Morris High School - Yearbook (Bronx, NY)

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THE SUBWAY SPECTER Down a long iiight of stairs walked a man, whose face was almost entirely hidden by a large cap pulled down over his eyes, and a great coat collar pulled up over his cheeks. He stopped before a large wooden door at the foot of the stairs. Taking out a small red rag from one of his pockets, he waved it before the square glass panel of the door, once-twice. The massive door turned ponderously on its hinges, and closed again as the man walked in. The place which he had entered was a very large cellar, which had probably been used in former times to store wine, but which now bore an entirely different appearance. Whe1'e the choieest Bordeaux had formerly stood, rifles and guns were now stacked, where the great earthen bottles and jugs of Bur- gundy had previously been put away, daggers were heaped now. The sharp and injurious vodka was replaced by still sharper and more injurious swords. Everywhere were stored implements of war. At the extreme end of the spacious cellar, partially hidden in shadow, an old, graybearded, hoary-headed man was sitting before a small table. The aged man gave vent to his apparent anger by means of repeated and vigorous blows with a mallet upon this small article of furniture, emphasizing with each stroke the full import of his words. His audience, a great crowd of strange-looking Russian men, were squatted on the bare stone iioor, listening respectfully to their leader. As the latter fixed his keen, penetrating eyes upon them, he spoke very heated- ly in the Russian tongue: There is one villain in our midst who has betrayed us, there is one traitor among us who has disclosed our plans, there is one miserable deceiver here with us whd has given up a cause, and surrendered his ideals, for money. He has made us pay in lives, but we shall extort a much greater return, paid in suffering, torture, and extreme mental agony. A general rustle and murmuring arose from the listening crowd, as each one looked with suspicious glances at his neighbor. Brothers, the blood of our comrades is flowing before the Wiiiter Palace. Yesterday, a band of workmen, organized by Father Gapon-noble man lgmarched to the palace to voice their protest against oppression. The troops were there, ready for action, they dispersed the army of strikers. The soldiers, those dealers of death, tired upon our comrades,-upon you, and me-and killed seventy-six of us, besides wounding more 30 ,A-.,

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Elie Sfuhmag Epntrv HE train rumbled on, speeding swiftly through the dark tunnel, even as my dismal thoughts rushed with lightning rapidity .through the black caverns of my brain. Station after station it passed, breaking from the darkness into the light, and again plunging into the dark. But my thoughts remained in shadow. and I was shrouded in gloom. 1-5 Indeed, my surroundings encouraged this feeling of despondeney. The day had 7 not yet dawned, and consequently my , 'I fellow-passengers were few. Of those few, D Q some were, to all indications and appear- Q J ances, intoxicated. Others swayed back and A A forth trying to maintain their equilibrium, HHS'-'f'1fx A-:www . . . MA' while in the uneonsciousness of sleep. The guard sleepily bawled out the names of the stations as we reached them, accompanying his interesting announcements with me- chanical XVateh-your-step! On my lap was lying a history of Russia, turned down on an account of the outbreak of 1905. The reflections of that fatal 'fRed Sunday, January 22nd, when Russian workingmen were killed in the streets of Petrograd because of their protests, coupled with the surrounding dreari- ness, were sufficient to damp my spirits. As another train gradually outsped ours, a motley panorama of faces passed before me for observation. There, I caught a glimpse of the happy face of a young man with a laughing maiden beside him, then a goggled chap, deeply engrossed in the morning paper, or the broad features of a colored man, interested in the information which the advertisements offered, next to him a burly Irishman, fast asleepg then a man-O! that man! I shudder now, when I call to mind the features of his face. Puckered up and gathered together in the strangest, most awful conglomeration of uncontrollable fear, of great horror, and of extreme disgust, it stared vacantly before it, with a ghastly blankness of expression. That face! Despite its horrible features, it had a magnetic power which compelled my gaze. Finally, l withdrew my eyes from that awful counte- nance, now receding into the darkness of the tube. My thoughts came together, clashed, and became a confused mass. And then- Place :-Petrograd, Russia. Time :-The morning of Jan- uary 23rd, 1905. 29 4.2

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I' v' H I THE SUBWAY SPECTER than two hundred. Ah. how our bodies smart from the wounds! You know well how many of us suffered in that massacre. You know well who laid bare our plans, and the plans of the non- revolutionary workingmen,e-who exact this toll of death. ' ' He is with us now-it remains for us to expose this treach- erous dog. It remains- A thunderous rap, a great shower of wood, and the great door of the cellar was splintered, a .troop of soldiers hurling themselves precipitately in, covered the revolutionists with their rifles. The momentary silence which followed this sudden inter- ruption ended in a sudden rush for the weapons which lay piled in the corners. Shots rang outg soldiers and revolutionists fell. The torches went out, and there ensued a terrible struggle in the pitchy darkness of the cavern. Clashing of swords, gunshots, groans, and shrieks of triumph rent its damp cold air. Suddenly the lights were relit, and their dim rays illumincd a scene of awful carnage. The dead, the dying, and the wounded were strewn about on the floor, and blood flowed freely around them. Those who were sevcrly injured were wriggling back and forth on the ground, in an agony of pain. The soldiers, who had apparently won the iight, were roughly pushing their captives through the splintered door. There was but one revolu- tionist who seemed to be free. Upon his pale face there was the semblance of a smile, not one of joy, but of terror supreme. Was he the traitor to his cause, and the friend of the soldiers? From amidst the wounded who were lying on the ground, one man feebly rose, and stealthily followed the procession. From his fiery eyes which flashed out Vengeance! g from his clenched fists which threatened Vengeance! , it was apparent that his purpose was Vengeance. And that Vengeance was directed against the betrayer of the revolutionists. That poor wrctch was doomed to be followed always, and everywhere, by the representative of Vengeance. From Russia into Siberia, and through that land of desolation, across its frozen steppes, to elude that ever-following shadow: going over the Pacific, into Canada and across it, into America and across again, to San Francisco, to the Rio Grande, to verdant Florida, and finally entering that great, bustling city of New York: to lose a pursuing enemy and forget a haunting past. But this enemy clung to him as did his very shadow, haunting him in his hours of wakefulness, and in his hours of sleep. Always wearing that horrible look of fear, he rode about, transmitting 31