victories over Yen Ti and Chìh Yu. In the LIU TÀO it is mentioned that he "fought seventy battles and pacified the Empire."
Tsào Kung's explanation is, that the Yellow Emperor was the first to institute the feudal system of vassals princes, each of
whom (to the number of four) originally bore the title of Emperor. Li Chùan tells us that the art of war originated under
Huang Ti, who received it from his Minister Feng Hou.]
 
11. All armies prefer high ground to low.
["High Ground," says Mei Yao-chèn, "is not only more agreement and salubrious, but more convenient from a military point
of view; low ground is not only damp and unhealthy, but also disadvantageous for fighting."]
and sunny places to dark.
12. If you are careful of your men,
[Tsào Kung says: "Make for fresh water and pasture, where you can turn out your animals to graze."]
and camp on hard ground, the army will be free from disease of every kind,
[Chang Yu says: "The dryness of the climate will prevent the outbreak of illness."]
and this will spell victory.
13. When you come to a hill or a bank, occupy the sunny side, with the slope on your right rear. Thus you will at once act
for the benefit of your soldiers and utilize the natural advantages of the ground.
14. When, in consequence of heavy rains up-country, a river which you wish to ford is swollen and flecked with foam, you
must wait until it subsides.
15. Country in which there are precipitous cliffs with torrents running between, deep natural hollows,
[The latter defined as "places enclosed on every side by steep banks, with pools of water at the bottom.]
confined places,
[Defined as "natural pens or prisons" or "places surrounded by precipices on three sides--easy to get into, but hard to get
out of."]
tangled thickets,
[Defined as "places covered with such dense undergrowth that spears cannot be used."]
quagmires
[Defined as "low-lying places, so heavy with mud as to be impassable for chariots and horsemen."]
and crevasses,[Defined by Mei Yao-chèn as "a narrow difficult way between beetling cliffs." Tu Mu's note is "ground covered with trees
and rocks, and intersected by numerous ravines and pitfalls." This is very vague, but Chia Lin explains it clearly enough as
a defile or narrow pass, and Chang Yu takes much the same view. On the whole, the weight of the commentators
certainly inclines to the rendering "defile." But the ordinary meaning of the Chinese in one place is "a crack or fissure" and
the fact that the meaning of the Chinese elsewhere in the sentence indicates something in the nature of a defile, make
me think that Sun Tzu is here speaking of crevasses.]
should be left with all possible speed and not approached.
16. While we keep away from such places, we should get the enemy to approach them; while we face them, we should let
the enemy have them on his rear.
17. If in the neighborhood of your camp there should be any hilly country, ponds surrounded by aquatic grass, hollow
basins filled with reeds, or woods with thick undergrowth, they must be carefully routed out and searched; for these are
places where men in ambush or insidious spies are likely to be lurking.
[Chang Yu has the note: "We must also be on our guard against traitors who may lie in close covert, secretly spying out
our weaknesses and overhearing our instructions."]
18. When the enemy is close at hand and remains quiet, he is relying on the natural strength of his position.
[Here begin Sun Tzu's remarks on the reading of signs, much of which is so good that it could almost be included in a
modern manual like Gen. Baden-Powell's "Aids to Scouting."]
19. When he keeps aloof and tries to provoke a battle, he is anxious for the other side to advance.
[Probably because we are in a strong position from which he wishes to dislodge us. "If he came close up to us, says Tu Mu,
"and tried to force a battle, he would seem to despise us, and there would be less probability of our responding to the
challenge."]
20. If his place of encampment is easy of access, he is tendering a bait.
 
BLEAK HOUSE BY CHARLES DICKENS CONT

Among the ladies who were most distinguished for this rapacious benevolence (if I may use the expression) was a Mrs. Pardiggle, who seemed, as I judged from the number of her letters to Mr. Jarndyce, to be almost as powerful a correspondent as Mrs. Jellyby herself. We observed that the wind always changed when Mrs. Pardiggle became the subject of conversation and that it invariably interrupted Mr. Jarndyce and prevented his going any farther, when he had remarked that there were two classes of charitable people; one, the people who did a little and made a great deal of noise; the other, the people who did a great deal and made no noise at all. We were therefore curious to see Mrs. Pardiggle, suspecting her to be a type of the former class, and were glad when she called one day with her five young sons.

She was a formidable style of lady with spectacles, a prominent nose, and a loud voice, who had the effect of wanting a great deal of room. And she really did, for she knocked down little chairs with her skirts that were quite a great way off. As only Ada and I were at home, we received her timidly, for she seemed to come in like cold weather and to make the little Pardiggles blue as they followed.

