Plainfield High School - Milestone Yearbook (Plainfield, NJ)

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6 THE ORACLE whistled past them and kicked up the ground about their feet. Brooks felt a sting in his arm, but forgot it immediately. He despaired of reaching the trenches in one sprint, and headed for a shell-crater. A shrapnel-shell burst off to the side. He felt a vicious lash in his face and tumbled, unconscious, into the hole. Slowly Brooks became conscious of a heavy ache in his head. His right arm was stiff. What was the matter? Where was he? He stretched out his left hand weakly. There was nothing but earth, cold and damp. His bewildered thoughts groped for an explanation. Then his wild flight flashed upon his mind with all the vividness of a terrible experience. He lay quietly, wondering what to do. The big guns were still roaring their defiance to civilization. “Those cursed light bombs had disappeared. “he stars had been obscured. How black that hole was! He shifted his luminous wrist watch before his eves. Eyes! ‘The truth struck him a sickening blow! God! He had none! He writhed in agony, moaning, sobbing. A terrible sense of injustice crowded into his tortured head. A black hopelessness followed it. © What would become of him? And his mother? And his sister? He buried his face in his arm and recoiled from the pain. He could, never earn a living for them! They could not get along alone! The same thoughts returned again and again to torment him. At last, he came to a sudden resolve. He knelt, and moved his lips silently. ‘Then he crawled upward until his left hand felt the edge. After repeated efforts, he dragged himself over, and rose upon unsteady legs. He faced toward the direction he thought the enemy trenches must lie. | Almost eagerly he waited for that which would surely come. He was not disappointed. In a few moments Private Brooks fell again into the shell crater, and lay still at the bottom.

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THE ORACLE 5 A Man’s Part (As told by Harold Bloomfield, winner of the First Babcock Prize) Private Brooks’ mind was at ease. He did not attempt to deceive himself about the dangers of a listening-post, especially in this spell of heavy fighting, and he admitted frankly that he might not come back, but—well, he needn’t worry. ‘That Government insurance bill had driven the dark cloud from his horizon. Brooks had slipped off alone after taking out his policy, and figured cut the whole matter: If he were killed, his mother and sister would be able to manage with his sister's earnings and the ten thousand dollars of insurance money. If he returned from the war, he could support them. And at present, they were eking out a frugil existence from the money he sent them and the rather smal! wages of his sister, So— ‘Say,’ cautioned his comrade in a whisper, “watch your feet. You're makin’ too much noise.” “All right. We must be about near enough, ain’t we?” “Not quite.” ‘They crept on farther under a starry sky that made the scatiered artillery fire seem strangely out of place. Stakes, scraps of wire, and shell-holes, every- where, impeded their progress, but it was not long before they were close enough to the enemy trenches. The two soldiers lay down to listen, with bayonets attached to their loaded rifles. It was exciting work. Shadowy forms sprang up out of the darkness on all sides, moved phantom-like, and faded away, to reappear in other places. Blacker patches on the ground formed sudden resemblances to men lying in ambush, but a closer scrutiny would convince Brooks they were but tricks of his imagination. He could feel the blood pound through his ears. What dull, stupid stuff that bookkeeping had been, he thought sardonically. Suddenly the enemy’s artillery broke forth in a thunderous crash, that almost brought the soldiers to their feet. The heavens seemed rent by the explosions, and Brooks felt the earth tremble. The bombardment continued in a deafening roar. ‘Then star-shells began to appear here and there. The two men cursed bitterly at the sight of them. In a few minutes they were bursting all along the line, disclosing the soldiers in a white glare. Hoping to be overlooked, they flattened out and lay motionless. A bullet spat into the ground in front of them, and was followed by another to the side. “Let’s beat it!” Brooks yelled into the ear of his comrade. ‘Good luck!” “Good luck!’ came in the answering shout, barely audible above the up- roar. ‘hey leaped from the ground and raced madly for their trenches. Bullets

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THE ORACLE 7 Jocko (As told by Herbert Seaman, winner of the First Marsh Prize.) “Bang! Crash! Smack’’—there was a terrible yelping and snarling on the lonely New England beach. A boy rushed down the sand toward the cause of the noise. As he rounded a wooded point a never-to-be-forgotten sight met his eyes. Sand blew here and there, pieces of driftwood shot through the air and in the middle of this hurricane was a dark mass of legs, tails and teeth. Yes, and a good one, too. Now, off here on the coast, there was it was a dog fight not much for an active young lad to do but while away his time whittling or counting the numberless sails which flocked the azure horizon. So, for want of a better motive, the boy perched himself on a rock and watched the battle. Suddenly he leaped to his feet with a startled exclamation. One of the dogs, a mongrel, had succeeded in overturning his smaller enemy and was trying to get at its throat. The poor, little puppy, having no way to defend himself, was rapidly giving in when a tense brown hand clutched the mongrel’s furry neck and, with a rapid kick, sent him yelping down the beach. ‘The owner of the hand now turned his attention to the puppy whom he had rescued in the nick of time. One of the dog’s eyes was badly bruised and swollen, in fact, so badly hurt that he could express his thanks toward his deliverer with only one eye. Bob, for that was the lad’s name, took the dog up in his arms and carried him home to the Lighthouse. “The puppy was an Airedale terrier about two months old, Bob reckoned. At the Lighthouse, Bob dressed the puppy’s wounds, and not so much as a whimper did he get from the puppy. Right here would be a good time to describe the place that was to be the dog’s home all his life. The New England Coast at this place is a barren enough spot, indeed, and the occupants of Lighthouse No. 4 led a lonely life. “The rugged coast for miles is covered with formidable rocks, some jutting way out into the ocean, partly submerged, a perfect Waterloo for unwary seamen. Solidly built on a reef of these rocks, standing like a sentinel, is Lighthouse No. 4. It serves a double purpose: to warn sailors of the hidden danger lurking beneath the white- capped billows and also to act as a life-saving station for that stretch of coast line. On the beach is a shed containing a heavy sea-worthy boat and the cannon which shoots the life-line to the unfortunate mariners. This, then, was where the dog was to pass many happy hours, racing up and down the beach with his master, swimming in the foaming surf, or taking long hikes through the woods with Bob. ‘The latter was just as fond of his