From mboxrd@z Thu Jan 1 00:00:00 1970 X-Msuck: nntp://news.gmane.io/gmane.comp.tex.context/15989 Path: main.gmane.org!not-for-mail From: Matt Gushee Newsgroups: gmane.comp.tex.context Subject: Re: Disappearing headers -- belated followup Date: Mon, 9 Aug 2004 23:23:16 -0600 Sender: ntg-context-bounces@ntg.nl Message-ID: <20040810052316.GE17009@swordfish> References: <20040723225511.GD11496@swordfish> <410769CD.1050008@wxs.nl> Reply-To: Matt Gushee , mailing list for ConTeXt users NNTP-Posting-Host: deer.gmane.org Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii X-Trace: sea.gmane.org 1092115520 2814 80.91.224.253 (10 Aug 2004 05:25:20 GMT) X-Complaints-To: usenet@sea.gmane.org NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 10 Aug 2004 05:25:20 +0000 (UTC) Original-X-From: ntg-context-bounces@ntg.nl Tue Aug 10 07:25:06 2004 Return-path: Original-Received: from ronja.vet.uu.nl ([131.211.172.88] helo=ronja.ntg.nl) by deer.gmane.org with esmtp (Exim 3.35 #1 (Debian)) id 1BuP8E-0003yG-00 for ; Tue, 10 Aug 2004 07:25:06 +0200 Original-Received: from localhost (localhost.localdomain [127.0.0.1]) by ronja.ntg.nl (Postfix) with ESMTP id DC929126F8; Tue, 10 Aug 2004 07:25:05 +0200 (CEST) Original-Received: from ronja.ntg.nl ([127.0.0.1]) by localhost (ronja.vet.uu.nl [127.0.0.1]) (amavisd-new, port 10024) with LMTP id 00688-01; Tue, 10 Aug 2004 07:25:05 +0200 (CEST) Original-Received: from ronja.vet.uu.nl (localhost.localdomain [127.0.0.1]) by ronja.ntg.nl (Postfix) with ESMTP id 6F7431276F; Tue, 10 Aug 2004 07:23:19 +0200 (CEST) Original-Received: from localhost (localhost.localdomain [127.0.0.1]) by ronja.ntg.nl (Postfix) with ESMTP id C20B31276F for ; Tue, 10 Aug 2004 07:23:17 +0200 (CEST) Original-Received: from ronja.ntg.nl ([127.0.0.1]) by localhost (ronja.vet.uu.nl [127.0.0.1]) (amavisd-new, port 10024) with LMTP id 31234-07 for ; Tue, 10 Aug 2004 07:23:16 +0200 (CEST) Original-Received: from mz3.forethought.net (unknown [216.241.36.14]) by ronja.ntg.nl (Postfix) with ESMTP id ED9F8126F8 for ; Tue, 10 Aug 2004 07:23:15 +0200 (CEST) Original-Received: from [216.241.35.41] (helo=swordfish) by mz3.forethought.net with esmtp (Exim 4.30) id 1BuP6Q-0006xF-Pp for ntg-context@ntg.nl; Mon, 09 Aug 2004 23:23:14 -0600 Original-Received: from matt by swordfish with local (Exim 3.35 #1 (Debian)) id 1BuP6S-0005pL-00 for ; Mon, 09 Aug 2004 23:23:16 -0600 Original-To: ntg-context@ntg.nl Content-Disposition: inline In-Reply-To: <410769CD.1050008@wxs.nl> User-Agent: Mutt/1.3.27i X-Virus-Scanned: by amavisd-new at ntg.nl X-BeenThere: ntg-context@ntg.nl X-Mailman-Version: 2.1.5 Precedence: list List-Id: mailing list for ConTeXt users List-Unsubscribe: , List-Archive: List-Post: List-Help: List-Subscribe: , Errors-To: ntg-context-bounces@ntg.nl X-Virus-Scanned: by amavisd-new at ntg.nl Xref: main.gmane.org gmane.comp.tex.context:15989 X-Report-Spam: http://spam.gmane.org/gmane.comp.tex.context:15989 On Wed, Jul 28, 2004 at 10:54:37AM +0200, Hans Hagen wrote: > >I am trying to format a book such that the book title appears in the > >header of each left-hand page, and the chapter title appears in the > >header of each right-hand page. I think (though I haven't decided for > >sure) that I want each chapter to start on a right-hand page. It seems > >that, when chapters are forced to begin on right-hand pages, the book > >title fails to appear on the first blank page inserted to move the > >chapter start, and on all subsequent pages. > > > i need a small doc with dummy text to see the effect -) I apologize for not responding earlier. I've been wrapped up in a very time-consuming project. Anyway, you'll find an example below. Also, I will of course try your suggestions. -- test02.tex ---------------------------------------------------------- \definepapersize [tradebook6x9] [width=6in,height=9in] \definepapersize [double6x9] [width=12in,height=9in] \setuppapersize [tradebook6x9] [tradebook6x9] \setuphead [title] [align=left,textstyle={\bf}] \setuphead [chapter] [page=right,head=nomarking,after=\blank] \setuppagenumbering [alternative=doublesided,location={header,marginedge}] \setupheader [style=\it] \setupheadertexts [] [chapter] [title] [] \setupbodyfont [10pt] \setupindenting [small] \define[2]\TitlePage{% \startstandardmakeup \vfill \vfill \title {#1} \vfil {\switchtobodyfont [14.4pt] \rightaligned {\rm #2}} \vfill \vfill \vfill \stopstandardmakeup }% \starttext \startfrontmatter \TitlePage {The Oregon Trail} {Francis Parkman, Jr.