“These, young ladies,” said Mrs. Pardiggle with great volubility after the first salutations, “are my five boys. You may have seen their names in a printed subscription list (perhaps more than one) in the possession of our esteemed friend Mr. Jarndyce. Egbert, my eldest (twelve), is the boy who sent out his pocket-money, to the amount of five and threepence, to the Tockahoopo Indians. Oswald, my second (ten and a half), is the child who contributed two and nine-pence to the Great National Smithers Testimonial. Francis, my third (nine), one and sixpence halfpenny; Felix, my fourth (seven), eightpence to the Superannuated Widows; Alfred, my youngest (five), has voluntarily enrolled himself in the Infant Bonds of Joy, and is pledged never, through life, to use tobacco in any form.”

We had never seen such dissatisfied children. It was not merely that they were weazened and shrivelled—though they were certainly that too—but they looked absolutely ferocious with discontent. At the mention of the Tockahoopo Indians, I could really have supposed Egbert to be one of the most baleful members of that tribe, he gave me such a savage frown. The face of each child, as the amount of his contribution was mentioned, darkened in a peculiarly vindictive manner, but his was by far the worst. I must except, however, the little recruit into the Infant Bonds of Joy, who was stolidly and evenly miserable.

“You have been visiting, I understand,” said Mrs. Pardiggle, “at Mrs. Jellyby’s?”

We said yes, we had passed one night there.

“Mrs. Jellyby,” pursued the lady, always speaking in the same demonstrative, loud, hard tone, so that her voice impressed my fancy as if it had a sort of spectacles on too—and I may take the opportunity of remarking that her spectacles were made the less engaging by her eyes being what Ada called “choking eyes,” meaning very prominent—“Mrs. Jellyby is a benefactor to society and deserves a helping hand. My boys have contributed to the African project—Egbert, one and six, being the entire allowance of nine weeks; Oswald, one and a penny halfpenny, being the same; the rest, according to their little means. Nevertheless, I do not go with Mrs. Jellyby in all things. I do not go with Mrs. Jellyby in her treatment of her young family. It has been noticed. It has been observed that her young family are excluded from participation in the objects to which she is devoted. She may be right, she may be wrong; but, right or wrong, this is not my course with MY young family. I take them everywhere.”

I was afterwards convinced (and so was Ada) that from the ill-conditioned eldest child, these words extorted a sharp yell. He turned it off into a yawn, but it began as a yell.

“They attend matins with me (very prettily done) at half-past six o’clock in the morning all the year round, including of course the depth of winter,” said Mrs. Pardiggle rapidly, “and they are with me during the revolving duties of the day. I am a School lady, I am a Visiting lady, I am a Reading lady, I am a Distributing lady; I am on the local Linen Box Committee and many general committees; and my canvassing alone is very extensive—perhaps no one’s more so. But they are my companions everywhere; and by these means they acquire that knowledge of the poor, and that capacity of doing charitable business in general—in short, that taste for the sort of thing—which will render them in after life a service to their neighbours and a satisfaction to themselves. My young family are not frivolous; they expend the entire amount of their allowance in subscriptions, under my direction; and they have attended as many public meetings and listened to as many lectures, orations, and discussions as generally fall to the lot of few grown people. Alfred (five), who, as I mentioned, has of his own election joined the Infant Bonds of Joy, was one of the very few children who manifested consciousness on that occasion after a fervid address of two hours from the chairman of the evening.”

Alfred glowered at us as if he never could, or would, forgive the injury of that night.

“You may have observed, Miss Summerson,” said Mrs. Pardiggle, “in some of the lists to which I have referred, in the possession of our esteemed friend Mr. Jarndyce, that the names of my young family are concluded with the name of O. A. Pardiggle, F.R.S., one pound. That is their father. We usually observe the same routine. I put down my mite first; then my young family enrol their contributions, according to their ages and their little means; and then Mr. Pardiggle brings up the rear. Mr. Pardiggle is happy to throw in his limited donation, under my direction; and thus things are made not only pleasant to ourselves, but, we trust, improving to others.”

Suppose Mr. Pardiggle were to dine with Mr. Jellyby, and suppose Mr. Jellyby were to relieve his mind after dinner to Mr. Pardiggle, would Mr. Pardiggle, in return, make any confidential communication to Mr. Jellyby? I was quite confused to find myself thinking this, but it came into my head.

“You are very pleasantly situated here!” said Mrs. Pardiggle.

We were glad to change the subject, and going to the window, pointed out the beauties of the prospect, on which the spectacles appeared to me to rest with curious indifference.

“You know Mr. Gusher?” said our visitor.

We were obliged to say that we had not the pleasure of Mr. Gusher’s acquaintance.

“The loss is yours, I assure you,” said Mrs. Pardiggle with her commanding deportment. “He is a very fervid, impassioned speaker—full of fire! Stationed in a waggon on this lawn, now, which, from the shape of the land, is naturally adapted to a public meeting, he would improve almost any occasion you could mention for hours and hours! By this time, young ladies,” said Mrs. Pardiggle, moving back to her chair and overturning, as if by invisible agency, a little round table at a considerable distance with my work-basket on it, “by this time you have found me out, I dare say?”

