She was introduced as Miss Dartle, and both Steerforth and his mother called her Rosa. I found that she lived there, and had been for a long time Mrs. Steerforth's companion. It appeared to me that she never said anything she wanted to say, outright; but hinted it, and made a great deal more of it by this practice. For example, when Mrs. Steerforth observed, more in jest than earnest, that she feared her son led but a wild life at college, Miss Dartle put in thus: 'Oh, really? You know how ignorant I am, and that I only ask for information, but isn't it always so? I thought that kind of life was on all hands understood to be - eh?' 'It is education for a very grave profession, if you mean that, Rosa,' Mrs. Steerforth answered with some coldness.'Oh! Yes! That's very true,' returned Miss Dartle. 'But isn't it, though? - I want to be put right, if I am wrong - isn't it, really?''Really what?' said Mrs. Steerforth.'Oh! You mean it's not!' returned Miss Dartle. 'Well, I'm very glad to hear it! Now, I know what to do! That's the advantage of asking. I shall never allow people to talk before me about wastefulness and profligacy, and so forth, in connexion with that life, any more.''And you will be right,' said Mrs. Steerforth. 'My son's tutor is a conscientious gentleman; and if I had not implicit reliance on my son, I should have reliance on him.''Should you?' said Miss Dartle. 'Dear me! Conscientious, is he? Really conscientious, now?''Yes, I am convinced of it,' said Mrs. Steerforth.'How very nice!' exclaimed Miss Dartle. 'What a comfort! Really conscientious? Then he's not - but of course he can't be, if he's really conscientious. Well, I shall be quite happy in my opinion of him, from this time. You can't think how it elevates him in my opinion, to know for certain that he's really conscientious!'Her own views of every question, and her correction of everything that was said to which she was opposed, Miss Dartle insinuated in the same way: sometimes, I could not conceal from myself, with great power, though in contradiction even of Steerforth. An instance happened before dinner was done. Mrs. Steerforth speaking to me about my intention of going down into Suffolk, I said at hazard how glad I should be, if Steerforth would only go there with me; and explaining to him that I was going to see my old nurse, and Mr. Peggotty's family, I reminded him of the boatman whom he had seen at school.'Oh! That bluff fellow!' said Steerforth. 'He had a son with him, hadn't he?''No. That was his nephew,' I replied; 'whom he adopted, though, as a son. He has a very pretty little niece too, whom he adopted as a daughter. In short, his house - or rather his boat, for he lives in one, on dry land - is full of people who are objects of his generosity and kindness. You would be delighted to see that household.''Should I?' said Steerforth. 'Well, I think I should. I must see what can be done. It would be worth a journey (not to mention the pleasure of a journey with you, Daisy), to see that sort of people together, and to make one of 'em.' That sort of people. - Are they really animals and clods, and beings of another order? I want to know SO much.''Why, there's a pretty wide separation between them and us,' said Steerforth, with indifference. 'They are not to be expected to be as sensitive as we are. Their delicacy is not to be shocked, or hurt easily. They are wonderfully virtuous, I dare say - some people contend for that, at least; and I am sure I don't want to contradict them - but they have not very fine natures, and they may be thankful that, like their coarse rough skins, they are not easily wounded.''Really!' said Miss Dartle. 'Well, I don't know, now, when I have been better pleased than to hear that. It's so consoling! It's such a delight to know that, when they suffer, they don't feel! Sometimes I have been quite uneasy for that sort of people; but now I shall just dismiss the idea of them, altogether. Live and learn. I had my doubts, I confess, but now they're cleared up. I didn't know, and now I do know, and that shows the advantage of asking - don't it?'I believed that Steerforth had said what he had, in jest, or to draw Miss Dartle out; and I expected him to say as much when she was gone, and we two were sitting before the fire. But he merely asked me what I thought of her.'She is very clever, is she not?' I asked.'Clever! She brings everything to a grindstone,' said Steerforth, and sharpens it, as she has sharpened her own face and figure these years past. She has worn herself away by constant sharpening. She is all edge.'

