Professional Documents
Culture Documents
An Authorized
Biographical Memoir
White Feather
Copyright © Norman Chandler, 1997
Printed in the United States of America
Printing History:
1st April 1997
2nd June 1997
3rd February 2000
4th October 2001
5th January 2003
6th January 2005
7th December 2007
8th December 2010
Kindle Edition June 2011
Mike Thompson
(for posing for our painting)
Harry Lynch
(for our photo production)
Richard Carroll
(Carlos's friend & manager)
Jack McMillan
(uniforms & weaponry)
Charles Henderson
(for Marine Sniper)
Gerry Kozuch
Bob Brady
Michael Mack
Phill Long
M.S. O'Shaughnessy
Bobby Sherrill
Bruce Kocur
Jack Tagmyer
Neil Morris
Tim Cameron
Table of Contents
Title
Dedication
Dust Cover
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Philosophy & Chronology
Marine Sniper
Elephant Valley Shooting Gallery
Carlo's War
Beginning
One at 1,100 Yards
The Corps
Shooting
The Making of A Scout Sniper
Carlos & the NVA's Master Sniper
The Most Astonishing Shot of All
The Apache Woman
What a USMC Sniper Does
Heroism
The Decoration
The Medal Ceremony
A British Sniper's Tribute
Jo's Story
The Big Kills
Being My Father's Son
Honoring Carlos
Police Connection
Amtrak
My Friend Carlos
The Dust Cover
Staff Sergeant Carlos Hathcock, USMC,
RVN Scout Sniper 1969
Our painting shows SSgt Carlos Hathcock in the fifth position which we
are sure requires some explanation.
During the Vietnam War the squatting or fifth position was also known as
the "rice paddy prone." This was not the first use of the squat, however.
During World War I, land areas being fought over had been contaminated
by mustard gas. Mustard is a persistent gas that leaves visible residue on the
ground and ground cover. To touch the residue is to develop serious
blistering. To keep out of the residue riflemen simply squatted, resting their
elbows beyond their knee joints, and were able to fire from a position that
was almost as steady as a conventional sitting position.
The squat was taught to infantrymen during World War II and on into the
Korean War because the possible use of mustard type gas continued.
Competitive four position rifle matches of the time often allowed a choice of
either the sitting or squatting positions.
During Korean War fighting, the squat regained some troop popularity
because the position kept all but the rifleman's feet off the ground. The
position is also very rapid to assume and was a more accurate position to fire
from than was kneeling, which was also a quickly gained position. The squat
was used in rice paddy fighting, but most of the Korean war did not include
extensive paddy combat.
Following the Korean Conflict, inclusion of squat firing in training
became sporadic.
Vietnam had paddies everywhere, and the water in the paddies was filthy,
often including human excrement. Exotic maladies could result from rice
paddy immersion.
The troops did what they could to stay out of the muck. Vietnam combat
riflemen adopted the "rice paddy prone" as an accurate, fast-to-get-into
shooting position that offered a decently high line of sight while keeping the
shooter dry--except for his boots, of course.
An expert rifleman like Carlos Hathcock could hold like a rock in the
squat position. He could shoot almost as accurately in the squat as he could if
sitting, and sitting allowed accuracy very close to that obtainable from prone.
Of course, a Scout Sniper always preferred prone and if possible a
supported prone--meaning having the rifle rest across something very
steady. Unfortunately, Vietnam terrain often failed to provide convenient or
dry prone positions. So, a skilled Sniper might use the fifth or squatting
position.
A detail to note is that Hathcock is shown in our cover art with an M40
rifle which is a Remington 700, wooden stock, with a Redfield 3 x 9 hunting
scope. We make special mention of this because we are likely to visualize
Carlos with his Model 70 Winchester and the long Unertl 8x scope. However,
the Winchester was Hathcock's first tour gun, 1966/67. The Remington M40
was his second tour, 1969 rifle. As a point of interest, Carlos says he liked
one about as well as the other.
The authors, Roy "Rocky" on the left and Norman "Rock" Chandler on
the right, yack it up with their friend Carlos Hathcock on Carlos's front
porch. The rifle displayed is one of Hathcock's personal weapons.
Then there is the confusion that Snipers do not seem to belong to anyone.
Where most Marines are members of recognized Table of Organization
squads, platoons, and companies, Snipers sometimes appear to just roam
around with this outfit or that one. Who then writes up the commendations?