This was really such a confusing question that Ada looked at me in perfect dismay. As to the guilty nature of my own consciousness after what I had been thinking, it must have been expressed in the colour of my cheeks.

“Found out, I mean,” said Mrs. Pardiggle, “the prominent point in my character. I am aware that it is so prominent as to be discoverable immediately. I lay myself open to detection, I know. Well! I freely admit, I am a woman of business. I love hard work; I enjoy hard work. The excitement does me good. I am so accustomed and inured to hard work that I don’t know what fatigue is.”

We murmured that it was very astonishing and very gratifying, or something to that effect. I don’t think we knew what it was either, but this is what our politeness expressed.

“I do not understand what it is to be tired; you cannot tire me if you try!” said Mrs. Pardiggle. “The quantity of exertion (which is no exertion to me), the amount of business (which I regard as nothing), that I go through sometimes astonishes myself. I have seen my young family, and Mr. Pardiggle, quite worn out with witnessing it, when I may truly say I have been as fresh as a lark!”

If that dark-visaged eldest boy could look more malicious than he had already looked, this was the time when he did it. I observed that he doubled his right fist and delivered a secret blow into the crown of his cap, which was under his left arm.

“This gives me a great advantage when I am making my rounds,” said Mrs. Pardiggle. “If I find a person unwilling to hear what I have to say, I tell that person directly, ‘I am incapable of fatigue, my good friend, I am never tired, and I mean to go on until I have done.’ It answers admirably! Miss Summerson, I hope I shall have your assistance in my visiting rounds immediately, and Miss Clare’s very soon.”

At first I tried to excuse myself for the present on the general ground of having occupations to attend to which I must not neglect. But as this was an ineffectual protest, I then said, more particularly, that I was not sure of my qualifications. That I was inexperienced in the art of adapting my mind to minds very differently situated, and addressing them from suitable points of view. That I had not that delicate knowledge of the heart which must be essential to such a work. That I had much to learn, myself, before I could teach others, and that I could not confide in my good intentions alone. For these reasons I thought it best to be as useful as I could, and to render what kind services I could to those immediately about me, and to try to let that circle of duty gradually and naturally expand itself. All this I said with anything but confidence, because Mrs. Pardiggle was much older than I, and had great experience, and was so very military in her manners.

“You are wrong, Miss Summerson,” said she, “but perhaps you are not equal to hard work or the excitement of it, and that makes a vast difference. If you would like to see how I go through my work, I am now about—with my young family—to visit a brickmaker in the neighbourhood (a very bad character) and shall be glad to take you with me. Miss Clare also, if she will do me the favour.”

Ada and I interchanged looks, and as we were going out in any case, accepted the offer. When we hastily returned from putting on our bonnets, we found the young family languishing in a corner and Mrs. Pardiggle sweeping about the room, knocking down nearly all the light objects it contained. Mrs. Pardiggle took possession of Ada, and I followed with the family.

Ada told me afterwards that Mrs. Pardiggle talked in the same loud tone (that, indeed, I overheard) all the way to the brickmaker’s about an exciting contest which she had for two or three years waged against another lady relative to the bringing in of their rival candidates for a pension somewhere. There had been a quantity of printing, and promising, and proxying, and polling, and it appeared to have imparted great liveliness to all concerned, except the pensioners—who were not elected yet.

I am very fond of being confided in by children and am happy in being usually favoured in that respect, but on this occasion it gave me great uneasiness. As soon as we were out of doors, Egbert, with the manner of a little footpad, demanded a shilling of me on the ground that his pocket-money was “boned” from him. On my pointing out the great impropriety of the word, especially in connexion with his parent (for he added sulkily “By her!”), he pinched me and said, “Oh, then! Now! Who are you! YOU wouldn’t like it, I think? What does she make a sham for, and pretend to give me money, and take it away again? Why do you call it my allowance, and never let me spend it?” These exasperating questions so inflamed his mind and the minds of Oswald and Francis that they all pinched me at once, and in a dreadfully expert way—screwing up such little pieces of my arms that I could hardly forbear crying out. Felix, at the same time, stamped upon my toes. And the Bond of Joy, who on account of always having the whole of his little income anticipated stood in fact pledged to abstain from cakes as well as tobacco, so swelled with grief and rage when we passed a pastry-cook’s shop that he terrified me by becoming purple. I never underwent so much, both in body and mind, in the course of a walk with young people as from these unnaturally constrained children when they paid me the compliment of being natural.
 
