Six SHSAT Questions

Excerpt from “Scribe Like an Egyptian”

by Hilary Wilson

In ancient Egypt, literacy was the key to success. However, contrary to popular belief, not all Egyptian scribes understood hieroglyphs. Many relied instead on the simpler hieratic script for the multitude of everyday documents generated by the Egyptian bureaucracy.

Hieroglyphs—“the Words of God”—compose a writing system with more than 1,000 distinct characters, the meanings of which were lost for 1,500 years before they were deciphered by Jean-François Champollion in 1822. Including both ideograms (which convey a whole word or idea, either concrete or abstract, in a single sign) and phonograms (representing either an alphabetic sound or a group of consonants), [the writing system] was used in formal inscriptions on tomb and temple walls as well as on elaborate funerary papyri. For everyday purposes, however, scribes used a shorthand version of the hieroglyphic script known as hieratic, which was quicker to write and more economical of space. The two writings existed side by side for at least 2,500 years.

Scraps of ancient hieratic writing, mostly penned by student scribes on limestone flakes called ostraca, suggest that no matter how humble his origins, an educated Egyptian could achieve almost anything. Horemheb (d.1292 B.C.) is a good example. Born of middle-ranking parents, his scribal training led to an army career. From Scribe of Recruits, during the reign of Akhenaten (1353–1336 B.C.), Horemheb rose through the military ranks and, by the rule of Tutankhamun (1332–1323 B.C.), he was commander in chief of the Egyptian forces. As a close adviser of the young Pharaoh, Horemheb was appointed “Deputy of the King throughout the Two Lands,” and might have expected to succeed to the throne should the king die childless. He had to wait a few years, but eventually Horemheb achieved the pinnacle of his career by becoming the last king of the 18th Dynasty, making his mark by instituting dramatic reforms to the organisation of the army, the judiciary and administration in general. The lasting success of these changes owed much to his scribal background. . . .

But education was not available to all. Government departments and major temples supported schools, where boys commenced their training at six or seven, sometimes earlier. To these boarding establishments . . . family or household servants delivered the students’ food and drink rations daily for several years, during which time the student was not contributing to the family’s income. Boys from poorer families could only hope to be educated with support from a wealthier relative or patron, or through apprenticeship to an older scribe, perhaps the local clerk or land agent, who would teach them the basics of the scribe’s craft. This limited the scope for employment but such “on the job” training allowed apprentices to help out at home while learning. . . .

Scribal education began with the elementary principles of the hieratic script. The lowliest scribes, who trained for just five or six years, probably learned only the rudiments of the hieroglyphic script. Students were set exemplar documents and extracts from popular texts to copy, to practice their hieratic handwriting on basic-format letters, reports and contracts, while absorbing the good advice contained in the texts. Surviving examples of copy-work sometimes include tutors’ corrections added in red. Some significant Egyptian literary works survive almost exclusively from student copies.

A schoolboy “dictionary” of hieroglyphs with their hieratic equivalents shows that a knowledge of more than 450 signs was required for everyday writing purposes. Lessons in record-keeping and filing and labelling enabled any half-competent scribe to perform that most essential of all scribal functions: the making and updating of lists. For professions such as those of government official, priest or lawyer, a scribe would train for several more years, increasing his vocabulary to perhaps a thousand or more signs. Those with the best handwriting or drawing skills might follow the craft of creating beautifully illustrated copies of funerary texts, commonly called Books of the Dead. Others could become draughtsmen, artists or architects. Doctors compiled their own collections of medication recipes, treatments and associated incantations, many copied from texts found in the House of Life, the temple library. Lawyers had to be familiar with the corpus of civil and religious laws and precedents found in the official records, which were administered by archivists. Egypt’s bureaucratic society depended on the skills of an army of scribes of all ranks from filing clerk to tax assessor. For young Egyptians, “be a scribe” was the best of career advice.

