Mission High School - Mission Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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THE MISSION The De reli6t's Story The gray sky was frowning down upon the sullen, turbulent sea which had taken as its victim a Spanish galleon, once the pride of all Spain. The waves dashed against the gallantship as though trying to crush out its very life. And this is what the galleon said while the relentless waves went on in their cruel work of demolishing her: To think that I, La Aprisa, the ship that was christened by his Majesty, the King of Spain, should come to my death in this manner! Well do I remember the day, September 12, 1492, when I proudly sailed out of the harbor of Cadiz, silken flags flying, in question of a land far over the sea, a land that was laden with precious gems, shimmering silks, wonderful perfumes, and strange spices. My beloved master was with me then, he who was strong andg fearless, he who could guide me through any storm safely. The first few days out everything went favorably. We enjoyed the smiling blue skies above us, the calm sapphire-colored sea before us, and best of all, a breezy wind that swept us along at ten knots an hour. Then one night we ran' into a bank of dense impenetrable fog. For days we were in a prison of mist. We could neither see nor hear anything and consequently lost our course. The sailors, useless superstitious beings, blamed all this misfortune on my cap- tain. As though he would deliberately turn us off the course and leave us to perish in mid-sea! Finally the fog lifted. The wind began to blow, and we were on our way again. The sailors, who became more dissatisfied the farther we got away from land, mut- tered among themselves and cast black looks at my master. Their leader was the second mate, a huge bulk of a man with the face of wild beast, a man whom I could not help hating. Suddenly we were beset by a calm. My sails hung listless, while over our heads stretched the turquoise-blue expanse of heaven unbroken alas! by a single wind cloud. The waves, which glittered in the sunlight, gently lapped against my sides, not then as now slowly tearing me to pieces. Supplies were low and we had no water. The men were becoming crazed with fear, and my commander had a hard time of it trying to keep them in leash. One night, when the clouds overcast the moon, the men stole into my master's cabin, over-powered him, and murdered him in cold blood. Imagine the agonies I went through. I who loved my master and yet could not help him. Then the villains, wishing to hide their foul act, threw the body of my noble captain into the dark, restless sea. Suddenly, as though to punish them for their wicked deed, a storm burst forth. The rain poured down, and the wind blew a gale. The second mate laughed and said: 'Aha, my hearties, now that we are rid of our hated captain, no need to keep on sailing forward. We will sail back to the sunny land of! Spainl' Then he started to steer me, not gently as my master used to, but roughly, not caring whether he made me go through the most dangerous swells. How I despised him, how I wished to revenge my master! The storm increased, the wind howled as though a thousand demons had been let loose. The second mate lost control of me, and I shot forward. One grim purpose I held in mind, namely to avenge the murder of my commander, anyway, anyhow! I have accomplished my task. The murderers lie at the bottom of the sea, but now I, who was once the pride of all Spain, must join them. A great crash, and the sea took for its own the faithful ship, and the gray sky con- tinued to frown upon the sullen, turbulent waters. ' CAASI BUTTON. IISI

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THE MISSION Who Wins? Jean Ward tapped his second ball lightly, and saw it fall some feet short of the net. Chagrined, he looked over towards the bench and saw the three girls with McDevitt laughing at him. He was disgusted with himself and thoroughly angered at them for their laughter. The tennis game was drawing to an end, and Jean had to finish it in his usual foolish way by missing a returned ball completely. This brought a roar of laughter from the bench, and McDevitt, with his eyes snapping maliciously, took winners and pro- ceeded to play his usual posing game of tennis. Jean walked to the bench thoroughly mad at his inabilities, at himself. Sitting down while pulling on his sweater, he was suddenly jarred to hear the context of what one of the girls just then, said: Oh, what a swell racer he must beg five in a race and he came fifth. And then a Ht of laughter. Jean burned. That was meant for him. McDevitt's work. It was a popular joke around school, Jean's trying to run. He had grown so abruptly, and to such proportions, that he found himself unable to control his limbs rationally. He was clumsy. But, like all boys, he wanted to be a hero of some competition. So, he had tried out for his school's track team, and attempted the mile run where he thought his lack of speed would not count. CVery old story.j However, his first few races told him that a miler must be somewhat of a sprinter also. And now, McDevitt, the school's fastest and most egotistical man, had belittled him. Poor Jean-his thoughts were bitter. Why Cfor the moment he was delirious? he knew he could beat McDevitt in anything but his favorite events, the century and furlong. The unspeakable sneaking fellow! For fear you may think Jean a cripple, I here say that he was a very normal boy of sixteen, with the similar clumsy strength of a fast-growing puppy. He gazed truculently at the net with his sweater half on, thinking. He had no knowledge of how ridiculous he looked at that moment. Then McDevitt slammed a ball into the net a few feet from his head. His stare was changed into an active glance, and he looked around to find the girls smiling at his posture. He blushed, got to his feet, and walked home. He started off briskly enough, but his thoughts were so vibrant with unthinkable deaths he hoped McDevitt might suffer that he slowed down to the merest walk. Rancor Hooded his brain. He hated lVIcDevitt. He hated himself for being unable to handle his limbs. just in the middle of a delightful picture of Georgey Cas the girls called himl falling off the top of a twenty story building with naked fear in his face and clutching hands, and himself riding down in a parachute, laughing, just out of reach, he was frightfully awakened by a screeching motor horn. He was rooted to the ground for the moment, then he leaped for the curb and made it. There in his palpitating, bitter condition, he over-flowed and stormed. He muttered to himself forcefully until his being Hooded with self-pity and he caught himself wanting to cry. l20 l