21. Movement amongst the trees of a forest shows that the enemy is advancing.
[Tsào Kung explains this as "felling trees to clear a passage," and Chang Yu says: "Every man sends out scouts to climb
high places and observe the enemy. If a scout sees that the trees of a forest are moving and shaking, he may know that
they are being cut down to clear a passage for the enemy's march."]
The appearance of a number of screens in the midst of thick grass means that the enemy wants to make us suspicious.
[Tu Yu's explanation, borrowed from Tsào Kung's, is as follows: "The presence of a number of screens or sheds in the midst
of thick vegetation is a sure sign that the enemy has fled and, fearing pursuit, has constructed these hiding-places in
order to make us suspect an ambush." It appears that these "screens" were hastily knotted together out of any long grass
which the retreating enemy happened to come across.]
22. The rising of birds in their flight is the sign of an ambuscade.
[Chang Yu's explanation is doubtless right: "When birds that are flying along in a straight line suddenly shoot upwards, it
means that soldiers are in ambush at the spot beneath."]
Startled beasts indicate that a sudden attack is coming.
23. When there is dust rising in a high column, it is the sign of chariots advancing; when the dust is low, but spread over a
wide area, it betokens the approach of infantry.
["High and sharp," or rising to a peak, is of course somewhat exaggerated as applied to dust. The commentators explain
the phenomenon by saying that horses and chariots, being heavier than men, raise more dust, and also follow one
another in the same wheel-track, whereas foot-soldiers would be marching in ranks, many abreast. According to Chang Yu,"every army on the march must have scouts some way in advance, who on sighting dust raised by the enemy, will gallop
back and report it to the commander-in-chief." Cf. Gen.
Baden-Powell: "As you move along, say, in a hostile country, your eyes should be looking afar for the enemy or any signs of
him: figures, dust rising, birds getting up, glitter of arms, etc." [1] ]
When it branches out in different directions, it shows that parties have been sent to collect firewood. A few clouds of dust
moving to and fro signify that the army is encamping.
[Chang Yu says: "In apportioning the defenses for a cantonment, light horse will be sent out to survey the position and
ascertain the weak and strong points all along its circumference. Hence the small quantity of dust and its motion."]
24. Humble words and increased preparations are signs that the enemy is about to advance.
["As though they stood in great fear of us," says Tu Mu. "Their object is to make us contemptuous and careless, after which
they will attack us." Chang Yu alludes to the story of Tìen Tan of the Chì-mo against the Yen forces, led by Chì Chieh. In ch.
82 of the SHIH CHI we read: "Tìen Tan openly said: 'My only fear is that the Yen army may cut off the noses of their Chì
prisoners and place them in the front rank to fight against us; that would be the undoing of our city.' The other side being
informed of this speech, at once acted on the suggestion; but those within the city were enraged at seeing their fellow
countrymen thus mutilated, and fearing only lest they should fall into the enemy's hands, were nerved to defend
themselves more obstinately than ever. Once again Tìen Tan sent back converted spies who reported these words to the
enemy:
"What I dread most is that the men of Yen may dig up the ancestral tombs outside the town, and by inflicting this
indignity on our forefathers cause us to become faint-hearted.' Forthwith the besiegers dug up all the graves and burned
the corpses lying in them. And the inhabitants of Chi-mo, witnessing the outrage from the city-walls, wept passionately
and were all impatient to go out and fight, their fury being increased tenfold.
Tìen Tan knew then that his soldiers were ready for any enterprise. But instead of a sword, he himself too a mattock in his
hands, and ordered others to be distributed amongst his best warriors, while the ranks were filled up with their wives and
concubines. He then served out all the remaining rations and bade his men eat their fill. The regular soldiers were told to
keep out of sight, and the walls were manned with the old and weaker men and with women. This done, envoys were
dispatched to the enemy's camp to arrange terms of surrender, whereupon the Yen army began shouting for joy. Tìen Tan
also collected 20,000 ounces of silver from the people, and got the wealthy citizens of Chi-mo to send it to the Yen
general with the prayer that, when the town capitulated, he would allow their homes to be plundered or their women to
be maltreated. Chì Chieh, in high good humor, granted their prayer; but his army now became increasingly slack and
careless.
Meanwhile, Tìen Tan got together a thousand oxen, decked them with pieces of red silk, painted their bodies, dragon-like,
with colored stripes, and fastened sharp blades on their horns and well-greased rushes on their tails. When night came
on, he lighted the ends of the rushes, and drove the oxen through a number of holes which he had pierced in the walls,
backing them up with a force of 5000 picked warriors. The animals, maddened with pain, dashed furiously into the enemy's
camp where they caused the utmost confusion and dismay; for
their tails acted as torches, showing up the hideous pattern on their bodies, and the weapons on their horns killed or
wounded any with whom they came into contact. In the meantime, the band of 5000 had crept up with gags in their
mouths, and now threw themselves on the enemy. At the same moment a frightful din arose in the city itself, all those
that remained behind making as much noise as possible by banging drums and hammering on bronze vessels, until
heaven and earth were convulsed by the uproar. Terror-stricken, the Yen army fled in disorder, hotly pursued by the men of
Chì, who succeeded in slaying their general Chì Chien.... The result of the battle was the ultimate recovery of some
seventy cities which had belonged to the Chì State."]
Violent language and driving forward as if to the attack are signs that he will retreat.
25. When the light chariots come out first and take up a position on the wings, it is a sign that the enemy is forming for
battle.
26. Peace proposals unaccompanied by a sworn covenant indicate a plot.[The reading here is uncertain. Li Chùan indicates "a treaty confirmed by oaths and hostages." Wang Hsi and Chang Yu, on
the other hand, simply say "without reason," "on a frivolous pretext."]
27. When there is much running about
[Every man hastening to his proper place under his own regimental banner.]
and the soldiers fall into rank, it means that the critical moment has come.
28. When some are seen advancing and some retreating, it is a lure.
29. When the soldiers stand leaning on their spears, they are faint from want of food.
30. If those who are sent to draw water begin by drinking themselves, the army is suffering from thirst.
[As Tu Mu remarks: "One may know the condition of a whole army from the behavior of a single man."]
 
