Principles of Computer Security: Comptia Security+ and Beyond Lab Manual (Exam Sy0-601) 1St Edition - Ebook PDF Download
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About the Author
Jonathan S. Weissman is a senior lecturer (Department of Computing
Security) at Rochester Institute of Technology, where he was awarded the
RIT Outstanding Teaching Award in 2014, the RIT GCCIS Outstanding
Educator Award in 2018, and RIT Distinguished Teacher Recognition
Program Honors in 2019. Weissman developed and teaches three courses for
the edX RITx Cybersecurity MicroMasters program to more than 300,000
students worldwide.
Weissman is also a tenured associate professor and the Networking and
Cybersecurity program coordinator (Department of Computing Sciences) at
Finger Lakes Community College, where he was awarded the State
University of New York Chancellor’s Award for Excellence in Teaching in
2021.
All in all, Weissman is the recipient of ten teaching honors and awards.
Weissman began his teaching career in 2001 and has taught more than 50
graduate and undergraduate courses, which include networking,
cybersecurity, systems administration, ethical hacking/pentesting, digital
forensics, malware reverse engineering, cryptography, programming,
scripting, web design, database design, computer organization and
architecture, operating system design, and many more. In addition to his two
full-time teaching positions, Weissman teaches part-time at Syracuse
University (Department of Electrical Engineering and Computer Science) and
at Nazareth College (School of Business and Leadership).
Besides this book, Weissman is the coauthor of Mike Meyers’ CompTIA
Network+ Guide to Managing & Troubleshooting Lab Manual (fifth and
sixth editions) and Mike Meyers’ CompTIA Network+ Certification Passport
(sixth and seventh editions). He also serves as technical editor for many
industry textbooks.
Furthermore, Weissman is a networking and cybersecurity consultant for
local businesses and individuals. Weissman regularly appears on TV news
and talk radio, and in articles, as a networking and cybersecurity expert.
Additionally, he presents at conferences and in webinars, runs workshops,
and appears in podcasts.
Weissman has a master’s degree in Computer Science from Brooklyn
College and holds 44 industry certifications, including CCNP Enterprise,
Cisco Certified Specialist - Enterprise Core, Cisco Certified Specialist -
Enterprise Advanced Infrastructure Implementation, CCNA Security, CCNA,
CompTIA Security+, CompTIA Network+, CompTIA A+, CompTIA
Linux+, CompTIA Server+, EC-Council Certified Ethical Hacker, EC-
Council Computer Hacking Forensic Investigator, and IPv6 Forum Certified
Network Engineer (Gold), among many others.
Follow Jonathan S. Weissman on LinkedIn at
https://linkedin.com/in/jonathan-s-weissman-058b649b, Twitter at
https://twitter.com/CSCPROF, and Instagram at
https://instagram.com/cscprof. Subscribe to his YouTube channel at
https://youtube.com/Weissman52.
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Acknowledgments
Introduction
Lab Analysis
Lab Analysis
Lab Analysis
Lab Analysis
Key Term Quiz
Chapter 6 Applied Cryptography
Lab Analysis
Lab Analysis
Lab Analysis
Lab Analysis
Lab Analysis
Lab Analysis
Lab Analysis
Lab Analysis
Lab Analysis
Lab Analysis
Illustrator: W. Rainey
Language: English
BY
HERBERT STRANG
AUTHOR OF "TOM BURNABY" "BOYS OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE"
"KOBO: A STORY OF THE RUSSO-JAPANESE WAR"
NEW YORK
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
27 AND 29 WEST 230 STREET
1905
Contents
Chapter I
The Queen's Purse-Bearer
Chapter II
Sherebiah Shouts
Chapter III
Master and Man
Chapter IV
Mynheer Jan Grootz and Another
Chapter V
A Message from the Squire
Chapter VI
My Lord Marlborough makes a Note
Chapter VII
Snared
Chapter VIII
Flotsam
Chapter IX
Monsieur de Polignac Presses his Suit
Chapter X
Bluff
Chapter XI
The Battle of Lindendaal
Chapter XII
Harry is Discharged
Chapter XIII
Concerning Sherebiah
Chapter XIV
Harry Rides for a Life
Chapter XV
The Water of Affliction
Chapter XVI
Knaves All Three
Chapter XVII
In the Dusk
Chapter XVIII
A Little Plot
Chapter XXI
Marlborough's March to the Danube
Chapter XX
The Castle of Rauhstein
Chapter XXI
Across the Fosse
Chapter XXII
The Fight in the Keep
Chapter XXIII
Blenheim
Chapter XXIV
The Wages of Sin
Chapter XXV
A Bundle of Letters
Chapter XXVI
The New Squire
Chapter XXVII
Visitors at Winton Hall
List of Illustrations
Plate I
The Fight in the Castle Yard . . . . . . Frontispiece
Plate II
Harry makes a Diversion
Plate III
My Lord Marlborough
Plate IV
At the Last Gasp
Plate V
"Mon Colonel, we are surrounded!"