In Hathcock's case, there was no one.
The Chandler brothers, authors of this volume, have been involved in
Sniping about as long as anyone, and LtCol N.A. Chandler has been Carlos's
friend for decades. LtCol Chandler and Hathcock fired on the same teams in
the seventies, and following the Gunny's retirement to Virginia Beach, LtCol
Chandler was a regular visitor to the Hathcock home. In fact, for many years,
the two shooters, now unencumbered by the former restrictions of
commissioned-noncommissioned social distance, spent each Tuesday night
together at Carlos's 600 Raff Road home.
Long retired (June 1965) US Army Master Sergeant Roy Chandler met
Hathcock through his brother. The former noncoms also became friends and
the to-be-expected interservice insults continue between them.
Who better then to write this second book about the Marine Corps' Master
Scout Sniper? The authors have heard all of the stories from the Sniper
himself, not once, but many times as he spoke at special gatherings, as they
traveled together, and as he answered countless queries (often the same
questions) from interested individuals. The authors know the subjects, and
they have produced four other books on USMC Sniping plus numerous
novels that include long range shooting and scouting. They have the
advantage of understanding the scenes and incidents from both an officer's
viewpoint and a noncom's concept. Both authors have been marksmen. LtCol
Chandler is a double distinguished shooter who has fired on most of the
Marine teams. Master Sergeant Chandler is a recognized authority on big
game hunting and has written published books on that subject plus a few
more on rifles and their uses. Sergeant Chandler operated a US Army Sniper
course and range during the Korean War and in the late 1950s spent three
years R&D user testing in Group three (infantry) at the Arctic Test Board,
Fort Freely, Alaska.
It is no small point that the authors know the man. They know his family
and the backgrounds. They are not strangers hired to arrive on the scene, to
slap down hastily gathered impressions, and ship out. The authors will be
friends with Carlos Hathcock as long as life continues.
First Person Comments
We have written and organized the book you are about to read in the style
that we most enjoy reading. If profit were the primary motive for producing
this volume, you would be handling a much smaller book with some tiny
photos crammed into a pack somewhere and unrelated to what you are
currently reading.
Our chosen print is LARGE. Big print, we believe, is appreciated by
every reader. We, too, weary of feeling our eyeballs strain to interpret finely
printed pages. Ordinary people can see this print and enjoy their reading
rather than wondering if they are permanently destroying their eyesight. But,
big print also wastes pages--or so the usual publishing suspects believe. We
again choose what we like--which means readable print.
In fact, unlike almost all other authors famous or unknown, we crate
every layout, choose all sizing, and decide on each detail in the physical
makeup of the book until all are exactly as we want them. of course, that also
means that each blunder, every typo, and all of the misspellings are also ours
alone. When punctuation is odd and the infinitives are split--blame us. We
also do our own editing and proofreading. We are often castigated for "doing
it our way," but we have found that if we do not, if we rely on others, we end
up with something other than what we visualized and desired. We will not
settle for that.
This is the kind of book we, the authors, would like to pick from the shelf
to read. We have tried not to belabor details but to include what most will
wish to know. We have chosen an informal writing style that we believe most
readers will find comfortable and that will reflect the subject matter and
illuminate the individual we are writing about.
We have organized this book into a sequence that places interest ahead of
chronology. No reader should find the text boring because the authors did not
move on. A chronology is included and our simple index will assist anyone
hunting for something they read or wished to read. This is Carlos's story. it is
not a textbook. Enjoy the read and admire and respect the man who
accomplished the deeds.
Despite his infirmities, Carlos has time for friends of all ages. Shown here
at the Secret Service pistol matches in 1996, Hathcock speaks with the sons
of a Maryland State Trooper. Phill Long Photo.
Some Philosophy and a Chronology
Some have stated, and others probably believe, that Carlos Hathcock and
some of the other high confirmed kill Snipers liked to shoot people. It has
been implied that the high kill Snipers may have liked their jobs too well.
These voices hint that the killing itself was pleasurable and that the Snipers
probably hungered for more.
We can address the subject angrily, sticking up for the Snipers, or we can
ignore the aggravating voices, but the best action is to answer the
accusations.
It is extremely difficult to prove a negative. It is very hard to prove that
something did not happen. How can we demonstrate convincingly how
someone did not feel about something? What evidence can be offered that
Carlos and others did not get some sort of perverse kick from killing?
