Elmwood High School - Inscripta Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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Anything going on?” he asked. ' The usual. V e haven’t changed speed for almost twenty minutes.” As if to prove a point, the revolution repeated jangled a change in revolutions. The new man deftly reached up and complied with the new order, adjusting the throttled to the indicated speed. Well, I guess I’ll leave now,” said Mitchell, moving toward the door of the sound proof control booth. He opened it and was overwhelmed, as always, by the sound of the powerful Diesel engines. On deck again he felt the salt spray on his face and heard the wind howling in the rigging of the mast. It was so dark that even as his eyes grew accustomed to it he still could not see the deck a t his feet. He thought of Jenkins and decided that it was pure luck that he had been found at all, let alone unharmed. A man in a sea like this on such a black night wouldn’t have a chance. Carefully picking his way forward he changed his mind and went up the ladder to the wheelhouse. Before he had a chance to think of the dangerous spot he was in, the wave hit him full in the chest and in an instant he was sputtering in the water and concentrating on getting as far away from the powerful pull of the screws as possible. Lungs burning, he stroked upward and made the surface in time to see the stern of the , Nanoose” slip out of sight behind a swell. He quickly took off his trousers and knotted the ends of the legs. By inverting them after holding them into the wind they were sufficiently inflated to support him. He watched the stern light slowly begin to disappear for longer intervals and then vanish. In a few short minutes he had calculated how long if would be before be was discovered missing, they were not likely to notice his absence before breakfast, more than ten hours away. He thought of his chances and didn’t dwell on them. If he could stay awake he felt he would have a chance. The water temperature had been sixty-seven degrees at his last reading, so it wasn’t a factor. His only hope lay in hope itself and his staying awake to keep his make¬ shift life-jacket inflated. After what seemed to be the hundredth time he had inflated his trousers, he detected a noticeable drop in the wind and in the glow of the moon which had risen he could see that the swell had abated. His searching eyes caught a flash of white off to his left. At first he thought if was a light but with a longer look it appeared to be a white Kisby ring, one of the life preservers which all ships are required to have on board. It seemed to be drifting closer. Yes, he could see it, plainly now, it was a Kisby ring. It probably had been lost by some ship in this very storm, and now, as incredible as it seemed, it was drifting right to hifn. Closed it come until with a few powerful strokes he had it. He shouted his gratitude to the wind and whatever power that might have heard his silent prayers. Dunbar awoke with a start, turned on his reading lamp and looked at his watch. “After two?” he said half aloud. He pondered what could have awakened him at this hour. The pitching and tossing had abated and he couldn’t understand why he wasn’t dead to the world. He lay down ago in and was about to switch off his light when he noticed the bunk across the aisle wasn’t occupied. “Where ' s Mitch?” he wondered. What would he be doing up and around at this time of night? Probably sick, he thought. Mitchell sick? Impossible. Anyone but. Dressing quickly, he left the crews mess and went to the cafeteria. No one. A quick check of the wheel-house and engine room revealed that he had not been seen since being relieved at ten A. M. Dunbar roused the coxswain and relayed his fears. Together they called the watch and the First Lieutenant. When Mitchell’s loss was confirmed, the Capfain was informed and he began search proceedings. The ship had made forty miles in the last four hours, and they could cut that time in half by going full out on a reciprocal course. That would put them in the vicinity or where it was assumed Mitchell was lost in about two hours. Mitchell peered intently at his watch for another of the innumerable times in the last six or seven hours that he had been in the water. It had stopped the moment he had hit the water at a few minutes after ten, The moon had traversed the sky, and he knew he had been in the water for at least six hours, maybe more. His gaze left the sink¬ ing moon in time to see a flicker light. Af first he thought he was imagining things but when he saw it again he knew it was a light. If it was the “Nanoose,” someone must have noticed him missing. If it wasn’t, there was no way he could attract another ship’s attention. They could pass within a mile and never see him. Nearer it came until it was only a few miles off. Mitchell, fear griping him that they would miss him and hope pounding in his ears, screamed with all his strength at the vessel which seemed determined to pass him by. The light disappeared, and with it his hopes. No, wait. Now a green light appeared signifying an alteration to port. Presently it faded and the white light showed again, closer this time. Now a red light and Mitchell allowed himself the luxury of thinking that it was a vessel searching for something. In the next hour he observed the ship turning again and again, getting closer as it altered course in ever widening circles. It was just a matter of time before they found him. The sky was brightening in the East and he could hear the throb of the engines now as the outline of the ship came closer. At last a search light began to scan the water and he wondered what he would have for breakfast. — Brian Griffin 11-23