Plate VI
The Stroke of Eight
Plate VII
"Fire and Fury!" shouted Aglionby
Plate VIII
Mein Wirth is Surprised
CHAPTER I
The Queen's Purse-Bearer
Winton St. Mary—Cricket: Old Style—Last Man In—Bowled—The Gaffer Explains—
More Explanations—Parson Rochester—"The Boy"—Cambridge in the Field—Village
Batsmen—Old Everlasting makes One—The Squire—An Invitation—Lord Godolphin
is Interested—An Uphill Game—Young Pa'son—The Winning Hit
"Stap me, Frank, if ever I rattle my old bones over these roads
again! Every joint in me aches; every wrinkle—and I've too many—is
filled with dust; and my wig—plague on it, Frank, my wig's a
doormat. Look at it—whew!"
My lord Godolphin took off his cocked hat, removed his full
periwig, and shook it over the side of the calash, wrying his lips as
the horse of one of his escort started at the sudden cloud. My lord
had good excuse for his petulance. It was a brilliant June day, in a
summer of glorious weather, and the Wiltshire roads, no better nor
worse than other English highways in the year 1702, were thick with
white dust, which the autumn rains would by and by transform into
the stickiest of clinging mud. The Lord High Treasurer, as he lay back
wearily on his cushions, looked, with his lean, lined, swarthy face
and close-cropt grizzled poll, every day of his fifty-eight years. He
was returning with his son Francis, now nearly twenty-three, from a
visit to his estates in Cornwall. Had he been a younger man he
would no doubt have ridden his own horse; had he been of lower
rank he might have travelled by the public coach; but being near
sixty, a baron, and lord of the Treasury to boot, he drove in his
private four-horsed calash, with two red-coated postilions, and four
sturdy liveried henchmen on horseback, all well armed against the
perils of footpads and highwaymen.
It was nearing noon on this bright, hot morning, and my lord
had begun to acknowledge to himself that he would barely complete
his journey to London that day.
"Where are we now, Dickory?" he asked languidly of the nearest
rider on the off-side.
"Nigh Winton St. Mary, my lord," replied the man. "Down the
avenue yonder, my lord; then the common, and the church on the
right, and the village here and there bearing to the left, as you might
say, my lord."
"Look 'ee, Frank, we'll draw up at Winton St. Mary and wet our
whistles. My lady Marlborough expects us in town to-night, to be
sure; but she must e'en be content to wait. Time was——eh, my
boy?—but now, egad, I'll not kill myself for her or any woman."
"'Twould be a calamity—for the nation, sir," said Frank
Godolphin with a grin.
"So it would, i' faith. Never fear, Frank, I'll not make way for you
for ten years to come. But what's afoot yonder? A fair, eh?"