The Rats in the Walls, cont'd.

I slept some in the forenoon, leaning back in the one comfortable library chair which my mediaeval plan of furnishing could not banish. Later I telephoned to Capt. Norrys, who came over and helped me explore the sub-cellar. Absolutely nothing untoward was found, although we could not repress a thrill at the knowledge that this vault was built by Roman hands. Every low arch and massive pillar was Roman—not the debased Romanesque of the bungling Saxons, but the severe and harmonious classicism of the age of the Caesars; indeed, the walls abounded with inscriptions familiar to the antiquarians who had repeatedly explored the place—things like “P.GETAE. PROP . . . TEMP . . . DONA . . .” and “L. PRAEC . . . VS . . . PONTIFI . . . ATYS . . .”

The reference to Atys made me shiver, for I had read Catullus and knew something of the hideous rites of the Eastern god, whose worship was so mixed with that of Cybele. Norrys and I, by the light of lanterns, tried to interpret the odd and nearly effaced designs on certain irregularly rectangular blocks of stone generally held to be altars, but could make nothing of them. We remembered that one pattern, a sort of rayed sun, was held by students to imply a non-Roman origin, suggesting that these altars had merely been adopted by the Roman priests from some older and perhaps aboriginal temple on the same site. On one of these blocks were some brown stains which made me wonder. The largest, in the centre of the room, had certain features on the upper surface which indicated its connexion with fire—probably burnt offerings.

Such were the sights in that crypt before whose door the cats had howled, and where Norrys and I now determined to pass the night. Couches were brought down by the servants, who were told not to mind any nocturnal actions of the cats, and Nigger-Man was admitted as much for help as for companionship. We decided to keep the great oak door—a modern replica with slits for ventilation—tightly closed; and, with this attended to, we retired with lanterns still burning to await whatever might occur.

The vault was very deep in the foundations of the priory, and undoubtedly far down on the face of the beetling limestone cliff overlooking the waste valley. That it had been the goal of the scuffling and unexplainable rats I could not doubt, though why, I could not tell. As we lay there expectantly, I found my vigil occasionally mixed with half-formed dreams from which the uneasy motions of the cat across my feet would rouse me. These dreams were not wholesome, but horribly like the one I had had the night before. I saw again the twilit grotto, and the swineherd with his unmentionable fungous beasts wallowing in filth, and as I looked at these things they seemed nearer and more distinct—so distinct that I could almost observe their features. Then I did observe the flabby features of one of them—and awaked with such a scream that Nigger-Man started up, whilst Capt. Norrys, who had not slept, laughed considerably. Norrys might have laughed more—or perhaps less—had he known what it was that made me scream. But I did not remember myself till later. Ultimate horror often paralyses memory in a merciful way.

Norrys waked me when the phenomena began. Out of the same frightful dream I was called by his gentle shaking and his urging to listen to the cats. Indeed, there was much to listen to, for beyond the closed door at the head of the stone steps was a veritable nightmare of feline yelling and clawing, whilst Nigger-Man, unmindful of his kindred outside, was running excitedly around the bare stone walls, in which I heard the same babel of scurrying rats that had troubled me the night before.

An acute terror now rose within me, for here were anomalies which nothing normal could well explain. These rats, if not the creatures of a madness which I shared with the cats alone, must be burrowing and sliding in Roman walls I had thought to be of solid limestone blocks . . . unless perhaps the action of water through more than seventeen centuries had eaten winding tunnels which rodent bodies had worn clear and ample. . . . But even so, the spectral horror was no less; for if these were living vermin why did not Norrys hear their disgusting commotion? Why did he urge me to watch Nigger-Man and listen to the cats outside, and why did he guess wildly and vaguely at what could have aroused them?

