Albany High School - Thronateeska Yearbook (Albany, GA)

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The Thronateeska y 1Q2I Still the stranger lived among them Greatly loved and greatly loving. But the spring was now returning, Bursting buds and verdant foliage, Birds, a-cooing in the branches Of the oak and elm and cedar, Heralded her soon arrival; And the mantling vines and roses, With the fragrant honeysuckle, Wafted jasmine-scented breo.;.s. With the pine cones of the woodland, Mingled perfumes quite entrancing, While the spring’s soft, cheerful gurgle With the music in the tree tops, And the breezes always rustling, Played a symphony sublime. By the water in the moonlight, By the moss-hung oaks surrounded, Stood the maiden Thronateeska Gazing at her own reflection In the crystal depths of blue. Then two shadows in the water Cast upon it by the moon’s rays, Caused the girl to quiver slightly With a timid nervous gesture. Soon she turned to see the visitor, Quickly was she fast imprisoned ’Tween two arms now strongly holding The adored one to his bosom. Whispered words of solemn sweetness, Breathed more softly than the flowers Caused two hearts to beat and flutter As the young birds in their nestlings. Then the moon’s rays glancing downward, In the mirroring depths of liquid, Saw one shadow in the water. ’Twas the eve before the wedding And the redskins had made ready For their loved Princess’ marriage. Braves, discouraged and disheartened, Having lost the chieftian’s daughter, Rarest prize in all the country, Sat with moody, sad expression. Cheeheemawween called the stranger, Friend, but stranger now no longer, To his wigwam near the river, Sitting on a grey old boulder, Smoking there with calm indifference, Told him of his little daughter, Dear to all who knew her nature. “There have passed now seventeen summers Since we took the toddling wee one, From her parents in the woodland On the bare red hills of Georgia. Fearing lest they miss the treasure, And discover we had stole her, Like a snake without a rustle, Leaving all at mystic midnight. Sought the river’s rushing waters, Paddling, on and on, we found here, This our home and place for dwelling, Where the land was good for tilling, Where the princess grew more lovely. But to you, dear Monochawto I give now our Thronateeska, Take her to her pale-faced people, To the land that you have come from, Friend,—I give to you my daughter.” Down the pathway of the forest Walking slowly to the river Thru the summers leafy bower Slowly came the pale-faced lovers, And the Indians gaily painted, Decked with feathers, skins and trinkets Followed singly, stepping softly. All the earth now strangely silent, With a holy hush stood waiting, For another day was dying, Perishing in golden splendor. As the last rays of the sunlight Kissed the fair forms on the river, Drifting downward, ever downward, On the swiftly flowing current, Cheehemawween caught a vision Of the golden braided tresses. And he wrapped his blanket round him, Turned and entered in his wigwam, For his heart was well nigh breaking, Breaking in his stoic bosom, Murmured, “It is well, Great Spirit.” And they drifted ever downward To the great sea with its billows, T0 the home of New Enchantment, To the realms of Faraway land. To the land of the Tomorrow, Thronateeska and her lover. Page Thirty-one