The carriage had threaded a fine avenue of elms, and come
within sight of the village common, which stretched away beyond
and behind the church, an expanse of rough turf now somewhat
parched and browned, broken here by a patch of shrub, there by a
dwindling pond, and bounded in the distance by the thick coverts of
the manor-house. My lord's exclamation had been called forth by the
bright spectacle that met his eyes. At the side of the road, and
encroaching also on the grass, were ranged a number of vehicles of
various sizes and descriptions, from the humble donkey-cart of a
sherbet seller to the lofty coach of some county magnate. Between
the carriages the travellers caught glimpses of a crowd; and indeed,
as they drew nearer to the scene, their ears were assailed by sundry
shoutings and clappings that seemed to betoken incidents of sport
or pastime. My lord Godolphin, for all his coldness and reserve in his
official dealings, was in his moments a keen sportsman; from a
horse-race to a main of cock-fighting or a sword-match, nothing that
had in it the element of sport came amiss to him; and as he replaced
his wig and settled his hat upon it his eyes lit up with an anticipation
vastly different from his air of weary discontent.
"Split me, Frank," he cried in a more animated tone than was
usual with him; "whatever it is, 'twill cheer us up. John," he added to
the postilion, "drive on to the grass, and stop at the first opening
you find in the ring. Odsbodikins, 'tis a game at cricket; we'll make
an afternoon of it, Frank, and brave your mother-in-law's anger,
come what may."
The postilions whipped up their horses, wheeled to the right,
and drove with many a jolt on to the common, passing behind the
row of vehicles until they came to an interval between one of the
larger sort and a dray heaped with barrels of cider. There they pulled
up sideways to the crowd, over whose heads the occupants of the
calash looked curiously towards the scene of the game. It was
clearly an exciting moment, for beyond a casual turning of the head
the nearest spectators gave no heed to the new-comers. A space
was roped in at some distance in front of the church, and within the
ring the wickets were pitched—very primitive compared with the
well-turned polished apparatus of to-day. The stumps were two short
sticks forked at the top, stuck at a backward slant into the turf about
a foot apart, with one long bail across them. Nothing had been done
to prepare the pitch; the grass was short and dry and stubby, with a
tuft here and there likely to trip an unwary fielder headlong. There
was no crease, but a hole in the ground. Nor was there any
uniformity of attire among the players: all had the stockings and
pantaloons of daily wear, and if there was any difference in their
shirts, it was due merely to their difference in rank and wealth.
"Over" had just been called as Lord Godolphin and his son drove
up, and something in the attitude of the crowd seemed to show that
the game was at a crisis. The umpires, armed with rough curved
bats somewhat like long spoons, had just taken their new places,
and the batsman who was to receive the first ball of the new over
was taking his block. A tall, loose-limbed young fellow, he held his
bat with an air of easy confidence.
"Egad, sir, 'tis Gilbert Young," said Frank Godolphin to his father.
"I knew him at Cambridge: a sticker. Who's the bowler? I don't know
him."
The bowler was a youth, a mere stripling of some sixteen or
seventeen years, who stood at his end of the wicket, ball in hand,
awaiting the word to "play". His loose shirt was open at the neck; his
black hair, not yet cropt for a wig, fell in a strong thick mass over his
brow; and as he waited for the batsman to complete his somewhat
fastidious preparations, he once or twice pushed up the heavy
cluster with his left hand.
"Gibs was ever a tantalising beast," said Frank aside. "Hi, you
fellow!" he shouted to a broad-shouldered yokel who stood just in
front of him by the rope, "how stands the score?"
The man addressed looked over his shoulder, and seeing that
the speaker was one of the "quality" he doffed his cap and replied:
"'Tis ninety-four notches, your honour, and last man in. Has
a'ready twenty-vive to hisself, and the Winton boys can't get un out."
"Play!" cried the umpire. The batsman stood to his block, and
looked round the field with a smile of confidence. The bowler gave a
quick glance around, took a light run of some three yards, and
delivered the ball—underhand, for round-arm bowling was not yet
invented. The ball travelled swiftly, no more than two or three feet
above the ground, pitched in front of the block-hole, and was driven
hard to the off towards a thick-set, grimy-looking individual—the
village smith. He, bending to field the ball, missed it, swung round to
run after it, and fell sprawling over a tussock of grass, amid yells of
mingled derision and disappointment.
