Eastern High School - Punch and Judy Yearbook (Washington, DC)

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10 By H. GIFFORD [nro The setting sun of December 1, 1805, saw two lines of hostile troops drawn up on the heights near the town of Austerlitz. All knew that the morrow would see the clash of three empires—Austria and Russia on one hand, and France on the other. Many reflections of other times, of home, friends, and all that makes life precious, filled the minds of soldiers on both sides. Circled about one of the bivouac fires of the Corps of Marshal Soult of “L'Armee Fran- caise” were five men. One—a grizzled sergeant of the line with a keen, roving eye—had capti- vated the other four with a romantic tale of per- sonal daring, but which in all probability had never occurred. When he had finished with the modest admission of capturing, single-handed, two platoons of the enemy, he reclined easily against a stump and awaited the plaudits of his listeners, “You've had some thrilling experiences, Francois,” remarked a young trooper of about twenty-one, “Thrilling experiences! Why I’ve been to the very throat of hell and come back again.” And the old sergeant supplied all the necessary gestures and facial expressions to vivify his statement. All was silence for some moments when a lad of seventeen spoke up: “Sergeant, you’ve been in lots of battles and you've seen your friends fall before an enemy yn, 28 1 me, does @ soldier feel before batt). its him?” that oe ee so. I’ve had many an old “Yes, 1 come to me just before his last con campaigner Francois, take this little remem flict and ay wife and child-—‘or my sweet. brance oe tell them that I died thinking o¢ bee seems that there's always a woman hts when they are expecting to fire—tel them.’ in their thoug! out.” 2 ah you ever feel before a battle that you might be killed?” asked the lad of seventeen, whom we shall call Denis. “No, not exactly. Once, just before Ma- 1, I seemed to hesitate about fighting, It eth only time I ever felt that way. Well, tat day I came nearer to belonging to the devil than ever in my life. Old Desaix was then my commander and we were charging the Aus- As we neared their lines I ” trians. ¢ At this moment several soldiers leapt to their feet and there was much commotion at nearby camp-fires. Several officers approached, led by a short, determined-looking man whom some- one recognized. There was a shout of “Vive L’Empereur!” It was indeed Napoleon inspecting the out- posts of his army and walking in that charac- teristic pose with his hand tucked under his coat. As he came alongside the sergeant, he carefully examined the ground and ordered it to be paced off. When this was done he turned to his subordinates and remarked : “You will have a part to play here soon.” The Man of Destiny and his party passed on and the soldiers again dispersed to their several camp-fires ; some to be with their comrades for the last time. “Did you notice his attention to detail?” asked the sergeant when the five friends had re- assembled. “Nothing escapes him,” said Denis, “and somehow his personality inspires patriotic zeal in one.”

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THE EASTERNER 9 The Boy Next Door By Frances Wricut, '27 Helen was the “only girl,” and Bill was the “boy next door.” And so it had been since they had first started out together in their rookiehood at high school. It was very nice to have someone who lived next door to walk to and from school with each day, and still nicer when one needed some pointers on that very terrible math problem. Now, at the end of four swiftly passing years, Bill was going away to college. Helen was going to a secretarial school. That sum- mer before their first separat ion was one won- derful round of pleasure—tennis, swimming, picnics, dances; and when the time came for Bill to leaye, Helen was wearing, not a dia- mond, but one of Bill’s own rnigs placed on her left hand with a new meaning, The first few months letters flew back and forth with daily regularity, with specials on Saturday and a telegram on Sunday. These were indeed letters filled with great promises and plans ; Bill loved college, but oh, boy ! when the Christmas holidays came around—! Weeks ahead plans were made for these Christmas holidays; Betty, a girl friend of Helen’s, was giving a house-party at her home in New York. The few spare moments squeezed in between going to school and writing to Bill were spent in making a dress for the great occasion. It was to be blue, with a full, fluffy skirt. Bill had always adored Helen in blue. A week before Christmas, Bill wrote only two letters—very careless of him, but still ex- cusable since he would soon be there to be reprimanded in person. The two that did come seemed to lack something, enthusiasm or per- haps sincerity. And then, the day that Bill was due to arrive came the fatal telegram— Bill was not coming home for Christmas! He was stire Helen would understand ; he was in- vited to spend the holidays with one of the “fellows.”’ Of course, it hurt dreadfully ; and, of course, Bill didn’t care for her any Tonger, since he preferred the company of some “fel- low” to the wonderful time they had planned. So, for the first time, Helen was really seri- ously angry with Bill. His hateful telegram was burned, as were all the letters which fol- lowed it, burned unopened. Helen’s pride had received too sure a blow. At Easter Bill came home, and Helen had “previous engagements” for a whole week. Only once did she even see him, and that was over the backyard fence. Bill had attempted to speak, and in answer the kitchen door was slammed with such vengeance that Bill's words were unheard. In vain did his mother invite Helen; every day was filled ; and every even- ing, when the telephone rang, Helen coldly in- formed the penitent voice that she was all “dated up,” even though some of the “dates” re spent in seclusion in her room with a book. Helen could be independent in her choice of company, also. Bill returned to col- lege, and Helen returned to school, still un- forgiving. Then in June came an invitation from a boy whom Helen had known quite well in high school. His frat was giving a big house party, and Tom was hoping Helen would come up for the big time as his guest. At first, Helen de- termined she would not consider going, because Bill went to the same college, and would prob- ably be there. But, after considering the pos- sibilities, Helen most decidedly determined to go, simply because Bill would be there; and she fervently prayed that Bill would not disappoint her by his absence. She would—well, she would show Bill a thing or two. It was an en- tirely new thing to look forward to, and Helen was going to get a big thrill out of it, some- thing more than merely going to a house party. She would enjoy it immensely to make Bill very uncomfortable. It was only what he de- served. The little blue evening dress that had been so carefully made for Christmas hung, covered (Continued on page 35) we:

