Lick Wilmerding High School - Commencement Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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QI ztfaiafasufe Ig, Fortunately my body worked with my mind, and I made one leap as I saw the light of recognition creep into his eyes. So rapid were my movements that my guards were discomfited, since the Caliph had uttered no sound. I burst from the tent, Aba el Ser not far behind mc. I certainly should have met an unfortunate end then had I not, the night before, observed so carefully the intricate windings of the maze of crazy streets. I ran for the camel in- closure, knowing they would track me there, and not a moment too soon gained the door. Seeing it deserted, I Seized a swift-looking animal, threw a bundle of old cloaks on its back, and lashed it toward the east. As it missed the custom- ary restricting rein, With one bound the beast cleared a low gate and made for the open desert. Then, hearing hurried steps, I dived behind a pile of saddles and equipment, and waited. Aba el Ser came dashing in with the guards at his heels. In a moment they espied the empty stall. Noting the fleeing camel, supposedly mounted, heading eastward, they sounded an alarm. In a minute the desert was black with Arabs in pursuit. XVell had I reasoned by not going with the camel, for they were setting off at different angles and would soon surround the animal. As I hid behind the heap, I saw Aba el Sor approach. XVith his back to me, he stood watching the pursuit through field glasses. Creeping from behind, I struck him with the butt end of my revolver. As he crumpled noiselessly to the floor, I drew him behind one of the stalls. I took his cloak, his headdress Cquite unlike my turbanj, and his star of office, and putting them on hastened into the adjoining stable. Standing in the dim light, I asked the boy for my horse. He brought out an immense black stallion and proceeded to saddle it. My hopes were soaring, when in walked the Calipli. Ile ordered his horse sad- dled without noticing me and then walked in my direction. I had my hand on my revolver, when from the minaret sounded the call to prayer. The Caliph, a religious enthusiast, immediately turned and walked out. I seized my horse and made for the opposite entrance. ' Mounting, I 1'ode north, as all scouts had now joined the search to the east. I turned in my saddle to look back. The tent city and the town were gleaming in the bright morning sunlight. The palm trees waved in the faint breeze. How different was Omdurman when I next saw it, red with carnage and black with smoke. That was when the British struck and struck hard. It was then that I met the Caliph again, when he attacked our cavalry with the one inten- tion of meeting me, and exacting revenge. It is not permissible to tell here how he and his gallant cavalry fell-fell gloriously .... As the Arabs say, HThat is another storyf' AAYVARDICD llnook ron Bnsr STORY llPage l9ll

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QI afeafa airs Ig, The sentinel advanced and looked at me critically. The richness of my ap- parel and the magnificence of my mount helped to substantiate my claims. He offered to escort me into the city, where I was taken to the tent of Kabir Has- san, one of the major chiefs of the Arab forces. Here, according to Arab cour- tesy, I was asked no questions but was allowed to eat and sleep unmolested. However, as I sleep but lightly, I was able to watch my worthy host slitting my sandals and examining the seams and lining of my cloak, in the vain hope of discovering more about my identity and mission. Late in the afternoon I awoke and feasted with my host, or jailer, and in the evening we joined the camp fire, where my name and rank were made known to each of the chiefs. I was then given a place next to my host, Kabir Hassan, and allowed to listen to the rather heated discussion. A burly Afghan from the Middle East was their head military engineer. He talked a great deal and agreed with no one, but especially disagreed with Aba el Sor, commander of the cavalry. In their argument I learned the very things the English so wished to know. They had little or no artillery. They intended to confine themselves to fiying raids until forced to make a stand, probably at Omdurman. Their strength lay in guerilla warfare, at which they are matchless. At last my host and Aba el Ser inquired my errand. The men about the circle immediately ceased talking. In a loud and sonorous voice, I began, with many pious quotations. I told them that my master, the Emir Nadj, the great, just, merciful, and CAllah be praisedj above all others wise, had heard of