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The Thronateeska, IQ2I Thronateeska By Jlj)uise Hudson On the banks of Kinchafoonee In the swamps of Koolewahee In the days of Long Forgotten Hid secluded from explorers, Lived the Creek tribe Chehitawwa, Brave and unafraid In battle. Here they lived in sole possession, For no pale-face ere had isited That peculiar sombre people. T On the grass before his wigwam In his many-colored blanket, Sometimes in the summer twilight Ere tl»® shining sun had vanished, Sat the old chief Cheehemawween Dreaming of his days of sorrow, Of the battles he had fought in, Of the days of lost endeavor; And his blackest thoughts of vengeance, Like the waters that he gazed on, Held within the snags of violence Deep, concealed within his bosom. But to him would come at sunset, Romping, rosy from the forest, Taking from him all his worries, Gaily glowing from her running, His near-worshipped, witching daughter. She was not like Indian maidens, With her eyes blue as the heavens, And her silken golden tresses Shining in the dying sunlight; Slim and agile as a young roe Tall and straight as is the Pine tree, With a face so fair in color, That the purest water-lily Blushed at finding her superior. And her laugh was like a bird’s song Lilting in the newborn morning. Making hearts that heard it joyful, Bringing smiles to tired faces; And her soft voice crooning often To the crying small papooses, Soothed the aching of the weary mother’s heart. She would listen with excitement To the tales of bygone battles, And her eyes grow wide with wonder At the daring of the braves. So she lived among her people. Friend of all and willing helper, Half a child and half a woman, Thronateeska—the belov’ed. Ebon shades had darkly curtained Earth’s broad golden light resplendent, Clothed her with an inky blanket Robe with silver stars bestudded. Drowsy chirppings of the crickets. Sleepy fiutterings of the birdlings Broke the universal stillness Of the sleep-engirdled Nature; And the weird flames fiery flickerings Threw their ruby sparklings upward Mongst the gruesome sha les of darkness, Lighting up the gloomy shadows. Round the campfire smoking silent, Sat the braves with sombre faces, Swathed in gaily-colored blankets, Crowned with brilliant tinted feathers; And the souaws were sitting near them. Feet akimbo on the verdure. Sewing bits of skin and feathers Working always for their masters. Suddenly the old chief started, Lost was his accustomed courage, Shook and shivered as with palsy. While the others stared in wonder. Thinking only of his madness. Then another brave looked upward, Seemed to see the selfsame spectre, And his heart grew cold within him At the sight that he beheld there. Eyes were turned in that direction, To the Pine tree toward the southward, Where a pale-faced man was fainting, Weary with fatigue and hunger. Fearing lest the Evil Spirit, Punish, should they shun the stranger, He was clothed and fed and warmed, But was feared from the beginning. Speaking in strange, unknowr accents Wearing clothes of queer designing,— Thus he awed the Indian People. Learning gradually their language, Soon he told them of his comrades, Lost from him within the forest; How he wandered searching vainly All alone and quite forsaken, In the wild unbroken forest; How he found their cheering campfire, When near dead with cold and hunger. Spring had ripened into summer, Autumn brought the golden harvest, Winter’s icy breath came chilling All the trees and birds and flowers. Page Thirty

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The Thronatteska, IQ2I Glimpses of a Senior Girl’s Diary Sept. 13.—Rather an unlucky day to begin. Yet 1 hope the god of Good I.uck will be with me this year of all others, my last year in High School. With what anticipation have I waited long and anxiously for it. but now that it is really here I am rather sorry. There are thirty-six in the class, the largest in the history of the Albany High School Extra desks had to be brought in to accommodate all of our eager knowledge seekers. Sept. 14—We had regular session today and learned the chief characteristics of our new teachers. Mr. Floyd demands attention; Miss Stone insists upon silence; and Miss Whitmore wants a more tidy room tomorrow and noise gets on her nerves.” Sept. 17—Our first written lesson. Yes, in literature, of course. Sept. 18—Forward the Football Brigade! All boys on the field for practice. Sept. 22—The Juniors organized their Lanierian Literary Society under the direction of Miss Frances Garvin. Oct. 1—The football team left this noon to play the first game of the season against Americus. A telegram! Hurrah! for the A. H. S. (25 to 7.) Oct. 4-—The Sophs, too. grew ambitious today and organized the Joel Chandler Harris Society. Our under classmen are widening their field of operation this year. Oct. 7—Our class pins and rings were selected, amid much noise and enthusiasm. Oct. 8—Football game! Great display of School Spirit—but we lost. Woe is me! Oct. 12—All hail! our class officers. Leon Tyler, President: Alla Walden, Vice-President; Lamar Harper, Secretary and Treasurer. Our motto: “Each for the other and all for the A. H. S.” Oct. 13—Another unlucky day: “physical torture” for the girls begins. Oct. 15—The “Buddies circulated “The Tatler,” a typewritten sheet with a humorous review of what The Class is doing. Nov. 1—Plans for a school paper begin to take definite shape. Everyone trying to guess the name of the publication, which is a secret. Nov. 11—We celebrated Armistice Day with a patriotic program in class. After school we marched to the Auditorium in a body to take part in the community exercises. The Senior Class was represented on the program by Louise Hudson. Page Thirty-two