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I am taken home in a sad plight, and I have beef-steaks put to my eyes, and am rubbed with vinegar and brandy, and find a great puffy place bursting out on my upper lip, which swells immoderately. For three or four days I remain at home, a very ill-looking subject, with a green shade over my eyes; and I should be very dull, but that Agnes is a sister to me, and condoles with me, and reads to me, and makes the time light and happy. Agnes has my confidence completely, always; I tell her all about the butcher, and the wrongs he has heaped upon me; she thinks I couldn't have done otherwise than fight the butcher, while she shrinks and trembles at my having fought him.Time has stolen on unobserved, for Adams is not the head-boy in the days that are come now, nor has he been this many and many a day. Adams has left the school so long, that when he comes back, on a visit to Doctor Strong, there are not many there, besides myself, who know him. Adams is going to be called to the bar almost directly, and is to be an advocate, and to wear a wig. I am surprised to find him a meeker man than I had thought, and less imposing in appearance. He has not staggered the world yet, either; for it goes on (as well as I can make out) pretty much the same as if he had never joined it.A blank, through which the warriors of poetry and history march on in stately hosts that seem to have no end - and what comes next! I am the head-boy, now! I look down on the line of boys below me, with a condescending interest in such of them as bring to my mind the boy I was myself, when I first came there. That little fellow seems to be no part of me; I remember him as something left behind upon the road of life - as something I have passed, rather than have actually been - and almost think of him as of someone else.And the little girl I saw on that first day at Mr. Wickfield's, where is she? Gone also. In her stead, the perfect likeness of the picture, a child likeness no more, moves about the house; and Agnes - my sweet sister, as I call her in my thoughts, my counsellor and friend, the better angel of the lives of all who come within her calm, good, self-denying influence - is quite a woman.What other changes have come upon me, besides the changes in my growth and looks, and in the knowledge I have garnered all this while? I wear a gold watch and chain, a ring upon my little finger, and a long-tailed coat; and I use a great deal of bear's grease - which, taken in conjunction with the ring, looks bad. Am I in love again? I am. I worship the eldest Miss Larkins.The eldest Miss Larkins is not a little girl. She is a tall, dark, black-eyed, fine figure of a woman. The eldest Miss Larkins is not a chicken; for the youngest Miss Larkins is not that, and the eldest must be three or four years older. Perhaps the eldest Miss Larkins may be about thirty. My passion for her is beyond all bounds.The eldest Miss Larkins knows officers. It is an awful thing to bear. I see them speaking to her in the street. I see them cross the way to meet her, when her bonnet (she has a bright taste in bonnets) is seen coming down the pavement, accompanied by her sister's bonnet. She laughs and talks, and seems to like it. I spend a good deal of my own spare time in walking up and down to meet her. If I can bow to her once in the day (I know her to bow to, knowing Mr. Larkins), I am happier. I deserve a bow now and then. The raging agonies I suffer on the night of the Race Ball, where I know the eldest Miss Larkins will be dancing with the military, ought to have some compensation, if there be even-handed justice in the world.My passion takes away my appetite, and makes me wear my newest silk neckerchief continually. I have no relief but in putting on my best clothes, and having my boots cleaned over and over again. I seem, then, to be worthier of the eldest Miss Larkins. Everything that belongs to her, or is connected with her, is precious to me. Mr. Larkins (a gruff old gentleman with a double chin, and one of his eyes immovable in his head) is fraught with interest to me. When I can't meet his daughter, I go where I am likely to meet him. To say 'How do you do, Mr. Larkins? Are the young ladies and all the family quite well?' seems so pointed, that I blush.I think continually about my age. Say I am seventeen, and say that seventeen is young for the eldest Miss Larkins, what of that? Besides, I shall be one-and-twenty in no time almost. I regularly take walks outside Mr. Larkins's house in the evening, though it cuts me to the heart to see the officers go in, or to hear them up in the drawing-room, where the eldest Miss Larkins plays the harp. I even walk, on two or three occasions, in a sickly, spoony manner, round and round the house after the family are gone to bed, wondering which is the eldest Miss Larkins's chamber (and pitching, I dare say now, on Mr. Larkins's instead); wishing that a fire would burst out; that the assembled crowd would stand appalled; that I, dashing through them with a ladder, might rear it against her window, save her in my arms, go back for something she had left behind, and perish in the flames. For I am generally disinterested in my love, and think I could be content to make a figure before Miss Larkins, and expire.Generally, but not always. Sometimes brighter visions rise before me. When I dress (the occupation of two hours), for a great ball given at the Larkins's (the anticipation of three weeks), I indulge my fancy with pleasing images. I picture myself taking courage to make a declaration to Miss Larkins. I picture Miss Larkins sinking her head upon my shoulder, and saying, 'Oh, Mr. Copperfield, can I believe my ears!' I picture Mr. Larkins waiting on me next morning, and saying, 'My dear Copperfield, my daughter has told me all. Youth is no objection. Here are twenty thousand pounds. Be happy!' I picture my aunt relenting, and blessing us; and Mr. Dick and Doctor Strong being present at the marriage ceremony. I am a sensible fellow, I believe - I believe, on looking back, I mean - and modest I am sure; but all this goes on notwithstanding. I repair to the enchanted house, where there are lights, chattering, music, flowers, officers (I am sorry to see), and the eldest Miss Larkins, a blaze of beauty. She is dressed in blue, with blue flowers in her hair - forget-me-nots - as if SHE had any need to wear forget-me-nots. It is the first really grown-up party that I have ever been invited to, and I am a little uncomfortable; for I appear not to belong to anybody, and nobody appears to have anything to say to me, except Mr. Larkins, who asks me how my schoolfellows are, which he needn't do, as I have not come there to be insulted.

It was with a singular jumble of sadness and pleasure that I used to linger about my native place, until the reddening winter sun admonished me that it was time to start on my returning walk. But, when the place was left behind, and especially when Steerforth and I were happily seated over our dinner by a blazing fire, it was delicious to think of having been there. So it was, though in a softened degree, when I went to my neat room at night; and, turning over the leaves of the crocodile-book (which was always there, upon a little table), remembered with a grateful heart how blest I was in having such a friend as Steerforth, such a friend as Peggotty, and such a substitute for what I had lost as my excellent and generous aunt.MY nearest way to Yarmouth, in coming back from these long walks, was by a ferry. It landed me on the flat between the town and the sea, which I could make straight across, and so save myself a considerable circuit by the high road. Mr. Peggotty's house being on that waste-place, and not a hundred yards out of my track, I always looked in as I went by. Steerforth was pretty sure to be there expecting me, and we went on together through the frosty air and gathering fog towards the twinkling lights of the town.One dark evening, when I was later than usual - for I had, that day, been making my parting visit to Blunderstone, as we were now about to return home - I found him alone in Mr. Peggotty's house, sitting thoughtfully before the fire. He was so intent upon his own reflections that he was quite unconscious of my approach. This, indeed, he might easily have been if he had been less absorbed, for footsteps fell noiselessly on the sandy ground outside; but even my entrance failed to rouse him. I was standing close to him, looking at him; and still, with a heavy brow, he was lost in his meditations.

