Humberside Collegiate Institute - Hermes Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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A Voyage of Exploration ATRIP to Simpson's Book Room will have far reaching effects on the four corners of your mind. You may open up new realms in pleasant hours of reading essays, history, fiction-- by famous Writers of both past and present-- biography, books on travel, science and the arts. Enjoy the thrill of pride that comes from building up your own private library of worth-while volumes. Street floor Rzchmond Street COMPANY ROBERTS' M D LIMITED

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THE I-lEIQIVlEf fl . V Y Y ,-f gafif . Q The Man W ho Was Afraid It was cold, and wet, and silent. The only sound was the regular splash, splash of the sentryls boots in the thick mud. lt was very dark, the stars were obscured, and on this wet and drizzly night there were few star-shells. Most of all, to the weary, plodding man, it was lonely. He was not used to plodding, this boy-for he was little more than a boy-for hours on end through wet, muddy trenches in heavy, soaked army boots and a heavier, wetter, greatcoat. And he was not used to being afraid. For he was afraid, horribly afraid, of he knew not what. He had admitted it to no one except his closest friend, Martin, but he him- self realized that his nickname of funk-it,' was not devoid of meaning. He dreaded the fact that he might be called out any morning to engage in lighting at close quarters with the hordes of Germans who inhabited those trenches beyond that all-too- narrow strip of No Man's Land, and who were the chief material causes of his perpetual fear. ' His fear had gripped him on that first morning in the trenches, when his company had been unexpectedly called out to support an attacking force: he had seen some of his closest friends bayoneted before his eyes. He had turned and run-only for a few paces, it was true-but he knew that the next time he would not stop at a few pacesg he would ignominiously desert, and be a lasting disgrace to his companions. They would shoot him, in contempt- that would be a line conclusion to the dreams of his heroic deeds which had primarily caused his enlistment. Obsessed by fear, he paraded up and down the trench, thinking only of his own worthlessness, and wishing that some sniper would get him. Yes, that would be best. He was afraid, and afraid of himself for being afraid .... He might be killed any minute .... any second .... Afraid! Splosh, splosh, splosh. Someone coming. Splosh, splosh, splosh. Halt ! His voice was husky. Who goes there P That you, Barclay? It's me- Martin. . A grey shadow emerged from the blackness. Hello, Martin, Cold night. Beastly weather, isn't it? The weather was rarely anything but heastly, but Barclay wanted to talk. He wished that Martin could stay with him. Where to, Martin? No Man's Land. Got to listen. Wish l didn't know German. Rotten weather. He advanced to the para- pet, and prepared to mount it. Out here P asked Barclay in sur- prise. Straight out. Back in-half an hour. So long. He disappeared. . . . . . - . . . . . . Twenty minutes later, Barclay had seen and heard nothing since his triend's disappearance. He examined his watch anxiously every few minutes, afraid, now, not only for himself, but for Martin also. With gruesome thoughts of what might be happening to his comrade at that very moment, he paced hislonely vigil. Splash . . . splash . . . splash . . .

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N THE I-ii-araivigfv R , , Crack! A ritie report, closely fol- lowed by two others, split the stillness of the night air. His heart beating like a pile driver, Barclay stood still. Was Martin dead? He wanted to look over the parapet, but did not dare. At last he did look. As he did so, a star-shell burst overhead, and he saw the figure of a kneeling man reel forward and fall. Martin! lnstantly, his fear forgotten, he dropped his rifie and scrambled over the parapet. He must get Martin! He crawled over the many obstruc- tions, making his tortuous way across No Man's Land, feverishly intent upon his search for his friend, till suddenly-his fear returned. Sup- posing a star-shell should burst? He would be seen . . . shot . . . perhaps killed . . . A shell burst. He froze and wait-ed for the inevitable. It did not come. He was surprised, then the burden of his fear fell away. He was free-afraid no longer! His groping hand felt something ahead of him. Martin? The some- thing moved, and groaned, then mutt-ered a few English words. He had found what he was looking forg now how was he to take Martin back? That would be much more difficult than the mere finding of him. His old fears crept back, but he cast them resolutely from him. He would do it, he reliected grimly, if it killed him. He managed to get Martin across his shoulders, and had gone a few paces on his knees, when he heard a sound behind him. He was being followed. One of the enemy in search of Martin? Gently he laid Martin down, and wait-ed. Waiting, it seemed to him that centuries passed while his old fears returned tenfold. T-he man might attack him from any side, drive a bayonet into him and take Martin, and he would never know. And Martin was probably dead, or soon would be. VVhy not insure his own safety, and return to his own trenches? He turned to retreat, ducked, and grappled with a crouching figure ready with upraised arm. They rolled about in the mud, now one, now the other having the advantage. Suddenly both figures disappeared. A few seconds later. Barclay emerged from the shell hole. one arm hanging limp, and returned to Martin. His fear was gone: the German was dead. He had hit his head on a stone . . . served him right. How his shoulder hurt! Now to get Martin back. h . . . . . . . . . Q . . On...andon...andon... would he never get there? Crawling . . . crawling . . . with that dead weight on his back and blood oozing from the wound in his shoulder . . . on...andon...andon... A star-shell burst. Shots rang out. A sharp searing pain. He fell, was raised, and knew no more . . . The doctor bent over him and shook his head. Barclay opened his eyes, saw the doctor, and whispered, Martin 7' He's all right, replied the doctor, thanks to you. Barclay tried to move. A look of pain crossed his face. Lie still, said the doctor. They got you just as you got back to our trenches. A look of understanding came into Barclay's eyes. Will I get better ? he asked simply. The doctor looked at him. No, he said, you won't. Barclay closed his eyes. A few minutes later he re-opened