University of Massachusetts Amherst - Index Yearbook (Amherst, MA)

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OFFICERS. Presidetit, J. Harry Putnam. 1st Vice-President, Frederick L. Greene. 2d Vice-President, Waldo L. Bemis. Secretary, Edward H. Henderson. Treasurer, Herbert D. Hjemenway. Cir ss CiuU. OFFICERS. President, Ira C. Greene. Vice-President, Samuel F. Howard. Secretary, J. Elton Green. ■rt jwrr, Charles M. Dickinson. Directors. Thaddeus F " . Keith. Henry B. Read. F ' rederick B. Shaw. John A. Emrich. 106

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Leader. J. HARRY PUTNAM. Drum Major. PERLEY E. DAVIS. J. Harry Putnam . Walter B. Harper . Alexander C. Birnie . Charles H. Higgins Albert F. Burgess Harry H. Roper Percy C. Roberts Robert L. Farnsworth William C. Brown Fred G. Averell John H. Jones Piccolo. Solo B Flat Cornet. . B Flat Cornet Solo Alto. Tenor. Tuba. Baritone. Alto. Snare Drum. Bass Drum. Cymbals. ' o.S

Page 135 text:

l e ttr (Bxxn. I HERE had been a late session of the Index Board. We left the close, hot, room, wearily groped our way, hand over hand, along the crooked balus- trade, down the dark stairway into the night. How refreshing was the cool air. The stars shone brightly, and facing the south wind, inhaling the life- giving oxygen, I strode aimlessly across the campus, found myself in front of the drill hall, iri vicinity of the artillery park, and, standing beside the southern- most gun, leaned languidly back against it, resting my elbows on the piece, as the night wind fanned my hot and aching brow. Few lights burned in the silent colleges, their vigorous 3 ' oung life was hushed in repose. Sounds of the night alone came to my ears ; the distant barking of a dog, the querulous notes of a screech-owl, and the cricket ' s faint, frost-burdened lament. From a distant bell sounded twelve slow, quivering strokes — they died away. Another bell, differently toned and nearer, solemnly sounded its refrain — and was silent. Then, from the spire above me, slowly, but with oppressive weight and distinctness, twelve measured, musical strokes, as if in corroboration, told the mystic hour of midnight. The great waves of sound, turned back by Mt. Pleasant, rolled like a deluge over the westward valley, and as the last faint reverberations ceased, I was startled by a low, deep, hollow voice, close beside me, saying, " Republics are ungrateful. " I turned with a start, but, with eyes now grown accustomed to the darkness, could discern no living thing. Meanwhile, the strange voice, such as never came from human larynx, continued, " Old, infirm, superannuated, am I ? Not abreast of the times ! Well, to ingratitude and neglect I ' ve not grown calloused, at least. " The sound, as I have said, was low and deep ; it was not spoken, it issued, like the murmur from a sea-shell, a continuous stream without accent, pause, or inflex- ion ; a deep, hollow roar, in which, however, words shaped themselves distinctly, unmistakably, sententiously, sometimes sharply, like pictures in a flame. I looked, listened intently, bent low over the old gun, and, in defiance of reason, was soon convinced that from its brazen, blackened, throat came the mysterious sounds. Superstitious fears I have always treated with ridicule and contempt, but down deep in all our natures there are inconsistencies of which we ourselves are scarcely aware till some extraordinary mental upheaval brings them to light, and, in spite of ourselves, the flesh will creep and the breath come quicker. 107