} \placecontent \stopfrontmatter \startbodymatter \chapter {The Frontier} \setupheader[state=empty] Last spring, 1846, was a busy season in the City of St. Louis. Not only were emigrants from every part of the country preparing for the journey to Oregon and California, but an unusual number of traders were making ready their wagons and outfits for Santa Fe. Many of the emigrants, especially of those bound for California, were persons of wealth and standing. The hotels were crowded, and the gunsmiths and saddlers were kept constantly at work in providing arms and equipments for the different parties of travelers. Almost every day steamboats were leaving the levee and passing up the Missouri, crowded with passengers on their way to the frontier. In one of these, the Radnor, since snagged and lost, my friend and relative, Quincy A. Shaw, and myself, left St. Louis on the 28th of April, on a tour of curiosity and amusement to the Rocky Mountains. The boat was loaded until the water broke alternately over her guards. Her upper deck was covered with large weapons of a peculiar form, for the Santa Fe trade, and her hold was crammed with goods for the same destination. There were also the equipments and provisions of a party of Oregon emigrants, a band of mules and horses, piles of saddles and harness, and a multitude of nondescript articles, indispensable on the prairies. Almost hidden in this medley one might have seen a small French cart, of the sort very appropriately called a "mule-killer" beyond the frontiers, and not far distant a tent, together with a miscellaneous assortment of boxes and barrels. The whole equipage was far from prepossessing in its appearance; yet, such as it was, it was destined to a long and arduous journey, on which the persevering reader will accompany it. The passengers on board the Radnor corresponded with her freight. In her cabin were Santa Fe traders, gamblers, speculators, and adventurers of various descriptions, and her steerage was crowded with Oregon emigrants, "mountain men," negroes, and a party of Kansas Indians, who had been on a visit to St. Louis. Thus laden, the boat struggled upward for seven or eight days against the rapid current of the Missouri, grating upon snags, and hanging for two or three hours at a time upon sand-bars. We entered the mouth of the Missouri in a drizzling rain, but the weather soon became clear, and showed distinctly the broad and turbid river, with its eddies, its sand-bars, its ragged islands, and forest-covered shores. The Missouri is constantly changing its course; wearing away its banks on one side, while it forms new ones on the other. Its channel is shifting continually. Islands are formed, and then washed away; and while the old forests on one side are undermined and swept off, a young growth springs up from the new soil upon the other. With all these changes, the water is so charged with mud and sand that it is perfectly opaque, and in a few minutes deposits a sediment an inch thick in the bottom of a tumbler. The river was now high; but when we descended in the autumn it was fallen very low, and all the secrets of its treacherous shallows were exposed to view. It was frightful to see the dead and broken trees, thick-set as a military abatis, firmly imbedded in the sand, and all pointing down stream, ready to impale any unhappy steamboat that at high water should pass over that dangerous ground. In five or six days we began to see signs of the great western movement that was then taking place. Parties of emigrants, with their tents and wagons, would be encamped on open spots near the bank, on their way to the common rendezvous at Independence. On a rainy day, near sunset, we reached the landing of this place, which is situated some miles from the river, on the extreme frontier of Missouri. The scene was characteristic, for here were represented at one view the most remarkable features of this wild and enterprising region. On the muddy shore stood some thirty or forty dark slavish- looking Spaniards, gazing stupidly out from beneath their broad hats. They were attached to one of the Santa Fe companies, whose wagons were crowded together on the banks above. In the midst of these, crouching over a smoldering fire, was a group of Indians, belonging to a remote Mexican tribe. One or two French hunters from the mountains with their long hair and buckskin dresses, were