Richmond High School - Shield Yearbook (Richmond, CA)

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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

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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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nt Reyes , threw it ad silence the towel ners Wh lent an his pip thought rou coll the win y Ol th father sea. al on I he ral pokes | dow, take ! {welll yor a part tl a shea asteltl ; yy oro howl wnt at tng 0s you nd 18 in the the same man. I wish to God I’d gone down with the old boat, but life seems a fine thing sometimes, especially when you’re the last one off!’’ At that, the captain stopped, staring again moodily out into the whiteness. Ding, dong, dong went the old bell in the tower. ‘“Where did she sink, Captain?’’ I asked. ‘‘Aecording to the chart, she hes six fathoms off Port Har- ford.’’ We talked over the question for some time. Urged by an in- stinct that no landsman can understand, the Captain longed to see the old ‘‘Belle,’’ just once, he said, so to humor him, I agreed to go with him to the spot where the vessel had gone down. In a few days’ time we were off, leaving an assistant in charge of the lght. As each throb of the engine brought us nearer our destination, the man grew happier and joilier. He greeted the engineer and deck- hands each morning with a smile and every now and then we could hear his infrequent laugh. We arrived at the locality and spent some time taking sound- ings, the captain always holding the lead. Once we were startled by a faint sound as of a bell under water. But it was not repeated, and we went on with the work. At length, after noting much vari- ation in the depth, we finally found one place slightly over six fathoms. This, then, we decided, must be the spot. The diving suit. was brought out and after much vain arguing and pleading on our part, we finally gave in and let the Captain go down first. [ can see him now as he stood there on deck in that rubber out- fit, just before placing on the iron helmet. ‘Well. Jim,’’ he said, ‘‘if I don’t come up, remember I’m ful- filling the old man’s wish.”’ He gave an odd little laugh, then bade us put on the helmet. Slowly he descended the slimy ladder, we paying him out foot by foot, until he signalled us to stop. The minutes dragged by. The men at the pump became rest- less. I looked at my watch; he had been down nearly thirty min- utes. Suddenly the great air hose rose to the surface writhing and wriggling like a huge serpent. We knew that something must ‘kly so I donned the emergency suit and be dore and done qui started below. The men paid out the line very slowly. It seemed to take me an eternity to reach the bottom. Presently the heavy shoes touched the soft mud, and | looked around for the vessel. Somewhere cut of those black depths came the faint ding, dong, dong of a bell. I walked in the direction o1 the sound and soon came to the hull of a vessel. The bow had been torn away and a number of large holes had been made amidships, through which, as I eame near, I could see the fish playing hide and seek. I made my way up the slimy si des of the old hull and walked toward the cabin. Entering the doorway [I beheld a man gripping the wheel with one hand while in the other he grasped a small knife with which he had evidently severed the air hose. At last he was down with his ship. Ding, done, dong, went the bell again—a ghostly sound—as the current rocked it two and fro. However, I did not wait to see more of the phantom ship, but made my way to the surface aa aniekly as possible and was soon speeding for home. ROY ROGERS, ’15.