Richmond High School - Shield Yearbook (Richmond, CA)

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D in th “Our plans, you know,”’ going into the old state of lethargy. ‘““Who has the plans?’’ from the white-faced Admiral. 8 cap ‘ The cha—the chaplain,’’ a rattling in his voice prevented fur- Xela iher speech for a few seconds. ‘“Go find the Chaplain, Grey !”’ ul yo ‘““Why did you betray them, Schultz?’’ kindly. | ‘‘because I couldn’t bear to see England lose.’’ My ‘Is there anything I can do for you, Schultz?’’ uprene ‘“No,’’ after a long pause. suddenly, unassisted, he rose and taking a glass, gravely raised uy it and called clearly ‘‘To England on the waters,’’ and tossing the vere glass over his shoulder, he fell to the floor, dead. AGNES AMBROSE, ’14. cderine . eral (700 si Co the Dead bos In the Little Churchvard at San Jlablo Dear, dead, forgotten hearts, asleep you lie Under the cypress “neath the Spring’s fair sky. None sigh for you ner any eye is wet Musing on recollections of you yet. Above you, all the earth is sweet with life, Careless, unheeding, in its joy and strife, king That once you felt its beauty growing nigh, Breathing the scented breezes passing by. head The verdant, rural fields about you spread, dls Some other hearts with carefree footsteps tread, rth Some hearts that with blithe animation teem, Passing the spot where you quiescent dream. ; The same mute hills in quietude repose. 10) Purling among the myrtle vines there blows ails The vagrant wind of April, and the same iee Scintillant sun now floods the skies with flame I hear the meadow lark unwearied sing, lid in the self-same trees, while soft doth ring The bell within the tower high, but low, Voiceless and all forlorn, you lie below. Twill not be long ere I am by your side, Cold as the stone that doth your silence hide, Ere I am laid neglected “neath the tree, Leaving no friend to still remember me. God, the full Fount of pity, give you peace. Save for His love your very souls would cease, Dear, dead, forgotten hearts asleep that le Under the cypress ‘neath the Spring’s fair sky. RUTH C. WOODS, 712. J 1100 out) ng. oet “I

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‘“T ean hardly say,’’ impatiently—‘‘I’ll send the plans on in the morning.’’ ‘And then what?’’ groaned Schultz. ‘And then I shall resign my position and return to less dan- gerous work, but you haven’t told me, don’t I make an excellent chaplain ?’’ “Yes you don’t seem to fear any disease connected with your work,’’ musingly. ‘‘Your poor father,’’ leaning over the bed almost tenderly, ‘‘it will be a bitter victory for him, boy, when he sees Germany supreme on the sea at the expense of your life.’’ ‘‘T wish I could have known him. When you see him, Coudray, say I send him this message, ‘‘ What I do, I do because | reverence loyalty.’ ’’ Coudray looked at him quickly and shook his head wondering but replied simply. ‘‘It shall be as you wish.’’ Giving the German salute, he bowed himself out as he responded to Sehulcz’s ‘Good- bye.’’ Tick! Tick! Tick! clamored the clock out in the dimly hghted hall. ‘“Almost twelve,’’ muttered Schultz as he swayed from his bed and staggered towards the door. Out into the hall he crawled and a sudden lureh against the wall brought his scorched cheeks in con- tact with the cool plastered surface. ‘‘Great, but I can’t stay here. The Admiral and Lieutenant Crey will be fussing over papers—what makes this infernal floor rcck so?—my tongue feels so strange, seems to fill my mouth. Great Heavens! the lights are going out!’’ Wildly his hands feit along the wall, ‘‘There’s no door here!”’ ‘“Towering over masses of papers the admiral figured, talking partly to himself, partly to Lieutenant Grey. ‘‘Tf we complete three more vessels by June we shall be ahead of Germany by two. You know, Grey, our English investigator dis- covered they have two vessels on record that are absolutely worth- less.’’ ‘Yes, we have three useless ones ourselves.’’ drawled Grey. ““That’s not the point,’’ retorted the overheated Admiral, mop- ping his brow, ‘‘the fact is, those Dutchmen don’t know our affairs as well as we do theirs—it’s beastly hot in here. Get some ice, Grey.”’ Grey stepped into the dim hall whistling softly to the ceiling. A heavy thud and he was sprawled over a black bundle. ‘‘A man! unconscious! Lord, it’s the fever patient! Oh, I say, Admiral, man fainted out here in the hall.”’ They carried him into the well lighted office and placed him on a couch. ‘“My flask, quick, Grey! He’s dying! Chafe his hands while I get this down his throat! Put the lights lower, he’s coming to!’’ ‘England on the sea,’’ drowsily came from Schultz. ‘““Yes,’’ encouragingly from the Admiral. ‘Get them—the maps, and destroy them,’’ with more animation. ‘Why?’ intently from both men. 6

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The Sunken “Pelle” E were sitting in the one large room of the little Point Reyes il Lighthouse. The large brass iamp flickering overhead, threw its yellow glare over the room. At regular intervals the dead silence was broken by the ding, dong, dong of the huge bell in the tower out its warning sound to the foe bound mariners who as it sent yet silent and might be near. Captain Ross, a man though young, moody, sat across the table from me, pufting quietly at his pipe. out of the window broodingly as if in deep thought. Dine-dong-dong, went the bell. Outside, all was white—you could not see two fect away. The Captain turned slowly from the win- dow and gazed at me intently for a few moments. “Say, Jim,’ he said, ‘have I ever told you the story of the He stared sunken ‘Belle’? ‘‘No. I don’t believe you have, Captain,’’ I replied. “Well, Jim, the sound of the old’ fog bell up in the tower brings it all back so clearly.”’ His pipe had gone out so | waited, quiet, while he re-lit it. He puffed slowly for a few minutes, then went on. ‘‘When I was in my early twenties—first mate on my father’s ship—the old man died. He had always followed the sea and loved it. One thing above all others, he had impressed on my mind. It was that should the time come when I rose to the rank that would let me feel the touch of the good oaken wheel spokes 10 my hand, I was to remember one thing—if the ship went down, I was to go with her. You’ll think that’s queer, Jim, but take a captain who’s paced the bridge of his vessel for close on to twenty years, why the ship and he are one. The old man died poor and all he left me was an old bronze bell that had played it’s part on all of his ships. Not long after that I became captain of the steam schooner ‘‘Belle.’’ I took the bronze bell with me and fastened her up above the pilot house where she could go on with her good work of warning the unwary in the fog. “We left Seattle one day with a cargo of scrap iron bound for San Diego. Coming down the coast we had fine weather until we neared Cape Blanco where we ran into a fog bank. That fog outside reminds me of it, one of those thick fogs that leaves you covered with a fine dew. The morning of the third day found us eoing on at half speed, with a double lookout stationed in the bow. Along about noon of the same day, from my place in the pilot house, I could hear the swish of water being parted, by some rapidly moving boat. I signalled the engineer ‘‘Full speed astern’ but before the message reached the engine room, there was a crash. [ knew it was all over for the ‘‘Belle’’ on account of her heavy load. ‘‘Tt’s almost a year now since the accident, Jim, but I’m not 8