looking at the boat; and seated on a log close at hand were three men, with rifles lying across their knees. The foremost of these, a tall, strong figure, with a clear blue eye and an open, intelligent face, might very well represent that race of restless and intrepid pioneers whose axes and rifles have opened a path from the Alleghenies to the western prairies. He was on his way to Oregon, probably a more congenial field to him than any that now remained on this side the great plains. \chapter {Breaking The Ice} \setupheader [state=empty] Both Shaw and myself were tolerably inured to the vicissitudes of traveling. We had experienced them under various forms, and a birch canoe was as familiar to us as a steamboat. The restlessness, the love of wilds and hatred of cities, natural perhaps in early years to every unperverted son of Adam, was not our only motive for undertaking the present journey. My companion hoped to shake off the effects of a disorder that had impaired a constitution originally hardy and robust; and I was anxious to pursue some inquiries relative to the character and usages of the remote Indian nations, being already familiar with many of the border tribes. Emerging from the mud-hole where we last took leave of the reader, we pursued our way for some time along the narrow track, in the checkered sunshine and shadow of the woods, till at length, issuing forth into the broad light, we left behind us the farthest outskirts of that great forest, that once spread unbroken from the western plains to the shore of the Atlantic. Looking over an intervening belt of shrubbery, we saw the green, oceanlike expanse of prairie, stretching swell over swell to the horizon. It was a mild, calm spring day; a day when one is more disposed to musing and reverie than to action, and the softest part of his nature is apt to gain the ascendency. I rode in advance of the party, as we passed through the shrubbery, and as a nook of green grass offered a strong temptation, I dismounted and lay down there. All the trees and saplings were in flower, or budding into fresh leaf; the red clusters of the maple-blossoms and the rich flowers of the Indian apple were there in profusion; and I was half inclined to regret leaving behind the land of gardens for the rude and stern scenes of the prairie and the mountains. \chapter {Fort Leavenworth} \setupheader [state=empty] On the next morning we rode to Fort Leavenworth. Colonel, now General, Kearny, to whom I had had the honor of an introduction when at St. Louis, was just arrived, and received us at his headquarters with the high-bred courtesy habitual to him. Fort Leavenworth is in fact no fort, being without defensive works, except two block-houses. No rumors of war had as yet disturbed its tranquillity. In the square grassy area, surrounded by barracks and the quarters of the officers, the men were passing and repassing, or lounging among the trees; although not many weeks afterward it presented a different scene; for here the very off-scourings of the frontier were congregated, to be marshaled for the expedition against Santa Fe. Passing through the garrison, we rode toward the Kickapoo village, five or six miles beyond. The path, a rather dubious and uncertain one, led us along the ridge of high bluffs that bordered the Missouri; and by looking to the right or to the left, we could enjoy a strange contrast of opposite scenery. On the left stretched the prairie, rising into swells and undulations, thickly sprinkled with groves, or gracefully expanding into wide grassy basins of miles in extent; while its curvatures, swelling against the horizon, were often surmounted by lines of sunny woods; a scene to which the freshness of the season and the peculiar mellowness of the atmosphere gave additional softness. Below us, on the right, was a tract of ragged and broken woods. We could look down on the summits of the trees, some living and some dead; some erect, others leaning at every angle, and others still piled in masses together by the passage of a hurricane. Beyond their extreme verge, the turbid waters of the Missouri were discernible through the boughs, rolling powerfully along at the foot of the woody declivities of its farther bank. The path soon after led inland; and as we crossed an open meadow we saw a cluster of buildings on a rising ground before us, with a crowd of people surrounding them. They were the storehouse, cottage, and stables