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

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6 THE GREEN AND WHITE moment. He is half-inclined to withdraw it; but Warba, analyzing his thought, hurries out, giving him no time to change his mind. The next day just before noon a mob of Indians, “bepainted” and “befeathered” and with tomahawks brandished, silently wait for the order to surround the Governor’s cabin. They are impatient to dance their war dance and plunder, but they have to be patient, according to the chief’s orders. “Warriors, you will surround the cabin. I will go in to speak with the Governor. If I give you the signal which will be a stamp of the foot, attack; if I don t, do not, by any means, harm one log of the cabin, but march back to camp exciting no comment.” The chief asks himself why he ever ordered this attack, for his heart and conscience are strongly against it. Sternly he knocks at the door. Mrs. Brooks comes to the door, followed by her husband. “May I have a drink?” he asks curtly. “Thee inay’st. We are just sitting down to dinner. Come, join us. We are honored to have our dear chief dine with us,’ and his hostess gives him her most charming smile; while her husband seconds her invitation. “Hast thee brought me any shells?” asks quaint Mary taking him to a chair; while Mrs. Brooks lingers behind and ' hisners desperately to her husband, “We must not let him suspect that we know his plan.” Chief Tam-a-wa-ka is conscience-stricken and during the meal he becomes so interested that he entirely forgets the Indians waiting for the signal to attack. An entire half-hour has passed and no stamp of the foot. Instead a peal of laughter floats to the warriors. That settles it. Noiselessly they slink back to their camps to wash off the war-paint, never to don it again. MARY A. CARIGLIA, ’27. ------o------ A FISH STORY Every Saturday afternoon on board the “Baby Marie,” the sailors and officers gather to have a social hour or two. A president is elected who thereafter calls on different ones to sing, dance, or spin a yarn. The person called upon must either do this or sacrifice his “grub” the next day. Today I have been chosen to tell a story and of course it must be one connected with sailors and the sea. When we were making a voyage to the West Indies, I became intimately acquainted with a sailor who had formerly practiced carpentry. He was married and had a son about 12 years old, whose name was Paul. Paul loved the sea and his life’s ambition had always been to become a sailor. Up to this time, however, he had never been on a ship although he often teased his father to allow him to accompany him on one of his voyages. The answer had invariably been the same, “No, Paul, you are too young for such a long and dangerous voyage. Some day, perhaps, when the trip is short and the weather clear, you can come—but not this time.” This time, however, his father consented to let him go and Paul was excited and nervous over the long-anticipated trip to the Bahamas. He had long looked forward to this and now that it had come he could scarcely realize it. His father, also, was glad to have him on board as company for him as well as furnishing amusement for the sailors. After they had been out to sea for several days, Paul’s father became critically ill. The physician on board saw little hope for the carpenter’s recovery, and after two or three days, dreadful days for Paul and his sailor friends, he died, leaving his son in my care. And then came the terrible task of throwing the corpse overboard. We sewed him into his hammock, but could find nothing to put in which would make it sink. After careful consideration we were obliged to put in an axe which belonged to the carpenter and which he had brought with him on board. This found, we enclosed it in the hammock and threw the body overboard. Just at that moment a great whale appeared, and with one mouthful swallowed the man, hammock and axe. This added to our grief and Paul was broken-hearted. The days passed slowly, very slowly, and Paul went about the ship sad and morose. He said little, ate little, slept little. Day after day went by and he got thinner and more peaked until he was finally obliged to take to his bed because of his frail condition. Again the ship’s physician was summoned, and again the case was pronounced serious. We were nearing the place where the carpenter had been thrown overboard when Paul also left us. He had become very friendly with all the sailors and it was quite a shock to us when we learned of his death. In spite of our grief we prepared him for his burial in the sea by sewing him in his hammock. We found, however, the same difficulty in finding a weight with which to sink the body. The only thing available was the grindstone which the carpenter owned also, and this we attached to the hammock. The body was scarcely thrown off the ship when the same whale appeared and swallowed it. Our grief and rage was terrible. Here was one whale which had eaten two of the men and was still living to swallow more if we allowed it. We then and there resolved

