Maynard High School - Screech Owl Yearbook (Maynard, MA)

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SURPRISE ATTACK Africa — the land of the veldt, where the sun sweats the living souls out of men and bleaches the bones of many a white hunter. The land where mountain stream and jungle have yet to disclose the thousands of secrets locked in swaying grass and steaming swamps. Where the nights descend like the cloak of death and keep ren- dezvous with the king of the forests — Numa, the lion. Yet deep into that forbidden land man has trespassed, bringing with him the evils and bene- fits of civilization. And it is to the white hunter that I dedicate this story, the man whose dauntless cour- age has many times brought to safety the adventure-seeking men and wo- men who crave the excitement that only Numa can give them. Jack Martin, in his fifth year in the jungles of Africa, did not cherish the prospect that confronted him. He was lost in gloomy meditation when sud- denly he was aroused by a loud rat- tling and chugging that seemed to come from the road which led into the camp. Turning his head, he perceived an old Model T grunting and bumping its way up the small incline in front of the tent. Jack had expected the new party to arrive at four in the afternoon but here they were, three hours early. Sauntering over to the car, he ob- served a tall English-appearing man with a monocle in his eye and a look of plain disgust on his face. The next figure that appeared made him stare in admiration. As the girl stepped out of the car, she looked more alluring than any movie queen to Jack Martin. Her supple body, graceful and lithe, was a sight such as not many hunters had been privileged to view. Her bright hair fell to her shoulders in soft ringlets, adding to the loveliness of her face. As Jack stared unconsciously, he was brought out of his trance by an abrupt, “Come, fellow, we haven’t a year, you know.” “Righto,” replied Jack good hu- moredly, “but I assure you after you hear Numa growl tonight, and you tramp fifteen miles or so in this jun- gle, you’ll have had enough.” The Englishman’s face showed no expression as he waved a hand care- lessly in the direction of the girl and drawled, “My daughter, Ellen. I’m Sir James Morrison, and I suppose you re- ceived my letters.” “Yes, Sir James, and everything is ready. We’ll start at once, if you wish.” Ellen put in hesitatingly, “Must we go into those black trees now?” Her father gave a brief laugh and replied, “Not going soft, Ellen?” “I should say not,” and the girl squared her small jaw. “It will take more than a lion to scare me.” “Sam!” yelled Jack, “Get the boys together. We move at once.” Sir James started a bit when he saw the natives burst forth from the shadows on all sides. “By Jove,” he exclaimed, “They’re ugly brutes.” “Well,” replied Jack, “They’ll never win a beauty contest, but they know this jungle like you know your own house.” Soon the party was under way and the two men fell into conversation. Sir James was proud of his greatest accomplishment — he was a dead shot with a rifle. Year after year his fame

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8 The Screech Owl In 1848 Horace Mann took a seat in Congress, filling the vacancy caused by John Quincy Adams’ death. By doing this, Mann left one field of hu- manitarian reform only to enter an- other — the prevention of the exten- sion of slavery. Although Webster was greatly opposed to the re-election of Mann, he was elected by a great majority to continue his good work in Congress. This, however, was not the last political office that Mann at- tempted to hold. In 1852, he ran for the office of governor of Massachu- setts but was defeated. When Antioch College at Yellow Springs, Ohio, was established, Mann, although already middle-aged, accep- ted the position of president of the new college. He would have earned great glory in the field of college edu- cation had he not already earned greater glory by his work for the pub- lic schools. Horace Mann died in August 2, 1859, a winner of glorious victories for humanity. He was buried at Antioch College but was re-interred at North Burial Ground, Providence, Rhode Island. Thus in this brief sketch of the life of an educational trail-blazer we see that he merits as great honor in his field as Edison and Franklin did in their own distinctive fields. — Laura Salminen, ’37.

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10 The Screech Owl had spread through England and Scot- land, and now he had come to try the biggest game of all — lion hunting. “Does your daughter hunt?” asked Jack. “Oh, she pops away with a little rifle, I think. Learned in her school in Scotland. Don’t think she’ll try any lions,” he finished, with the short bark which with him passed for a chuckle. About seven that night, they made camp by a small stream. The day’s march had been a little too much for Sir James, and his hearty snores soon filled the camp. As morning broke and the sleepy party prepared for another march. Sir James grumbled and muttered at be- ing dragged from his bed at such an hour. He snorted as he saw Ellen peering through the barrel of her sleek rifle and sneered, “Better put that pop-gun away or you’ll hurt yourself.” Ellen merely smiled and said, “I may surprise you some time, dad.” As they marched deeper into the tangle of the jungle, the beat of a tom tom caused the hair on Jack’s scalp to tighten. He had heard rumors of trouble among the up-country tribes, but no sign of an outbreak had oc- cured before. It was better to march on, he decided, and let the Englishman get one lion at least before turning back. The native carriers had closed in and seemed to wish protection of their white master. All at once a horrible yell brought the whole party to a panic-stricken halt. There in the path, not one hun- dred yards ahead, stood a band of the largest and ugliest blacks Jack Martin had ever seen. The native guides, recognizing enemies, scattered for their lives and Jack, grasping the hands of his two charges, leaped back along the faint trail by which they had come. Fortunately the savages were too interested in pursuing their blood enemies to make more than a half-hearted attempt to catch the fleeing whites. Exhausted, Jack and his panting companions dashed out into a plain deeply covered with bush grass and threw themselves on the ground. At once there sounded a roar of rage that brought the three to their feet, tense and watchful. Directly in front of them crouched Numa, the lion, his tail twitching ominously, his muscles tense. Jack reached in his holster and leveled his service pistol in a desperate hope that one bullet might penetrate the lion’s brain. Be- hind him the father and daughter were frozen in horror. The beast sprang. Three shots rang out from Jack’s gun as the flying form struck him and the two went down in a kicking, tearing heap. Knowing he was doomed. Jack still meant to pit his cleverness and a small hunting knife against the two hundred fifty pounds of writhing muscle, and fight to the end. “Crack!” The mass on Jack’s shoul- ders relaxed and the lion slumped down, blood pouring from its head. As he slipped into unconsciousness. Jack murmured, “Sir — James — saved — life — thanks — so — much.” Then he knew no more. In a few minutes his eyes opened and he saw above him Ellen, wrapping his lacerated shoulders with bandages from a first-aid kit she carried. As he grew stronger he sat up sud- denly and said, “Ellen, — I’m sorry — Miss Ellen — I want to thank your father for saving my life.” “Oh, dad? Well, he’s not feeling very well. You see, when that lion hit you, he — sort of — well, he fainted. The sun had been bad all day and—” “Well, how did he — whose rifle — did you fire that shot?” “It was really very easy and I had practiced so much at school. It was nothing.” She smiled in confusion as Jack Martin’s admiring eyes sought hers and held them for a long minute. As the sheepish natives returned, rather the worse for the conflict, and the party started back toward civiliza-