Hanover High School - Hanoverian Yearbook (Hanover, MA)

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THE HANOVERIAN 25 Immediately we embarked and Peter began his tale as he paddled us swiftly down-stream. John and I had gone camping to this very place, which I remember distinctly as the starting off place of my dream. For three days, we had been having a fine time. Horror came with the fourth. Early in the morning I called J ohn's attention to the smoke of a distant forest fire. 'It is so dry,' I said, 'We would be safer along the edge of the lake. If the wind should rise-' but he scoffed at me. 'You're a fool to want to go back now,, he said. 'That fire is miles away. And, besides, this stream probably enters a lake or a swamp down below? I gave in, but had no wish to go on our planned hunting trip. I felt strangely uneasy, wanted to stay by the water, and wished all the time that we were safe at home. Night settled down, dark and humid and still. Heat lightning flashed in the distance, the glow of forest fires was all around us. The time, as you must remember, was in the early part of Sep-- tember, during a drought, the length and severity of which this country had never known before. After hours of wakefulness, I fell into a troubled sleep, lulled by a. gently rising breeze. I was awakened late in the morning by aloud cry. John was sitting up. He pointed a trem- bling finger towards the west. I stared, then began to shudder from head to foot. Our whole world was ablaze. The little cool- ing breeze had become a hot, fierce gale and was urging the big forest fire to our destruction. We were cut off from the lake, and our doom was sealed. 'Quickl' cried practical John. 'There is no time to lose. Get into the canoe. If the stream leads to a lake, we shall be saved.' I managed to rise and seat myself in the canoe, then I fell insensible. When I came to, we were already in a much wider stream, and going along swiftly without the aid of paddles. Before telling you anything more, I want to say our canoe was made of asbestos and was very similar to this one. To continue with my story, the stream had become quite broad and was taking a decided down-hill slant. We were ap- proaching a sharp bend in the river, which hid from sight every- thing beyond it. CLet us get out of the canoe, professor, before the current becomes too strong.J

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24 THE HANOVERIAN A RIDE FOR LIFE I became acquainted this fall with a certain morose young man who called himself Peter Hunt. He had been a student of' the old Technical School Building at Buddle Lake, which burned in the middle of the night during an exceedingly dry fall, three years ago. He himself was snatched from the brink of death by a brave fireman, who seeing him gesticulating madly from a win- dow hurried up his ladder and carried him to safety, but his bosom friend,,John Johnston, was burned to death in the flames. Peter Hunt, who had been a jovial young man before his friend's death, then became a morbid fellow, and often went for long, lonely camping trips into the forest surrounding V mountain, an extinct volcano. He offered to take me along with him as he wanted a witness to the scene of a mystery he hoped to be able to disclose. As I was worn out with a long siege of hard work, I joyfully accepted the opportunity for a vacation. We wandered for three days in a mountainous, forested wilderness, while Peter Hunt was scenting the lay of the land. The fourth day we found ourselves well to the north of V moun- tain, following a tiny stream, which was leading us towards the old volcano. About noon Peter Hunt suddenly decided to pitch camp. We entered a bare spot in the woods, in which were three or four charred tree stumps. He brought out an expensive as- bestos canoe, which was his own peculiar invention. Stopping abruptly in his operations, he asked, Does it seem possible to you that a man can dream of a real place and dream about it so vividly that he can recall even the narrowest details most accurately ? I have never heard so, I replied. But perhaps you had visited the place in childhood and had forgotten ever having seen it. But I did dream of a place which I had really never seen, on that night of the fire three years ago, and only today I have found the scene of my dreams. This is where it all began, right here, where We were camping the day of the big forest fire- What forest lire? There has been no forest fire near V mountain for years. Nevertheless, there was a forest fire here in my dreams. Those charred stumps yonder mark the spot of our camp. Let us go down the river in the canoe, and as We go, I will tell you what happened to us in our terrible ride for life.

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26 THE HANOVERIAN Carried around the bend like a shot, we were borne swiftly towards a huge cave and entered its mouth at a terrific rate of speed. In a few moments we were plunged into deepest darkness. We sped into a vast hallway, the distant heights of which dripped unceasingly. We were soon drenched to the skin and our canoe covered with a fine beady moisture. Every moment the air became hotter. In the distance we could hear a humming sound, which burst into a loud roar right over our heads, as we were borne into a narrower passageway. 'That is the forest fire.' said John. For half an hour or so we kept on our course hearing moan- ings and rumblings all around us. Ahead we could see a faint red glow, and hear the rush of falling water. That glow became a lurid bar, slanting across our path. We shot over a little fall and found ourselves precipitated towards-Oh God! shall I ever forget that sight I-Hell's own river, dreadful river of fire, sucking and smacking its horrible lips to receive us. Not one hundred yards ahead the cool waters struck the fire in a cloud of steam. Inhaling the gases was be- coming every moment more piercingly painful. Suddenly I fainted. When I came to, I found myself sliding down a radiant, lurid river. Black scum gathered around the prow of our boat. Far ahead, I could see the rounding billow of a giant cat- aract, plunging down with a hollow roar into the heart of the second crater of V mountain. For you see, we had entered the side of the big mountaing the unusual season and dreadful forest fire had awakened the old sleeping dragon, whose warning growls we began to hear as we were leaving the vast hall-ways. We had rushed headlong into the stream of lava, racing down its former course from the first to the second crater. In a few seconds, we would be hurled over the cataract to death. The canoe was gaining speed. I called to John, but he was lying back, his eyes closed in death. A few feet more and- 'We are going over the cataract! We living, are cast into the fiery pit! Oh God-!' A confused mummur arose around meg soft cool water was at my lips. I opened my eyes and saw before me, the old school building, blazing with fire. 'Where is John?' I whispered, but I already knew the answer. I have finished my story.