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THE GREEN AND WHITE 5 PIONEER DAYS During the seventeenth century a settlement was founded in Pennsylvania by a Quaker, Thomas Brooks, and his followers. My story opens about five years later. The cabins have been improved and strengthened; a bountiful harvest has been gathered in by all; and the Quakers calmly wait for winter, which is advancing upon them rapidly. The founder, Brooks, who has been made Governor, sits in his armchair by the fireplace contentedly smoking his long pipe, with his eyes gazing fixedly on the flames as if he saw pictures among them. His wife, a small, quaint woman, sits across from him, spinning demurely on her spinning-wheel and often glancing fondly at the sleeping babe in the cradle by her side. Two boys sit at the table—their heads bent over their books and their hands clutching their hair as if they would like to ask it to solve the problems—studying their morrow’s lessons and often heaving deep sighs with covert glances at their father. A little girl of about nine years of age is rubbing some copper utensil as if her life and honor depended on its brightness. All wear the severe yet neat costume of the Quakers. The room is still save for the crackling of the burning logs, the humming of the wheel, and the gentle breathing of the infant. They are so absorbed in their thoughts that they don’t hear running steps, and they start from their seats when a loud, imperious knock is heard. The master of the house lays down his pipe and opens the door. A savage, breathless with running, states his errand at the door. “Chief—seeck—come queeck—white man cure.” “Priscilla, the chief is ill. Prepare some broth and food, and get me my medicine satchel,” he says, addressing his wife, who has promptly arisen at the mention of her name. Without further ado she does as she is bidden. In a very short time he is hurrying towards the chief’s camp, accompanied by Warba, the mesenger. “What is the matter with thy chief?” “Chief—sleep, sleep all time—no eat—call for white man,” answered the Indian. Upon entering the royal tent Governor Brooks hears deep groans issuing from the corner. The good chief lies on his luxurious furs, rolling from side to side in pain. Ordering Warba to bring more wood, he proceeds to nurse the chief. “Chief, drink this hot soup. I have also some meat for thee.” The chief disposes of both without a word, and seems the better for them. The Governor bathes the chief’s brow many times, then gives him a drink made by boiling some herbs, which instantly puts the patient to sleep. Many days the white man nurses, doctors, and watches over the Indian till the latter is safely on the road to recovery. Many months have passed since the chief’s illness. Strange and unpleasant happenings are occurring in the settlement. At last the Indian chief is summoned to a white man’s meeting. “Chief Tam-a-wa-ka, some of thy tribe have been seen lurking around the cabins and it is our belief that they are the cause of the burning of the school-house, the disappearance of our neighbor’s logs, and the frightening of our women and children. In fact one of thy best warriors, namely Warba, is our prisoner. Evidently he has not forgiven the whites for catching the deer from his grasp last winter. Taking advantage of the influence he exercises over his companions, he has talked them into a fighting spirit and in person led them to the acts aforesaid. Fortunately for us he has been caught in the act and will get his punishment—a week in the stocks on bread and water. “As thee know’st, we Quakers do not believe in war and the shedding of human blood. We hope that we will not be forced to change our opinion now.” Governor Brooks, as spokesman, is very stern as he says, “I have endured all I am going to endure and my neighbors say the same.” Warba is locked in the stocks—to any proud Indian the worst and most embarrassing punishment to be administered to him by the white man. He is silent; but silence is more to be dreaded sometimes, and this is no exception. Day by day his wrath towards the Quakers increases and day by day he thinks of a way to get revenge. For the rest of the winter no more disturbances occur and the settlement is very thankful. A change, though, has come over the chief. His visits to the village are less frequent and cordial. Nowadays he seems preoccupied and sad. One day towards spring, Warba enters the chief’s wigwam and in his native tongue he says, “Chief, why don’t you do something? Don’t you see how the whites are pushing us westward every day, depriving us of our hunting grounds? Get rid of them before their number and power increase.” So he speaks day after day till the chief answers to Warba’s evil joy, “Very well, tell the warriors that we will attack the Governor’s cabin tomorrow.” The truth is he is very grateful toward his benefactor for restoring him to health and utters the above decision in a rash