By the time I had managed to tell him, as rationally as I could, what I thought I was hearing, my ears gave me the last fading impression of the scurrying; which had retreated still downward, far underneath this deepest of sub-cellars till it seemed as if the whole cliff below were riddled with questing rats. Norrys was not as sceptical as I had anticipated, but instead seemed profoundly moved. He motioned to me to notice that the cats at the door had ceased their clamour, as if giving up the rats for lost; whilst Nigger-Man had a burst of renewed restlessness, and was clawing frantically around the bottom of the large stone altar in the centre of the room, which was nearer Norrys’ couch than mine.

My fear of the unknown was at this point very great. Something astounding had occurred, and I saw that Capt. Norrys, a younger, stouter, and presumably more naturally materialistic man, was affected fully as much as myself—perhaps because of his lifelong and intimate familiarity with local legend. We could for the moment do nothing but watch the old black cat as he pawed with decreasing fervour at the base of the altar, occasionally looking up and mewing to me in that persuasive manner which he used when he wished me to perform some favour for him.

Norrys now took a lantern close to the altar and examined the place where Nigger-Man was pawing; silently kneeling and scraping away the lichens of centuries which joined the massive pre-Roman block to the tessellated floor. He did not find anything, and was about to abandon his effort when I noticed a trivial circumstance which made me shudder, even though it implied nothing more than I had already imagined. I told him of it, and we both looked at its almost imperceptible manifestation with the fixedness of fascinated discovery and acknowledgment. It was only this—that the flame of the lantern set down near the altar was slightly but certainly flickering from a draught of air which it had not before received, and which came indubitably from the crevice between floor and altar where Norrys was scraping away the lichens.

We spent the rest of the night in the brilliantly lighted study, nervously discussing what we should do next. The discovery that some vault deeper than the deepest known masonry of the Romans underlay this accursed pile—some vault unsuspected by the curious antiquarians of three centuries—would have been sufficient to excite us without any background of the sinister. As it was, the fascination became twofold; and we paused in doubt whether to abandon our search and quit the priory forever in superstitious caution, or to gratify our sense of adventure and brave whatever horrors might await us in the unknown depths. By morning we had compromised, and decided to go to London to gather a group of archaeologists and scientific men fit to cope with the mystery. It should be mentioned that before leaving the sub-cellar we had vainly tried to move the central altar which we now recognised as the gate to a new pit of nameless fear. What secret would open the gate, wiser men than we would have to find.
 
Dumbledore's Onlyfans said:
Nigger-man is like Lassie. I love him even more now.
Click to expand...
Yeah, he's a very smart cat. I like how whenever Lovecraft puts cats into his stories he always stops to talk about how wise and mysterious and gorgeous they are. He ain't wrong, either. My cat was curled up on me while I was posting the last part and looked very wise and smug.
 
BLEAK HOUSE BY CHARLES DICKENS CONT

I was glad when we came to the brickmaker’s house, though it was one of a cluster of wretched hovels in a brick-field, with pigsties close to the broken windows and miserable little gardens before the doors growing nothing but stagnant pools. Here and there an old tub was put to catch the droppings of rain-water from a roof, or they were banked up with mud into a little pond like a large dirt-pie. At the doors and windows some men and women lounged or prowled about, and took little notice of us except to laugh to one another or to say something as we passed about gentlefolks minding their own business and not troubling their heads and muddying their shoes with coming to look after other people’s.

Mrs. Pardiggle, leading the way with a great show of moral determination and talking with much volubility about the untidy habits of the people (though I doubted if the best of us could have been tidy in such a place), conducted us into a cottage at the farthest corner, the ground-floor room of which we nearly filled. Besides ourselves, there were in this damp, offensive room a woman with a black eye, nursing a poor little gasping baby by the fire; a man, all stained with clay and mud and looking very dissipated, lying at full length on the ground, smoking a pipe; a powerful young man fastening a collar on a dog; and a bold girl doing some kind of washing in very dirty water. They all looked up at us as we came in, and the woman seemed to turn her face towards the fire as if to hide her bruised eye; nobody gave us any welcome.

“Well, my friends,” said Mrs. Pardiggle, but her voice had not a friendly sound, I thought; it was much too business-like and systematic. “How do you do, all of you? I am here again. I told you, you couldn’t tire me, you know. I am fond of hard work, and am true to my word.”

“There an’t,” growled the man on the floor, whose head rested on his hand as he stared at us, “any more on you to come in, is there?”

“No, my friend,” said Mrs. Pardiggle, seating herself on one stool and knocking down another. “We are all here.”

“Because I thought there warn’t enough of you, perhaps?” said the man, with his pipe between his lips as he looked round upon us.