First there is the hearsay sort of evidence. For our example we can readily
produce what others state that Carlos Hathcock said to them about killing,
and time and time again, Sergeant Hathcock stated, " I am just doing my job."
Never has the Gunny implied or even hinted that he enjoyed killing.
Well, we could note two exceptions. When he and Captain Jim Land got
the Apache woman, Hathcock was exuberant, and he experienced great
satisfaction in eliminating the NVA's top Sniper who was sent against Hill
55. It should be pointed out, however, that his satisfaction was not for
himself. He was gratified because the torturer was dead and out of business,
and that the Sniper who killed Marines was gone. We should add that to have
felt otherwise would have been highly unnatural.
Major E.J. Land USMC (retired), who was the 1st Marine Division's
Vietnam Conflict primary Sniper School organizer and was in many ways
Carlos's mentor, proclaims strongly that the men he chose to be Snipers were
carefully evaluated to make certain that they were not fanatical, did not hate,
and were in no way inclined toward being sadistic. Mental stability was
probably the major attribute Land demanded of his Scout Snipers. Emotions,
Jim Land has often stated, had to be controlled to be a good Sniper, and
Carlos Hathcock was the best of the crop.
Rick Wood, U.S. Secret Service (left) and Major Jim Land, USMC (retired).
Jim Land was Carlos's mentor in Vietnam and his friend ever since. A
Phill Long Photograph
The authors wish to inject personal comments here. We write a book
series titled Death From Afar, Marine Corps Sniping. In researching for those
volumes we have interviewed scores of former Marine Corps Snipers. Never
have we encountered a hint of "Killer" in any one of them. Most say, as
Hathcock has, that they were simply doing their jobs. A few are bothered by
the intensity of their combat. We have met none that regretted their service.
Only one of the many Vietnam era Scout Snipers we have met has refused to
speak about his experience. Although none take their service lightly, all that
we have interviewed have returned to civilian life and are functioning
normally.
It is logical to place a lot of faith in the "functioning normally" note
above. if combat hardened Scout Snipers actually experienced some sort of
blood lust it would seem inevitable that at least a few of them would have
been unable to control their hungers following their service. No much actions
have surfaced, and the fact is, as any combat veteran will explain, those who
fought rifle to rifle in war did not enjoy it and want no more of it.
Almost everyone wonders where the name Carlos came from. Few
Caucasians born on the Midwest during the first half of the 1900s had
Spanish names. The answer is short. No one knows. Our Carlos is Carlos N.
Hathcock II, so obviously his father's name is also Carlos, but there the trail
stops. Why the grandparents chose Carlos has been lost.
Psychologists recognize that a name can have a measurable effect on its
owner. Someone with a goofy sounding handle may be emotionally scarred
from it. A sissy name has always been difficult for a young man, and a tough,
all male sounding first name or nickname like Rock, Spike, or Mike can
encourage a youth to live up to what he is called. Mikes fight. Michaels and
Percys do not. At least it seems that way.
Within the military, a "different" name can make an individual stand out.
That can be good or bad as the moment occurs, but where individuality is
usually lost within the sea of faces and uniforms, a guy with a catchy name
can be singled out and remembered. It can be assumed that Hathcock's
unexpected first name did catch ears and therefore eyes from his first days in
boot camp until now. Did the name help him across any hurdles? Not that
Carlos recalls, but probably it did. Most small attentions are never noticed
anyway.
Carlos Hathcock senior was born in 1919. He was a welder by trade but
spent at least two enlistments in the army. The first Carlos died in the 1980s,
and there are no records of what Carlos senior thought about anything. We do
not know his politics or which if any teams he followed. The record discloses
only that Carlos senior had a booze problem that haunted him to the grave.
We do not know if his given name bothered him or rewarded him.
The name Carlos grants our Scout Sniper quick recognizability. That at
least, we must consider a plus.
Carlos points out that he did name his son Carlos the Third, but indicates
that Jo worried more about the naming than he did.
Carlos N. Hathcock II Chronology
Our Carlos, Gunnery Sergeant Carlos N. Hathcock II, was born on 20
May 1942 in Little Rock, Arkansas.
