Soldan High School - Scrip Yearbook (St Louis, MO)

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.-va,--eff 4- wir, .f L' .. sf e- - fb' 3 ..- .2 ,Yi-.2 - fg.!A-N:- . V QQ-V 1. i-.7-f . P 'Y x 1 1 4, KH P: fl -L 5l,,Qis i53 No Prisoners Taken F H, BITTER wind swept across a shell-plowed field in Flanders. Qfigun Fragments of storm-driven clouds scudded across the sky. The sun came down to the western horizon--stared for a moment at the pitiful conflict of pigmy men, then sank into - a purplish bank of fog and mist. Night had come-bleak, mid-winter night of Flanders. Now and then No Man's Land sprang out of the darkness as a star-shell burst above it. From some distant pill-box came the tattoo of a machine-gun, and from farther on, the sullen boom of bigger guns. Scotty Blake, of the Third Canadian Reserves, lay huddled up in the dugout. For thirty hours he had given the best that was in him. Every aching muscle was reacting from the gruelling strain of the last great drive. His eyes were half closed. He tried to forget the awful picture of the day, the cutting wind that now crept in, the Hurries of driven snow,-the sleek trench rats that slunk back overgorged from No Man's Landf' It was almost Christmas time, and as he lay there, his body half numbed with exhaustion and cold, but his mind keenly alert, his thoughts flew back to a little cottage in Missouri-to a little one-street town where he had spent his boyhood days. He saw his mother- bustling about the kitchen. He even was conscious of the tantalizing odor of baking pie crust. He saw them all-Bob, the little brother, with a squad of his childhood friends, parading around with dishpans and broom handles, playing soldier. Scotty wondered if little Bob got the drum he had wanted so badly for Christmas. Then his mind went back-to her. Always she was the goal of his thought-he could not forget-he had tried so many times, yet the thought of her was the real vital thing that dominated his heart and life. Three years ago he had left her. A childish quarrel-hot and bitter words-all so pitiably out of keeping with what they had since suffered. In the hot surge of 'anger he had left her, just as the great war was calling Canada's men to Europe. He went with them. He had not written and of course she could not know where he was-and yet, never an hour but his thoughts had gone back to the girl whose heart was bound up in his own. And this night in Flanders, huddling in a cheer- less dugout, the pitiable folly of it all came back to him. He saw her again just as he had seen her that first time in the old apple orchard back of the little one-street town in Missouri. There she stood-the apple blossoms all about her, the june sun streaming over her, and as he saw her again he could hear her pleading for him to come back. He could feel the longing in the wistful, blue eyes looking up at him so beseech- ingly. So powerfully real was the vision that Scotty had reached out his hand to touch her. Scotty !-Scotty !-Oh, Scotty !-God! I thought you'd been killed! I3

