A southern cracker was

important food made from rice and beans

How did Charley help some army surgeons?

He built a shelter wall out of dead bodies

He held down legs for amputations

He sharpened their surgical instruments

What does visiting the others mean to Charley at the end of the book?

going back to some of the battlefields

Soldier's Heart 2025

Soldier's Heart Chapters 9-10 Vocabulary

Land warfare is a complex domain that involves the application of military power on the ground to achieve political and strategic objectives. Modern military doctrine, such as that used by the U.S. Army and the Indian Army, categorizes these elements into Combat Power and the Principles of War. 1. The 8 Elements of Combat Power Combat power is the total means of destructive, constructive, and information capabilities that a military unit can apply. It is typically broken down into eight key elements: ElementDescriptionLeadershipThe "multiplier" of all other elements. It provides purpose, direction, and motivation to soldiers.InformationEnables commanders to make informed decisions and creates opportunities to achieve results.Mission CommandThe system used to integrate the other elements. It focuses on decentralized execution based on the commander's intent.Movement & ManeuverThe movement of forces to gain a positional advantage over the enemy to deliver lethal or non-lethal effects.IntelligenceThe understanding of the enemy, terrain, weather, and civil considerations.FiresThe use of weapon systems (artillery, mortars, air support) to create specific lethal or non-lethal effects.SustainmentThe logistics required to maintain operations, including ammunition, fuel, food, and medical support.ProtectionThe preservation of the force so that the commander can apply maximum combat power.2. The Principles of War These are the enduring "rules of thumb" that guide how land forces are employed strategically and tactically: Objective: Direct every operation toward a clearly defined and attainable goal. Offensive: Seize, retain, and exploit the initiative. You cannot win by defending alone. Mass: Concentrate the effects of combat power at the most advantageous place and time. Economy of Force: Allocate the minimum essential combat power to secondary efforts so you can "mass" elsewhere. Maneuver: Place the enemy in a position of disadvantage through flexible movement. Unity of Command: Ensure all forces operate under a single responsible commander toward a common objective. Security: Prevent the enemy from gaining an unexpected advantage. Surprise: Strike the enemy at a time, place, or in a manner for which they are unprepared. Simplicity: Prepare clear, uncomplicated plans to minimize confusion in the "fog of war." 3. The Modern Legal Framework Land warfare is also governed by the Law of Land Warfare (International Humanitarian Law), which rests on four pillars: Military Necessity: Actions must be necessary to achieve a legitimate military goal. Distinction: Forces must distinguish between combatants and non-combatants (civilians). Proportionality: The anticipated harm to civilians must not be excessive in relation to the concrete military advantage gained. Unnecessary Suffering: Weapons and methods must not cause gratuitous or superfluous injury. Note: Contemporary land warfare is increasingly "Multi-Domain," meaning land forces must now integrate with cyber, space, and electronic warfare to be effective. , While land warfare uses many tools, the two primary "philosophies" of how to win a war are Attrition and Maneuver. Most modern conflicts are a spectrum of both, but understanding the pure form of each helps explain military strategy. 1. Attrition Warfare: The "Sledgehammer" Attrition warfare is a strategy where one side attempts to win by wearing down the enemy to the point of collapse through continuous losses in personnel, equipment, and supplies. Core Logic: "I have more than you." It assumes that if you can destroy the enemy’s resources faster than they can replace them, you will eventually win. Focus: Firepower and mass. Success is measured by "body counts," equipment destroyed, and the steady seizing of terrain. Command Style: Usually centralized and methodical. It requires strict synchronization of massive resources (artillery, logistics, manpower). Historical Example: The Battle of Verdun (WWI). German Chief of Staff Erich von Falkenhayn famously stated his goal was to "bleed France white" by forcing them to defend a position they could not afford to lose, regardless of the cost in lives. 2. Maneuver Warfare: The "Scalpel" Maneuver warfare seeks to shatter the enemy’s moral and physical cohesion—their ability to act as a unified force—rather than simply destroying every soldier. Core Logic: "I am faster and more unpredictable than you." It aims to create a state of chaos where the enemy's leadership can no longer make effective decisions. Focus: Speed, surprise, and dislocation (forcing the enemy to be in the wrong place at the wrong time). The OODA Loop: Developed by Col. John Boyd, this is the heart of maneuver theory. It stands for Observe, Orient, Decide, Act. The goal is to cycle through these steps faster than the enemy, essentially "getting inside" their decision-making process until they collapse from confusion. Historical Example: The 1940 Invasion of France (Blitzkrieg). Instead of fighting a line-by-line battle of attrition, German forces used speed and concentrated armor to bypass strongpoints, cut communication lines, and cause a total systemic collapse of the French military in weeks. 3. Key Differences at a Glance FeatureAttrition WarfareManeuver WarfareObjectivePhysical destruction of the enemy army.Functional/Psychological collapse of the enemy.TargetThe enemy's strength (mass).The enemy's weakness (vulnerability).Primary ToolMassed Firepower.Movement and Tempo.Command"Command Push" (Top-down, rigid)."Recon Pull" (Decentralized, flexible).Success MetricExchange ratios (Kill counts).Disruption and loss of enemy control.4. The Modern Synthesis: "Schwerpunkt" In practice, no army is purely "maneuver" or "attrition." To maneuver successfully, you often need a period of attrition to punch a hole in the enemy's line. A critical concept here is the Schwerpunkt (Center of Gravity/Focus of Effort). A commander identifies the single most important place to strike and concentrates all available "elements of power" there. While the rest of the front might look like attrition, the Schwerpunkt is where the maneuver happens to achieve a breakthrough. Modern Reality: In high-intensity conflicts today (like the war in Ukraine), we see a "return to attrition" because modern sensors (drones, satellites) make it very difficult to achieve the surprise needed for pure maneuver warfare. When you can see everything, it's hard to be "unexpected."