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THE EASTERNER 11 “Do you remember, Denis,” exclaimed a sol- dier, also about seventeen, “do you remember the day that the Emperor passed through Cha- tillon? The bands played martial airs, and Na- poleon at the head of a small force went through the very street on which we lived. The military fervor, the love of glory, and the patriotic spirit carried us away, and with the recklessness of youth we enlisted against our parents’ advice. How it will live in my memory! Together we called on Charlotte. She seemed so beautiful that last day. It was with tears in our eyes that you and I joined our company. And before marching off our mothers embarrassed us so by asking Captain Vendrone to look out for us in the war. Then came the most glorious moment of all; when we marched away singing.” Here the soldier, whose name was Jules, com- menced singing in a rich baritone, in which he was soon joined by Denis: “Glowing with love, on fire for fame, A troubadour that hated sorrow, Beneath his lady’s window came, And thus he sang his last good morrow :— ‘My life it is my country’s right— My heart is in my true love’s bow’r; Gayly for love and fame to fight, Befits the gallant troubadour.’ ” Gradually the little company dispersed until Denis and Jules were alone. There was a pause; Denis spoke: “Tonight is my last night with you, my friend.” “Forget it, comrade. Don’t allow yourself to think of such a thing.” “Ah yes, but I feel it, and Francois told us that a soldier instinctively knows when his hour approaches.” “Denis, you can’t mean this. Think of Char- lotte and your mother and father.” “But Charlotte does not care for me, Jules. You're the only one she loves. It will be for you to make her happy.” Denis was thought- ful, then added, “Francois said that soldiers leave remembrances for their wives or sweet- hearts. Truly I worship Charlotte, but I shall do nothing to keep myself alive in her memory. However, you may take this little token of af- fection to my dear parents who will sorely miss me. Do this for me, Jules.” So saying, Denis handed his friend a ring which Jules sadly placed in his pocket. A restless night passed, in which the two boys dreamt of the days when as children they had played together in the streets of Chatillon, and how they had both courted the charming Char- lotte. On the morning of December 2, bugles blew, orders were shouted, men hustled ; some cheered, some prayed, and some were lost in a daze at the frantic confusion about them. Sev- eral shots were fired and the French officers yelled themselves hoarse in forming the battle line. The Corps of Marshal Soult was drawn up behind a ridge and some buildings, so as to be concealed from the Russians. “The Russians are giving Davoust hell on the right,” someone shouted. It could be seen that great masses of the enemy were leaving the heights of Pratzen just opposite the French position, and were hurry- ing to the French right. “Why doesn’t the Emperor help Davoust?” cried Jules to the Sergeant. “It’s a crime to see all those Russians charging a single isolated French corps with us here idle.” “The Emperor knows better what to do than you, young man,” replied the old trooper, nod- ding his head gravely. “T heard that we’re going to charge,” said Denis. The assault eschelon under Soult and Berna- dotte was now advancing from concealment into the valley and thence to the heights of Pratzen. Shots whistled in ever-increasing numbers as the two corps advanced. “Mon Dieu! We are entering a trap,” shrieked Jules. “Keep your head, you young fool,” snapped the Sergeant. “You'll unnerve the whole corps.” “We're in it now, Jules,” said Denis. The advance kept steadily onward and was now past the valley and ascending the slope on the summit of which barked a line of Russian rifles. Nearer and nearer came the French. (Continued on page 33)