Hathaway Brown School - Specularia Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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Bdflifllfk Carrie ufdvenfure HE NIGHT was growing deeper, and the windflashed trees clutched wildly at his rainfsodden clothing as Sir Theron rode resolutely into the pernicious forest. A strange mist was rising from the marshy floor, bringing with it the stench of dead things, and the shivering horse paused in his hesitant gait from time to time as if sensing evils his master could not. The young knight fought off an almost overpowering fear and wearif ness as he gently urged his steed onward through fields of demons, leering from behind each distorted wyvernflike tree. Finally the eerie call of a wolffdog and a glimpse of a gray, forbidding citadel warned him that he was approaching his destination, Basilisk Castle. Cnce at the brink of the murky moat, he sent forth a call which echoed back from the grim walls, and a sudden longing shot through him to see the shining battlements of Camelot stretched out in a golden sun. No sooner had he announced his arrival than the drawbridge slowly lowered, and, as he crossed into the shadowy courtyard, the hollow beat of his horse's hoofs resounded from rampart to rampart, taking the aspect of ghostly, mocking laughter. i Then, after dismounting, he was led through a labyrinth of narrow corridors by a dry, wizened old man, carrying aloft a gnarled pine torch which sent shadows leaping and dancing along the walls, from whose crannies, it seemed, peered a multitude of hostile eyes. At length, a massive oaken door swung open, betraying a huge, gloomy room lighted by a single taper atop a majestic, carved desk, behind which sat Lord Marhans, master of Basilick Castle, a suave, dark man, almost as gaunt as the growling dogfcreature groveling at his feet. The lord rose, casting a weird shadow against the crimson arras, as his wellfkept hands toyed with the jewelfstudded hilt of his sword. Then he spoke in a haughty, scornful tone. So, at last we meet again, my nephew. What noble mission brings my dear, dead sister's son to my humble abode? Perhaps there is some service I can do you, he smirked, making a sweeping bow. But then, noticing the servant lurking near the threshold, he harshly ordered the cowering servile being back to his scullery, and the man fled as if lashed. The lad squared his shoulders, shook a lock of flaxen hair from his pale brow, and replied meekly, yet staunchly, You do me honor, Sir Uncle, but I fear my duty is an unpleasant one, for I was dispatched here by King Arthur to prove my worth as a knightnof the Round Table by ridding his realm of the evil which has been practiced in this castle. He has received word that you have held many wealthy land owners prisoner and tortured them until they turned over their estates to you. If you do not leave this country at once, I shall be forced to expel you. I ' T I

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i 'Z- '-4 Edgy- Bw-K .Q .1- fn QQ. -15 K' ffl? A in theq,Brooklyn Navy Yard. ln turn l visited Nefches, a tanker, the Henderson, a transport, and even a submarine, the S-28. Each was a complete living unit for the crew. All modern conveniences were at their disposal. Every ship was designed to fulfill her job and fitted into the mosaic pattern of the United States Fleet. A . One result of these varied experiences and associations has been the acquiring of a general knowledge. I have formed my own opinions of 'each section of the country in which I have lived. Though my formal education has been frequently interrupted, l have learned many lessons which visual education teaches. Learning hath gained most by those books which the printers have lost. The long absences from my father and friends taught me early that the good things of life are not permanent, and l have learned to accept the inevitable willingly. As a result of this peripatetic past, I am no longer contented with the tranquil existence of a landflubber, but long for the stimulating life of the Navy. Where is the sea -I languish here! Where is my own blue sea? With all barks of fleet career And flags and breezes free! M ary J 0 Swomston, Class of '46 The joy of Spring The joy of spring is in the air. Along with sounds of laughter gay Hear children's voices everywhere! There's rollerfskating on the square On every bright and sunny day. The joy of spring is in the air. The tiny tots climb in the pear. The small toy boats sail in the bay. ' Hear children's voices everywhere. A baseball game just over there With shouts and cheers is in full sway. T The joy of spring is in the air. And on the sidewalk squat a pair, For it is marbles that they play. Hear children's voices everywhere! ' Oh! See that child jump like a hare, For hopscotch is the game for May. The joy of spring is in the air. Hear children's voices everywhere! Marry Louise Newell, Class of '47 ,f 'HQ ,gli ., ,M

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Well spoken, returned Lord Marhans, You have inherited your father's straightforwardnessf' There was, however, a strange glint in his eye which Theron did not fail to perceive. . Because of the late hour, on the promise of further discussion the next day, Theron was shown to a tower bedchamber, where, shortly, as he was drifting off to sleep without even undressing, he was roused by a sudden beam of light darting into the room from a crack in the floor in a far corner. He sprang from bed, seized his sword and a candle, then plunged down the trap and along a narrow passage in hot pursuit of the prowler, the ancient servant. - Heavy cobwebs hung from the roof, and the paved floor echoed hollowly under the lightest tread. Here and there along the walls were spyfholes, concealed, on the other side, by the carving of the cornice. At length the corridor grew narrower and lower, the stairs continued to def scendg the walls on either hand became damp and slimy to the touch, and far in front of him he heard the squeaking and scuttling of the rats. Gccasionally he caught a glimpse of the old man hurrying ahead of him, and it burst upon his conscious mind that perhaps he was being led into an ambush, but he pushed on undauntedly. Finally he reached the end of the passage, obviously a trap door which seemed an impasse, until, searching at one corner, he found a deep cavity in the wall. Pushing his arm into the aperture, Theron felt an iron bar, which he thrust vigorously upwards. There followed a snapping noise, and the slab of stone started in its bed. After slipping through the opening, Theron saw naught of his quarry but became aware that he was in the dungeon, a dismal place reeking of the Death who hovered over the huddled forms chained in unbearable filth, eager to pounce. Assuring these living skeletons that he was their liberator, he learned that they, powerful, titled noblemen, were being held until their manors and personal riches became Lord M'arhan,s, and even then they were left to suffer like the damned with the keys to unlock their bonds, hanging high, just out of reach of their grasping hands. As soon as Theron had freed them, the little group climbed up to the court' yard, where Lord Marhans himself barred the way, sword in hand. Theron ordered the rescued over the drawbridge to proceed to Camelot, saying he would join them later, and without further ado fell to with his uncle, an adept with the sword. Therefore, he soon sustained a rather severe wound, and because the unstaunched blood poured forth and the pain was excruciating, he fainted. What happened in the next few minutes no one lived to tell, but when Theron awoke, he was lying on the opposite bank of the moat, whose waters swayed to the reflection of the flaming towers above it, for the castle was now a torch, held high to good and right. Above the raging