Princess Julian and Sutan Rumandung Long ago, there lived a king named Tuanku Raja Kecik. He wished to find a husband for his beloved granddaughter, Princess Julian. Therefore, he held a big party, inviting all young men in the kingdom . One night before the royal party, Princess Julian had a strange dream. In the dream, she met a young man named Sutan Rumandung. She believed deep in her heart that this man would be her future husband. Day after day, the party went on, but no one named Sutan Rumandung appeared. On the very last day, a ship arrived at the harbor, led by a young, handsome captain. Hearing the news, the king’s soldiers brought the young captain to the palace. In that moment, Princess Julian saw him, she realized that he was the same man from her dream. And it was true — the young man introduced himself as Sutan Rumandung. Knowing this, the king’s family was overjoyed, and soon the two were engaged. Before leaving to continue his voyage, Sutan Rumandung made a promise: if he married another woman, he would sink with his ship. Princess Julian also made a promise: if she married another man, she would turn into a white siamang. Days turned into months, and months into years. For two years, Princess Julian waited, but no message ever came. In the third year, another grand ship docked at the harbor. The captain was handsome and noble, and slowly, Princess Julian’s heart turned toward him. He too fell in love with her, and they decided to marry. On the wedding day, when the priest asked her for her answer, Princess Julian suddenly screamed — a cry like a siamang’s. Before everyone’s eyes, her body changed into a white siamang. The king could only watch, knowing the curse of her broken promise had come true. Not long after, the villagers found the white siamang lifeless in a tree. Soon came the news: Sutan Rumandung had died, his ship sinking into the sea. He, too, had broken his promise. And so ended the tragic tale of two lovers who betrayed each other.

