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

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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

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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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the pelting rain. The thunders crash, the lightnings flash. Giant waves roll high 'mid the din and confusion. A mighty wave looms up. The frail boat is overtaken. Up, up, up it rises 'till for one brief moment I see it poised high upon the foamy, crested billow. Now it is about to be hurled down into the dark abyss of eternal chaos. In that moment I see there a figure kneeling with face fear-stricken and hands clasped Heavenward. He sends out his appeal, but only to be caught up by the rushing wind and swirling water. A cry of anguish! Does no one hear it? Yes, some one hears it, for God hears. Then as if by magic the wave passes almost gently 'neath, and the little boat is left to rock peacefully in the cradle of the deep. The storm is over. Light breaks through upon the scene. The winds die down and the angry waves become still. Then as the mist rolls away, there he lies afloat on a beautiful haven, the harbor of the once far away isle. But the boy is no more, for his form is now bent, his hair is grey. As he sits there in quiet ease, he again peers into the water. But this time he looks not beneath the surface for beauty but instead, his gaze falls upon the surface. He sees the rising and falling swells and the still smaller ripples. He watches them and follows them eagerly as they pass on and on, and out 'mid the larger waves. They counted after all. Thus he muses. And now soft twilight shades creep round about. The sun sinks lower in the west. The day is nearly spent. The man arouses from his stupor and looks about. He sees the end of the day at hand. Behind him he sees the billowy course o'er which he has fought his way. In front lay the peaceful isle. Yes, he sees the fast darkening shadows, the drooping, once sun- basked, flowers that border the brook, the trees and birds. And he imagines he sees sprightly fairy forms dance in and out the shady nooks. Yes, and they beckon him on and irresistably he answers the call. With only a back- ward glance he gently dips the oar. A smile alights upon his face. At last-and then he glides across the bar. I stir and awake. The last lone spark has died from the fireplace. I arouse myself and struggle to recall-ah yes, I remember now. I had dreamed, and in my dream I had seen a life in its youthful gayety, a life's struggle, and in its passing to the great beyond. There my dream had ended. Why? Why could I see no farther? But alas, poor mortal that I am, I too must watch and wait. Ray E. Yakes. '14