Bristol High School - Green and White Yearbook (Bristol, RI)

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THE GREEN AND WHITE 9 LIGHTNING OR GHOSTS The night was dark and misty; the wind was blowing fiercely; the trees swayed; the water in the gutters rushed along with an extraordinary rapidity; rain increased in volume. The sky showed no signs of “letting up”—in short, the night was so terrible, that it seemed as though nature was about to end the life of our planet “Mother Earth.” Indeed, not a human being could be seen on any of the streets, and were there scientists in the district who had doubt whether the world would some day come to an end, they surely would have lost no time in saying that this night was the night which nature had selected for the world’s destruction. Indeed, there were many families in the region who sat cuddled together in their homes, thinking that everyone’s end was due, at any moment. There were homes where the father of the family sat talking to his children of storms of the glorious past, worse than this present one; and still there were homes where the members of the family were so rash as to say that “the storm was so slight that it should merely be called an “insurrection of the elements.” Yet were either of these members called upon to venture into the hazardous night, all, without any doubt, would shudder at the thought. And so the storm raged on furiously into the night, without showing the least sign of subsiding. Twelve o’clock, midnight, and the hurricane increased its velocity; one o’clock, and the tornado grew neither better nor worse; two o’clock, and the gale subsided slightly; three o’clock, and the whirlwind made up for its slight decrease of velocity; four o’clock, and the wind subsided to the form of a zephyr; five o’clock, and the rain stopped; six o’clock, and the clouds began moving while the sun peeped through the purple mountains of the east; seven o’clock and the sky was clear to the horizon, the places of business opened for the day, and the horrors of the stormy night gave way to another day. The Jameson Manufacturing Company was located on Williams street. The situation was perfect, and the concern had taken so much advantage of this, that it had outgrown all its rivals in its business success, and now led all the manufacturers of the district. It happened that the perilous storm was without lightning, with the exception of two terrible bolts, and as many crashes of thunder. The flourishing retail plant of the Jameson Manufacturing Company had, unfortunately, been struck by one of these death-dealing bolts of lightning, during the night. This was the only company in the state that suffered an enormous loss, caused by the terrible storm. At seven o’clock in the morning, before the business was opened, it could be seen by pedestrians, that the lightning had totally burned the frieze which had decorated the top of the establishment. The sides of the building were badly damaged, while the front part was slightly touched. This was the condition of the edifice, as seen by the eye of a street observer. Harvey Johnson, a stout, broad-shouldered, well-built man of forty, was walking down Williams street at 7.30 a. m., jingling a bunch of keys in his hand, whistling a tune ,and observing the condition of the well-known structure of which he was janitor and department manager, having a few shares in the company’s stock. It was his usual custom to open up the building and to prepare for work at this hour. He put one of the keys to the lock ana opened the door of the partially destroyed establishment. On entering, he noticed that the interior was in a topsy-turvy condition. He surveyed the stock and goods at hand. Suddenly he stood aghast! What was wrong He looked wildly around him, then muttered to himself, “By George! we’ve been robbed 1 The boxes are gone—we’ve been robbed! These were the only words which escaped from his lips. “Robbed! By George! We’ve been robbed!” The clock of the district was slowly winding its way around its surface, the ticks forming seconds, the seconds steadily winding into minutes, and the minutes, slowly, but surely rolled into hours of excitement, for a robbery on a night when heaven and earth were about to meet, was deemed impossible by the people who had already crowded Williams street at the scene of a seemingly impossible deed. That perpetual winding clock had struck twelve, at noon, when the head townsfolk reached a decision. Indeed, who would have been out on a night when nature itself had aided heaven in her attempts to punish this part of the universe known as earth for all the sinful sins that had been mentioned? Especially to rob on such a night when the vicinity had been deluged by rain, thunder and lightning, and to attempt to rob on such a night, when the lightning flashes appeared, anxious to destroy all humanity. Why, the very idea of a robbery was preposterous, unbelievable. The conditions surrounding the case were baffling. Certainly no human being could have turned the trick on such a night. Then who did? Who was it if it were not a human being? Could it be that the spirits had committed the robbery? If the persons were human beings, the question was, who were they, and why did they pick out such a night? Why had they picked out a place that had been