She went by the name of Belisa Crepusculario, not because she had been baptized with that name or given it by her mother, but because she herself had searched until she found the poetry of "beauty" and "twilight" and cloaked herself in it. She made her living selling words. She journeyed through the country from the high cold mountains to the burning coasts, stopping at fairs and in markets where she set up four poles covered by a canvas awning under which she took refuge from the sun and rain to minister to her customers. She did not have to peddle her merchandise because from having wandered far and near, everyone knew who she was. Some people waited for her from one year to the next, and when she appeared in the village with her bundle beneath her arm, they would form a line in front of her stall. Her prices were fair. For five centavos she delivered verses from memory, for seven she improved the quality of dreams, for nine she wrote love letters, for twelve she invented insults for irreconcilable enemies. She also sold stories, not fantasies but long, true stories she recited at one telling, never skipping a word. This is how she carried news from one town to another. People paid her to add a line or two: our son was born, so-and-so died, our children got married, the crops burned in the field. Wherever she went a small crowd gathered around to listen as she began to speak, and that was how they learned about each others' doings, about distant relatives, about what was going on in the civil war. To anyone who paid her fifty centavos in trade, she gave the gift of a secret word to drive away melancholy. It was not the same word for everyone, naturally, because that would have been collective dece it. Each person received his or her own word, with the assurance that no one else would use it that way in this universe or the Beyond. Belisa Crepusculario had been born into a family so poor they did not even have names to give their children. She came into the world and grew up in an inhospitable land where some years the rains became avalanches of water that bore everything away before them and others when not a drop fell from the sky and the sun swelled to fill the horizon and the world became a desert. Until she was twelve, Belisa had no occupation or virtue other than having withstood hunger and the exhaustion of centuries. During one interminable drought, it fell to her to bury four younger brothers and sisters, when she realized that her turn was next, she decided to set out across the 2 plains in the direction of the sea, in hopes that she might trick death along the way. The land was eroded, split with deep cracks, strewn with rocks, fossils of trees and thorny bushes, and skeletons of animals bleached by the sun. From time to time she ran into families who, like her, were heading south, following the mirage of water. Some had begun the march carrying their belongings on their back or in small carts, but they could barely move their own bones, and after a while they had to abandon their possessions. They dragged themselves along painfully, their skin turned to lizard hide and their eyes burned by the reverberating glare. Belisa greeted them with a wave as she passed, but she did not stop, because she had no strength to waste in acts of compassion. Many people fell by the wayside, but she was so stubborn that she survived to cross through that hell and at long last reach the first trickles of water, fine, almost invisible threads that fed spindly vegetation and farther down widened into small streams and marshes. Belisa Crepusculario saved her life and in the process accidentally discovered writing. In a village near the coast, the wind blew a page of newspaper at her feet. She picked up the brittle yellow paper and stood a long while looking at it, unable to determine its purpose, until curiosity overcame her shyness. She walked over to a man who was washing his horse in the muddy pool where she had quenched her thirst. "What is this?" she asked. "The sports page of the newspaper," the man replied, concealing his surprise at her ignorance. The answer astounded the girl, but she did not want to seem rude, so she merely inquired about the significance of the fly tracks scattered across the page. "Those are words, child. Here it says that Fulgencio Barba knocked out El Negro Tiznao in the third round." That was the day Belisa Crepusculario found out that words make their way in the world without a master, and that anyone with a little cleverness can appropriate them and do business with them. She made a quick assessment of her situation and concluded that aside from becoming a prostitute or working as a servant in the kitchens of the rich there were few occupations she was qualified for. It seemed to her that selling words would be an honorable alternative. From that moment on, she worked at that profession, and was never tempted by any other. At the beginning, she offered her merchandise unaware that words could be written outside of newspapers. When she learned otherwise, she calculated the infinite possibilities of her trade and with her savings paid a priest twenty pesos to teach her to read and write, with her three 3 remaining coins she bought a dictionary. She poured over it from A to Z and then threw it into the sea, because it was not her intention to defraud her customers with packaged words. One August morning several years later, Belisa Crepusculario was sitting in her tent in the middle of a plaza, surrounded by the uproar of market day, selling legal arguments to an old man who had been trying for sixteen years to get his pension. Suddenly she heard yelling and thudding hoofbeats. She looked up from her writing and saw, first, a cloud of dust, and then a band of horsemen come galloping into the plaza. They were the Colonel's men, sent under orders of El Mulato, a giant known throughout the land for the speed of his knife and his loyalty to his chief. Both the Colonel and El Mulato had spent their lives fighting in the civil war, and their names were ineradicably linked to devastation and calamity. The rebels swept into town like a stampeding herd, wrapped in noise, bathed in sweat, and leaving a hurricane of fear in their trail. Chickens took wing, dogs ran for their lives, women and children scurried out of sight, until the only living soul left in the market was Belisa Crepusculario. She had never seen El Mulato and was surprised to see him walking toward her. "I'm looking for you," he shouted, pointing his coiled whip at her, even before the words were out, two men rushed her -- knocking over her canopy and shattering her inkwell -- bound her hand and foot, and threw her like a sea bag across the rump of El Mulato's mount. Then they thundered off toward the hills. Hours later, just as Belisa Crepusculario was near death, her heart ground to sand by the pounding of the horse, they stopped, and four strong hands set her down. She tried to stand on her feet and hold her head high, but her strength failed her and she slumped to the ground, sinking into a confused dream. She awakened several hours later to the murmur of night in the camp, but before she had time to sort out the sounds, she opened her eyes and found herself staring into the impatient glare of El Mulato, kneeling beside her. "Well, woman, at last you've come to," he said. To speed her to her senses, he tipped his canteen and offered her a sip of liquor laced with gunpowder. She demanded to know the reason for such rough treatment, and El Mulato explained that the Colonel needed her services. He allowed her to splash water on her face, and then led her to the far end of the camp where the most feared man in all the land was lazing in a hammock strung between two trees. She could not see his face, because he lay in the deceptive shadow of the leaves and the indelible shadow of all his years as a bandit, but she imagined from the way his 4 gigantic aide addressed him with such humility that he must have a very menacing expression. She was surprised by the Colonel's voice, as soft and well-modulated as a professor's. "Are you the woman who sells words?" he asked. "At your service," she stammered, peering into the dark and trying to see him better. The Colonel stood up, and turned straight toward her. She saw dark skin and the eyes of a ferocious puma, and she knew immediately that she was standing before the loneliest man in the world. "I want to be President," he announced. The Colonel was weary of riding across that godforsaken land, waging useless wars and suffering defeats that no subterfuge could transform into victories. For years he had been sleeping in the