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Steerforth and I stayed for more than a fortnight in that part of the country. We were very much together, I need not say; but occasionally we were asunder for some hours at a time. He was a good sailor, and I was but an indifferent one; and when he went out boating with Mr. Peggotty, which was a favourite amusement of his, I generally remained ashore. My occupation of Peggotty's spare-room put a constraint upon me, from which he was free: for, knowing how assiduously she attended on Mr. Barkis all day, I did not like to remain out late at night; whereas Steerforth, lying at the Inn, had nothing to consult but his own humour. Thus it came about, that I heard of his making little treats for the fishermen at Mr. Peggotty's house of call, 'The Willing Mind', after I was in bed, and of his being afloat, wrapped in fishermen's clothes, whole moonlight nights, and coming back when the morning tide was at flood. By this time, however, I knew that his restless nature and bold spirits delighted to find a vent in rough toil and hard weather, as in any other means of excitement that presented itself freshly to him; so none of his proceedings surprised me.Another cause of our being sometimes apart, was, that I had naturally an interest in going over to Blunderstone, and revisiting the old familiar scenes of my childhood; while Steerforth, after being there once, had naturally no great interest in going there again. Hence, on three or four days that I can at once recall, we went our several ways after an early breakfast, and met again at a late dinner. I had no idea how he employed his time in the interval, beyond a general knowledge that he was very popular in the place, and had twenty means of actively diverting himself where another man might not have found one.For my own part, my occupation in my solitary pilgrimages was to recall every yard of the old road as I went along it, and to haunt the old spots, of which I never tired. I haunted them, as my memory had often done, and lingered among them as my younger thoughts had lingered when I was far away. The grave beneath the tree, where both my parents lay - on which I had looked out, when it was my father's only, with such curious feelings of compassion, and by which I had stood, so desolate, when it was opened to receive my pretty mother and her baby - the grave which Peggotty's own faithful care had ever since kept neat, and made a garden of, I walked near, by the hour. It lay a little off the churchyard path, in a quiet corner, not so far removed but I could read the names upon the stone as I walked to and fro, startled by the sound of the church-bell when it struck the hour, for it was like a departed voice to me. My reflections at these times were always associated with the figure I was to make in life, and the distinguished things I was to do. My echoing footsteps went to no other tune, but were as constant to that as if I had come home to build my castles in the air at a living mother's side.There were great changes in my old home. The ragged nests, so long deserted by the rooks, were gone; and the trees were lopped and topped out of their remembered shapes. The garden had run wild, and half the windows of the house were shut up. It was occupied, but only by a poor lunatic gentleman, and the people who took care of him. He was always sitting at my little window, looking out into the churchyard; and I wondered whether his rambling thoughts ever went upon any of the fancies that used to occupy mine, on the rosy mornings when I peeped out of that same little window in my night-clothes, and saw the sheep quietly feeding in the light of the rising sun.Our old neighbours, Mr. and Mrs. Grayper, were gone to South America, and the rain had made its way through the roof of their empty house, and stained the outer walls. Mr. Chillip was married again to a tall, raw-boned, high-nosed wife; and they had a weazen little baby, with a heavy head that it couldn't hold up, and two weak staring eyes, with which it seemed to be always wondering why it had ever been born.

But the Doctor himself was the idol of the whole school: and it must have been a badly composed school if he had been anything else, for he was the kindest of men; with a simple faith in him that might have touched the stone hearts of the very urns upon the wall. As he walked up and down that part of the courtyard which was at the side of the house, with the stray rooks and jackdaws looking after him with their heads cocked slyly, as if they knew how much more knowing they were in worldly affairs than he, if any sort of vagabond could only get near enough to his creaking shoes to attract his attention to one sentence of a tale of distress, that vagabond was made for the next two days. It was so notorious in the house, that the masters and head-boys took pains to cut these marauders off at angles, and to get out of windows, and turn them out of the courtyard, before they could make the Doctor aware of their presence; which was sometimes happily effected within a few yards of him, without his knowing anything of the matter, as he jogged to and fro. Outside his own domain, and unprotected, he was a very sheep for the shearers. He would have taken his gaiters off his legs, to give away. In fact, there was a story current among us (I have no idea, and never had, on what authority, but I have believed it for so many years that I feel quite certain it is true), that on a frosty day, one winter-time, he actually did bestow his gaiters on a beggar-woman, who occasioned some scandal in the neighbourhood by exhibiting a fine infant from door to door, wrapped in those garments, which were universally recognized, being as well known in the vicinity as the Cathedral. The legend added that the only person who did not identify them was the Doctor himself, who, when they were shortly afterwards displayed at the door of a little second-hand shop of no very good repute, where such things were taken in exchange for gin, was more than once observed to handle them approvingly, as if admiring some curious novelty in the pattern, and considering them an improvement on his own.It was very pleasant to see the Doctor with his pretty young wife. He had a fatherly, benignant way of showing his fondness for her, which seemed in itself to express a good man. I often saw them walking in the garden where the peaches were, and I sometimes had a nearer observation of them in the study or the parlour. She appeared to me to take great care of the Doctor, and to like him very much, though I never thought her vitally interested in the Dictionary: some cumbrous fragments of which work the Doctor always carried in his pockets, and in the lining of his hat, and generally seemed to be expounding to her as they walked about.

