Governors Academy - Milestone Yearbook (Byfield, MA)

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T H E M I L E S T O N E nearer view I discerned the features of Terry beneath the plumed helmet. This inspiring vision vanished to be succeeded by another. In a fairy-like Japanese garden sat a young man beneath a wistaria vine. He was engrossed in a difficult task. At closer scrutiny I saw that he was engraving figures on a thin sheet of ivory. This was the complicated art of calendar making. However, this samurai could be no one but our friend from the Orient, Kuki. The next View was that of the facade of a stately castle. The drawbridge had been lowered over the moat and three persons were advancing from the gates. Two of them were royal guards in clinking mail and the coat-of-arms emblazoned on their breasts. The third person was being escorted by them rather forcibly out of the castle. He was a jester in cap-and-bells and giddy rags. I easily discerned the jovial countenance of Val, grinning and undismayed by his rude removal from the king's presence, whose wrath probably had been incurred by one of our friend,s antiquated uwisecracksf' Again the bounding main. A black ship loomed in view. From its mast flew a black flag picturing the ominous skull-and-bones. On board, stumping about on his wooden leg, was a very formidable gentleman. A red rag about his head, earrings, a sash bristling with horrible weapons, arms tattooed, withal a demoniacal aspect, this personage was in the act of making some poor devil walk the plank. It was difficult for me to come to the conclusion that this blustering pirate was none other than good old Mully, with his gentle disposition and his mild manners. Now the streets of Paris. The high tide of the French Revolution flowed before my eyes. An angry flushed mob filled a square. Above the sea of heads towered the guillotine, below it was a blood-drenched platform. The sickening knife fell . . . another head rolled into the basket. Cn the plat- form before this engine of death, a wildly-gesticulating youth was haranguing the rabble. His eyes flashing, hair disheveled, voice quivering, he was the embodiment of fury. This ardent young radical was Lem', Fowle in his heyday. The light in the globe died out, the last picture was blotted out in a swirl of vapour. I knew I was to see no more. Paying the venerable Hindu, I left his den in a daze and wandered down the crowded by-ways of Singapore in a coma, colliding into people right and left. When I came to my senses, I resolved to remember this queer incident for the benefit of my classmates. And so, with malice towards none, I set down these enlightening and significant disclosures for the aforesaid classmates, trusting that they shall not doubt my invaluable information. W. T. C., '24, I 25 l

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Q 9 T H E M I L E S T O N E cringing slaves. His trappings were gold and blazed with gems. His hair was twisted into long ringlets, his beard carefully groomed, in fact he was a very expensive looking objez fart. He was chastising his cowering vassals with a tyrannous tongue. Evidently his word was law. It was scarcely difficult to recognize this Chaldean despot as our own king and leader Ferdie. Another scene materialized before me. I saw a broad plain with moun- tains beyond on whose sides gleamed white temples and marble shrines. In the distance a figure approached at a rapid pace. Drawing nearer my line of vision it took on the semblance of a runner. It was a young man whose agility was deer-like and whose celerity was that of a racing car. I made his features out to be those of Tray, the originator of the Marathon race, who brought the tidings of a Greek victory to Athens. Next-a Norwegian vessel ploughing over the waves. Above a fan- tastically carved prow stood a tall young Viking looking over the broad blue sea. His armor flashed in the northern sun and the salt spray beat upon his haughty face imprinting upon it the indelible signs of a blush that should remain permanent through out his life. This was 'cBoydie, it could be no other. The scene faded. I was in the desert under a tropical sun. Over the sandy horizon gal- loped a band of Arabian horsemen, their snowy robes flying behind. At their head was a veritable sheik, swathed in bizarre raiment, be-turbaned, brandishing a wicked, curved scimeter and letting forth eerie war whoops. Here was Tommy,', on a marauding expedition searching for a new prize for his harem, full of the zest of the hunt. A cloud of dust obscured the scene. When all had cleared I beheld a wild scene of revelry. In an enormous hall lined with gilded pillars was held an elaborate banquet of the days of the Caesars. Here present were the jeunesse doree, the flaming youth, arid all the good fellows of Rome. Lolling on inlaid couches in attitudes of abandon Cand perhaps inebriationj were these happy-go-lucky carousers, encircled with garlands, plucking at the appetizing victuals or listening to the barbaric sounds of a classical jazz band. At the head of the table reclined the emperor, the life of the party, wreathed and in purple robes. He was very pleased with his gay surround- ings and liberally joined in the rites to Bacchus. The face of this enthusias- tic host bore a striking likeness to '4Fitz.,' This orgy faded from view and I beheld a long, winding road. There approached a glittering cavalcade of armoured men. An imposing proces- sion was this, fluttering pennons, Hashing lances, all the color of medieval pageantry. This band of brave knights were none other than the Cru- saders setting out for the Holy Land. At the head on a spirited white horse rode a noble knight bearing a banner of the cross. As he came into l24l

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I Val! l I 7141 Ter- P Tom my Ku -Z' .