open air, bitten by mosquitoes, eating iguanas and snake soup, but those minor inconveniences were not why he wanted to change his destiny. What truly troubled him was the terror he saw in people's eyes. He longed to ride into a town beneath a triumphal arch with bright flags and flowers everywhere, he wanted to be cheered, and be given newly laid eggs and freshly baked bread. Men fled at the sight of him, children trembled, and women miscarried from fright, he had had enough, and so he had decided to become President. El Mulato had suggested that they ride to the capital, gallop up to the Palace, and take over the government, the way they had taken so many other things without anyone's permission. The Colonel, however, did not want to be just another tyrant, there had been enough of those before him and, besides, if he did that, he would never win people's hearts. It was his aspiration to win the popular vote in the December elections. "To do that, I have to talk like a candidate. Can you sell me the words for a speech?" the Colonel asked Belisa Crepusculario. She had accepted many assignments, but none like this. She did not dare refuse, fearing that El Mulato would shoot her between the eyes, or worse still, that the Colonel would burst into tears. There was more to it than that, however, she felt the urge to help him because she felt a throbbing warmth beneath her skin, a powerful desire to touch that man, to fondle him, to clasp him in her arms. All night and a good part of the following day, Belisa Crepusculario searched her repertory for words adequate for a presidential speech, closely watched by El Mulato, who could not take his eyes from her firm wanderer's legs and virginal breasts. She discarded harsh, cold words, words 5 that were too flowery, words worn from abuse, words that offered improbable promises, untruthful and confusing words, until all she had left were words sure to touch the minds of men and women's intuition. Calling upon the knowledge she had purchased from the priest for twenty pesos, she wrote the speech on a sheet of paper and then signaled El Mulato to untie the rope that bound her ankles to a tree. He led her once more to the Colonel, and again she felt the throbbing anxiety that had seized her when she first saw him. She handed him the paper and waited while he looked at it, holding it gingerly between thumbs and fingertips. "What the shit does this say," he asked finally. "Don't you know how to read?" "War's what I know," he replied. She read the speech aloud. She read it three times, so her client could engrave it on his memory. When she finished, she saw the emotion in the faces of the soldiers who had gathered round to listen, and saw that the Colonel's eyes glittered with enthusiasm, convinced that with those words the presidential chair would be his. "If after they've heard it three times, the boys are still standing there with their mouths hanging open, it must mean the thing's damn good, Colonel" was El Mulato's approval. "All right, woman. How much do I owe you?" the leader asked. "One peso, Colonel." "That's not much," he said, opening the pouch he wore at his belt, heavy with proceeds from the last foray. "The peso entitles you to a bonus. I'm going to give you two secret words," said Belisa Crepusculario. "What for?" She explained that for every fifty centavos a client paid, she gave him the gift of a word for his exclusive use. The Colonel shrugged. He had no interest at all in her offer, but he did not want to be impolite to someone who had served him so well. She walked slowly to the leather stool where he was sitting, and bent down to give him her gift. The man smelled the scent of a mountain cat issuing from the woman, a fiery heat radiating from her hips, he heard the terrible whisper of her hair, and a breath of sweetmint murmured into his ear the two secret words that were his alone. "They are yours, Colonel," she said as she stepped back. "You may use them as much as you 6 please." El Mulato accompanied Belisa to the roadside, his eyes as entreating as a stray dog's, but when he reached out to touch her, he was stopped by an avalanche of words he had never heard before; believing them to be an irrevocable curse, the flame of his desire was extinguished. During the months of September, October, and November the Colonel delivered his speech so many times that had it not been crafted from glowing and durable words it would have turned to ash as he spoke. He travelled up and down and across the country, riding into cities with a triumphal air, stopping in even the most forgotten villages where only the dump heap betrayed a human presence, to convince his fellow citizens to vote for him. While he spoke from a platform erected in the middle of the plaza, El Mulato and his men handed out sweets and painted his name on all the walls in gold frost. No one paid the least attention to those advertising ploys; they were dazzled by the clarity of the Colonel's proposals and the poetic lucidity of his arguments, infected by his powerful wish to right the wrongs of history, happy for the first time in their lives. When the Candidate had finished his speech, his soldiers would fire their pistols into the air and set off firecrackers, and when finally they rode off, they left behind a wake of hope that lingered for days on the air, like the splendid memory of a comet's tail. Soon the Colonel was the favorite. No one had ever witnessed such a phenomenon: a man who surfaced from the civil war, covered with scars and speaking like a professor, a man whose fame spread to every corner of the land and captured the nation's heart. The press focused their attention on him. Newspapermen came from far away to interview him and repeat his phrases, and the number of his followers and enemies continued to grow. "We're doing great, Colonel," said El Mulato, after twelve successful weeks of campaigning. But the Candidate did not hear. He was repeating his secret words, as he did more and more obsessively. He said them when he was mellow with nostalgia; he murmured them in his sleep; he carried them with him on horseback; he thought them before delivering his famous speech; and he caught himself savoring them in his leisure time. And every time he thought of those two words, he thought of Belisa Crepusculario, and his senses were inflamed with the memory of her feral scent, her fiery heat, the whisper of her hair, and her sweetmint breath in his ear, until he began to go around like a sleepwalker, and his men realized that he might die before he ever sat in the presidential chair. "What's got hold of you, Colonel," El Mulato asked so often that finally one day his chief broke 7 down and told him the source of his befuddlement: those two words that were buried like two daggers in his gut. "Tell me what they are and maybe they'll lose their magic," his faithful aide suggested. "I can't tell them, they're for me alone," the Colonel replied. Saddened by watching his chief decline like a man with a death sentence on his head, El Mulato slung his rifle over his shoulder and set out to find Belisa Crepusculario. He followed her trail through all that vast country, until he found her in a village in the far south, sitting under her tent reciting her rosary of news. He planted himself, spraddle-legged, before her, weapon in hand. "You! You're coming with me," he ordered. She had been waiting. She picked up her inkwell, folded the canvas of her small stall, arranged her shawl around her shoulders, and without a word took her place behind El Mulato's saddle. They did not exchange so much as a word in all the trip; El Mulato's desire for her had turned into rage, and only his fear of her tongue prevented his cutting her to shreds with his whip. Nor was he inclined to tell her that the Colonel was in a fog, and that a spell whispered into his ear had done what years of battle had not been able to do. Three days later they arrived at the encampment, and immediately, in view of all the troops, El Mulato led his prisoner before the Candidate. "I brought this witch here so you can give her back her words, Colonel," El Mulato said, pointing the barrel of his rifle at the woman's head. "And then she can give you back your manhood." The Colonel and Belisa Crepusculario stared at each other, measuring one another from a distance. The men knew then that their leader would never undo the witchcraft of those accursed words, because the whole world could see the voracious-puma eyes soften as the woman walked to him and took his hand in hers. Copyright © 1989 by Isabel Allende From The Stories of Eva Luna, Translated by Margaret Sayers Peden

