University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

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THE REDWOOD AN EYE FOR AN EYE ' The short December day waned into evening. A cold wind blew steadily from the north causing the army bivouacked and entrenched to creep near to its camp fires and wrap itself in its blankets. From a fire far to the left came the sound of voices singing. The officers were making merry. Then after a time the singing ceased and from the midst of the group a young Captain arose and shook the ashes from his pipe. It ' s mighty cold tonight he said and yawned. W ell, good night, boys, I ' m off to see to the pickets. He but- toned his coat about him and walked out into the moonlight. Captain Allen was a young man and well liked by all. Every night, no matter how mean and disagreeable, he would visit his pickets and see that they were as comfortable as possible. Tonight he walked along thinking of the northern home where soon the Yule log would make bright his hearth and shine upon the faces of his loving family. He pictured it all, as he cautiously moved along, and with all the affection of his loving heart, yearned to be there. Suddenly he stopped and listened, then crept forward and stood erect behind a tree. What he saw there made him crouch back and draw his revolver. Then he stealthily looked again. There in the sand of a small creek knelt a man; before him on a flat board was stretched a piece of paper and beside him lay a revolver. He was rapidly tracing lines on the paper. Now and then he stopped and listened, then again he bent to his work and the pencil moved with rapid pre- cision. Captain Allen watched a moment, fascinated by the man ' s movements. No hesitation, no pause except to listen. Certainly the man was an ex- pert and knew well his mission. And his bravery! There he knelt alone, a spy, almost within the entrenchment of his enemies, making a chart of their works. He finished and he stopped to survey his work. It satisfied him and a smile slight but noticeable spread over his features; the smile of a man well pleased with a deed. He picked up his revolver and put it in his holster, gathered the paper, folded it and placed it safely in the bosom of his shirt. As he arose to go, Captain Allen spoke. All through he asked politely. The spy started, turned and unflinch- ingly gazed into the barrel of the Cap- tain ' s gun. After a moment he answered. Yes all through,— Bob! Jack! Allen ' s arm lowered. He stood motionless, paralyzed. As he gazed, seeing nothing but the face of his enemy, there rushed before his mind the memory of this man, who wore a

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THE REDWOOD MUST ALL OUR TREASURES PERISH ? The flush of evening darkens into night Almost before the splendor of the sky — Its magic light Has fallen on the charmed watcher ' s eye And filled him with delight. The matin carol of the singing bird (Poured forth in glorious welconie to the dawn Has scarce been heard Echoing over meadow, grove and hill When on a sudden impulse he is gone And all is still. A fleeting hour Measures the span of life Of the most fragrant flower. And in the cruel strife, Waged by grim Time so ceaselessly on all Even the best r]iust fall. Friendships and loves must some day cease to be. (But shall they wholly perish ? J ot while the heart can cherish A tender memory. M. T. (Dooling, Jr., ' og.

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THK REDWOOD uniform which made them foes, and who had crept into his lines, a spy. lyOng ago in boyhood they had been chums and their friendship remained all through youth and manhood. They had been more than chums, the} ' had been brothers. All the sweet memories of the past were sweet to Allen, because they had been shared by this friend. All those that caused him grief lost bitterness when this friend shared the sorrow. He had known no love except his mother ' s, equal to that which he bore this boy. Then they had grown up and his sister had given her hand in marriage to his chum, strengthening the bond that held them together. Now he stood there with a duty be- fore him which would cost the life of his friend and brother. He hesitated. Vaguely he realized the sorrow and grief that would besiege the hearts of his sister and all those who loved that man standing before him. He saw the dear ones at home with bowed heads and broken hearts and tear-stained eyes unwilling to be comforted. And last of all he thought of his own great love and weighted with duty it now seemed boundless. I can ' t! I can ' t! he mur- mured. The spy stood still. No sign of fear presented itself. His face was slightly pale, but his eye was bright and his head erect. Each moment he expected Allen to shoot but no bullet came. Then as to a dying man comes a pano- rama of his past, so now to this man facing death there came a vivid picture of all that had gone before. His youth, the happy days he had spent when in company of the man who now stood before him. All his life appeared to him clear and entire. More vivid than all came the picture of his young wife at home waiting for the war to end and praying always that no harm would come to him she loved best in all the world. He was a brave man and did not fear to die, but some thoughts make cowards of us all. Why shouldn ' t he try to escape? Captain Allen seemed dazed. He did not move nor speak. He stared, motionless. The spy knew that the Captain ' s duty was to shoot or take him prisoner to be shot in camp. He also knew his friend ' s thoughts. He reasoned that if he dashed for liberty he might get away and Allen would not be blamed. If he did not escape he could make his friend ' s duty easier. He acted quickly. He jumped and ran for the trees. Captain Allen saw him go and for a moment his sense of duty came uppermost and love was for- gotten. He fired once — twice. The spy lurched, fell, half rose and then fell back limp and lifeless. The gun fell from Allen ' s hand and with the cry of ' ' Jack! he staggered for- ward and knelt beside his friend. Jack, I couldn ' t help it, he mut- tered hoarsely, I couldn ' t, good God, Jack, I A rifle shot rang out clear and sharp. Captain Allen ' s hand sought his head, he reeled and fell forward upon the bosom of his friend and brother — dead. An eye for an eye, muttered a southern sharp-shooter, as he noiselessly stole away reloading his rifle. Ivo G. BOGAN, ' 08.