Richmond High School - Shield Yearbook (Richmond, CA)

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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.

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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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The Lost Ring (pees sat there side by side, neither speaking. A crow lighted somewhere above their heads with a raucous ery. ‘About as much harmony in that crow’s song as between just now, eh, Marjory?’’ Tom Hollis leaned forward you and me, to look close into the face of Marjory West. She was silent. ‘‘Only been here a month and has taken you out four times. Do you think that’s fair to me?”’ Marjory looked up at him. ‘‘ Would you have me give up all my pleasures just because I’m engaged to you? If you were here to take me out anywhere yourself it would be different.’’ ‘‘T wish I could be.’ There was another short pause. ‘I thought Mr. Kelly had been merely kind.’’ Marjory spoke quizically. ‘“‘But four times in one month! That’s more than kind.’’ ‘“Yes, but remember, you haven’t been home for three months.”’ Tom gazed down the gentle slope of the hill below them. It came to him for the first time that perhaps he had been unjusi, that he had thought only of himself. He felt he would rather sacrifice anything than be unjust to the girl beside him. A wave of contrition surged over him. ‘‘T have been a selfish beast,’’ he said at last. ‘‘In the first piace, it was selfish to ask you to wait so jong for me—over a year.’ Another pause. Then in an elaborately, careless voice, ‘‘Sup pose we eall it off?’’ Oh, Comet? “It’s the only way to be fair to you, Marjory, and give me back my self respect.’’ They sat for some time in silence. Marjory fingered the ring she wore. At last she held out her hand toward Tom, the diamond on her finger sparkling like a dew drop on a May morning. ‘You gave it, so you must take it back.’’ she said. Tom shook his head. ‘‘I don’t want it.’’ Marjory tried to smile. ‘‘Why, Tom, I can’t keep it after this. What shall we do with it?” “IT don’t know.”’ ‘Shall we bury it?’’ she suggested. “No, not bury it. I’m not going to put a tomb stone over our love. It isn’t dead. At least mine isn’t. Let’s lose it.’? But how?’’ é Tom gazed up into the tree thoughtfully. Suddenly he turned. I have it. We’ll pull that down, put the ring on the end and let the branch fly back.’’ “All right. But won’t it be lost?? 10