It's Cinco de Mayo, Carlos! Carlos and Maria walked past the city park after the baseball game. "It's almost Cinco de Mayo," Carlos said. "The festival is only a month away." "Miss Lopez is teaching us a special dance for the festival," said Maria. "We need one more boy." "Will you dance with us?" asked Maria. "Are you dancing in front of people?" asked Carlos. "Miss Lopez will help you," said Maria, smiling. That evening, Carlos asked Abuela about Cinco de Mayo. "There was a big battle on May 5th, in 1862," said Abuela. "A big army came to attack the small town of Puebla." "Only a small group of young soldiers lived in Puebla. They were scared, but they didn't give up," said Abuela. "The big army didn't think the young soldiers would fight," said Abuela. "But the young soldiers won!" she said. "So, that's what we celebrate on Cinco de Mayo!" said Carlos. Carlos couldn't sleep that night. He thought about the soldiers. He thought about learning the dance. "I can be brave, too," he said. Miss Lopez showed Carlos the steps. He stepped on Maria's foot. He tripped and slipped. "Don't worry," said Maria. "You'll get better." Carlos felt he would never learn. But he didn't give up. His father gave him a surprise on the morning of the festival. "Real cowboy boots!" Carlos said. There were so many things to see. Carlos and Maria stopped to watch a puppet show. The crowd was clapping. "I hope they clap for us," said Carlos. They saw rows of shining cars. "Let's look at the hot rods!" he said. "Hurry, Carlos!" said Maria. "We just have time to put on our costumes." It was time for their dance. Carlos looked at the big crowd. His heart pounded. "You can do it," whispered Maria. Then the music started. People began to clap in time to the music. Carlos stomped his feet in his new cowboy boots. Suddenly, the music stopped. It was over. He hadn't tripped once. The crowd cheered and clapped. Abuela's cheer was the loudest!