of the Kickapoo trader's establishment. Just at that moment, as it chanced, he was beset with half the Indians of the settlement. They had tied their wretched, neglected little ponies by dozens along the fences and outhouses, and were either lounging about the place, or crowding into the trading house. Here were faces of various colors; red, green, white, and black, curiously intermingled and disposed over the visage in a variety of patterns. Calico shirts, red and blue blankets, brass ear-rings, wampum necklaces, appeared in profusion. The trader was a blue-eyed open-faced man who neither in his manners nor his appearance betrayed any of the roughness of the frontier; though just at present he was obliged to keep a lynx eye on his suspicious customers, who, men and women, were climbing on his counter and seating themselves among his boxes and bales. The village itself was not far off, and sufficiently illustrated the condition of its unfortunate and self-abandoned occupants. Fancy to yourself a little swift stream, working its devious way down a woody valley; sometimes wholly hidden under logs and fallen trees, sometimes issuing forth and spreading into a broad, clear pool; and on its banks in little nooks cleared away among the trees, miniature log-houses in utter ruin and neglect. A labyrinth of narrow, obstructed paths connected these habitations one with another. Sometimes we met a stray calf, a pig or a pony, belonging to some of the villagers, who usually lay in the sun in front of their dwellings, and looked on us with cold, suspicious eyes as we approached. Farther on, in place of the log-huts of the Kickapoos, we found the pukwi lodges of their neighbors, the Pottawattamies, whose condition seemed no better than theirs. Growing tired at last, and exhausted by the excessive heat and sultriness of the day, we returned to our friend, the trader. By this time the crowd around him had dispersed, and left him at leisure. He invited us to his cottage, a little white-and-green building, in the style of the old French settlements; and ushered us into a neat, well-furnished room. The blinds were closed, and the heat and glare of the sun excluded; the room was as cool as a cavern. It was neatly carpeted too and furnished in a manner that we hardly expected on the frontier. The sofas, chairs, tables, and a well- filled bookcase would not have disgraced an Eastern city; though there were one or two little tokens that indicated the rather questionable civilization of the region. A pistol, loaded and capped, lay on the mantelpiece; and through the glass of the bookcase, peeping above the works of John Milton glittered the handle of a very mischievous-looking knife. Our host went out, and returned with iced water, glasses, and a bottle of excellent claret; a refreshment most welcome in the extreme heat of the day; and soon after appeared a merry, laughing woman, who must have been, a year of two before, a very rich and luxuriant specimen of Creole beauty. She came to say that lunch was ready in the next room. Our hostess evidently lived on the sunny side of life, and troubled herself with none of its cares. She sat down and entertained us while we were at table with anecdotes of fishing parties, frolics, and the officers at the fort. Taking leave at length of the hospitable trader and his friend, we rode back to the garrison. Shaw passed on to the camp, while I remained to call upon Colonel Kearny. I found him still at table. There sat our friend the captain, in the same remarkable habiliments in which we saw him at Westport; the black pipe, however, being for the present laid aside. He dangled his little cap in his hand and talked of steeple-chases, touching occasionally upon his anticipated exploits in buffalo- hunting. There, too, was R., somewhat more elegantly attired. For the last time we tasted the luxuries of civilization, and drank adieus to it in wine good enough to make us almost regret the leave- taking. Then, mounting, we rode together to the camp, where everything was in readiness for departure on the morrow. \stopbodymatter \stoptext -- END test02.tex ------------------------------------------------------ -- Matt Gushee When a nation follows the Way, Englewood, Colorado, USA Horses bear manure through mgushee@havenrock.com its fields; http://www.havenrock.com/ When a nation ignores the Way, Horses bear soldiers through its streets. --Lao Tzu (Peter Merel, trans.)