Alameda High School - Acorn Yearbook (Alameda, CA)

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We LL DAY the storm had been raging, and from the lookout tower of the Hillcrest Life-Saving Station, Graham, the keeper, watched the white-capped waves dash themselves to pieces against the rocks. At three o'clock the first patrol came in, his face red from exposure to the cold wind. He climbed up the ladder and reported his return. Graham did not turn his head. He seemed hardly to have heard. Since morning there had been a troubled look on his face and he had kept apart from the rest of the men. Suddenly he started; there it was again, the harsh jangling of the tele- phone bell. He knew it was for him and the men below knew it also, for not one of them made an attempt to answer it. Slowly he climbed down the ladder and with fear in his heart took down the receiver. “Is that you, Henry?” called the anxious voice of his wife. “Dr. Smith says he hasn’t much longer to live now. Unless an operation is performed by the specialist, Dr. Brown, he will not live through the night. I telephoned to Bay City for him, but the next train doesn’t leave there until ten o'clock to- night and that will be too late. Can’t you come home?” “No,” replied Graham, “I can’t leave the station during this storm. We may be called out any minute to the assistance of some boat.” “But it is your day off,” replied his wife. “I don’t see why you can't come.” Graham knew what his final answer must be. His six year old boy had been very ill for two days, and today had grown worse. His wife had tele- phoned several times, but he knew that this would be the last call. It was a strict rule of the Hillcrest Life-Saving Station that no one should leave except on his day off, and it was a rule among the men themselves that on stormy

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based not on the hope of salvation but on the knowledge that the divine things of life give the depth of understanding which is salvation. Just as a composer, aware of the beauty of the words before him, is stirred to the creation of music to convey them, so Shakespeare, moved by moral sublimity in nature gave form to his interpretations. This understanding gave him that spiritual insight which places him among the greatest of moral teachers. In all his plays crime and vice receive due punishment, and the simplest, smallest virtues are glorified. He appreciated love as a spiritual gift and obligation. And does he not teach us that virtue is but truth when he says: “O how much more doth Beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The Rose looks fair, but fairer it we deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. The canker blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the Roses: Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly, When summer’s breath their masked buds discloses; 3ut for their virtue only is their show, They live unwoo’d, and unrespected fade; Die themselves: sweet Roses do not so, Of their sweet Deaths are sweetest odours made.” And Shakespeare tells us of Mercy, the natural child of Truth and Love: “Wilt thou draw near the nature of the Gods? Draw near them then in being Merciful: Sweet Mercy is Nobility’s true badge.”’ His reverence for love, truth, mercy, and charity is the source from which have sprung his rich streams of thought to refresh man for ever more. We know that nature was his inspiration and that “the soul takes on something of the greatness of that which it truly admires.” — Russel Medcraft, Dec. ’16

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days no one was to leave, whether it was his day off or not; and as Graham was the captain it was his duty to remain and take charge of the boat should it be called out. As Graham turned from the phone Morgan, the stroke oar of the crew, stepped out from the adjoining room. “I would like to assume the responsibility of the station, sir,” he said. “The boys have voted to let you go home.” Graham merely looked at Morgan, and without a word climbed again to his lookout tower. Morgan returned again to the room where the men were. “‘What did he say ” inquired Adams, the youngest member of the crew. “Nothing,” replied Morgan. “What did he do?” asked one of the men. “He merely looked at me and climbed up to the tower.” ‘What is the matter with him! Why don’t he go home?” burst out Adams. “His kid is dying and he is needed at home. We all agreed to let him go.” ‘“‘When you have been in the service longer you will understand why he stayed,’ replied Morgan. “And besides, it would take all of us to row him across to his house, and that would leave the station unguarded.” He stopped, for there in the open door stood Graham. “Stand by to run out the boat,” he commanded. “There is a tug on the rocks near the entrance to the bay.” Morgan, taking the glasses from Graham, climbed up to the tower. “Yes,” he called down, “she is about five miles away. Some of the waves are going clear over her.” Quickly the men wheeled the big life-boat down to the water and launched her. At stroke Morgan settled himself grimly. He realized that no easy task lay before them. Graham, at the tiller, snaked the boat out through the chop of the bay. As the crew pulled out into the fierce sweep of the wind it was with difficulty that he kept his position. Great knobs of ice formed around the oarlocks and hindered the steady stroke of the men. Soon it began to snow. The men lost sight of the tug in the inlet. They could not see for more than a hundred yards ahead. On all sides the sea rushed down upon them. The boat reared wildly to the top of a wave and then slid down into the dark abyss beyond. The men were deluged with freezing spray. For over