Charlotte High School - Witan Yearbook (Rochester, NY)

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THE WIT A N C WITH APOI-OGIES TO—? 3 ( Whom it may concern) y- ' sTr- ( Whom it may concern) i,, ?U w '•Teacher said I, “thing of pvil! teacher still, if living being! Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate, yet all undaunted, in this edifice enchanted, In this school by wisdom haunted, tell me truly, 1 implore, Must we—must we do our homework? Tell me, I implore!’ Quoth the teacher, “Evermore.” Margaret Hersey, ’28. 0 pardon me, my English teacher. That I am slow and scrawly with my compositions; That I don’t stand in the center of the aisle And that I whisper all the while. You are the best teacher I ever had, And I promise not once more will 1 make you mad, But “A's” shall deck my monthly re- port Like six-inch guns on Niagara fort; Good marks shall be so in use That you will but smile you behold My name on every Honor Roll And then you will he glad You gave me one more chance when 1 was bad. Frank Smith, 8A2. Breathes there a stude with mind so dead Who to himself has never said: “Darn those lessons, I'm off to bed!” Burton Kirby, '20. THE LADY OF CHARLOTTE On western side the river grew, Its roofs emulsed in morning dew Or lapped in red as ev’ning drew Her chariot to the west anew. The far-famed village of Charlotte. And in its midst like Pantheon’s dome. Older than the oldest tome, Far from the madding crowd and home O’ertopped the school of old Char- lotte. Within its chambers high and low No fairer damsel could it show, Nor wiser maid of mortal glow, Whom wisdom taught its ways to know, Than the lady of Charlotte; Her cheeks as rosy as the rose, Her nose as nosey as a nose, Her figure posy as a pose, She painted best in all Charlotte. The only thing that spoiled her face (Tis said it was a witch’s grace That wished it there and wished apace In twenty years the spell replace A smile) the frown of dear Char- lotte; And naught but he who rode the plane And bathed his soul in her sweet reign Could break a smile there once again. Yea, naght but he, Sir I aughalot. The story goes, she sought a file And met with he whose winning wile Would force her face to crack a smile In Pepsodent's unheard of style; She found straightway her Laugh- alot; Rut he in sadness lost his mind, And she, meanwhile, essayed to find Her teeth—unfound, away she pined ’Till Genesee claimed her, Charlotte. Philip Burgeon, 28. 12

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THE W IT A N LITERARY DEPARTMENT JV? $ DAVY JONES’ PUZZLE 1 often frequent the Buccaneer’s Arms near Ludsy Lane and listen to the rare stories told there. One aft- ernoon a white headed sailor sat across from me. He had blue eyes. Across his face ran a scar not more than two weeks old, I thought, but later found to have been made at least thirty years ago. We chatted for several minutes about ships and captains. Then he commenced this yarn as if it were a favorite. “Wal, Captain Splifins was a far- sighting man. Yes sir, he could see ahead as far as behind. He could tell a sail ten minutes afore the watch. He could read the sky like a book. He could predict a storm of half hour and it would last just that long, no more, no less. “One day we were haulin’ along, fourteen knots or thereabouts. The water shoaled ’round the bow and spray Hew up as if we were making twenty. But the capt’n said four- teen and fourteen she was. The sky was as clear as drinking water from the mainland. I said Warry a storm today, mate'. But the captain over- heard me and piped right off: 'There’s wind to west o' southwest, 'bout fif- teen. A yowler before three.’ He was right. “We had a crew o' twenty-eight, half white, t'othera black. A good lot were they, the whites mostly beachcombers from Australia and India, the blacks from a tribe of na- tural sailors on Toulos, or something o' sorts. Wal, as I was saying, they were uncommonly good men, not at all stylish like these doodabs that dress up like Timbuctoo chieftans and handle the wheel as if it ware a Barb’ry jewel. The capt'n liked them and they liked him. “Toward three the wind dropped. Cap’n gave orders to reef her down, saying we’d have a rip snorter. We were glad of the change but later felt quite diIT’rent. The breeze picked up a bit, causing the sea to rise in short chop. We waited like Carey's on the yard arms at eight bells. An etern- ity passed; then six strokes sounded from the poop. The storm piled in on us. We were tight, but did not reckon on an old break in the boat's hull. After’ards skipper said as how he was afeard something’d happen there afore it did. “When the gale was at its topmost we felt a little lunge. The whole craft quivered. At first I thought we’d struck something, but not so. “The captain .sent me below to in- vestigate. I looked everywhere ami finally, figuring from the direction of the lunge, I opened a small door that led into the little used fo’ard parts. Water poured in. After a short struggling I closed and locked it. Then I fastened the hatch. The captain already had the pumps set up. Two men got to work. But there seemed no stopping that sea, no sir, it just filled up hold after hold. The captain became alarmed, though he tried not to show it. “The storm abated. Like the ball- ahooing of dancing natives. The noises gradually died away. But the boat leaked more. The captain had turned toward the Caloos, but Fate (Continued on Page 17) II