At 8 years old (1950) he saw his first Marine in full uniform and decided
then that the Corps would be his life. That hunger for the Corps has never
wavered and burns as strongly today as it did during his active duty years.
By his eighth year Carlos was smoking. He has never stopped.
Carlos began drinking (anything available) at age nine and continued
until 1994.
At 10 years Carlos received from his grandmother his first gun. The rifle
was a .22 caliber J.C. Higgins single shot.
At 12 years of age (1954) Carlos's family had split, and he was living
with his grandparents in Geyer, Arkansas. His younger brother Billy Jack and
his mother were also part of the household. On that birthday, Carlos's gift
from his mother was a shotgun, a Winchester model 37, single shot, 12
gauge.
Carlos Hathcock completed the eighth grade of public school before
joining the Marines.
On 20 May 1959, Carlos entered the USMC. He signed up while seventeen
years of age with his father signing the required permission. The moment he
reached the youngest age allowed, eighteen, Carlos went in.
Hathcock leveled off at 5'9" tall and his fighting weight was 145 pounds.
His hat size was 7 and his shoes were 7 1/2. Carlos's waist was 28 inches
around. A tall, skinny dude, we could say, but as strong and wiry as a snake.
Carlos was trained as a machine gunner and given the MOS of 0331.
During the time he was training Annapolis cadets Carlos was on a hot
streak. This record was fired on the now closed USNA range in 1962.
In 1959, Hathcock transferred from San Diego, California Recruit
Training Base to Hawaii as a Private in the 4th marine Regiment.
In 1960, Carlos Hathcock was shooting on the Marine (Hawaii) Shooting
Team. he won the intramurals that year--his first official match.
In 1960 Carlos attended Lt. E.J. Land's brand new Scout Sniper school in
Hawaii.
In November 1961, he returned to the United States and was stationed at
Cherry Point, NC.
Hathcock won the 600 yard match at Camp Lejeune, NC.
On 1 April 1962 Hathcock was promoted to Private First Class.
In August 1962 Hathcock was commended for his service in coaching US
Naval Academy midshipmen.
In October, Hathcock was reduced to Private for fighting.
On November 10th 1962, Carlos and Jo were married.
On 1 January 1963 Hathcock was again promoted to Private First Class.
On 1 May 1963 Carlos made Lance Corporal.
In November 1964 "Sonny" Hathcock was born.
On 1 July 1965 Carlos Hathcock was promoted to Corporal.
24 Aug 1965 Carlos won the silver medal in the National Match
Competition at Camp Perry, Ohio.
24 Aug 1965 Carlos went Distinguished at the Camp Perry National High
Power Rifle Championships matches.
26 August 1965 Hathcock won the Wimbledon trophy at Camp Perry.
On 1 March 1966 Hathcock was promoted to Sergeant.
In 1966, when he was ordered to Vietnam, Carlos was with the Small
Arms Training Unit at Cherry Point, North Carolina.
In Vietnam, Carlos was assigned to the Military Police. he operated
patrols and served as a Desk Sergeant until rescued by Captain E.J. Land.
In November 1966 Carlos became a Scout Sniper in Land's unit and
school in Hill 55.
On his first tour in Nam (1966-67) Carlos Hathcock accumulated 86
confirmed kills.
Another random document with
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DANCE ON STILTS AT THE GIRLS’ UNYAGO, NIUCHI
I see increasing reason to believe that the view formed some time
back as to the origin of the Makonde bush is the correct one. I have
no doubt that it is not a natural product, but the result of human
occupation. Those parts of the high country where man—as a very
slight amount of practice enables the eye to perceive at once—has not
yet penetrated with axe and hoe, are still occupied by a splendid
timber forest quite able to sustain a comparison with our mixed
forests in Germany. But wherever man has once built his hut or tilled
his field, this horrible bush springs up. Every phase of this process
may be seen in the course of a couple of hours’ walk along the main
road. From the bush to right or left, one hears the sound of the axe—
not from one spot only, but from several directions at once. A few
steps further on, we can see what is taking place. The brush has been
cut down and piled up in heaps to the height of a yard or more,
between which the trunks of the large trees stand up like the last
pillars of a magnificent ruined building. These, too, present a
melancholy spectacle: the destructive Makonde have ringed them—
cut a broad strip of bark all round to ensure their dying off—and also
piled up pyramids of brush round them. Father and son, mother and
son-in-law, are chopping away perseveringly in the background—too
busy, almost, to look round at the white stranger, who usually excites
so much interest. If you pass by the same place a week later, the piles
of brushwood have disappeared and a thick layer of ashes has taken
the place of the green forest. The large trees stretch their
smouldering trunks and branches in dumb accusation to heaven—if
they have not already fallen and been more or less reduced to ashes,
perhaps only showing as a white stripe on the dark ground.