From “Scribe Like an Egyptian” by Hilary Wilson from HISTORY TODAY, August 8, 2019. Copyright © 2019 by History Today Ltd. Company.

bureaucracy: an administrative staff of government officials
funerary papyri: a sheet or scroll of papyrus containing religious images and hieroglyphs meant to help the deceased be reborn in the afterlife
rudiments: basics
schoolboy: slang that refers to materials used during the course of receiving an education
draughtsmen: people who draw plans of machinery or structures
corpus: a collection of writings

Excerpt from Do Them No Harm!

by Zoa L. Swayne

This narrative is about the Nez Perce, an American Indian tribe, in what is now northern Idaho. The tribe is preparing for a gathering before the coming winter.

In the moon of Ta-Yum, the hottest days of summer, when salmon spawn in the little streams and huckleberries ripen in the high mountains, people from many villages of the Chopunnish Nation gathered in the Oyaip Prairie for the work and festivities of their annual camas¹ harvest.

From far and near The People came. . . .

Should a stranger enter their homeland and ask, “Where are you from?” the reply was always, “We are Nee-mee-poo, The People who live here in this place.”

It was a time of Lawtiwa-mah-ton—a time of being friends together—when The People came for this last chance to enjoy being together before the Cold Moons kept them close to their fires. The visiting and trading, the foot racing and horse racing, and the gambling and stick games would be remembered and talked about long after they had forgotten the drudgery of digging and roasting camas, picking berries, or drying meat and fish. Lawtiwa-mah-ton! It was good to be friends together.

As was their custom since wahk-kee-ma, a time far back beyond the memory of man, they set up their camps in the same locations their parents and grandparents had occupied before them. Red Bear’s people, from Kamiah, made their camp near the trail that came out of the mountains. Their neighbors in Kamiah Valley, The People from Tee-e-lap-a-lo, had their camp close by. Across the wide meadow, by the great roasting pits, the camps of the Te-wap-poo and Ask-kah-poo were located. The tepees and ish-nash, brush shelters, of other groups nestled in their accustomed areas in and among the pines in such numbers that they encircled the entire meadow land.

Red Bear’s people had traveled all summer with neighboring bands, gathering and preparing roots, picking and drying berries, drying and smoking meat and fish for their winter food supply. Now they were at the Oyaip camp. The women worked hard to dig and cure as many bags of roots as they could during the warm, sunny days, for the sharp night air brought warnings that WARM was going and COLD was coming.

Everyone helped in some way. Most of the men fished or hunted for meat. While many of the women dug and roasted camas, other women and older children picked and dried berries.

And the younger children played. They played at hunting. They played with the babies. They played with their horses and puppies. They learned how to live through their play.

This sun, happiness, peace, and quiet blessed the Red Bear camp. All were busy with their daily tasks, until sudden cries came from the children playing by the trail.

“People coming! People coming! People coming on the trail from the high mountains!” they called as they ran to their elders, who looked sharply at the figures of approaching horsemen.

Were they friends or enemies? Did they bring good news or bad?

“Who can it be? What brings them here?” were the questions in every mind.

“Could they be the four hunters who had gone to Buffalo Country two summers past? Would they have news of the families who had gone long ago to Buffalo Country and never returned?”

It was customary for a hunting party to be gone for more than one season.

“Looks like hunters,” the older men agreed. “Looks like they had good hunting. Maybe our four hunters. [They have] been gone many moons.”

“Looks like five people—not four,” others observed.

Excitement grew as the riders came close enough to be recognized.

“A-a-a-a-a, they are our four hunters! But who is the fifth person?” they asked.

“Looks like a woman. Who is she?”

The hunters rode up to the welcoming crowd, proud to show off the loads of meat, hides, and other trophies of their hunt. They paraded around the encampment for all to see how strong their Hunting Power had been—what great hunters they, themselves, were.