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A Little Rescue Before Breakfast Mitchell looked out at the foam crested swells. It’s going to blow tonight,” he said to himself. He didn’t like it when it stormed. The small mine-sweeper he was on could bounce like a cork in a sea like this, and that meant that over half of the ship s company would be sick and trying to stay as far away as possible from the foul air of the would lie in their bunks and pray that it wouldn’t last long. mess decks. Those that were too sick to move That was about all he disliked about storms. When the storm was at its height, sometimes he would go to the wheelhouse and watch the swells sweep over the forecastle of the one hundred and forty foot vessel, lift the bow out of the water and send it twenty or thirty degrees off course. The helmsman would curse and spin the wheel furiously as he fought vainly to get closer to the true course before the officer of the watch discovered how far he was off. It seemed that no sooner did the ship begin to respond to its rudder, when the swell would pass aft and the screws, which were momentarily out of the water, would dig in and send the ship twenty or thirty degrees in the opposite direction. He didn’t envy the helmsman then, who stood his watch in the wheelhouse for four hours, taking the wheel every other half hour. Once he had taken over for a few minutes and in that short space, he could feel the heaviness of his arms as he struggled at the helm. The sky was darkening rapidly now and in the half-light he could see the crests lengthen, as the increasing velocity of the wind drove them almost parallel to the surface of the sea. In the shelter of the gun sponson, Mitchell could feel the ship pitch and lurch. Below and behind him he could see the light from the engine-room control booth. He glanced at his watch; in thirty minutes he’d be down there. That was the only place on board he’d rather be than the wheelhouse. He had to admit that the extra man on his watch eased a lot of Strain. It meant he would only spend two hours in the engine room. He got out of his sheltered corner, waited for a break in the spray and made a dash for the accommodation hatch. In the cafeteria a few men were bravely sitting holding mugs of coffee and occasionally dodged sliding objects which hadn’t been stowed. He looked at the new coffee urn bracketed firmly to the bulkhead and a picture of another urn came to mind. In a sea almost like the one they were in now, the braver of the crew were sitting around breezing,” when without warning the urn broke loose, skidded the length of the table, crashed into the water cooler and sprayed its scalding contents on the men who were not fast enough to get out of the way. There had been one serious injury. The man closest had caught the full weight of the urn on his forearm which broke under the shock. The rest of the men were scalded to varying degrees, none seriously. He listened to the conversation of the men as he prepared his coffee prior to closing up on watch in the engine room. The senior man of the mess was saying in a manner which (as Mitchell thought, was typical of the senior hands) was designed to frighten the younger men, and instill a feeling of pending disaster in them. That was the time when old Jenkins, the cook, went out to dump his gash” and the 0” float broke loose and took him over the side with it.” He spent two hours on that thing and when they got him off he was bow-legged from ridin’ it like a horse.” There were rumbles of laughter as the younger men tried but failed to see the humour in this sort of experience. As far as they were concerned there wasn ' t anything funny about being out in this sea which threatened to explode their stomachs with every heave. Mitchell saw Dunbar coming towards him, swaying and lurching as he tried to counteract the pitching of the deck. Dunbar was the closet man to Mitchell, in a world where any display of affection was taken as a show of questionable tendencies. He was about the best seaman aboard and many times Mitchell had heard of his prowess as a helmsman. Dunbar had just been relieved and Mitchell could see the shadows of fatigue around his eyes. He sat down heavily. Got a smoke?” he asked, and Mitchell produced his cigarettes. He patted each of his pockets find the matches he never carried. an effort to Got a match? Mitchell’s lighter was already out. Dunbar inhaled deeply, exhaled, then dragged again. Thanks,” he said, I’m beat, that wheel is murder in this weather. When I hit my bunk nothing’s gonna wake me up.” You ' re lucky,” said Mitchell, I ' m just starting to earn my keep. The two men parted, Dunbar disappearing down the forward hatch and Mitchell, carefully balancing his coffee, moved aft to the engine room. After an uneventful two hours, Simpson, Mitchell’s watch-mate appeared, tired and pale looking. It’s all yours,” Mitchell greeted him, giving his seat to the new arrival.

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Should Animals Be Kept In Captivity ? “Once abundant in most areas but now presently restricted to...” is a statement used to describe the number and location of many of the world’s wild animals. I believe that, in order to preserve many species of wild animals, we must keep them in captivity. When I refer to captivity, I refer not only to zoos but also to game reserves and such protective sanctu¬ aries as the Alberta Game Farm, operated by Al Geming with the aid of the Canadian Government. Members of species of animals which are constantly decreasing in numbers should be kept in Captivity so that they may be studied as to their feeding and breed¬ ing habits. If we know all we can about these animals ; we can then help them and make it easier for them to survive. We can also breed them in captivity and replenish their numbers if and when this becomes necessary. To illustrate this, there are the musk-ox of Northern Canada. Never abundant, but now slowly dwindling in number, musk-ox are being studied inten sively at the Alberta Game Farm. It is hoped that ip time we wj II be able to increase their number and prevent their extinction. ff ' Vv, x ■ . 3 Another group of animals which should be kept in captivity are those extremely close to extinction. Such species deserve not only study, but the chance to live and reproduce their kind. An example of such animals is ' the kit-fox, a small, timid creature, extinct in all North America except for those on the Alberta Game Farm. Whether these poor creatures can be restored to their natural state or not, is not yet known. I It has taken many years for nature to develop our wild animals to their present form. In a few short years, it can all be ended. Unless we find newer, better ways to protect our wild animals they will all be reduced to the state of the kit-fox, or worse. In places such as Africa, wild animals are killed by the hundreds every day, and since we cannot protect them in their natural habitat, we must, out of necessity, keep them in captivity. - Glenn Johnson 11-14