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I replied that I was certain he was; but that I had not known him long myself, though he was a friend of my aunt's.'Oh, indeed, Master Copperfield,' said Uriah. 'Your aunt is a sweet lady, Master Copperfield!'He had a way of writhing when he wanted to express enthusiasm, which was very ugly; and which diverted my attention from the compliment he had paid my relation, to the snaky twistings of his throat and body.'A sweet lady, Master Copperfield!' said Uriah Heep. 'She has a great admiration for Miss Agnes, Master Copperfield, I believe?'I said, 'Yes,' boldly; not that I knew anything about it, Heaven forgive me!'I hope you have, too, Master Copperfield,' said Uriah. 'But I am sure you must have.''Everybody must have,' I returned.'Oh, thank you, Master Copperfield,' said Uriah Heep, 'for that remark! It is so true! Umble as I am, I know it is so true! Oh, thank you, Master Copperfield!' He writhed himself quite off his stool in the excitement of his feelings, and, being off, began to make arrangements for going home.'Mother will be expecting me,' he said, referring to a pale, inexpressive-faced watch in his pocket, 'and getting uneasy; for though we are very umble, Master Copperfield, we are much attached to one another. If you would come and see us, any afternoon, and take a cup of tea at our lowly dwelling, mother would be as proud of your company as I should be.' I should think YOU would come into the business at last, Master Copperfield!'I protested that I had no views of that sort, and that no such scheme was entertained in my behalf by anybody; but Uriah insisted on blandly replying to all my assurances, 'Oh, yes, Master Copperfield, I should think you would, indeed!' and, 'Oh, indeed, Master Copperfield, I should think you would, certainly!' over and over again. Being, at last, ready to leave the office for the night, he asked me if it would suit my convenience to have the light put out; and on my answering 'Yes,' instantly extinguished it. After shaking hands with me - his hand felt like a fish, in the dark - he opened the door into the street a very little, and crept out, and shut it, leaving me to grope my way back into the house: which cost me some trouble and a fall over his stool. This was the proximate cause, I suppose, of my dreaming about him, for what appeared to me to be half the night; and dreaming, among other things, that he had launched Mr. Peggotty's house on a piratical expedition, with a black flag at the masthead, bearing the inscription 'Tidd's Practice', under which diabolical ensign he was carrying me and little Em'ly to the Spanish Main, to be drowned.I got a little the better of my uneasiness when I went to school next day, and a good deal the better next day, and so shook it off by degrees, that in less than a fortnight I was quite at home, and happy, among my new companions. I was awkward enough in their games, and backward enough in their studies; but custom would improve me in the first respect, I hoped, and hard work in the second. Accordingly, I went to work very hard, both in play and in earnest, and gained great commendation. And, in a very little while, the Murdstone and Grinby life became so strange to me that I hardly believed in it, while my present life grew so familiar, that I seemed to have been leading it a long time.Doctor Strong's was an excellent school; as different from Mr. Creakle's as good is from evil. It was very gravely and decorously ordered, and on a sound system; with an appeal, in everything, to the honour and good faith of the boys, and an avowed intention to rely on their possession of those qualities unless they proved themselves unworthy of it, which worked wonders. We all felt that we had a part in the management of the place, and in sustaining its character and dignity. Hence, we soon became warmly attached to it - I am sure I did for one, and I never knew, in all my time, of any other boy being otherwise - and learnt with a good will, desiring to do it credit. We had noble games out of hours, and plenty of liberty; but even then, as I remember, we were well spoken of in the town, and rarely did any disgrace, by our appearance or manner, to the reputation of Doctor Strong and Doctor Strong's boys.Some of the higher scholars boarded in the Doctor's house, and through them I learned, at second hand, some particulars of the Doctor's history - as, how he had not yet been married twelve months to the beautiful young lady I had seen in the study, whom he had married for love; for she had not a sixpence, and had a world of poor relations (so our fellows said) ready to swarm the Doctor out of house and home. Also, how the Doctor's cogitating manner was attributable to his being always engaged in looking out for Greek roots; which, in my innocence and ignorance, I supposed to be a botanical furor on the Doctor's part, especially as he always looked at the ground when he walked about, until I understood that they were roots of words, with a view to a new Dictionary which he had in contemplation. Adams, our head-boy, who had a turn for mathematics, had made a calculation, I was informed, of the time this Dictionary would take in completing, on the Doctor's plan, and at the Doctor's rate of going. He considered that it might be done in one thousand six hundred and forty-nine years, counting from the Doctor's last, or sixty-second, birthday.

The stage thus set, he then turned upon his non-white victims hisweapons of war.I read how, entering India-half a _billion_ deeply religious brown people-the British white man, by1759, through promises, trickery and manipulations, controlled much of India through Great Britain'sEast India Company. The parasitical British administration kept tentacling out to half of thesubcontinent. In 1857, some of the desperate people of India finally mutinied-and, excepting theAfrican slave trade, nowhere has history recorded any more unnecessary bestial and ruthless humancarnage than the British suppression of the non-white Indian people.Over 115 million African blacks-close to the 1930's population of the United States-were murdered orenslaved during the slave trade. And I read how when the slave market was glutted, the cannibalisticwhite powers of Europe next carved up, as their colonies, the richest areas of the black continent. AndEurope's chancelleries for the next century played a chess game of naked exploitation and power fromCape Horn to Cairo.Ten guards and the warden couldn't have torn me out of those books. Not even Elijah Muhammadcould have been more eloquent than those books were in providing indisputable proof that the collective white man had acted like a devil in virtually every contact he had with the world's collectivenon-white man. I listen today to the radio, and watch television, and read the headlines about thecollective white man's fear and tension concerning China. When the white man professes ignoranceabout why the Chinese hate him so, my mind can't help flashing back to what I read, there in prison,about how the blood forebears of this same white man raped China at a time when China was trustingand helpless. Those original white "Christian traders" sent into China millions of pounds of opium. By1839, so many of the Chinese were addicts that China's desperate government destroyed twentythousand chests of opium. The first Opium War was promptly declared by the white man. Imagine!Declaring _war_ upon someone who objects to being narcotized! The Chinese were severely beaten,with Chinese-invented gunpowder.The Treaty of Nanking made China pay the British white man for the destroyed opium; forced openChina's major ports to British trade; forced China to abandon Hong Kong; fixed China's import tariffsso low that cheap British articles soon flooded in, maiming China's industrial development.After a second Opium War, the Tientsin Treaties legalized the ravaging opium trade, legalized aBritish-French-American control of China's customs. China tried delaying that Treaty's ratification;Peking was looted and burned."Kill the foreign white devils!" was the 1901 Chinese war cry in the Boxer Rebellion. Losing again, thistime the Chinese were driven from Peking's choicest areas. The vicious, arrogant white man put upthe famous signs, "Chinese and dogs not allowed."Red China after World War II closed its doors to the Western white world. Massive Chineseagricultural, scientific, and industrial efforts are described in a book that _Life_ magazine recentlypublished. Some observers inside Red China have reported that the world never has known such ahate-white campaign as is now going on in this non-white country where, present birth-ratescontinuing, in fifty more years Chinese will be half the earth's population. And it seems that someChinese chickens will soon come home to roost, with China's recent successful nuclear tests.

