Johnstown High School - Spectator Yearbook (Johnstown, PA)

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THE SPECTATOR 21 squeaking pulley attracted their attention. At a glance they took in the situation and a moment later they were running at full speed toward their dormitory. “There ’ll be a heck of a row around here in about two minutes,” remarked a Freshman. “We had better get out of here as soon as possible,” replied another. “If we get this lower door locked the flag is safe.” They quickly ran up the flag, closed the window and, rushing down to the second floor, locked the stairway door. As they ran down past the first floor, Wilson, glancing out at the window, saw about two dozen Sophs coming on a dead run across the campus. All the Freshmen except Wilson and Harding had reached the chapel floor when the Sophs broke into the game. Part of them started in to clean up the bunch in the chapel; the rest, eight in number, running up to tear down the flag, encountered Bruce and Frank, who ran back to the first floor and slammed the door. A moment later the combined weight of the Sophs crashed against the door, which fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately for the Freshmen, resisted all attacks. Then one of the Sophs discovered the key sticking in the lock. “Let’s lock them in,” he suggested; “they’ll be found in the morning when the faculty begins to investigate.” This plan they carried out and went away. “I guess we stay here all night,” said Frank. “Yes, and the janitor will find us here in the morning. We’re just about as good as expelled,” replied Bruce. “If we only had the keys to those padlocks we would go up and get that pinchbar that we left up on the third floor. Then we would make short work of this door,” said Frank. “Well, I suppose we might as well go to sleep,” re- marked Bruce, after they had discussed—and cussed—the situation in full. They both stretched themselves out on the floor, and, worn out by excitement and lack of sleep, weresoon asleep. Bruce awoke several hours later with a sharp pain in his eyes and throat. He sat up, wondering what was the matter with himself. Noticing a peculiar smell, he,took one sniff. It was smoke! The chapel was on fire! He rushed

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20 THE SPECTATOR Bruce Harding, the second boy, was one of the leaders of the Freshmen, both in the classroom and in any mischief that was afoot. His face showed high intelligence, a love of fun and a certain obstinacy of purpose. Altho larger, he was younger than Wilson. When all .arrangements for the attempt had been made seven boys, beside Wilson and Harding, were in the plot. Accordingly, one night in March, about seven o’clock they stole from their dormitories and made their way to the old chapel. This had at one time been a village church but was now used as an auditorium. The old spire had been torn down and in its place a three-story square tower erected. The first and second floors of the tower had but one window each, facing the front; while the third floor had four, one facing each direction. The floors were connected by stairways, each stairway having a door at both ends. The door that opened into the stairway leading to the third floor was firmly secured against such an attack as this. Two iron bars, hinged at one side, passed across the door and were secured by two brass padlocks at the other side. Above the third floor the roof formed a blunt pyramid topped by a short flagpole. The halyard ropes were brought down and tied to the front third floor window. By forcing a window in the basement the boys made their way thru the chapel to the second floor. Here they could easily have cut the iron bars that crossed the door ; but in that case they could not lock the door again. By filing the padlocks they could put on new ones when they had hoisted the flag. In this way they could prevent the Sophomores from tearing the flag down in the morning. After an hour’s hard work they succeeded in forcing the door open and mounting to the third floor. Raising the window, they fastened their flag, a huge blue and gold pen- nant, to the halyard and began to raise it. When the flag was almost up the pulley at the top of the pole screeched , loudly. Horrified, the boys looked around to see if anyone was within hearing distance. Fate, or whatever spirit rules over schoolboys, willed that just then two Sophs should be crossing the campus. They were probably returning from some midnight prowl and were just about to steal into their dormitory when the

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22 THE SPECTATOR to the window and threw it up, but was quickly driven back by the flames that were already licking up the front of the chapel. A ladder could never be raised thru that. He buried his face in his hands and thought—was this the end of their plan? Caught like rats in a trap, were they to die such a horrible death? Then he pulled himself to- gether and turned toward his friend. Laying his hand on Frank’s arm, he shook him gently. Frank, opening his eyes, stared around vacantly for a moment; then he re- membered. “Are you ready to die?’’ asked Bruce, gravely. “Come off, now, old man, don’t get dramatic. I'm not ready to die until I get a whack at those Sophs,’’ replied Frank, grinning. “But what’s the matter? I smell smoke?’’ “You ’ll smell more before long,” was the grim retort. They discussed the situation for a few minutes in low tones, awed by their approaching doom. If they could only raise a ladder on the roof and get in the third floor windows—but then it wouldn’t do any good, for they couldn’t get past that door,” said Frank. “I don’t suppose they know we’re here. The rest of the fellows would hardly miss us when they ran away,” replied Bruce. He had hardly spoken when the stairway between the chapel and the first floor fell with a crash, tearing the door partly open. Thru this narrow hole the flames raged so fiercely that the two were driven to the second floor. Here the smoke and gas were more oppressive, but the heat was not quite so bad. It was plain that they could not live long in such an atmosphere, for their heads reeled and breathing was difficult. Frank held out his hand silently. Bruce took it and gripped it hard. “Old man,” he said, after a moment’s pause, “I guess we’ve about reached the end of the string.” Frank staggered over to the wall and leaned against it. Another minute and his knees gave way and he slid, un- conscious, to the floor. At this Bruce, who had been re- flecting moodily, leaped up with a perfect torrent of oaths. “Hey! You muckle-faced idiot, quit your cursing and open this door,” came a voice from behind the door leading to the third floor.