This work of destruction is carried out by the Makonde alike on the
virgin forest and on the bush which has sprung up on sites already
cultivated and deserted. In the second case they are saved the trouble
of burning the large trees, these being entirely absent in the
secondary bush.
After burning this piece of forest ground and loosening it with the
hoe, the native sows his corn and plants his vegetables. All over the
country, he goes in for bed-culture, which requires, and, in fact,
receives, the most careful attention. Weeds are nowhere tolerated in
the south of German East Africa. The crops may fail on the plains,
where droughts are frequent, but never on the plateau with its
abundant rains and heavy dews. Its fortunate inhabitants even have
the satisfaction of seeing the proud Wayao and Wamakua working
for them as labourers, driven by hunger to serve where they were
accustomed to rule.
But the light, sandy soil is soon exhausted, and would yield no
harvest the second year if cultivated twice running. This fact has
been familiar to the native for ages; consequently he provides in
time, and, while his crop is growing, prepares the next plot with axe
and firebrand. Next year he plants this with his various crops and
lets the first piece lie fallow. For a short time it remains waste and
desolate; then nature steps in to repair the destruction wrought by
man; a thousand new growths spring out of the exhausted soil, and
even the old stumps put forth fresh shoots. Next year the new growth
is up to one’s knees, and in a few years more it is that terrible,
impenetrable bush, which maintains its position till the black
occupier of the land has made the round of all the available sites and
come back to his starting point.
The Makonde are, body and soul, so to speak, one with this bush.
According to my Yao informants, indeed, their name means nothing
else but “bush people.” Their own tradition says that they have been
settled up here for a very long time, but to my surprise they laid great
stress on an original immigration. Their old homes were in the
south-east, near Mikindani and the mouth of the Rovuma, whence
their peaceful forefathers were driven by the continual raids of the
Sakalavas from Madagascar and the warlike Shirazis[47] of the coast,
to take refuge on the almost inaccessible plateau. I have studied
African ethnology for twenty years, but the fact that changes of
population in this apparently quiet and peaceable corner of the earth
could have been occasioned by outside enterprises taking place on
the high seas, was completely new to me. It is, no doubt, however,
correct.
The charming tribal legend of the Makonde—besides informing us
of other interesting matters—explains why they have to live in the
thickest of the bush and a long way from the edge of the plateau,
instead of making their permanent homes beside the purling brooks
and springs of the low country.
“The place where the tribe originated is Mahuta, on the southern
side of the plateau towards the Rovuma, where of old time there was
nothing but thick bush. Out of this bush came a man who never
washed himself or shaved his head, and who ate and drank but little.
He went out and made a human figure from the wood of a tree
growing in the open country, which he took home to his abode in the
bush and there set it upright. In the night this image came to life and
was a woman. The man and woman went down together to the
Rovuma to wash themselves. Here the woman gave birth to a still-
born child. They left that place and passed over the high land into the
valley of the Mbemkuru, where the woman had another child, which
was also born dead. Then they returned to the high bush country of
Mahuta, where the third child was born, which lived and grew up. In
course of time, the couple had many more children, and called
themselves Wamatanda. These were the ancestral stock of the
Makonde, also called Wamakonde,[48] i.e., aborigines. Their
forefather, the man from the bush, gave his children the command to
bury their dead upright, in memory of the mother of their race who
was cut out of wood and awoke to life when standing upright. He also
warned them against settling in the valleys and near large streams,
for sickness and death dwelt there. They were to make it a rule to
have their huts at least an hour’s walk from the nearest watering-
place; then their children would thrive and escape illness.”
The explanation of the name Makonde given by my informants is
somewhat different from that contained in the above legend, which I
extract from a little book (small, but packed with information), by
Pater Adams, entitled Lindi und sein Hinterland. Otherwise, my
results agree exactly with the statements of the legend. Washing?