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During the last year or so, in the _New York Times_, Arnold Toynbee used the word "bleached" indescribing the white man. (His words were: "White (i.e. bleached) human beings of North Europeanorigin. . . .") Toynbee also referred to the European geographic area as only a peninsula of Asia. Hesaid there is no such thing as Europe. And if you look at the globe, you will see for yourself thatAmerica is only an extension of Asia. (But at the same time Toynbee is among those who have helpedto bleach history. He has written that Africa was the only continent that produced no history. Hewon't write that again. Every day now, the truth is coming to light. )I never will forget how shocked I was when I began reading about slavery's total horror. It made suchan impact upon me that it later became one of my favorite subjects when I became a minister of Mr.Muhammad's The world's most monstrous crime, the sin and the blood on the white man's hands, arealmost impossible to believe. Books like the one by Frederick Olmstead opened my eyes to the horrorssuffered when the slave was landed in the United States. The European woman, Fannie Kimball, whohad married a Southern white slaveowner, described how human beings were degraded. Of course Iread _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. In fact, I believe that's the only novel I have ever read since I startedserious reading.Parkhurst's collection also contained some bound pamphlets of the Abolitionist Anti-Slavery Societyof New England. I read descriptions of atrocities, saw those illustrations of black slave women tied upand flogged with whips; of black mothers watching their babies being dragged off, never to be seen bytheir mothers again; of dogs after slaves, and of the fugitive slave catchers, evil white men with whipsand clubs and chains and guns. I read about the slave preacher Nat Turner, who put the fear of Godinto the white slavemaster. Nat Turner wasn't going around preaching pie-in-the-sky and "non violent" freedom for the black man. There in Virginia one night in 1831, Nat and seven other slavesstarted out at his master's home and through the night they went from one plantation "big house" tothe next, killing, until by the next morning 57 white people were dead and Nat had about 70 slavesfollowing him. White people, terrified for their lives, fled from their homes, locked themselves up inpublic buildings, hid in the woods, and some even left the state. A small army of soldiers took twomonths to catch and hang Nat Turner. Somewhere I have read where Nat Turner's example is said tohave inspired John Brown to invade Virginia and attack Harper's Ferry nearly thirty years later, withthirteen white men and five Negroes.I read Herodotus, "the father of History," or, rather, I read about him. And I read the histories ofvarious nations, which opened my eyes gradually, then wider and wider, to how the whole world'swhite men had indeed acted like devils, pillaging and raping and bleeding and draining the wholeworld's non-white people. I remember, for instance, books such as Will Durant's story of Orientalcivilization, and Mahatma Gandhi's accounts of the struggle to drive the British out of India.Book after book showed me how the white man had brought upon the world's black, brown, red, andyellow peoples every variety of the sufferings of exploitation. I saw how since the sixteenth century,the so-called "Christian trader" white man began to ply the seas in his lust for Asian and Africanempires, and plunder, and power. I read, I saw, how the white man never has gone among the nonwhite peoples bearing the Cross in the true manner and spirit of Christ's teachings-meek, humble, andChrist-like.I perceived, as I read, how the collective white man had been actually nothing but a piraticalopportunist who used Faustian machinations to make his own Christianity his initial wedge incriminal conquests. First, always "religiously," he branded "heathen" and "pagan" labels upon ancientnon-white cultures and civilizations.

After the letter to my wife, I wrote next essentially the same letter to my sister Ella. And I knew where Ella would stand. She had been saving to make the pilgrimage to Mecca herself.I wrote to Dr. Shawarbi, whose belief in my sincerity had enabled me to get a passport to Mecca.All through the night, I copied similar long letters for others who were very close to me. Among themwas Elijah Muhammad's son Wallace Muhammad, who had expressed to me his conviction that theonly possible salvation for the Nation of Islam would be its accepting and projecting a betterunderstanding of Orthodox Islam.And I wrote to my loyal assistants at my newly formed Muslim Mosque, Inc. in Harlem, with a noteappended, asking that my letter be duplicated and distributed to the press.I knew that when my letter became public knowledge back in America, many would be astounded-loved ones, friends, and enemies alike. And no less astounded would be millions whom I did notknow-who had gained during my twelve years with Elijah Muhammad a "hate" image of Malcolm X.Even I was myself astounded. But there was precedent in my life for this letter. My whole life hadbeen a chronology of-_changes_.Here is what I wrote . . . from my heart:"Never have I witnessed such sincere hospitality and the overwhelming spirit of true brotherhood asis practiced by people of all colors and races here in this Ancient Holy Land, the home of Abraham,Muhammad, and all the other prophets of the Holy Scriptures. For the past week, I have been utterlyspeechless and spellbound by the graciousness I see displayed all around me by people _of all colors_."I have been blessed to visit the Holy City of Mecca. I have made my seven circuits around the Ka'ba,led by a young _Mutawaf_ named Muhammad. I drank water from the well of Zem Zem. I ran seventimes back and forth between the hills of Mt. Al-Safa and Al-Marwah. I have prayed in the ancient cityof Mina, and I have prayed on Mt. Arafat."There were tens of thousands of pilgrims, from all over the world. They were of all colors, from blue-eyed blonds to black-skinned Africans. But we were all participating in the same ritual, displaying aspirit of unity and brotherhood that my experiences in America had led me to believe never couldexist between the white and the non-white."America needs to understand Islam, because this is the one religion that erases from its society therace problem. Throughout my travels in the Muslim world, I have met, talked to, and even eaten withpeople who in America would have been considered 'white'-but the 'white' attitude was removedfrom their minds by the religion of Islam. I have never before seen _sincere_ and _true_ brotherhoodpracticed by all colors together, irrespective of their color.