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8 THE GREEN AND WHITE JUST A FEW FACTS (With apologies to K. C. B., Briggs, and the others) It is Wednesday morn and you are scheduled to declaim and you sit in the auditorium with your hands folded and listen with watchful ears (as Vergil says) to all that is going on and your heart goes thump, thump, and the clock tick, tick and you hope that Mr. Strong will keep talking forever and just as you expect to rise to go to the stage you hear him say, No declamations today. Oh, boy, ain’t it a gr-r-r-rand and glor-r-rious feeling.” I THANK YOU. MY FIRST EXPERIENCE My name was on the list for declamations. What could I do? I am very nervous and I was positive that I couldn’t get up on the stage in front of all those boys and girls to speak a piece. But of course I had to do it. There was no way of getting out of it unless I said that I had a cold, and if I did that I would only have to speak next week, so I decided I would speak the day my turn came. The day, the very fatal day, came at last. I had found a piece and had memorized it. Twice I had rehearsed it to Miss Tobin, but, could I do it? Could 1 speak my piece before those boys and girls without forgetting it, and without fainting? Fainting, that was it. I felt that I would faint. When I had rehearsed to Miss Tobin I had felt so frightened and nervous—what would I do when I spoke in front of all those boys and girls? “ ‘Colt and the Veteran’ by Bayard Taylor, spoken by Miss Angelina Morra,” came Mr. Strong’s voice. It struck me and I thought that I was being swallowed up by the floor. Oh, if it only would! It the floor would open up and swallow me! But it didn’t, so I got up and went toward the edge of the platform. All the boys and girls were looking up at me and waiting to hear what I had to say. My knees began to shake. I could feel my face burning and knew that it must be as red as fire. I began. The first two stanzas were kind of shaky but I got used to having the young people stare at me and all the rest of the piece was better, because I didn’t feel so nervous. When I finished they all clapped and I felt that I had been rewarded for my effort. And now I look forward to the next time, and vow that I shall not be so nervous. ANGELINA MORRA, ’22. THE GOAD One day we learned about the goad With which the pricks of pain are sow’d To make the Donkey’s step more spry In hope the journey’s end be nigh. Rob prattled long in pretty glee About the Donkey’s obstinacy, Until a fool beside the road, To quiet it, made him a goad. He made it with a stick and tack To slap the Donkey’s ladened back, For in her saddle were a ton Of duds of Robert Stevenson. EMILY SANFORD. ’21 1. MAKOWSKY, ’21

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10 THE GREEN AND WHITE struck by lightning? One thing certain was, that there had been a robbery. The towns-folk had come to a decision, and that was, that the matter must be thoroughly investigated. The Jameson Manufacturing Company’s building was very large, and only the top floors had been badly damaged. On the first floor, .towards the center of the room, was a large, square, trap door, unnoticeable, because the grains of wood of the door coincided with the rest of the floor. This was the place from which all the stock to be shipped had so mysteriously disappeared. It had been all packed up in the large square and now the square was empty and everything upset. The large square, with its secret door leading to the cellar of the building, was very slightly burned by the lightning. How could it be that the robbers had escaped from what we might call, “Heaven’s wrath.” The cellar, or foundation, contained a spoiled water pipe which (and only when it rained) connected with the large brook of the village, and as the result, the cellar of the building was, most of the time, filled with water. On the day following the fearful storm, the cellar was filled to its capacity ( not very large in contrast to the size of the structure.) On account of its size, the company rarely used the cellar, and thus the secret panel, leading to the cellar was of no use. Officials of the company, detecives, town’s policemen, citizens of the district—in short —all of the law protectors and the gossips of the town had been working on the case for a week, but to no avail, for promising clues had been followed, onlv to find that they were on the wrong trail. Outside districts had been scoured for clues, but all in vain. The detectives had lost all hope for the capture of the miraculous thieves, if such they were, and the days came and went without any results. Three weeks had passed since that terrible storm. The company had decided to record the robbery in their book keeping department as a partial loss, since some insurance had been recovered. The detectives claimed that they could obtain no reasonable clues, and decided that the robbery was not human, but super-human. Perhaps it was for the conditions surrounding the case seemed to be uncanny. Many of the citizens had already remarked, “You cannot overcome spirits, so do not try to arrest them.” There were many other remarks of a similar nature, all of which produced a fixed idea among the people that it was “a ghostly robbery.” Such were the conditions surrounding the case as the third week came to an end. The robbery of the Jameson Manufactur- ing Company formed a baffling case to all parties concerned. Harvey Johnson was walking down Williams street at 7.30 in the morning just three weeks later, jingling a bunch of keys, whistling a tune, and muttering to himself, “place must be haunted” as he looked at the partially destroyed structure. Drawing closer, he saw three men. surveying the building. At the first sight, he suspected thieves, and muttered wildly. “I have caught the thieves.” He ran down the streets in high spirits, in the hope of capturing the suspected thieves and obtaining the $1000 reward, and he began to see his picture on the front page of the daily paper. . .... On coming closer, his heart sank within him; all visions of success disappeared from his mind, for he noticed that the men were merely three detectives who were still working on the case. The clock of the district was steadily winding around its surface, every tick counting a second, every second, slowly winding into minutes, and the minutes slowly, steadily, irresistibly rolling into hours, and yet the robbery was still a much discussed event. The business men, all the people, in truth, were still trying to solve the case, that is to say. to determine whether the place had been visited by “spooks,” or whether it was merely a plain robbery. Four weeks had elapsed since the terrible storm. Repairs were just being made to the badly damaged story of the Jameson Manufacturing Company. Carpenters were busy on the outside—plumbers were busy within. It was about noon when a plumber entered the President’s office. “What’s all those boxes doing in the cellar under the water?” he demanded. “It’s up to you to take ’em out.” “What boxes?” asked the President in surprise. “I don’t know, “came a rough reply, “but I do know it’s up to you to take ’em out.” A hurried investigation of the matter soon disclosed the fact that the boxes were those which had so mysteriously disappeared four weeks before. How did they come to be there, in the cellar, and under the water? The manager called for the other members of the firm—the detectives hurriedly assembled—the gossips too—all were there —to examine the boxes and to admit that they were the ones which, four weeks before, had stood on the first floor of the Jameson Manufacturing Company, ready for shipment. How did they get in the cellar? The detectives conferred and cleared their throats, but said nothing. The gossips shook their heads mournfully—the owners were silent. That the boxes were