John Adams High School - Clipper Yearbook (Ozone Park, NY)

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MY TRUSTY BLADE 'TT- BY ARNOLD TIENKEN he caretaker of the gloomy Keilsworth castle was old, yet he possessed an upright military bearing, and had an air of command in his voice. It was with obvious pride that he pointed out to us, incredulous at the castle's wonders, the history of each dusty object. The d-ull glitter of a rusty sword, hung over the stone arch of a doorway, caught my eye. Seeking out the old fellow, I asked him about the weapon. He beamed with delight at my request. I have been here, living under the shadow of the battlements for twenty years. Countless hundreds have I conducted through these halls, but seldom have found one interested in that weapon, the keen edge of which kept more than one marauder from swarming over the castle walls, in the past, and laying waste to the fortress. The old fellow glowed with enthusiasm over the subject. Watching his changing expressions, I knew that I had struck a spark of interest which began to blaze fiercely when he grasped my arm and pushed me along through a side door and led me up a spiral staircase. He threw open an iron studded door, we bent low passing under a low arch and entered the room. By the light of the candles which the old s-oldier placed in a wall holder, I discerned a veritable arsenal. I gasped in amazement and admiration at the array, and walked around the room pausing and studying the beauty of each interesting old sword on the wall. I toyed with a glittering and delicately fashioned rapier from the romantic sixteenth century. I saw cruel, yet beautifully fashioned poinards, Coup de grace weap-ons used for the final blow in all periods of history. A profusion of stout bladed whittles, small English hunting knives hung in the showing, dwarfed by the larger weapons and their iron scabbards. There, near a latticed window was a Roman broad sword, a stout weapon renowned for having l'l1-IE- in-In-n'L.n4lQ

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carved Caesar's vast empire. Corroded bronze weapons reminiscent of ancient Greece, which once flashed in the hands of desperately fighting gladiators in the ancient arenas of Rome, hung on their rusty hooks. My eye caught the glitter of the jewel bedecked grips and scabbards of fantastically curved Oriental scimitars with their queer Arabic sentence engraved on the blades. In a corner on a wooden peg hung a Schlager, used by German students to settle their differ- ences on the field of honor. Long and ponderous Chinese blades, resplendent with beauty in their lacquered sheaths, decorated with serpentine dragons, lent color to the scene. The old retainer, noting my look of frank admiration, walked briskly around the room after me and gathered up an armful of weapons. Bristling with the load, he stumbled over to a rough hewn table and drew one from its sheath with a chilling rasp. I leaned for- ward expecrantly as the old soldier began to speak. Look at this French rapier, he weighed it carefully in his hand, see these dents in the cup guard, each mark tells a story. Picture a rolling green meadow and two bodies of horsemen thundering towards each other. They meet in the center of the green. The im- pact unseats many, but those yet in the harness lunge and party skill- fully, face to face on the field of battle. Empty saddled horses gallop on, leaving their vanquished owners bleeding in the dust. The noise subdues gradually and the victors gallop off, many of them sore wounded, yet rejoicing in their conquest and eager for fresh ad- venture. The enthusiastic fellow picked another weapon from the pile and related its history. This, he began, is a Yataghan, a blade used by Mohammedans and Persians in their colorful desert lives. He pointed out to me skillfully worked arabesques engraved on the razor- like blade, and the glittering garnets and emeralds in the pommel of the weapon. A French soldier, he continued, imported this beautiful weapon into Europe before 1.750 as a model for sword bayonets. The design was accepted and prevailed in the armies of Europe for nearly a century. I have one of the French models. He rose and hunted the wall with his eye until he spied one, he hurried over to it and removed it from its sheath and called my attention to the inscription on the blade. Mre d'ormes de St. Etienne 1747. At this point the old fellow had quite captured my interest and I pointed out a sword which had attracted my attention. That, he 'rn-:E 1nQ.nT+n'l.n.a2I