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-, '-'Pia e-Cif A v Wi ' -r'G'J '4 '- -Y -- W -qg-?,':3 Tf- x.3,- r eins -w . was so loyally responded to. Then, only the destinies of a million people were involvedg now the welfare and the liberties of the human race are at stake. A national crisis! No, a world crisis calling on every lover of liberty of whatever race or color to throw fortune, life, all,-in behalf of the cause of human freedom that in the present crisis is threatened with annihilation. Sacrifice and suffering have ever been the price the race has paid for liberty. But history reveals the indisputable fact that, although the sacrifice has been severe, and the sorrows and suffering may have been heavy, the resultant reward has not only far surpassed the sacrifice, but has more than fully repaid any resultant sorrow or suffering. What though the sufferings of Valley Forge were severe, and though the patriots of the little continental army wore rags and left bloody foot- prints on the frozen snowy all this suffering, this sacrifice resulted in the birth of a great nation. And ever since this nation has been a haven for the oppressed, a day-star for the downtroddeng it is to-day a pattern for liberty-loving peoples throughout the world. What though sixty-one saw Bull Run and sixty-three Antietam, what though three hundred thousand men were sacrificed on Southern battlefields, the greatest democracy was kept intact, and the shackles of bondage struck from four million slaves. Once again the cause of human liberty is threatened. The beast of militarism already has crushed under its ruthless heel the self-respecting, liberty-loving, little principalities. Now it threatens to place this yoke of autocracy on the whole civilized world. Shall we not then rally as did our fathers to fight the battle of freedom, to preserve the cause of human liberty, to make the world safe for the generations to come? The supreme hour is at hand. The nation is called upon to rise as one man to the support of our president. Whatever the sacrifice demanded, of time, of wealth, of life, all should be freely paid that those to come may possess liberty. Where is the soul so narrow and the heart so selfish, that in this greatest of human crises it continues to turn a deaf ear to the cries of suffering humanity? Our fathers counted no sacrifice too great for the cause of freedom. If they gladly gave their blood that we might be free, shall we be so selfish at this hour as to withhold ours? If they joyfully sacrificed their home and goods, shall we do less? In this momentous hour of human history personal feelings and self-seek- ings should be buried. We fight for a cause that affects the future, not of one nation, but the world. If we are to continue to hold our place among nations, every man, woman and child should stand ready to answer our leader's call. Far better that a few of us die in this glorious cause, than that the nation itself should cease to be a protector of free- dom and a defender of liberty, a pattern to a waiting world. -Howell Evans. 12

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You sleep like a Boche when we get through with 'eml Yuh 'wake?- Well, listen: get yourself together and make it snappy! We have orders to go 'over the top' at ten-fifteen. Scotty crawled from his position of shelter, and shaking the snow from his coat, made himself ready. His little nap had refreshed him and after taking a nip of strong rum he was ready. There was always some- thing revolting to him in all of this terrible business. Over the top -stumbling, running, panting across No Man's Land -tearing through entanglements of barbed wire, and then, if not stopped by a piece of lead, to plunge a whetted bayonet into a fellow-human being. Gruesome, terrible, inhuman business-always his whole instinct revolted. A He had now been with his Canadian fellows for almost three years, yet nothing could harden him to this matter-of-fact way human lives were sacrificed. Again he repeated to himself: I am fighting for principle. It is right. justice will- Fix bayonets ! Scotty's reflections were cut short by the whispered command passed down the trench, to be followed by: Over the top ! Rifle in hand, he scrambled up. A thin line of his fellows was on either side. Stealthily but swiftly they pushed into No Man's Land, then-puff !-a German star-shell Flared overhead-the attack was uncov- ered. A shot and a hoarse shout came from the Boche lookout. A red rocket hissed high above the trenches-a signal to the artillery, and then hell was loosed. The thin line of crouching Canadians was transformed into an onslaught of battle-crazed demons. No more of stealth or hiding, for now the Teuton heavy guns had been warned and their terrible death messengers were on the way. Then came a screech-a demoniac scream-a terrible explosion, and Scotty, half-covered with dirt of No Man's Land, lay stunned. As senses came back he knew he was unhurt. Groping for his riile, he staggered to his feet. It had only been a second, for there were his comrades crawling through the tangle of wire. He stumbled toward them. Full strength came back with the desire to kill-kill-to feel the ecstasy of killing. They were through the barbed wire now-on the lip of the trench. There was the enemy. See, he is. looking up, waiting for me to loose his blood and life with a bayonet. Scotty raised his weapon and then darkness came, and unconsciousness. Scotty Finally, after a determined effort, opened his eyes. He tried to roll over on one side, but a terrific twinge of pain came from his knee. He lay still and tried to remember what had happened. He had a dim recollection of the charge, the blinding flashes of bursting shellsg then he closed his eyes from sheer faintness. Soon he became aware of the fact that he was hungry, intensely hungry. He tried' to sit up, but again came the awful tinge from his knee. He slid his hand down, only to find that it was bandaged firmly. Scotty blinked his eyes and looked 14