From both side of me i heard a gradual crescendo of excitement and laughter rippling along the trenches, interspersed with barked orders that everyone was to keep their heads down and no one was to shoot. From my vantage point on the mound I could see only an occasional glimpse of a steel helmet, my only evidence that the voices I was hearing did indeed belong to real people. There was the sweet smell of cooking food wafting towards me and I lifted my nose to savour it. It was sweeter than the sweetest bran-mash I had ever tasted and it had a tinge of salt about it. I was drawn first one way and then the other by this promise of warm food, but each time I neared the trenches on either side I met an impenetrable barrier of loosely coiled barbed wire. The soldiers cheered me on as I came closer, showing their heads fully now over the trenches and beckoning me towards them; and when I had to turn back at the wire and crossed no man’s land to the other side, I was welcomed again there by a chorus of whistling and clapping, but again I could find no way through the wire. I must have criss-crossed no man’s land for much of that morning, and found at long last in the middle of this blasted wilderness a small patch of coarse, dank grass growing on the lip of an old crater. I was busying myself at tearing the last of this away when I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a man in a grey uniform clamber up out of the trenches, waving a white flag above his head. I looked up as he began to clip his way methodically through the wire and then pull it aside. All this time there was much argument and noisy consternation from the other side; and soon a small, helmeted figure in a flapping khaki greatcoat climbed up into no man’s land. He too held up a white handkerchief in one hand and began also to work his way through the wire towards me.

