Cass City High School - Perannos Yearbook (Cass City, MI)

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I'll have your cursed flag drowned in the depths of the sea! Never had the gun-man been so slow! Never his sight so poor or his brain so stupid! Bolt saw that the ship was sailing due north farther and farther away and, though the flag looked to be partly unfurled, still he could not tell the symbol. Would the gun ever be ready-would he ever find that ball? Bolt, his ashen face a sight to behold, pushed the man roughly from the gun and kneeling by it, found the largest ball in store-a great, black, heavy thing -and thrust it into the cannon. All was ready-another look, a speedy reckoning of space and aim, then one petty movement of his twisted hand-a glass was held before his eyes by unseen fingers, an almost inaudible voice whispered hoarsely, Look, oh, look! Bolt looked-and fell, limp and senseless on the frozen sand at Yankee's feet. The majestic moon, in all her splendor, had plowed her way through the black clouds and hung, queen of Heaven and silent sentinel of earth, directly above the lone steamer and lavished her mellow light carressingly down upon-the Star Spangled Banner ! all :lr ik Pl' Bk When Bolt awakened from a troubled faint the sun had already mounted the crimson horizon and was looking cheerily in through the spacious window. Wondering a moment at the strangeness of his sleep, his lips formed the question which his dazed mind had been repeating over and over again, Friend or foe? A neutral friend whispered a clear, sweet voice that sounded miles and miles away. It was one of Uncle Sam's ships bringing an American girl to look for an American father for whom all America is now searching, to right the cruel injustice that he once suffered. She came to search for Gregory Marlew, The American Patriot, and found him fthrough the tireless efforts of a faith- ful 'Yankee' friendl in the disguise of Clarence Bolt, Britain's Silent Sentinel. g ,gljng 11. l,Al.,..

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or something would only appear! This suspense, this expectation, is maddening! Say, Yankee, I left some important papers open on my trunk at the camp, would you mind bringing them? The camp was nearly two miles distant, but Yankee was off on the run. For several moments Balt continued his everlasting walk without interruption, when suddenly, just as the echo of Yankee's footfalls died into nothingness, he thought he heard a queer whistle. Instinctively raising his spy-glass and switching on the electric attachment, a gleam of yellow light pierced through the darkness and revealed, though dim in the distance, what Bolt knew to be the outline of a ship. The dismal sky, crowded with clouds, oHered no assistance and with the petty glare from his glass, Bolt could only see that the ship was coming nearer and nearer-probably bound for Liverpool-but he could not see the Hag. His challenge, Who goes? Friend or foe ? rang through his dazed brain and his hand trembled violently. What was this strange emotion- still he watched and still the ship came on. Now it was quite near-so near indeed that as Bolt peered through the darkness he could see, by the aid of his powerful glass, that the flag was wound around the pole so that its colors were indistinguishable. Anxiously, expectantly he waited some clue, some sign by which to tell the nationality of the steamer, but none was given. Now, he saw distinctly. The steamer was sailing straight for Liver- pool and would soon be out of reach. He must hurry. Soon he was at the wireless station, and way up in the funny looking building, he dictated his war challenge which sang out across the dark Atlantic. Who goes? Friend or foe ? They waited-the operator, anxiously-Bolt, with every nerve tense, but no answer came and when the message was repeated, still no reply. Bolt was nearly frantic. Again, again! he whispered thickly and once more the sharp, startled cry rang out across the water. Friend or foe ? But no response, all was still as death. Then snatching up the operator's glass, Bolt saw, and his face turned livid at the sight, that the flag was at half mast! A flag at half mast in the war zone? Who dares! Cowardly knaves! As if that couldn't be seen were it wound around the pole a dozen times! Down the stairs and over the ground he sped, seized the dozing gun-man by the collar and shook him violently! Wake up man, in God's name! That ship is sneaking colors at half mast and is sailing due for Liverpool! She may be a German cruiser in disguise-she must be stepped! The sleepy gun-man rubbed his eyes hard and blinked up stupidly into Bolt's face but the look he found there brought him down to earth with a merciless crash. He fumbled excitedly for a cannon ball and at last produced a small one at sight of which Bolt roared like one insane, Bigger -man, bigger ! Then with a terrible oath, You'll give the pass port or

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A Erram nf an Alumnus The shades are drawn, the light burns low. 'Tis my hour of medita- tion. I sit alone in my dimly lighted chamber, grimly silent, peering aim- lessly into the dying embers of a friendly fireplace. Even so, and then I count to ten the silv'ry chimes of the old town clock, as they peal out across the still and quiet night. And then I sink into a listless, sombre reflection -thinking-musing-dreaming, as the shadows flit and play upon the walls. Thus is my solitude. And then the soft magnetic light of those ruddy coals, the encircling srell. Begone, ye lurking fantasies, away with your ensnaring intrigues! But alas, thicker than ever they come. I rub my eyes, but in vain. And then, as my drooping lids wax tight, I'm borne away to that quaint old land of nod. In the transition I become as a vast theatre audience. Before me is a snow white screen. The play is on. I see the numerous scenes and fleet- ing pictures. Oh yes, the first is a woodland scene. Beautiful flowers and foliage strew the ground 'neath the great, giant trees. A gentle breeze stirs the air and birds flit here and there in the radiant dashes of sunshine. Then in comes the boy, the destroyer. The ligl't of battle shines in his eyes. He is playing soldier. He wields a cudgel anfl spends his assumed fury upon weeds and flowers that happen within his reach. Now he laughs gleefully as he views his rath of destruction. But suddenly he grows serious. Perhaps he thinks of mother: perhaps she needs him. Then a sudden bright idea hits him. and he plucks from the f-'round a dandelion, which once was beautiful. but now is merely a snow-white ball. Twice does he blow his breath against it. sending the feathery seeds flying hither and thither. But still almost half remain. and only one more trial. This time he assembles all his strength and blows with might and main. The very Heavens seem to lend fury to the blast, and lo, a mere bare stem is left within his grasp. He clasps his hands in ecstasy, for mother doesn't need him, so then he rambles on. The scene changes, and now I see him as he stands on the shore of the sea. He is much larger now and older. The shades of boyish unconcern no longer play upon his face. In his youthful wanderings along the path of his visions he has met a barrier, the sea. Out there in the dim horizon of deepening twilight he sees a beautiful isle, the isle 'Somewhere' A look of determination flits across his handshaded brow. He is going to that island. I see him launch his boat and paddle out across the sea. On and on he goes 'till suddenly he happens to look down into the clear cool water. In a moment he sees the beauty of the deep. There were shells, glittering stones and gems, and miniature castles. He becomes deeply interested, almost entranced. But as he admires he forgets. forgets his journey's end, forgets his visions. And then the sky grows dark. He looks around and sees the danger, but Ah, too late. In a moment the storm is upon him. Fierce gusts of wind precede