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Private Jacob Murray, a twenty-six-year-old Pennsylvanian volunteer in the ranks of George Washington’s Virginia Provincial Militia, is scouting the dense, almost impassable Ohio Valley wilderness in May 1754. Together with his twin brother, Israel, and two Mingo warriors, Jacob searches for a party of French troops encroaching on British soil. Back at home, Murray’s wife, Maggie, and their four children carve out a meager existence until a group of French and Huron war parties raid their small farm. Taken captive, they are unsure if they will live to see their husband and father again. With word spreading that French-backed Huron raiding parties are decimating the Pennsylvania countryside and taking white captives, young Major Washington, Murray, and a French officer bent on revenge are destined to cross paths. As three hostile powers continue to vie for control of the coveted Ohio Valley, a war soon begins that will engulf them all. The Gauntlet Runner tells a tale of fractured lives, broken treaties, and the stark realities of the struggles faced by early American settlers as they risk their lives to cultivate the young, formidable nation.
In the United States, 1,200 community colleges enroll over ten million students each year—nearly half of the nation’s undergraduates. Yet fewer than 40 percent of entrants complete an undergraduate degree within six years. This fact has put pressure on community colleges to improve academic outcomes for their students. Redesigning America’s Community Colleges is a concise, evidence-based guide for educational leaders whose institutions typically receive short shrift in academic and policy discussions. It makes a compelling case that two-year colleges can substantially increase their rates of student success, if they are willing to rethink the ways in which they organize programs of stu...
This is the story of a bad boy. Well, not such a very bad, but a pretty bad boy; and I ought to know, for I am, or rather I was, that boy myself. Lest the title should mislead the reader, I hasten to assure him here that I have no dark confessions to make. I call my story the story of a bad boy, partly to distinguish myself from those faultless young gentlemen who generally figure in narratives of this kind, and partly because I really was not a cherub. I may truthfully say I was an amiable, impulsive lad, blessed with fine digestive powers, and no hypocrite. I didn't want to be an angel and with the angels stand; I didn't think the missionary tracts presented to me by the Rev. Wibird Hawkins were half so nice as Robinson Crusoe; and I didn't send my little pocket-money to the natives of the Feejee Islands, but spent it royally in peppermint-drops and taffy candy. In short, I was a real human boy, such as you may meet anywhere in New England, and no more like the impossible boy in a storybook than a sound orange is like one that has been sucked dry. But let us begin at the beginning.
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