The young man and the girl both laughed. Two friends of the young man, whom we had attracted to the doorway and who stood there with their hands in their pockets, echoed the laugh noisily.

“You can’t tire me, good people,” said Mrs. Pardiggle to these latter. “I enjoy hard work, and the harder you make mine, the better I like it.”

“Then make it easy for her!” growled the man upon the floor. “I wants it done, and over. I wants a end of these liberties took with my place. I wants an end of being drawed like a badger. Now you’re a-going to poll-pry and question according to custom—I know what you’re a-going to be up to. Well! You haven’t got no occasion to be up to it. I’ll save you the trouble. Is my daughter a-washin? Yes, she IS a-washin. Look at the water. Smell it! That’s wot we drinks. How do you like it, and what do you think of gin instead! An’t my place dirty? Yes, it is dirty—it’s nat’rally dirty, and it’s nat’rally onwholesome; and we’ve had five dirty and onwholesome children, as is all dead infants, and so much the better for them, and for us besides. Have I read the little book wot you left? No, I an’t read the little book wot you left. There an’t nobody here as knows how to read it; and if there wos, it wouldn’t be suitable to me. It’s a book fit for a babby, and I’m not a babby. If you was to leave me a doll, I shouldn’t nuss it. How have I been conducting of myself? Why, I’ve been drunk for three days; and I’da been drunk four if I’da had the money. Don’t I never mean for to go to church? No, I don’t never mean for to go to church. I shouldn’t be expected there, if I did; the beadle’s too gen-teel for me. And how did my wife get that black eye? Why, I give it her; and if she says I didn’t, she’s a Lie!”

He had pulled his pipe out of his mouth to say all this, and he now turned over on his other side and smoked again. Mrs. Pardiggle, who had been regarding him through her spectacles with a forcible composure, calculated, I could not help thinking, to increase his antagonism, pulled out a good book as if it were a constable’s staff and took the whole family into custody. I mean into religious custody, of course; but she really did it as if she were an inexorable moral policeman carrying them all off to a station-house.

Ada and I were very uncomfortable. We both felt intrusive and out of place, and we both thought that Mrs. Pardiggle would have got on infinitely better if she had not had such a mechanical way of taking possession of people. The children sulked and stared; the family took no notice of us whatever, except when the young man made the dog bark, which he usually did when Mrs. Pardiggle was most emphatic. We both felt painfully sensible that between us and these people there was an iron barrier which could not be removed by our new friend. By whom or how it could be removed, we did not know, but we knew that. Even what she read and said seemed to us to be ill-chosen for such auditors, if it had been imparted ever so modestly and with ever so much tact. As to the little book to which the man on the floor had referred, we acquired a knowledge of it afterwards, and Mr. Jarndyce said he doubted if Robinson Crusoe could have read it, though he had had no other on his desolate island.

We were much relieved, under these circumstances, when Mrs. Pardiggle left off.

The man on the floor, then turning his head round again, said morosely, “Well! You’ve done, have you?”

“For to-day, I have, my friend. But I am never fatigued. I shall come to you again in your regular order,” returned Mrs. Pardiggle with demonstrative cheerfulness.

“So long as you goes now,” said he, folding his arms and shutting his eyes with an oath, “you may do wot you like!”

Mrs. Pardiggle accordingly rose and made a little vortex in the confined room from which the pipe itself very narrowly escaped. Taking one of her young family in each hand, and telling the others to follow closely, and expressing her hope that the brickmaker and all his house would be improved when she saw them next, she then proceeded to another cottage. I hope it is not unkind in me to say that she certainly did make, in this as in everything else, a show that was not conciliatory of doing charity by wholesale and of dealing in it to a large extent.

She supposed that we were following her, but as soon as the space was left clear, we approached the woman sitting by the fire to ask if the baby were ill.

She only looked at it as it lay on her lap. We had observed before that when she looked at it she covered her discoloured eye with her hand, as though she wished to separate any association with noise and violence and ill treatment from the poor little child.

Ada, whose gentle heart was moved by its appearance, bent down to touch its little face. As she did so, I saw what happened and drew her back. The child died.

“Oh, Esther!” cried Ada, sinking on her knees beside it. “Look here! Oh, Esther, my love, the little thing! The suffering, quiet, pretty little thing! I am so sorry for it. I am so sorry for the mother. I never saw a sight so pitiful as this before! Oh, baby, baby!”

Such compassion, such gentleness, as that with which she bent down weeping and put her hand upon the mother’s might have softened any mother’s heart that ever beat. The woman at first gazed at her in astonishment and then burst into tears.

Presently I took the light burden from her lap, did what I could to make the baby’s rest the prettier and gentler, laid it on a shelf, and covered it with my own handkerchief. We tried to comfort the mother, and we whispered to her what Our Saviour said of children. She answered nothing, but sat weeping—weeping very much.

