Governors Academy - Milestone Yearbook (Byfield, MA)

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

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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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