Arlington High School - Indian Yearbook (Arlington, MA)

Page 30 text:

4 THE ARLINGTON HIGH SCHOOL CLARION. and away in the distance the ocean melts into the horizon. By turning directly around we have the view of the lakes, sheets of silver dotted with emeralds. A short distance away are the farms laid out in perfect squares. Far away over these are the snowy summits of the White Mountains. We decide to descend the mountain by way of the path. On the way down we add a stone to the many stone piles beside the path. First we tumble, then we slide, and after a while we reach the foot, none the worse for our hurried descent. Again taking the carriage we drive back to the wharf and about seven o ' clock, leave for Boston on the boat. There is a full moon and as we look back on the village and mountains bathed in silvery moonlight, we resolve to carry away this picture to remind us of a hap- pv day spent in Camden by the Sea. JENNIE N. PRINCE, 1911. BETTY’S INDIAN. The blazing log in the open fire-place sputtered and fell apart sending a shower of sparks up the huge chimney, and cast- ing a ruddy glow over the rough board room, now darkening in the winter twi- light. The last flicker rested lovingly on the face of the sole occupant of the rGom, who, from a settle in the chimney corner, was gazing thoughtfully into the flames. She was a tall, slender girl, with deli- cate, flower-like features and deep blue eyes shaded by long lashes. A mass of wavy black hair crowned her head, and curled lightly round her brow. Not even a rough home-spun dress could spoil a certain dainty feminine charm that seemed inseparable from its wearer. Only little red hands showed that hers was a life of toil. Her name was Betty Bradford. She had come to this place three years before with her father, who had become the main-stay and leader of the little settlement against the Indians. As the commotion occasioned by the falling log subsided, she roused herself from her reverie, and, going to the door, took down the huge bar and peered eagerly out into the darkness. A blast of cold air greeted. “How late father is in returning,” she thought. “I hope he will not remain out much longer on such a bitter night.” Just then a black object moving across the wide expanse of snow caught her at- tention. As it crawled to her feet, Betty discovered that it was an Indian, half exhausted with the cold. Never thinking of fear, without a moment’s hesitation, she motioned him to enter. He went straight to the fire and sat down before it. Betty noticed that his hand was wounded and that his clothing was thin. As he seemed to inhale eagerly the fumes of the savory stew that was bubbling in a kettle on the crane, she offered him some in a wooden bowl. He drank it greedily and appeared somewhat refreshed. Then Betty climbed into the little loft overhead, and returned with a big blanket. As she was about to hand this to the Indian she saw her father standing, musket in hand, in the door- way. “Elizabeth, what are you doing? Know you not that these accursed creatures are our enemies, the murderers and captors of our friends and neighbors?” “But, father, he was cold and hungry. Surely it was you who first taught me to say, ‘love your enemies.’ ” Nathan Bradford slightly relaxed the severity of his countenance. “Perhaps you are right, little daughter,” he said. “At any rate, I will not betray him.” He stepped away from the door and the Indian passed quickly out into the night, scanning Nathan’s features closely as he passed him. Several months went by happily enough for Betty, in spite of the daily routine of hard work. But one day she received some news that shut out all the sunshine of her life. A neighbor brought the tidings of how Nathan had wandered into the woods too far from his companions, and how, on hearing his cries, they had hastened to the spot just in time to see him being borne swiftly into the forest by four of the dreaded Indians. They had pur-

Page 29 text:

