Hathaway Brown School - Specularia Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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strength that was left in my aching body, I shoved and pushed. There was no hope. I could not open it. I called for help, no answer came. Then sudenly I heard two voices. I called again and they heard. I could hear them trying to get the hatch open, first with their hands and then with axes. At last! .At last! They broke through, and I could see their faces. Then suddenly the whole world went black. When I awoke, all was quiet. I must be deadll' I thought. No, there was the aching in my arm and there was the pain in my ankle, but I was dry! Yes, I was dry, dry and alive. For some unknown reason God had taken pity on me and on my ship. Yes, she had fought bravely, more bravely than I, and she too lived. For awhile she had almost died, but now she and I were on our way home, home to America. Betsy Augustus, Class of '46 lQA77Z67'Z.66l7Z ufufumn The smell of burning leaves is in the air Carried by cool and biting autumn winds, Thin wisps of smoke curl upward in the sky And fade against the paling golden sun. 'Round the barnyard fat, proud turkeys crowd, Thrusting back their heads in angry pride, Strutting on the burnished copper leaves Fallen from the maples overhead. Fat and round, with .green and orange hues, In the fields the ripened pumpkins sit. Lonely crows and swallows dart and dive, -Shadows on a curtain of blue sky. Gay chrysanthemums rustle in the wind, Now nod, now bow on stalks of grayishfgreen. The glossy apples are piled high beneath the trees, With round, ripe grapes as purple as their wine. This is autumn, the season of farewells, When summer's gone yet winter's not begun. This is America, fertile and proud, Glorious in autumn like no other land. N aucy Cbmey, Class of '45

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The Will To ive. p THE BELLS had screamed their warning cries. The roaring engines turned over slowly once or twice and then were quiet. The huge ship lay silently waiting, waiting in the thick, foggy night, waiting while some' where out there in the black, black water, a submarine, like a lone wolf strayed from its pack, watched her with evil eyes: Far, below the decks in the sweltering engine room we stood, listening for some sound to break the awful silence. Saying not a word, moving not a muscle, we waited. Each heart beat wildly, each grimy face was white with panic. I could feel the sleek, black enemy coming closer, closer, closer, watching us all the time with wicked eyes. Then suddenly there was a violent explosion! Shrieks of agony and terror pierced the din! Blue, white, and yellow flames flashed around me. I grabbed for something to hold on to, but was thrown to the deck. My arm was crushed beneath me. Like a dry twig the bone snapped, and I felt agonizing pain shoot through my body like a bolt of lightning. With a thundering crack the huge pipe above me crashed to the deck. Then an immense wave of water leapt onto me like a hungry tiger set loose from its cage. Wildly I struggled to get loose from the pipe. The water was choking me. I could not breathe! With all my strength I tore myself free, ripping the flesh off my ankle down to the bone. I fought to the surface and gasped for air. The icy water bit my raw leg. I had to get to the ladder somehow. I had to get out! Another wave beat me against the wall. It crushed my broken arm. I bit my lip to bear the pain. I clutched a railing with my good arm as the furious waves swept me by. I was weak and was in excruciating agony. But nothing mattered except that ladder. I must get to it. The waves tried to pull me loose from my grip. My head was spinning. I dragged myself along the railing toward the ladder. Then suddenly I felt a clammy hand dragging on my leg. I saw a man, one of my friends, one of my own friends. I could hardly recognize him, for the side of his face had been blown off! He moaned, and I grabbed for him, but his fingers relaxed. Giving one last groan of agony, he sank into the black water. Panicfstrickeln, I reached for him. But it was too late, he was gone. I could not think, I could not control my will. In my brain swirled the confused sight of blinding flames, gigantic waves, my friend with only half a face, but above all the ladder., In that narrow iron structure lay all hope of life for me. I know not how nor when, but finally I found myself before it, clutching it with my hand. Ch! to get out of that hell of pain and icy water! I dragged myself up, up until at last I came to the hatch. If I could only get it open! I leaned my weight against it. With all the

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7711561 T WAS Christmas Eve. A magical hush of expectancy filled the darkf ened living room in such a way that even the andirons on the hearth seemed to await an event. In a corner of the room stood a great tree, visible by the radiance of its own electric lights, which shown on the glittering trinkets that trimmed it, making it a tower of beauty and mystery. Suddenly the brass clock on the mantel shelf shattered the silence with a resounding chime of its bell. Hardly had the echoes died when another followed, and still another, until twelve had passed. Then a scarcely notice' able tremor shook the tree in the corner, causing the silver icicles to tremble and the shining baubles to swing gently by their slender threads. A particularly large and gailyfpainted one whispered softly to his round green neighbor. I-Iow goes it with you, friend? As usual, as usual. But what particular difference can it make to you?', He was plainly irritated. No offense, said the gay one gently, only I thought- I don't care what you thought. Now please don't bother me. The green ornament shook with annoyance. The gaudy one smiled and sighed, but it did not try again. A tiny silver bell stirred and tinkled gaily, s'Don't mind Green over there. I'Ie's brooding! And she laughed softly. But I can't say I blame him. Qur fate is not a pleasant one, to be sure. We are hidden away in a dark box and forgotten, allowed to see the light of day for a fortnight every year, only to be hung dangerously at the very tip of a branch, which is risky, to say the least. If we escape breakf age, we are repacked and stored away again, disregarded for another year. No, you can't blame the Green Utne. Nor am I blaming him, rejoined the painted ornament, 'ibut I think he might be cheered. A gloomy Christmas decoration is surely an inconf gruity. I remain content because I believe that I, together with all created things, am destined for a purpose. In my case, it is to be an ornament, and nothing more-an utterly useless thing, though lovely and shining, who lives a life of alternate danger and boredom, but who may as well accept that and then forget it. Why not rejoice in being beautiful? It should be considered an honor. To be cherished and put away with great care and then brought forth to contribute to the beauty of a sacred and beloved festival--what could be more gratifying? LL LL LG Silver rain swayed to and fro, whispering in voices scarcely audible, ilYes, yes, he is right- the painted one is right. I-Iow wise he is! The green ornament tendered his opinion briefly, expressively, and characteristically. Hmph! he said.