New London High School - Whaler Yearbook (New London, CT)

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BULKELEY NEWS 3 man, Timothy Harding, accompanied us. “When we were deep in the woods we spied a deer. We separated and followed it. After ten minutes, Timothy Harding and I came together in a little clearing. We heard a crashing of bushes a short distance off. Soon a shape like that of a deer approached through the trees. It was your father in his deer-skin, with which he was accustomed to stalk deer. I knew that he owned this outfit, but Harding did not. I was seized by a desire to kill your father, who was the only barrier between me and your mother. I aimed at the part of the deer’s body in which I knew that your father’s head was. The shot was perfect; down he went like a falling tree. We rushed to his side, and then Harding discovered that it was your father. ‘Daniel Fremont,’ said he, ‘You did this intentionally. You took his life because you love his wife. Unless I am satisfied, you will suffer from your foolish act.’ You will have what you demand, if you will remain quiet,’ I replied. “We picked the body up, and carried it home. Your mother was startled when she saw us coming, bearing our burden between us. Her face wore a look of anxiety, which has been burning in my heart since that time. I pitied her. Her love for your father, thought I, must have been as great as my own love for her. She bore up bravely until the funeral was over. Then she became ill. The doctor said that the strain was too much for her weak heart, and that she would not be long among us. At an inquest, which had been held, I had been dismissed by the coroner, who, after examining Harding and me, had announced that the killing was accidental. About six months after your father died, your mother passed away. I was the nearest relative, and I brought you to my house to live. You were then about a year and a half old. My sister, who then had charge of the house on the farm which I owned, taught you to call me father.’ Harding, who lived near me, continually followed and blackmailed me. In order to escape his persecution I moved from Maine, after my sister died. I left no clue as to my intended destination, but I had been living here less than a year when he appeared in this vicinity, and continued to torment and persecute me. Four months ago he died. Between the time of your father’s death and Harding’s decease, he existed upon my money. During that time he used fifteen thousand dollars of my savings. I have lived as frugally and economically as possible, but all there is left is five hundred dollars, out of which the funeral expenses will have to be paid. The remainder is for you.” My foster-father ceased speaking, and lay back in bed. No sound could be heard except the ticking of the clock, and the howling of the wind as it whirled the snow through the leafless trees. The clock struck eight, then half-past. A feeble movement of the lips showed itself on the wan countenance of the dying man. I bent low to catch the sound of his feeble voice. “Forgive me, my boy, for my sin against you. Forgive me for killing your father.”

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2 BULKELEY NEWS I did as I was bade. He took a key, which hung upon a small gold chain, from his neck, unlocked the box, and took a picture from it. This photograph he gave to me, and said, “There is a picture of your mother in her youth.” I gazed upon a fair, serene countenance, from which a smile beamed forth. The beautiful, curly, brown locks hung over her high, broad forehead. Her clear, blue eyes attracted my attention by the steadfastness of their gaze. It was the picture of a woman who would command respect, even though she be surrounded by royalty. “So that is my mother,” I said in a tender, musing tone. “Yes, that is the girl who married Donald Ralston, your father. Her name was Helen Vantce. Her father was reputed to be rich, but when he died, he left only a few hundred shares of worthless stock, which he had foolishly invested in. “Your father, who was ten years younger than I, was my cousin. I do not possess a photograph of him, but I will try to describe him to you. He was a man of medium height, his hair was as black as coal, his skin, a delicate hue of olive, and he had black eyes, which flashed like fire when he was angry. “But descriptions do not relate the story, which I must tell. I was mate of ‘The Lioness,’ and had just returned to port when I was introduced to your mother. It was my first visit home in fifteen years. I fell in love with her at sight. Two months from that day, as I had engaged as captain for ‘The Colonel,’ I proposed to her. When she refused me, and told me she was engaged to your father, I was dazed and astounded, No living man could have struck me with such force that the blow would have made me reel like a drunken man, but her announcement did. “That night I packed my valise and took the last train to Boston, where The Colonel’ was moored. I went aboard and did not leave my cabin until two weeks later, when the ship had cleared from the port. There in that little cabin, I fought my fight —the fight between conscience and love. “We had a successful voyage, and my mates and I bought a small schooner, paying for it with the savings from our wages. The ship had been piloted to San Francisco, where officials of the company took charge of the vessel. From San Francisco my mates and I embarked upon a trading voyage to the South Sea Islands. We cruised around among the islands for nine months, bartering beads, cloth, and other trinkets for the pearls which the natives brought us. We had remarkably good luck, but as our store of provisions was almost exhausted, we decided to return. Twelve months from the day we set out on our journey, we were back in San Francisco. When our pearls were sold, it was found that we each possessed twenty thousand dollars, as well as a share in the old craft. I was tired of a sailor’s life, and decided to return to Maine to buy a farm on which I would remain for life. “When I returned, I refused to visit your father’s home because I feared that my irresistible longing would return. I continued to be a friend of your father. Occasionally I went hunting with him. One day we went off to hunt deer. An old

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4 BULKELEY NEWS I will,” said I, while my voice trembled with emotion. ‘God be praised! ” he exclaimed, and sank back, dead. —Phillips, '17. Angel Love You only speak of man; but, think you, there’s A gentler sex upon this earth, who share A silent fate with man. And not ’til you Have likewise brought them under your dominion. Will you attain the height of your desires. These creatures are your greatest enemies, For they abhor both war and you alike. You’ve broken up their pleasures and their homes. By forcing death upon their loyal mates. Husbands and lovers have gone forth to war, Ne’er to return to them, so dearly loved; And all the blame is giv’n to you, the God Of all the discontent that’s been aroused. Man does not crave these pastimes with the sword. But loses in excitement all his reason; And plunges into error unawares. And, savagery, of which you love to boast, Is not the nature of the present man. They are not animals, as you would have them; But sometimes are they forced to play the part. And when you say that they’re enjoying Nature, You only jest, for Nature is the power That tends to ever better things on earth. Construction, not destruction, is its aim; And progress is the fruit derived from it. — From “ War God and Angel Love, by John Tyler Williams. With author’s permission.