When one considers not only the chagrin and humiliations and mental agonies, but also the rank physical tortures inflicted upon the vanquished in times past, the full meaning of _Vae Victis_ (Woe to the vanquished!) is brought forcibly to the mind. Those were wild-beast times and the jungle-fights are ferocious. Plutarch speaking of the proscription list at the close of the civil war between Cæsar and Anthony says: “The terms of their mutual concessions were these: that Cæsar should desert Cicero, Lepidus his brother Paulus, and Anthony, Lucius Cæsar, his uncle by his mother’s side. Thus they let their anger and fury take from them the sense of humanity, and demonstrated that no beast is more savage than man, when possessed with power answerable to his rage.” And we read in Marlowe’s “Tamburlaine” that this mighty despot, conqueror of many Asiatic kings, made use of these one time monarchs to draw him in his chariot: and that bridled and with bits in their mouths they fumed forward under the swishing wire-lash, while galling insults goaded on their pangs. “Forward, ye jades! Now crouch, ye kings of greater Asia! * * * * * Thro’ the streets with troops of conquered kings, I’ll ride in golden armor like the sun, And in my helm a triple plume shall spring Spangled with diamonds, dancing in the air, To note me emperor of the threefold world.” Whether this be only “Marlowe’s mighty line”, or whether it be the somewhat fantastic presentation of a dread reality--need not be known. The thoughtful student of history knows only too well just where to turn for human jungle-scenes. And there are many. From Assyrian cruelty boasting of pyramids of severed ears, lips, noses, and the deft art of flaying alive--down to Balkan-Turkish atrocities and Mexican murders the forest-way is long and dark and dreary. We hope light will yet shine upon this way. We dream that the black hags of war and of demon cruelty will not dare disport their hideousness in the future white-light. We would suspend judgment as to the past; we would not condemn Hannibal; we would play on the one-string lyre of hope--forlorn tho’ it be as Watts’ allegorical “Hope”--and we would wait kindly content with God’s plan for this world and for a better world to come. CHAPTER IV. TEUTOBERGER WALD