Johnstown High School - Spectator Yearbook (Johnstown, PA)

Page 6 text:

THE SPECTATOR All eyes are turned at once that way, To see what foreign band Has nerve enough to come and take Defeat from out our hand. They're husky fellows-every one, And some begin to doubt Whether or not our High School team Will put them down and out. With deftness and precision, too, They run their tactics thru: Each man of them so confident . That they're the ones who'll do, Soon time is called, the other team The kick-off gets, and now The ball goes fiying thru the air To waiting arms below. Our captain has it, see him run! But lo! with leap and bound Their fieetest man has tackled him, And stretched him on the ground. The whistle blows, the boys spread out, The signals to await, The way they block our play this time, Is surely something great, Once more the signals, then a rush, Our man has got the ball, And straight away for twenty yards He runs, ere comes his fall. Two plays are triedg both fail to bring For either gain or loss, But, in the next successive runs We bear the ball across. The ball is placed, the goal is kicked, Our hopes begin to soarg But many things may happen yet, Before the game is o'er. The kick-oif comes, we rush the ball Up to their forty yard, And now both sides get down to work, Fast, furious, and hard. We rush them hard and push them back, By playing strong and fastg And slowly gaining yard by yard, A touch down's ours at last,

Page 5 text:

THE SPECTATOR 3 When quietness had been resumed, one of the ofhcials step- ped forward and in a harsh voice announced that because of the shooting of two Confederate spies by the Northern- ers, in retaliation, two men out of the imprisoned ofhcers were to be picked and shot. With a look of horror over- spreading the countenances of the hundred or more men, they all jumped to their feet. Big drops of perspiration came to the foreheads of men, who, without the least bit of fear, had gonethru many a hard battle. Death was a cer- tainty for two, out of their number and who could say that it would not come to him. The names of all written on slips ofpaper having been placed in a hat, a man out of their midst was blindfolded and forced to pick from the hat two of the slips. Slowly he reached in the hat and taking a slip, tremblingly pulled it out. An official took it and read the name. With a gasp the bearer of the name started forwards, then suddenly col- lapsed. A sigh intermingled with relief and pity escaped the rest. But it was cut short by the drawing of the other name. The second man did not stir, or even move an eye- lash, but instead, stolidly stared at the blank prison wall in front of him. When it was all over, the remainder of the men dropped to the floor overcome by the anxiety and fear of the moment, while the unfortunates were torn away by the sol- diers in the midst of the farewells to their friends, and their last messages to their loved ones at home. J. E. C. ex-'08 i The Game A football game is on to day, The boys are all in trim g And now they're marching toward the point A victory to win. The ball is punted, signals tried, And all the plays gone o'er: Till some one shouts, There comes their team In at the other door.

Page 7 text:

I THE -SPECTATOR Another goal is kicked, and now The score stands twelve to naught: When time up comesg both teams run off, All enmities forgot The second half is called, the boys Unto the field draw nighg No spirit lacking, every man Resolved to do or die. Again the kick-off, and the ball Is held just at its fall: We play with all our might, but yet We make no gain at all. Play after play is tried, until The time is almost outg The crowd begins to break and leave 3 There's left no room for doubt. The game is ours by twelve to naught, We've beaten them indeed! But suddenly a man starts toward Our goal at lightninglspeed. A He has the ball ! The field is clear! They'll surely score this timeg But now our men are after him, And passing line on line. One of our men comes up until There's but a yard between: And with a leap he tackles him, And lays him on the green. Once more the whistle blows, and once Again they form aboutg But, ere the signals are begun There comes the cry, Time's out ! The game is ours! Its twelve to naught ! The crowd of rooters cry, For Johnstown High School, V-I-C-T-O-R-Y. Dona W. GRAZIER, '09