THE ARLINGTON HIGH SCHOOL CLARION. 3 LITERARY DEPARTMENT CAMDEN BY THE SEA. “Two voices are there; one is of the sea, one of the mountains; each a mighty Voice.” On a beautiful morning in late June, imagine yourself on a large steamer going toward the mouth of the Penob- scot River. It is about half-past five and the sun has just peeped above the horizon on the right. Everything is touched with gold, the clouds, the water, and the ropes and sails of the small boats which pass us. Now we are approaching Rockland. On the left the summer cottages look like doll-houses set in groves of mini- ture trees. Now the boat passes between Owl’s Plead and the Breakwater, a long line of granite to break the force of the winter ' s stormy, angry waters. Plere is obtained our first glimpse of the Camden Mountains. After a short stop in Rock- land, we again take up our journey toward Camden. As we approach, the gray mass against the sky forms itself into the well-known summits of Battie, Megunticook and Bald. The harbor is guarded by a num- ber of small islands which form a half circle around it. On our right as we enter the harbor we see a long neck of land stretching well out into the bay. This is Sherman’s Point, a favorite sub- ject of landscape painters. On our left is Negro Island, on which stands the lighthouse. The harbor is filled with sailboats of all sizes; yachts, and even government ships. Our vessel threads its way among all these and we finally gain the wharf. As we cross the gang-plank we are be- seiged by a host of carriage drivers with their call of “Carriage, carriage.” We leave the wharf and start for the village. The stores are all built along the main street, which runs through the center of the town. The village proper is in a hollow, and in order to reach the resi- dential parts of the town we must climb hills in every direction. The streets leading from the main street are over- hung with tall elms, oaks, maples, and poplars hundreds of years old, which form a green archway over the road. It was said that in no other place on the coast can be found the combination of mountains, lakes and ocean that may be obtained in this little town by the sea. A short drive brings us to Lake Me- gunticook, the largest of the many lakes. In order to see the lake to the best ad- vantage, we climb a hill, and, standing on it’s summit, we behold the whole lake spread out before us. The deep blue of the sky is reflected in the mirror-like water, and the cliffs and trees along the bank seem to be floating around upside down among the clouds, so clearly are they reflected. In some places the cliffs rise up perpendicular to the water with hardly a crevice to afford foothold to a plant, and are crowned by tall pines and spruces. In one place may be seen what is called the freak tree. It is a lofty pine which grows out of the sheer side of a cliff. The lake is dotted here and there with thickly wooded islands, both large and small, on which the red chimneys o f summer cottages may be seen peeping through the trees. But we must not lin- ger too long in this beautiful place for there are other things to see. We descend the hill and are soon in a motor boat skimming across the lake. In a short time we are at the turnpike where our horse and carriage are waiting. We drive back a short way toward the vil- lage and come to the road which leads to the summit of Battie. The road is not very steep on this side, so we reach the top without causing the horse much fatigue. We go to the top of the tower and are overwhelmed by the beauty of the panorama spread out before us. Be- low us to the right is the village with its tiny houses and streets, and from this height the people look like ants. Directly in front of us lies the harbor, the bay ;

Page 31 text:

THE ARLINGTON HIGH SCHOOL CLARION. 5 sued, firing in vain ; they would never more see their loved friend and trusted counselor. Again several months had passed, and Betty was seated in her old place in the chimney corner. But what a change ! How sad and lonely the months had been ! Kind friends had offered to take Betty into their home, but she had re- fused, preferring to remain in the old house that remembrance made so dear. Spring had come with its myriad birds and early flowers, but they, calling to Betty, had awakened no glad response in her heart. Her life, she thought, was like the dead ashes on the hearth — all that remained of the once cheerful blaze. She had forgotten in her desolation that there is one who gives “beauty for ashes.” But hark! In the midst of her med- itation, a slight noise at the door, hurry- ing footsteps across the room, a quick withdrawing of the bolt, and one joyous cry — “Father !” Though scarce a ghost of himself, yet it was Nathan Bradford who clasped his little daughter in his arms. After he had had food and rest Betty begged him to tell her how he had been so miraculously restored. “Well, Betty,” be said, “it was all owing to your Indian. After I had been seized and carried out of the reach of my companions, I was blindfolded and made to go where my captors led me. We must have been traveling thus for about eight hours (though it seemed an eter- nity to me) when we reached their camp. Here I was put under guard while the Indians proceded to hold a council about me. “Then followed day after day of awful suspense. They did not ill treat me but guarded me carefully — one Indian after another performing this duty at night while the others slept. “Something told me that they meant to kill me, but I could not understand why they delayed. At last I decided they were awaiting the arrival of some other In- dian. This surmise proved correct when, at the end of about two months, I should say, the expected one arrived. Imagine my surprise, Betty, when I discovered that he was your Indian with the same wounded hand and with your blanket slung across his shoulder. The other Indians talked with him a great deal, but seemed to come to no decision. “As night drew near I found out that he was to guard me, and this gave me a little hope. This hope proved to be not without foundation for after all the others were silently sleeping he loosened my bonds, and, motioning me to follow him, started swiftly and silently away from the camp. “Though he set a rapid pace, I followed closely, dreading lest I should lost sight of him in the darkness. We traveled all night, and dawn found us in familiar territory. “When we reached the outskirts of the wood my guide halted abruptly. I mo- tioned him to proceed with me, but after giving me one long, steadfast glance be turned and hastened away in the direc- tion from which we had come. I feel certain, little daughter, that I owe mv release to his remembrance of your loVing kindness.” Betty never saw her Indian again, but in after life he was often in her thoughts. What had become of him ? Did he return to be slain by bis merciless and angry companions? Many times she hoped that on his way back he had died from ex- haustion and the effect of his old wound, and that he had gone to the Great Spirit whose child he was. ALICE COTTON, 1912. AFTER THE HAMMER FELL. A laughing group of students was gathered about a notice posted outside of Bob Cabot’s window. “What in time is Cabby up to now inquired Billy Mason, craning his neck to look over the shoulders of those in front. “An auction ? What for?” “Oh. Cabby’s a wise guy. He needs some money bad, and doesn ' t want to borrow, so lie ' s going to have an auc-