Hapana—there is no such thing. Why should they do so? As it is, the
supply of water scarcely suffices for cooking and drinking; other
people do not wash, so why should the Makonde distinguish himself
by such needless eccentricity? As for shaving the head, the short,
woolly crop scarcely needs it,[49] so the second ancestral precept is
likewise easy enough to follow. Beyond this, however, there is
nothing ridiculous in the ancestor’s advice. I have obtained from
various local artists a fairly large number of figures carved in wood,
ranging from fifteen to twenty-three inches in height, and
representing women belonging to the great group of the Mavia,
Makonde, and Matambwe tribes. The carving is remarkably well
done and renders the female type with great accuracy, especially the
keloid ornamentation, to be described later on. As to the object and
meaning of their works the sculptors either could or (more probably)
would tell me nothing, and I was forced to content myself with the
scanty information vouchsafed by one man, who said that the figures
were merely intended to represent the nembo—the artificial
deformations of pelele, ear-discs, and keloids. The legend recorded
by Pater Adams places these figures in a new light. They must surely
be more than mere dolls; and we may even venture to assume that
they are—though the majority of present-day Makonde are probably
unaware of the fact—representations of the tribal ancestress.
The references in the legend to the descent from Mahuta to the
Rovuma, and to a journey across the highlands into the Mbekuru
valley, undoubtedly indicate the previous history of the tribe, the
travels of the ancestral pair typifying the migrations of their
descendants. The descent to the neighbouring Rovuma valley, with
its extraordinary fertility and great abundance of game, is intelligible
at a glance—but the crossing of the Lukuledi depression, the ascent
to the Rondo Plateau and the descent to the Mbemkuru, also lie
within the bounds of probability, for all these districts have exactly
the same character as the extreme south. Now, however, comes a
point of especial interest for our bacteriological age. The primitive
Makonde did not enjoy their lives in the marshy river-valleys.
Disease raged among them, and many died. It was only after they
had returned to their original home near Mahuta, that the health
conditions of these people improved. We are very apt to think of the
African as a stupid person whose ignorance of nature is only equalled
by his fear of it, and who looks on all mishaps as caused by evil
spirits and malignant natural powers. It is much more correct to
assume in this case that the people very early learnt to distinguish
districts infested with malaria from those where it is absent.
This knowledge is crystallized in the
ancestral warning against settling in the
valleys and near the great waters, the
dwelling-places of disease and death. At the
same time, for security against the hostile
Mavia south of the Rovuma, it was enacted
that every settlement must be not less than a
certain distance from the southern edge of the
plateau. Such in fact is their mode of life at the
present day. It is not such a bad one, and
certainly they are both safer and more
comfortable than the Makua, the recent
intruders from the south, who have made USUAL METHOD OF
good their footing on the western edge of the CLOSING HUT-DOOR
plateau, extending over a fairly wide belt of
country. Neither Makua nor Makonde show in their dwellings
anything of the size and comeliness of the Yao houses in the plain,
especially at Masasi, Chingulungulu and Zuza’s. Jumbe Chauro, a
Makonde hamlet not far from Newala, on the road to Mahuta, is the
most important settlement of the tribe I have yet seen, and has fairly
spacious huts. But how slovenly is their construction compared with
the palatial residences of the elephant-hunters living in the plain.
The roofs are still more untidy than in the general run of huts during
the dry season, the walls show here and there the scanty beginnings
or the lamentable remains of the mud plastering, and the interior is a
veritable dog-kennel; dirt, dust and disorder everywhere. A few huts
only show any attempt at division into rooms, and this consists
merely of very roughly-made bamboo partitions. In one point alone
have I noticed any indication of progress—in the method of fastening
the door. Houses all over the south are secured in a simple but
ingenious manner. The door consists of a set of stout pieces of wood
or bamboo, tied with bark-string to two cross-pieces, and moving in
two grooves round one of the door-posts, so as to open inwards. If
the owner wishes to leave home, he takes two logs as thick as a man’s
upper arm and about a yard long. One of these is placed obliquely
against the middle of the door from the inside, so as to form an angle
of from 60° to 75° with the ground. He then places the second piece
horizontally across the first, pressing it downward with all his might.
It is kept in place by two strong posts planted in the ground a few
inches inside the door. This fastening is absolutely safe, but of course
cannot be applied to both doors at once, otherwise how could the
owner leave or enter his house? I have not yet succeeded in finding
out how the back door is fastened.