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Finally, we lifted our hands in prayer and thanksgiving, repeating Allah's words: "There is no God butAllah. He has no partner. His are authority and praise. Good emanates from Him, and He has powerover all things."Standing on Mount Arafat had concluded the essential rites of being a pilgrim to Mecca. No one whomissed it could consider himself a pilgrim.The _Ihram_ had ended. We cast the traditional seven stones at the devil. Some had their hair andbeards cut. I decided that I was going to let my beard remain. I wondered what my wife Betty, and ourlittle daughters, were going to say when they saw me with a beard, when I got back to New York.New York seemed a million miles away. I hadn't seen a newspaper that I could read since I left NewYork. I had no idea what was happening there. A Negro rifle club that had been in existence for overtwelve years in Harlem had been "discovered" by the police; it was being trumpeted that I was"behind it." Elijah Muhammad's Nation of Islam had a lawsuit going against me, to force me and my family to vacate the house in which we lived on Long Island.The major press, radio, and television media in America had representatives in Cairo hunting all over,trying to locate me, to interview me about the furor in New York that I had allegedly caused-when Iknew nothing about any of it.I only knew what I had left in America, and how it contrasted with what I had found in the Muslimworld. About twenty of us Muslims who had finished the Hajj were sitting in a huge tent on MountArafat. As a Muslim from America, I was the center of attention. They asked me what about the Hajjhad impressed me the most. One of the several who spoke English asked; they translated my answersfor the others. My answer to that question was not the one they expected, but it drove home my point.I said, "The _brotherhood_! The people of all races, colors, from all over the world coming together as_one_! It has proved to me the power of the One God."It may have been out of taste, but that gave me an opportunity, and I used it, to preach them a quicklittle sermon on America's racism, and its evils.I could tell the impact of this upon them. They had been aware that the plight of the black man inAmerica was "bad," but they had not been aware that it was inhuman, that it was a psychologicalcastration. These people from elsewhere around the world were shocked. As Muslims, they had a verytender heart for all unfortunates, and very sensitive feelings for truth and justice. And in everything Isaid to them, as long as we talked, they were aware of the yardstick that I was using to measureeverything-that to me the earth's most explosive and pernicious evil is racism, the inability of God'screatures to live as One, especially in the Western world. I have reflected since that the letter I finally sat down to compose had been subconsciously shapingitself in my mind.The _color-blindness_ of the Muslim world's religious society and the _color-blindness_ of the Muslimworld's human society: these two influences had each day been making a greater impact, and anincreasing persuasion against my previous way of thinking.The first letter was, of course, to my wife, Betty. I never had a moment's question that Betty, afterinitial amazement, would change her thinking to join mine. I had known a thousand reassurances thatBetty's faith in me was total. I knew that she would see what I had seen-that in the land of Muhammadand the land of Abraham, I had been blessed by Allah with a new insight into the true religion ofIslam, and a better understanding of America's entire racial dilemma.

Muhammad Ali Clay my friend-_friend_!" They halfunderstood me. Some of them didn't understand, and that's how it began to get around that I wasCassius Clay, world heavyweight champion. I was later to learn that apparently every man, womanand child in the Muslim world had heard how Sonny Liston (who in the Muslim world had the imageof a man-eating ogre) had been beaten in Goliath-David fashion by Cassius Clay, who then had toldthe world that his name was Muhammad Ali and his religion was Islam and Allah had given him hisvictory.　Establishing the rapport was the best thing that could have happened in the compartment. My beingan American Muslim changed the attitudes from merely watching me to wanting to look out for me.Now, the others began smiling steadily. They came closer, they were frankly looking me up anddown. Inspecting me. Very friendly. I was like a man from Mars.The _Mutawaf_'s aide returned, indicating that I should go with him. He pointed from our tier downat the mosque and I knew that he had come to take me to make the morning prayer, El Sobh, alwaysbefore sunrise. I followed him down, and we passed pilgrims by the thousands, babbling languages, everything but English. I was angry with myself for not having taken the time to learn more of theorthodox prayer rituals before leaving America. In Elijah Muhammad's Nation of Islam, we hadn'tprayed in Arabic. About a dozen or more years before, when I was in prison, a member of theorthodox Muslim movement in Boston, named Abdul Hameed, had visited me and had later sent meprayers in Arabic. At that time, I had learned those prayers phonetically. But I hadn't used them since.I made up my mind to let the guide do everything first and I would watch him. It wasn't hard to gethim to do things first. He wanted to anyway. Just outside the mosque there was a long trough withrows of faucets. Ablutions had to precede praying. I knew that. Even watching the _Mutawaf_'shelper, I didn't get it right. There's an exact way that an orthodox Muslim washes, and the exact way isvery important.I followed him into the mosque, just a step behind, watching. He did his prostration, his head to theground. I did mine. "_Bi-smi-llahi-r-Rahmain-r-Rahim-_" ("In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, theMerciful-") All Muslim prayers began that way. After that, I may not have been mumbling the rightthing, but I was mumbling.I don't mean to have any of this sound joking. It was far from a joke with me. No one who happenedto be watching could tell that I wasn't saying what the others said. After that Sunrise Prayer, my guide accompanied me back up to the fourth tier. By sign language, hesaid he would return within three hours, then he left.

