Cloverdale Union High School - Spectator Yearbook (Cloverdale, CA)

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The Stricken City by Moonlight On Tuesday night, just seven days after the earthquake and tire that destroyed San Francisco I crossed from Berkeley to the ruined city. I was returning from an errand done in the service of the Red Cross and passed through the devasted area to the headquarters. I stepped from the boat to the Ferry Building with but few companions, and while they dispersed to their destinations in distant parts of the unburned suburbs, I gave the countersign to the sentinel and entered the burned out area. But few men have beheld a scene like the one I saw that night. Alone I passed among the ruins. Up Market Street I went where a week before life flowed in its fullness; now silent and covered with debris. Down this same Street we had marched on Saturday, the hot pavements and glowing embers reminding me that we had fought in vain for the preservation of the city. What a march that was! Every man was awed into a realization of his own insignificance. No sound save the swish and tread of our feet in the ashes. Each gripped his musket and choked down a sob as the tears came to his eyes. No soldiers ever felt a keener sense of defeat than we did on that Saturday marching through the ruins of the Beloved City we could not save. To the south of Market I cast a hurried glance. It was most¬ ly burned bare. The flimsy wooden structures had gone up like dried grass before the fire. In this part, on Wednesday morning, the soldiers and police had to exert themselves to their utmost to save the people. Westward, for a score of blocks from the waterfront a wall of roaring fire had driven the in- 18

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3lu ' (SHi Urn ' anil (iolb Near the glorious Russian River With its wealth of legend rare; As the school we all shall cherish, As the school to us so fair, We have seen her growth and progress And with spirit free and bold We declare our firm allegiance, To the Old Blue and Gold. While the grand historic river Rolls to the ocean wide, May reverses ne’er befall thee And misfortune ne’er betide; For our hearts are filled with gladness When thy banners we behold And we pray for countless blessings, To the old Blue and Gold. Though the years in quick succession Roll away to come no more And we wander, never straying Every land and ocean o’er. We will still recall with gladness Happy days we spent of old When we marched beneath the Banners of the Old Blue and Gold. Written for Cloverdala Union High School by Professor Way of Petaluma, California. 17

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1 nd to he •ea ■ry to , I Led lat t I mt iad ers ion red the his es. on Sty 3St- up lay ieir cks in¬ habitants out. Here the fire chief had lost his life in a ram¬ shackle building . Now nothing greeted the eye but heaps of twisted iron and cellar holes, all intermingled with ashes and dust. The utter ruin and desolation around me at that moment has seldom been seen by man. The ruined structures, bent, shatter¬ ed, twisted, and distorted by the destructive elements, suggest a world long since dead and forgotten. This effect was height¬ ened by a brilliant moonlight. The very Creator had forgotten this place, No sounds, no lights, not a living thing was there to suggest life had ever been in these desolate ruins. The rustle of the wind through the torn and broken structures seemed to be the whispering of spirits of beings long, long ago departed. Not a worm, not an insect, not a bug, not a bird, or mouse, not a blade of grass or any living creature sent forth its friendly greeting. It seemed as if I had landed in a dead planet to view the remaius of its departed life. On yonder walls the lights and shadows were the spirits of ladies in holiday shopping. The murmur of the wind on its ragged edge was an echo of their laughter and gossip. Yonder dark shadows were a group of fellows with more than they could carry. That falling brick was an echo of their discordant voices. The whistle of the wind through that arch was the song of the Salvation Army Lassie calling men from their lives of sin. I seemed to pass into a trance and see the old life be¬ fore me again, the busy city with its unending stream of life but all spectral and dim, a shadow life passing before my eyes. At last weariness caused me to turn away and as I left the desolation behind me the challenge of the sentry broke the spell. A. W. MILLER. 19