🛡️ Be Smart, Stay Safe! – True or False Quiz 🧠 Instructions: Read each statement. Decide if it's TRUE ✅ or FALSE ❌. Tick the correct box. After each answer, discuss WHY it's true or false! # Statement ✅ True ❌ False 1 During an air raid siren, it is safe to go outside to see what is happening. ☐ ☐ 2 It's a good idea to ignore warning messages on your phone about danger. ☐ ☐ 3 In a shelter, it's important to stay calm and quiet. ☐ ☐ 4 You should always touch or pick up strange or unfamiliar things on the street. ☐ ☐ 5 Having water and snacks in your home for emergencies is a good idea. ☐ ☐ 6 It's okay to post where Ukrainian soldiers are online. ☐ ☐ 7 If you hear explosions far away, you don’t need to worry. ☐ ☐ 8 Knowing the nearest shelter to your home or school is important. ☐ ☐ 9 It's safe to play near damaged buildings after fighting stops. ☐ ☐ 10 Helping your family and neighbors during hard times is important. ☐ ☐

Write question 2. Early British Actions in the Colonies In 1760, near the end of the Seven Years’ War, a new British king, George III, began his reign. During his 59-year rule, he resisted revolutionary and Napoleonic France. However, George appointed advisors to manage his more distant foreign affairs in North America. These advisors knew very little about the day-to-day lives of colonists and were soon taking actions that enraged many of them. The Proclamation of 1763 The British government faced many problems after the Seven Years’ War. One was how to protect colonists and their land claims as they pushed westward into areas settled by Indigenous groups. In his Proclamation of 1763, George III said to simply draw a line down the crest of the Appalachian Mountains and order colonists not to settle past the boundary. To colonists whose fortunes were founded on Indigenous land, the king’s order suggested tyranny, or the unjust use of government power. They argued that White colonists had already claimed most of the land east of the Appalachians and that farmers had to move west to find land. Besides, colonists and land investors had already crossed the mountains into Indigenous territory. The British government ignored colonists’ arguments. To control the frontier, it sent an additional 7,500 soldiers to the colonies. The Proclamation of 1763 would later be cited as a grievance in the Declaration of Independence. The Stamp Act The British government had other problems besides stopping colonists from encroaching on Indigenous land. Another dilemma was how to pay off the large debt from the Seven Years’ War. The solution seemed obvious to Prime Minister George Grenville, the leader of the British government. People in Great Britain were already paying taxes on everything from windows to salt. In contrast, American colonists were among the most lightly taxed people in the British Empire. It was time, said Grenville, for them to pay their fair share of the cost of Britain protecting colonists and their interests. In 1765, Grenville proposed a new act, or law, called the Stamp Act, which required colonists to buy a stamp for every piece of paper they used. Newspapers, wills, licenses, and even playing cards had to be printed on stamped paper. Again, the colonists sensed tyranny. One newspaper, The Pennsylvania Journal, said that as soon as “this shocking Act was known, it filled all British America from one End to the other, with Astonishment and Grief.” It was not just the idea of higher taxes that upset the colonists. They were willing to pay taxes passed by their own assemblies, in which their representatives could vote on them. However, because the colonists had no representatives in Parliament, they saw the Stamp Act as a violation of their rights as British subjects. For this reason, they argued Parliament had no right to tax them. “No taxation without representation!” they declared. Loyalists simply refused to buy stamps, while other colonists protested the Stamp Act by sending messages to Parliament. Patriots took more aggressive action. Protesters calling themselves the Sons of Liberty organized in 1765 and began attacking tax collectors’ homes. In Connecticut, they even started to bury one tax collector alive. Only when he heard dirt being shoveled onto his coffin did the terrified tax collector agree to resign from his post. After months of protest, Parliament repealed, or canceled, the Stamp Act. Colonists greeted the news with great celebration. Church bells rang, bands played, and everyone hoped the troubles with Great Britain were over. The Quartering Act As anger over the Stamp Act began to fade, Parliament passed another controversial law in 1765. The Quartering Act ordered colonial assemblies to provide British troops with quarters, or housing. The colonists were also told to furnish the soldiers with “candles, firing, bedding, cooking utensils, salt, vinegar, and . . . beer or cider.” Providing these things for British soldiers cost money. New Jersey protested that the new law was “as much an Act for laying taxes” on the colonists as the Stamp Act. New Yorkers asked why they should pay to keep troops in their colony during peacetime. In 1767, the New York assembly decided not to approve any funds for supplies for the British troops, forcing them to remain on their ships. In retaliation, the British government suspended New York’s assembly until it agreed to obey the Quartering Act. Once again, tempers began to rise on both sides of the Atlantic.

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