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My guide, on the fourth tier, gestured me into a compartment that contained about fifteen people.Most lay curled up on their rugs asleep. I could tell that some were women, covered head and foot. Anold Russian Muslim and his wife were not asleep. They stared frankly at me. Two Egyptian Muslimsand a Persian roused and also stared as my guide moved us over into a comer. With gestures, heindicated that he would demonstrate to me the proper prayer ritual postures. Imagine, being a Muslimminister, a leader in Elijah Muhammad's Nation of Islam, and not knowing the prayer ritual.I tried to do what he did. I knew I wasn't doing it right. I could feel the other Muslims' eyes on me.Western ankles won't do what Muslim ankles have done for a lifetime. Asians squat when they sit,Westerners sit upright in chairs. When my guide was down in a posture, I tried everything I could toget down as he was, but there I was, sticking up. After about an hour, my guide left, indicating that hewould return later.I never even thought about sleeping. Watched by the Muslims, I kept practicing prayer posture. I refused to let myself think how ridiculous I must have looked tothem. After a while, though, I learned a lime trick that would let me get down closer to the floor. Butafter two or three days, my ankle was going to swell.As the sleeping Muslims woke up, when dawn had broken, they almost instantly became aware of me,and we watched each other while they went about their business. I began to see what an importantrole the rug played in the overall cultural life of the Muslims. Each individual had a small prayer rug,and each man and wife, or large group, had a larger communal rug. These Muslims prayed on theirrugs there in the compartment. Then they spread a tablecloth over the rug and ate, so the rug becamethe dining room. Removing the dishes and cloth, they sat on the rug-a living room. Then they curl upand sleep on the rug-a bedroom. In that compartment, before I was to leave it, it dawned on me for thefirst time why the fence had paid such a high price for Oriental rugs when I had been a burglar inBoston. It was because so much intricate care was taken to weave fine rugs in countries where rugswere so culturally versatile. Later, in Mecca, I would see yet another use of the rug. When any kind ofdispute arose, someone who was respected highly and who was not involved would sit on a rug withthe disputers around him, which made the rug a courtroom. In other instances it was a classroom.One of the Egyptian Muslims, particularly, kept watching me out of the corner of his eye. I smiled athim. He got up and came over to me. "Hel-lo-" he said. It sounded like the Gettysburg Address. Ibeamed at him, "Hello!" I asked his name. "Name? Name?" He was trying hard, but he didn't get it.We tried some words on each other. I'd guess his English vocabulary spanned maybe twenty words.Just enough to frustrate me. I was trying to get him to comprehend anything. "Sky." I'd point. He'dsmile. "Sky," I'd say again, gesturing for him to repeat it after me. He would. "Airplane . . . rug . . . foot.. . sandal . . . eyes. . . ." Like that. Then an amazing thing happened. I was so glad I had somecommunication with a human being, I was just saying whatever came to mind. I said "Muhammad AliClay-" All of the Muslims listening lighted up like a Christmas tree. "You? You?" My friend waspointing at me. I shook my head, "No, no.

Earthquakes, heat waves, floods, volcanoes, super typhoons, blizzards, landslides and droughts killed at least a quarter million people in 2010; the deadliest year in more than a generation. More people were killed worldwide by natural disasters this year than have been killed in terrorists in the past 40 years combined."It just seemed like it was back-to-back, and it came in waves," said Craig Fugate, who heads the US Federal Emergency Management Agency. It handled a record number of disasters in 2010."The term '100-year event' really lost its meaning this year."And we have ourselves to blame most of the time, scientists and disaster experts say.Even though many catastrophes have the ring of random chance, the hand of man made this a particularly deadly, costly, extreme and weird year for everything from wild weather to earthquakes.Poor construction and development practices conspire to make earthquakes more deadly than they need be. More people live in poverty in vulnerable buildings in crowded cities. That means that when the ground shakes, the river breaches, or the tropical cyclone hits, more people die.Disasters from the Earth, such as earthquakes and volcanoes, "are pretty much constant," said Andreas Schraft, vice president of catastrophic perils for the Geneva-based insurance giant Swiss Re. "All the change that's made is man-made."The January earthquake that killed well more than 220,000 people in Haiti is a perfect example. Port-au-Prince has nearly three times as many people, many of them living in poverty, and more poorly built shanties than it did 25 years ago. So had the same quake hit in 1985 instead of 2010, total deaths probably would have been in the 80,000 range, said Richard Olson, director of disaster risk reduction at Florida International University.