the great strength, courage, and immeasurable resources of their Caliph, and had sent me to see if the reports he had heard were true. I had been further instructed that, if the reports were found authentic, he would donate what supplies and men he could muster to help Omdurman, as some day in like circumstances he might need a friend. Now completely trusted, I was taken to see their breastworks which I was told were the product of their military engineer, the Afghan. I was also shown their marvelous cavalry depot, their camels, their armory and the few guns that they had. Over all these I professed great admiration. I told them that His Excellency, my master, knew no such things as these. I had intended to make my escape that night, but as I crept to the door of my tent I saw that my kind host had provided sentinels who were patrolling the space about. I also knew that he had been so kind as to care well for my camel. Seeing that escape was impossible, I sank into restless slumber until the morning light awoke me. I had just breakfasted when my host came with the news that the Caliph had so greatly honored me as to command my presence in his tent. I very much fear that I appreciated the honor but little then, and still less as I stepped over the threshold of his tent, Kabir Hassan on my left and the watchful Aba el Ser on my right. The Caliph at once started to question me. I answered his questions boldly, though fearing that he might have a lurking suspicion as to my identity when he heard my voice, but all went well. His voice was cordial and his questions were courteous. And then came my undoing. There was a basket of fruit near by, and hos- pitality demanded that the Caliph offer it to me. As he passed it, I stretched out my hand to receive it. Too late I saw my mistake. There on my fore- finger was the signet ring of the Vaughns. The Ualiph must often have seen it on the finger of my brother, who gave it to me before he died. ffPage ISI

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QI- at f ma f at at 1 f Q Q t g . Y J ? :?121'jii5 255 'in ,lf- 'if '-Y ' P 2 ... G it A i ' . ..1.,Q.f 5395 tag Q :i:C3Z':51j..:..1 Y V th- ' 3' 5 'Z -'1' S+' ,.:w. 1, gliglmlp- VA ' .U n .554 .11 . e e tri? .. .1- - 1f:1a'ZaEf5. 5 53213 1..1 Zin the Eallep uf Granh' Herrin DoRo'1'11E.x Hinton, 29J llli sun rose slowly over 1l1e l1ills. Birds began to sing and people to stir troin their homes. Smoke had been eoining out of the lllilllj' little chimneys i11 the valley long before tl1is. The 111011 and won1en ot' 1l1e little valley did not wait for the sun to wake them. Tl1e nienfolk began to go oft to the lllllllJCl' mills while the women tidied their homes. The men worked hard all day, re- turning at night for food a11d rest. The women eooked and sewed and washed. S11eh were the lives of the people in the valley of Grand' Pe1'rie. As Peter Mosquel kissed his wife and started 011 his way to the 1'lllllS, l1e at 01106 began to thi11k of his son, Jacques, far away in Montreal. Today was Friday, the day that Jacques' weekly letter arrived. Peter had spent' many days in thought before giving eTilf'ftllt'S his eonsent to go to the eity and try his luek. lle had heard stories of tl1e lit'e i11 Montreal, ot' niurders and robberies and the like, and he feared for l1is S0l17S sa tety. -laeques llilill bee11 away tl1ree nionths new and had sent a letter every week. He llild a job i11 a printing otitiee and was Inaking many friends. Upon reaehing 1l1e 111ills, Peter resolved to put from his Illllld all fear illlfl worry for Jacques. As he began to eheek logs, he started to whistle inerrily and to llllllli of all the good in the world. Peterls wife, Anna, tidied 1l1e house a11d then sat down to sew. She was get- ting old and her heart was failing her, making her tire easily. She, too, began to worry about Jacques 5 he was sueh a baby, Zllld l1e had lived i11 the valley most of his life. My, how she 111issed hi111! The weekly letter would surely eome S0011 and set her heart at rest. Just then tl1e door opened tllltl Suzanne Nagel, a neighbor, entered. Good morning, smiled she, as she elosed the door. '4Good morning to you, answered Anna. '4NVo11,t you sit down and tell 1110 the news? Peter doesn't go for the papers 11111il he eonies home, Hllf-l I ani too weary and old to go myself. I ean stay Ollly a minute, breathed Suzanne. ul ran right over to tell you that Paul Gaveri, the baker's son, was run over i11 Montreal. Hllly, what a great sorrow for his DilI'C11l'Sl77 gasped Anna. Yes, indeed! But I niust go on. Goodbye. illlll don 't think about Tlllll. He is gone. lt is his parents that are to be pitiedf' IIPage 20ll