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T H E W I T A N JUST IN BETWEEN (Continued from the Spring number) “It was a cry such as one would utter with a hot potato in one’s mouth—very indistinct, but clearly a sign of distress. I hurried forward as quickly as I could with practically no light and greatly hampered by the treacherous footing. The driver of the battery had ceased his ready flow of invective and apparently halted the difficult progress. There was a great running about and confusion of per- plexed calls. All this my ears told me as I hurried to bring my eyes within range. A short flash from a lighted match gave me my bearings and helped me momentarily. It was followed by an even deeper, more oppressive dark- ness than before but this didn’t last long, as the gunners managed to get a lantern going. In the pale yellow light a strange sight was revealed. “The two teams of the battery stood in half shadow steaming and dripping with sweat, sides blowing, and mouths wide with heavy breath- ing. The gun was tipped high in the air, muzzle up, with its trail on the edge of the path, while the limber was half in the ditch where one wheel had slid. Bad stuff, that mud, especially in the dark. Well, anyway, the gun squad was huddled around the off wheel of the limber and it was from somewhere among them that these muffled cries seemed to come. I hollered for the looey in charge, meanwhile managing to get some of the stupid fools out of the way. The looey stepped up as I stared at a vague heap in the ditch, and reported that they’d had no light, the limber'd lost the path, slipped into the ditch, and here was the result. “I should say it was! The squad was so fagged that 1 had to tell thpm twice before they lifted the off side of the limber while I and the looey dragged that heap on to its feet. Yes, it had feet, darn clumsy ones too! I held the lantern up and looked into the face of one of the dumbest fools 1 knew, Gifford. His uniform was all wet and mud covered and his helmet was all drawn and pinched on the top. It looked just as tho he’d put a French helmet on sideways. The limber’d ev- idently slipped down off the path and the wheel had landed right square on the tup of his helmet. He, drunk and tired, had probably fallen into the ditch on the way down after mess, and gone to sleep. And I reckon it’s no joke to wake up suddenly with your war hat all pinched up on top of your head, your chin strap so tight you can’t speak, and held down by a blame gun limber. No wonder he tried to holler! Well, we cut his hel- met off and sent him up to the doctor for general overhaul. The fellow we sent with him said he never saw a man so scared before. At any rate, the camp got a big laugh and Gifford a nickname—‘Squee Jee’. (Pass the pickles!) “Well, tempus fidgets, and it wasn’t long before camps were coming down and most of the regiment on the road. We were moving in. “Nothing much of importance hap- pened on the way. The men were kidding each other about what was going to happen in the morning and about looking pretty because there’d be a big crowd out watching. Some of the light infantry passed thru; they were coming from farther back and stepping right along. Only men about fivp feet, six inches can join this branch because they have a regula- tion pace of thirty-six inches. That’s a mighty hard job for a big fellow, especially at better than five miles an hour for a whole day’s march. Try it sometime! “We made it into the trenches with about an hour to spare. Kight on schedule with communication set and support organized sometime before, but extending a long distance back! I usually went over with the second wave in a big attack like this, sort of a clean-up gang, and so was detailed in charge of a four squad company of marines in the second line. They 13