Red Bear’s people rejoiced at their hunters’ success. Good hunters brought good to everybody. The meat meant plenty of food and the hides meant soft-tanned robes to give comfort through the Cold Moons. But it was the sight of the frail figure of the woman that aroused their curiosity. Who was she? Where had she come from? . . .

“Belongs to Red Bear people. Gone then come back,” the hunters said, as they dismounted and unloaded their packs. . . .

Now they could see! She was the daughter of the family gone so long ago! The girl-child who had left came back now—a grown woman.

“Wat-ku-ese!” the women cried. “Gone-from-Home-then-Come-Back. Wat-ku-ese!” And Wat-ku-ese was her name from that time on.

Gentle arms lifted Wat-ku-ese from her horse. The women brought her food and made a place for her to rest. For many suns they cared for her until she became stronger.

One evening Wat-ku-ese told her story for all to hear.

From DO THEM NO HARM!: Lewis and Clark Among the Nez Perce by Zoa L. Swayne. Published by Caxton Press. Copyright © 1990 by Zoa L. Swayne. Orofino, Idaho and Legacy House, Inc. Orofino, Idaho. All rights reserved.

¹camas: a wild, edible plant

Using Fire to Keep a Prairie Healthy

Inside the 40,000-acre Joseph H. Williams Tallgrass Prairie Preserve in northern Oklahoma, herds of bison roam on the scenic land that is home to hundreds of different species of plants and animals. While one of the greatest threats to the prairie is wildfire, the use of controlled fires is actually an effective way to protect this idyllic landscape.

Fires that are started by lightning or other natural circumstances are inevitable, and the results can be disastrous. However, hundreds of years ago the American Indian people who inhabited the Great Plains area between Minnesota and Texas realized that these fires could also be helpful. The bison in the area seemed to prefer grazing on tender new grass on the recently burned land rather than on grass in the unburned areas. The American Indian people began to deliberately burn areas of land for bison to graze on, which enticed the herds away from the people’s crops.

Today conservationists at the Tallgrass Prairie Preserve and farmers in the Great Plains continue to use controlled burns for land management. Intentionally burning a portion of land can dramatically improve the quality of the vegetation that regrows there. The fires burn away weedy undergrowth and help limit the overcrowding of shrubs and trees in the burn area, creating less competition for water and nutrients. Additionally, the process of burning excess plant matter adds nitrogen, an essential element for plant growth, to the soil.

One common target of controlled burns at the preserve and the surrounding area is the invasive red cedar tree. A single red cedar tree can consume up to 40 gallons of water per day, taking this vital resource away from other plant life. These tall trees also cast shade that prevents sunlight from reaching the plants beneath them. The fast-growing red cedar trees tend to crowd out prairie grasses, the primary food source for wild and domestic animals that make the prairie their home. An imbalance in one component of the prairie’s ecosystem affects the entire web of life. Controlled burns help maintain this ecosystem’s delicate balance.

Of course, these controlled fires are intended to burn only a portion of an area. A total burn, which is a risk with an uncontrolled wildfire, would destroy all wildlife as well as the crops farmers plant for income. The key to using controlled fires is knowing which areas of land to burn and when. Conservation experts at the preserve employ the “patch-burn” approach, meaning they rotate which portion of land is burned each year. They study the land to find out which areas would most benefit from being burned, and then they arrange about a dozen burns over one-third of the land. This patch burning contains the fire within a specific area and allows animals in the burn area to safely relocate. The following year, conservationists will burn a different section of the preserve, while the land burned the previous year regrows healthier than before.

Researchers have tracked and studied the variety of plant species and animals that live on the preserve, and their studies show that the patch-burn approach has restored biodiversity to the area by promoting the growth of species that were at risk of being crowded out. The patch-burn system is so successful that the conservationists at the preserve provide training to prairie farmers about conducting controlled burns on their own land. Burning land to make it healthy may seem counterintuitive, but strategic controlled fires have helped the prairie sustain life for hundreds of years and, with careful management, will continue to do so.