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THE GREEN AND WHITE 7 to get that whale and do away with hitn. Much careful planning and plotting resulted in the catching of the whale by means of a great hook and a large piece of pork. We even managed to take him on the deck where he floundered for a while but finally moved no more. Suddenly we heard a buzzing sound seeming to come from inside the whale and we anxiously cut him in half. Wonder of wonders ! There was the boy grinding the axe, while his father turned the grindstone. ARLEEN HOLM, Class of 1924 •-----o------ C. M. H. S. C is for courtesy to one and to all, O is for order in every hall, L is for learning the lessons of life, T is for triumph in every strife. M for the memory of classes of old, E for their efforts so many times told, M for their mission on life’s stormy way, 0 for opportunities, now come what may, R is for respect to their teachers all, 1 for ideals, we answer their call, A for attendance with banner their prize, L is for loyalty in all their school ties. H is for honor roll hard to attain, I for the idler—truly a stain, G is for goodness throughout the school, H is for happy obedience to rule. S is for study and well-earned success, C for all classes in C. M. H. S., H is for honesty in all that we do, O is for order in everything, too. O for the oneness of class and of school, L for the lives that are shaped for life’s duel. MARGUERITE AND MARY TOBIN Class of 1926. ------o------ BILLY’S PROBLEM The more the dog yelped, the more Billy danced with joy. Billy, aged seven, had tied a tin can to the dog’s tail, and thought it a great joke. He changed his mind, however, when his mother appeared at the door. ''Billy, what have you done, you naughty boy?” she asked. “I onlv tied the can to his tail,” defended Billy. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself—tying a can to the poor dog’s tail! You just wait until your father and the rest of the family come home. I'll tell them about you.” she said severely, as she took the can off the dog’s tail. After his mother had gone into the house, Billy meditated for a long while. “I guess I’ll run away,” he said, “nobody likes me ’ Yet something seemed to tell him to stay home. “If I run away maybe I won’t see any of them again and they’ll all be sorry for the way they've treated me.” Still a voice urged him to stay at home. What, stay home and have the rest of the family jeer and shame him? What would they say then ? If he stayed at home he would have to receive more scoldings, and he detested scoldings. Then the horrible thought seized him. Suppose he ran away, where would he run to? If he got lost, he might starve or—a hundred other thoughts of what might happen made him nearly give up the thought. Yet—the scoldings, the humiliation. Yes, it would be better to face the family than to face hunger, fatigue, and a score of other things. Yes, it was decided! He would not run away. He would tease mother not to tell; but he knew it would be of no avail, although there was no harm in trying. Hanging his head he went into the house to ask his mother’s forgiveness. GERTRUDE GRICE, Class of 1925. ------o----- THE FUGITIVE PANAMA “Aunt Polly, do you want anything from the store?” asked Jim Craig of his aunt. “If you do I’ll get it, because I’m going out,” he continued. As he received no response, he concluded that Aunt Polly didn't need anything; because if she had, she’d surely hear him. As he walked along accompanied by his dog, Hyke, it seem as if there was never a lonelier, warmer night. All his friends had gone to camp and he couldn’t go because his aunt Polly was too poor. Walking along, he espied a pool near Columbus’ Statue. It was so hot and the water looked so tempting that he jumped in—clothes and all. He was enjoying himself when he heard footsteps. Thinking it was a policeman, he quickly emerged, dripping from the pool. By the light of the street lamp, he could see the face of a kindly man. looking a good deal like the pictures he had seen of some man—he did not remember of whom. “Hello Mister!” he said. “Gee, I’m glad you’re not a cop! Oh, there goes your Panama. I’ll get it,” and as he saw the wind lift the hat from the man’s head, he quickly jumped into the pool again. He soon got the Panama hat and gave it to the man. “I guess the rim is wet, but that’ll dry.” “Yes, I guess it will,” said the man. “But, now why do you seem to be glad that I’m not a ‘cop’?” “Well, because the last time me and Charlie Brown went swimming in that pool, a cop chased us.”