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Dekker's venture stirred an intense debate about whether young people should be allowed to sail the world's oceans alone. A Dutch court originally blocked the voyage and only permitted her to set off after she took measures to manage the risks.She bought a bigger, sturdier boat than the one she originally planned to use, fitted it with advanced navigation and radar equipment, and took courses in first aid and coping with sleep deprivation.In the end, the Dutch court ruled that her preparations were adequate and it was up to her parents, who are divorced, to decide whether to let her make the attempt. Dekker was born on a boat off New Zealand while her parents were sailing around the world.On a recent blog posting, Dekker said she "regularly wakes up after only one hour of sleep" and was looking forward to sleeping through the night while in St. Maarten.On Sunday, she told the AP that she wasn't sure how long she would stay in St. Maarten or precisely where her next leg would take her."I will just stay here now for a bit and I will think about that," Dekker said. "I've not really a plan. I just want to be in the Panama Canal in May, April, so until that time I will cross the islands, I think."Overall, the solitude of the trip wasn't difficult, she said, although she did have fleeting bouts of homesickness."There were two or three moments that I thought, 'OK, why the hell am I doing this?' But they were not for very long. If I feel really lonely I can always call my parents or something so then it's over," Dekker said.Her circumnavigation attempt started two months after Abby Sunderland, a 16-year-old American, had to be rescued in a remote section of the Indian Ocean during an attempt to circle the globe. Earlier this year, Jessica Watson of Australia completed a 210-day voyage at age 16.But while Watson remained at sea nonstop, Dekker plans to stop at dozens of ports and may even return home to catch up on her studies before resuming her trip.If Dekker completes the voyage, any record she claims would be unofficial and likely to be challenged. The Guinness World Records and the World Sailing Speed Record Council have decided they will no longer recognize records for "youngest" sailors to avoid encouraging dangerous attempts.Dekker said she's in no rush at all and is having an "amazing" experience out on the ocean.

Italian Francesco De Bonis became the first cyclist to be given a doping ban because of discrepancies in his biological passport.Unlike conventional tests, which can detect the presence of a banned substance, the biological passport monitors swings in blood parameters that may indicate manipulation.The ground-breaking biological passport system, which was pioneered by cycling's world governing body UCI in 2008, may become a strong weapon to catch drug cheats even if they have never been tested positive.Citic International Contracting Inc, a unit of China's State-owned Citic Group, will build 10,000 housing units on the site of a Caracas military base in Venezuela, Bloomberg News reported Sunday, citing Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez.Citic is to receive $400 million as a first installment to build the units.The report said Venezuela will use part of a $20-billion loan from China to pay Citic. The project is part of a pledge to close a housing deficit aggravated by heavy rains, according to President Chavez.The company may build a series of 20-story towers on 40 hectares, the report cited Hong Bo, Citic Group's president, as saying. Fifteen-year-old Laura Dekker, aiming to become the youngest person to sail solo around the world, was in good spirits after completing the 2,200 nautical-mile (2,532 land-mile, 4,074-kilometer) trip from the Cape Verde Islands off West Africa.Dekker anchored Guppy, her 38-foot (11.5-meter) ketch, just outside Simpson Bay Lagoon after what she called "a very nice trip" so far. She later steered it into the lagoon as a crowd gathered at the docks and snapped pictures."It's really weird. It's not moving and not bouncy," she told The Associated Press as she tried to find her land legs while strolling in flip-flops along a sidewalk to the Dutch territory's immigration office. "I don't think I can live in a house at the moment."The Dutch teenager started her trip from Gibraltar on August 21 and spent two months in the Canary Islands waiting for the hurricane season to pass. She left the Cape Verde Islands on December 2.

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Through his Young Mercedes strategy with more affordable models, Maier also makes the three-pointed star attainable for more Chinese consumers, with a diversified and dynamic image.Moreover, to get further closer to Chinese customers, Maier helped establish three regional headquarters in Beijing, Shanghai and Guangzhou this year, for demands in North China, East China and South China. In line with the company's booming sales, Maier also put heavy efforts to expand Mercedes' dealership network, with its high and strict global service standard. It will have 166 dealerships by the end of the year and will add 25 to 30 dealers into its national network every year in the future. Maier was in charge of network development at Daimler headquarters in Germany before he came to China.On November 26, when Maier paid a visit to Mercedes' 4S store in Zhuji, a county in Zhejiang province, he said that Mercedes will go to more second and third-tier cities in the future to further tap the potential of the Chinese market.Localization is another achievement Maier has made during his tenure. This year, he appoints three Chinese talents to be the vice-presidents of Mercedes-Benz China, in charge of sales, marketing and public relations issues, indicating his respect to local talent.Having been living in China for almost four years, Maier tried to understand China market and Chinese people through his daily life. One employee from Mercedes-Benz (China) Ltd said: "Mr Maier loves to participate in Mercedes' everything in China, communicating with colleagues, dealers, customers and media.""One must deeply understand the market and customer first, then do a good job in China," said Maier.Also blaming food containing the weight-loss and muscle-building clenbuterol was three-time Tour de France winner Alberto Contador of Spain, who tested on July 21 and the analysis of that sample revealed traces of the banned steroid.The World Anti-Doping Agency (WADA) rejected Contador's claims that his positive test was caused by contaminated meat bought in Spain. WADA even cited a European Union study from 2008 in which experts tested 300,000 meat samples but found evidence of the possible use of clenbuterol in only one of those.In the meanwhile, American cyclist Floyd Landis, stripped of his 2006 Tour de France title for doping, told media that the use of clenbuterol is widespread in cycling, in one of his many striking remarks which included his attacks on seven-time Tour de France winner Lance Armstrong.Landis previously alleged that Armstrong and members of their former US Postal team systematically doped and Armstrong has always denied doping.Many and explosive as the positive cases were, anti-doping experts considered it a proof of their effective work."I want to reiterate that zero tolerance does not mean zero positive case. On the contrary, positive cases prove that the system is working since drug cheats will always exist" said China Anti-Doping Agency deputy head Zhao Jian.ncluding China, many countries and regions, under the unified anti-doping regulation World Anti-doping Code, moved to crack down on doping with more stringent measures apart from traditional drug tests.