Central High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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THE AGLAIA LITERARY SOCIETY

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the mountain crest. I he lifeless body of the Frenchman was found: Perry's body was never found. Often and often 1 wonder as I look at the box what relation existed between the box. the artist and the pictures. 1 have never solved the mystery. ANNIE JACOBS. '24. SANCTUARY In our town there bides a timid spot, Secluded from most eyes. An oasis cool in desert hot Of city woes and sighs. In each dewy, mist-green fastness' show. An earthly heaven gleams. Where the trees in modest splendor grow. And birds weave wondrous themes. Thus, my dear, to me your heart appears To me who hold the key— A place beyond all smiles and tears To tell its mystery. RUSSELL SMITH. 23. jk. Page Twenty-eight

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THE MIDNIGHT RESCUE The night was as black as ink. A soft, drizzling rain was falling, bathing the dense woods with its fine spray. The water dripped from the heavy foliage and ran away in small rivulets. There was not a sound to break the silence, save for the soughing of the wind in the leaves, or the call of some nightbird far off. The intense stillness was suddenly broken by a slight sound—then again silence. The sound was repeated. It was the snapping of a twig. Slowly and cautiously the dense underbrush was parted and a man stepped quietly out. He stood absolutely still for a minute, and then with the utmost stealth threaded his way through the intricate network of dark leaves. I o judge by his actions, one would surmise that he had a definite object in mind, and that his quest must be pursued silently and with great stealth, for he was picking his steps as best he could in the gloom, with the utmostcare. He went on in this way for perhaps half an hour, when suddenly he sank down on his knees, and remained in that position for some time, listening and peering intently ahead. His attention seemed to be attracted by a dull, red glow in the sky. probably a mile away. Regaining his feet and treading noiselessly, he again pursued his course. Slowly but gradually, the light in the sky increased in size and brilliancy as he hurried on. Now and then a spark would shoot up like a demon’s eye, glaring balefully at him. as it would frighten him away. But he still kept on. never faltering in his course, and grasping his rifle more tightly, as if very determined in his undertaking. The nearer he approached, the more he lagged, keeping up this snail’s pace until he was within about two hundred yards of the fire. Then he silently dropped to his hands and knees, and crawled the remainder of the way on all fours. He could hear sounds as he drew nearer, the crackling of the fire, and the guttural tones of savages. Finally, he reached the edge of the foliage and peered through. A weird sight met his gaze. Around a large roaring fire lolled a dozen savages, naked save for the loin cloths they wore. Some were talking, others were apparently asleep. They all were apparently waiting for a large caldron of water to boil. What instantly arrested the gazer’s eyes was a white man bound with strong cords to a post driven into the ground for that purpose. His was a face to strike sympathy in the hardest heart. A deathly palor overspread it, and his large horror-stricken eyes seemed fascinated by the caldron of simmering water. I here was no hope in his face, only amazement mingled with a terrible realization of what his fate was to be. His palor was in striking contrast to the complexion and coloring of his captors. With every move they made, their naked bodies gleamed in the firelight like polished ebony. Now and then, one or another would gaze hungrily at the prisoner and smack his lips in anticipation of the feast to come. The silent watcher in the rim of the trees had not arrived any too soon. How should he rescue him? What plan would be best to adopt? Should Thirty