Astoria High School - Zephyrus Yearbook (Astoria, OR)

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XEbe Columbia TRlver Iplratc The river seemed deserted. Only a few boats were out and they were apparently without destination. As we sailed past Fort Stevens I noticed a number of boats anchored below. I turned my boat around and with a fair wind sailed into their midst, where we dropped sail and anchored. While my boat-puller was busy preparing some coffee, I looked around and recognized my companions. They were all hard cases, each with a “reputa¬ tion.” Below me was anchored “Russian Nick;” to him was tied “old man Green.” To my left was anchored a Swede named Swenson; on the other side of men was an Italian called “Curly,” and above “Curly” was a Swede, whose name I did not know r , but whom I recognized by the green letters on his boat; and above me lay “Big John.” The last-named bore the distinction of having been “high boat” with nineteen tons to his credit. It seemed strange that I should mingle with a crowed like this, but I had decided to do a night’s fishing and had found some company, all of whom had fished before on a Saturday night. “Curly” was the only one who had ever been caught and he had gotten off with a fine of fifty dollars. Later when the sky began to take on the darker shades of night, I heard “Big John” calling to us:—“I want to tell you something. It’s going to be a bad night for us. The moon wdll be out and when this wind dies out, you ' ll be able to see all over the river. If somebody will anchor at the ten buoy and keep a fire in his stove, as if he were cooking coffee, the fish- warden can go after him and we can take it easy.” “Well, I’m not a going to losa dea whole mighta fish, a laying dea anchor alia dea night,” said “Curly” hotly. “You don’t have to,” said “Big John” calmly. “We’ll pull straws.” “Sure”—“That’s all right” and “I’m a lucky dog anyway,” came from the different boats. Instead of pulling straws, “Big John” prepared some paper slips, one of which was blank. He passed his sou’wester from boat to boat and each captain drew a slip. “Big John” himself drew the last slip, which was the blank. About eight o’clock we left our anchorage and sailed farther down the

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sees two bright eyes of a monster approaching. “Ah! Seest thou the erynanthian boar? There is fire in his eye. Thou infester of humanity, Hercules wilst make thee labor for thy life.” He crouched, awaited the approach, sprang and raised his club to strike it full in the face—but alas! After a few moments he recovered from the suddenness of his fall, and saw the “beast” disappearing in the distance. “Thou wilt trample upon a Her¬ cules, wilt thou?” he shouted. All that night he roamed the hills in search of the “beast” which would dare to “trample upon a Hercules.” The next day he renewed his search, reached a hill from the top of which he saw r large white objects flying in the air. To our hero they were birds. He said excitedly to himself, “The Stymphalian birds, now shalt Hercules accom¬ plish a feat by destroying them.” He rushed into the field, and up to one of the monsters about to ascend, and struck it a blow with his club. No sooner had he accomplished this feat, than what seemed one of the claws of his enemy, caught him in the back of the coat, carried him to the other end of the field and dropped him. “Knowest thou with whom thou art trifling?” he cried. “By the Grecian gods, thou shalt suffer death.” But before he could say more the two representatives of modern invention were making record flights while the juvenile officer hurried our hero away to enjoy his dreams in seclusion. Charles Johnson, ’ll. A POTATO BUG—A SENIOR. I. A potato Bug sauntered down the lane, Says he. I’m no earthly use, If an education I could gain, I’d become an amiable youth. II. The potato bug had a coat of green. But after his Freshman year Traces of yellow could be seen, Gathering there and here. III. The potato bug worked steadily on, Rubbing and polishing the green, Churning the fat from every old leaf That in the books of learning were seen. IV. At last, to the topmost bud was he— A potato bug, staid and old. For his work had changed him From the ignorance of green To the knowledge of purest gold. -E. J„ ’ll.

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river, leaving “Big John” at the No. 10 buoy, cursing his luck and hoping we might each get a “skunk” or caught by the fish-warden. When our nets were out, everything was still; the full moon shone on the river, I looked toward the number 10 buoy; where I saw a blaze streaming over the top of a boat stove. I knew that “Big John” was keeping his word, to attract the attention of the fish-warden if he might be near. I looked towards the other boats that lay in the moon-light and saw that the occupants were stirring. Then I heard the “pat-pat” of a launch coming from the Oregon side. I started in a hurry to pick up my net, but it was too late, for the boat was upon us almost before we got started. Swenson had his net up first, and the launch turned tow r ard his boat. A line was passed from the launch to his boat and he was taken in tow. “Green” was next to be arrested, then I and “Russian Nick,” the man with the green letters on his boat and “Curly” had escaped because they were farther down the river. “You understand the circumstances don’t you?” asked the big man in the bow of the launch, who seemed to be the fish-warden himself. We did not answer immediately, but during the pause I stared at the launch, thinking I had seen it before, but I could not place it. When we answered his question the fish-warden spoke again. “This is the last arrest I’ll make this season and I hate court proceedings, so I’ll let you go if you turn your fish over to me and go home.” This we gladly consented to do. When all my fish were in the launch, I noticed that there were tw’o other persons aboard besides the fish-warden, one of whom came aft to let go my line. When were clear, the launch started its “pat-pat” swinging to- towards number 10 buoy, where a light w as still burning . ' It set sail for home and as I neared number 10 buoy, the launch passed between my boat and the moon, headed for the Washington side. It w as then that I recognized the launch—it was the seining launch that the Indians used at Sand Island, but why did they have • “Big John’s” boat in tow ? He had a right on the river even if it was Saturday night, so long as he was only boiling coffee at anchor. Something seemed wrong and I became suspicious, but I kept the sus¬ picion to myself. When I delivered my fish of Monday’s catch to the scow at Sand Island, I made a discovery. I was looking over the list of fish taken in since Sunday night and I saw that “John” Edwards had de¬ livered one thousand and twenty-seven pounds. Then I began to straighten things out. “Green” forfeited fourteen; a