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

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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

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N Q! THE Hi?.rQM5f them. He whispered, 'fVVrite to my mother . . . Alberta . . . The doctor nodded. Tell her . . . tell her . . . that I was not afraid when I died. They sent his mother his messageg they told her what he never knew- that Martin had obtained valuable information and that he had been the means of saving many men's lives, and they sent h-er his medal. They sent her, too, the words of the chaplain at his funeral service. The chaplain had more intuition than most men, and had known and understood Barclay well. He paid him this tribute: This man conquered fear. -H. Clark Bahtzer, IV-A. Northern Lights Faintly they form, at first Pale streaks in a velvet sky, Stealthily creeping high Then slipping back as if cursed. Their bars from the void step forth, Columns of sudden light That sway in the awful night Then sink to their fathomless source. Their tongues kindle and flare As if poked from some furnace below, Then die,-smouldering low And casting a lambent glare. Like an emerald glacial stream That dives beneath Northern snows -They disappear in rows And emerge with a beryl gleam. The rays are pierced with shades Of pink and of palest blue, And a pencil of orange hue That darts about and fades. To the very zenith they mountg Each streamer scintillates, Each light-rocket palpitates Till the dome of heaven vibrates, -A-A shimmering fire-fount. Then slowly, their long wings furled, Like a tired bird reaching the nest, They silently sink to rest And darkness recowls the world. -Edward A. Walton, V-A. 65