When I turned, I found that the young man had taken out the dog and was standing at the door looking in upon us with dry eyes, but quiet. The girl was quiet too and sat in a corner looking on the ground. The man had risen. He still smoked his pipe with an air of defiance, but he was silent.

An ugly woman, very poorly clothed, hurried in while I was glancing at them, and coming straight up to the mother, said, “Jenny! Jenny!” The mother rose on being so addressed and fell upon the woman’s neck.

She also had upon her face and arms the marks of ill usage. She had no kind of grace about her, but the grace of sympathy; but when she condoled with the woman, and her own tears fell, she wanted no beauty. I say condoled, but her only words were “Jenny! Jenny!” All the rest was in the tone in which she said them.

I thought it very touching to see these two women, coarse and shabby and beaten, so united; to see what they could be to one another; to see how they felt for one another, how the heart of each to each was softened by the hard trials of their lives. I think the best side of such people is almost hidden from us. What the poor are to the poor is little known, excepting to themselves and God.

We felt it better to withdraw and leave them uninterrupted. We stole out quietly and without notice from any one except the man. He was leaning against the wall near the door, and finding that there was scarcely room for us to pass, went out before us. He seemed to want to hide that he did this on our account, but we perceived that he did, and thanked him. He made no answer.

Ada was so full of grief all the way home, and Richard, whom we found at home, was so distressed to see her in tears (though he said to me, when she was not present, how beautiful it was too!), that we arranged to return at night with some little comforts and repeat our visit at the brick-maker’s house. We said as little as we could to Mr. Jarndyce, but the wind changed directly.

Richard accompanied us at night to the scene of our morning expedition. On our way there, we had to pass a noisy drinking-house, where a number of men were flocking about the door. Among them, and prominent in some dispute, was the father of the little child. At a short distance, we passed the young man and the dog, in congenial company. The sister was standing laughing and talking with some other young women at the corner of the row of cottages, but she seemed ashamed and turned away as we went by.

We left our escort within sight of the brickmaker’s dwelling and proceeded by ourselves. When we came to the door, we found the woman who had brought such consolation with her standing there looking anxiously out.

“It’s you, young ladies, is it?” she said in a whisper. “I’m a-watching for my master. My heart’s in my mouth. If he was to catch me away from home, he’d pretty near murder me.”

“Do you mean your husband?” said I.

“Yes, miss, my master. Jenny’s asleep, quite worn out. She’s scarcely had the child off her lap, poor thing, these seven days and nights, except when I’ve been able to take it for a minute or two.”

As she gave way for us, she went softly in and put what we had brought near the miserable bed on which the mother slept. No effort had been made to clean the room—it seemed in its nature almost hopeless of being clean; but the small waxen form from which so much solemnity diffused itself had been composed afresh, and washed, and neatly dressed in some fragments of white linen; and on my handkerchief, which still covered the poor baby, a little bunch of sweet herbs had been laid by the same rough, scarred hands, so lightly, so tenderly!

“May heaven reward you!” we said to her. “You are a good woman.”

“Me, young ladies?” she returned with surprise. “Hush! Jenny, Jenny!”

The mother had moaned in her sleep and moved. The sound of the familiar voice seemed to calm her again. She was quiet once more.

How little I thought, when I raised my handkerchief to look upon the tiny sleeper underneath and seemed to see a halo shine around the child through Ada’s drooping hair as her pity bent her head—how little I thought in whose unquiet bosom that handkerchief would come to lie after covering the motionless and peaceful breast! I only thought that perhaps the Angel of the child might not be all unconscious of the woman who replaced it with so compassionate a hand; not all unconscious of her presently, when we had taken leave, and left her at the door, by turns looking, and listening in terror for herself, and saying in her old soothing manner, “Jenny, Jenny!”
 
31. If the enemy sees an advantage to be gained and makes no effort to secure it, the soldiers are exhausted.
32. If birds gather on any spot, it is unoccupied.
[A useful fact to bear in mind when, for instance, as Chèn Hao says, the enemy has secretly abandoned his camp.]
Clamor by night betokens nervousness.
33. If there is disturbance in the camp, the general's authority is weak. If the banners and flags are shifted about, sedition
is afoot. If the officers are angry, it means that the men are weary.
[Tu Mu understands the sentence differently: "If all the officers of an army are angry with their general, it means that they
are broken with fatigue" owing to the exertions which he has demanded from them.]
34. When an army feeds its horses with grain and kills its cattle for food,
[In the ordinary course of things, the men would be fed on grain and the horses chiefly on grass and ELLE101 on weed.]
and when the men do not hang their cooking-pots over the camp- fires, showing that they will not return to their tents,
you may know that they are determined to fight to the death.
35. The sight of men whispering together in small knots or speaking in subdued tones points to disaffection amongst the
rank and file.
 
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