"Pick theeself up, Lumpy!" roared the man to whom Frank
Godolphin had spoken. But the ball had already been fielded by Long
Robin the tanner, running round from long-on. Sir Gilbert meanwhile
had got back to his end of the wicket, and the scorer, seated near
the umpire, had cut two notches in the scoring stick.
Again the ball was bowled, with an even lower delivery than
before. The batsman stepped a yard out of his ground and caught
the ball on the rise; it flew high over the head of the remotest
fieldsman, over the rope, over the crowd, and dropped within a foot
of the lych-gate of the church. Loud cheers from a party of
gentlemen mounted on coaches in front of a tent greeted this
stroke; four notches were cut to the credit of the side, bringing the
score to a hundred. There was dead silence among the crowd now;
it was plain that their sympathies lay with the out side, and this
ominous opening of the new bowler's over was a check upon their
enjoyment.
Sir Gilbert once more stood to his block. For his third ball the
bowler took his run on the other side of the wicket. His delivery this
time was a little higher: the ball pitched awkwardly, and the batsman
seemed to be in two minds what to do with it. His hesitation was
fatal. With a perplexing twist the ball slid along the ground past his
bat, hit the off stump, and just dislodged the bail, which fell
perpendicularly and lay across between the sticks. Sir Gilbert looked
at it for a moment with rueful countenance, then marched towards
the tent, while the crowd cheered and, the innings being over, made
for the stalls and carts, at which ale and cider and gingerbread were
to be had.
"Egad, 'twas well bowled," ejaculated Lord Godolphin; "a
cunning ball, a most teasing twist; capital, capital!"
"I'll go and speak to Gibs," said Frank. "Will you come, sir?"
"Not I, i' faith. 'Tis too hot. Bring him to me. I'll drink a glass of
cider here and wait your return."
There was a cider cart near at hand, and his man Dickory
brought my lord a brimming bumper drawn from the wood. He
winced as the tart liquor touched his palate, unaccustomed to such
homely drink; but it was at least cool and refreshing, and he finished
the bumper. As he gave it back he noticed an old man slowly
approaching, leaning with one hand upon a stout knobby stick of
oak, and holding in the other a rough three-legged stool, which he
placed between my lord's calash and the rope. He was a fine-looking
old man, dressed in plain country homespun; his cheeks were
seamed and weather-beaten, but there was still a brightness in his
eyes and an erectness in his figure that bespoke health and the joy
of life. He sat down on the stool, took off his hat and wiped his
brow, then, resting both hands on his stick, looked placidly around
him. There was no one near to him; the space was clear, for players
and spectators had all flocked their several ways to get refreshment,
and for some minutes the old man sat alone. Then Lord Godolphin,
to ease his limbs and kill time, stepped out of his carriage and went
towards the veteran.
"Well, gaffer," he said, "have ye come out to get a sunning?"
The old man looked up.
"Ay sure, your honour," he said, "and to zee the match. You
med think me too old; true, I be gone eighty; come Martinmas I
shall be eighty-one, and I ha'n't a wamblen tooth in my head—not
one, old as I be. A man's as old as he feels, says my boy—one o' the
wise sayens he has: I ha'n't felt no older this twenty year, nay, nor
twenty-vive year neither."
"By George! I wish I could say the same. What's the match,
gaffer?"
"Well, they do say 'tis for a wager; 'tis all 'I'll lay ye this' and 'I'll
lay ye that' in these days. I don't know the rights on't, but 'tis said it
all come about at a supper up at Squire's.—Do 'ee know Squire? Eh
well, there be the house, yonder among the trees. Squire's son be
hot wi' his tongue, and at this same supper—I tell 'ee as I yeard it—
he wagered young Master Godfrey of the Grange he'd bring eleven
young gen'lmen from Cambridge college as would beat our village
players at the cricket. A hunnerd guineas was the wager, so 'tis said.
Master Godfrey he ups and says 'Done wi' 'ee', and so 'tis come
about. The Cambridge younkers be all high gentry, every man on
'em; our folks, as your honour med see, be just or'nary folks in the
main: there's Long Robin the tanner and Lumpy the smith—he that
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