Norwell High School - Shipbuilder Yearbook (Norwell, MA)

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page fourteen - The Shipbuilder - taking on her crew as it was evident that she was sinking. When he learned that she was the Faulkner, commanded by Captain Owen Roberts that was a bit too much. Why, the dirty - - , growled Holbrook, as though a fifth ace were not enough, that - - has to go out of his way to get hit, just to land me in trouble. Well, he picked the wrong man, and if it's trouble he wants, he'll have it, and I'll see that he learns to stand clear of James Rhiner Holbrook! Turning to the engine room telegraph, he yanked it to full speed astern, and instructed 'sparks' to wireless, Holbrook can play your game, too. Hope you like it. Having pulled his crumpled bow out from the gaping side of the Faulk- ner, he resumed his course for New York, leaving her to sink with all hands. This association of ideas gave rise to considerable discomfort on the part of Holbrook, who fell into a mood of profane mutterings. His rising tem- per was thus speaking for itself when the first officer suddenly pointed out what appeared to be a reef, dead ahead. The skipper made out a black mass, laced with breaking crests, which grew frighteningly with the passing of every second. We'll hit I With this he rang the telegraph to full speed astern, bellowing, Hard a-port! Mr. Barnes, have the water- tight doors dogged down. lt seemed as though Fate impelled the Andrea's plunging bow irrestis- tibly toward her doom. Poor Hol- brook, your ragged patience is so tried! Then, with a crash followed by a direful grating, the Andrea lurch- ed to port, and lost her headway. After ordering the pumps started, our man of the hour was approached by the carpenter, who announced that the lower part of the collision bulk- head was carried away and that No. 1 hold was rapidly filling. At this, Holbrook ordered all steam On No. 2 and No. Z3 holds. He knew it was hopeless to keep down the water in the forward compartment, but soon he learned more. After twenty min- utes of miserable suspense, word came from the engine room, We've every pump going, but the water 1S rising here, sir! Holbrook answered, Keep them going, and half ahead with your en- gine. He then turned to the helms- man and shouted, Starboard your helm, there I After hitting, the ship had backed off and now was starting around the obstacle. Although the captain had sent an S. O. S., he believ- ed that he might get her into shoal water before she sank. As he was thus plotting his course for the beach the telegraph rang for his attention. Bending over the voice tube, he heard the anxious words of the enginee. The pumps are slowing, sirg engine taking too much steam! And the water has come up eight inches in the last three minutes. Very well! Fire up the other boilers and make it quick! Like a wounded snake, the long minutes of anxiety dragged on, while the crippled Andrea held on for the shore. Chewing a rain-soaked sandwich, Holbrook gazed at her bow as it pitched drunkenly in the wild sea. Again the telegraph pleaded for counsel. After boilers lit, sir but the water is coming up to the grat- ings. Belay the engine, but hold the steam on the pumps as long as you can. At midnight the forward holds were nearly half full. Briny steam from the wetting fires had driven the black gang out of the boiler room, and the pumps were barely moving. At 1 a. in. the forecastle deck was awash, and the ship was now settling rapidly. Two boats were lowered and the crew was sliding down the falls to its last chance for safety and the beach. But Neptune had his own ideas, and the sea reached up great waves that caught each boat, spilling its crew among the raging crests, there to drown them in the wild abandon of the elements. On the bridge, now lashed by spind- rift and the tips of combers that curl- ed over the well deck, Captain Hol- brook retained his stand, urging the engine room force to keep the pumps going until some near by vessel might

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The Shipbuilder page mmeen QUALITIES I ADMIRE IN OTHER PEOPLE Sitting still, calm unperturbed by all incidents, is an admirable quality. I enjoy the person who, when moth- er is out, performs all the duties of the perfect hostess with ease and pre- cision, even though Great-aunt Clara, who is practically stone deaf and must tell one of her latest doctor's bill, drops in for just a minute and spends the afternoon with you. Es- pecially do I admire the person, under the same circumstances, who, still restrains herself from throwing things though she is already fifteen minutes late for a skating date with just the cutest boy, and Aunt Clara is only half through her lengthy discussion. Then, too, perhaps one has learned this art from watching mother entertain guests when one absolutely knows the roast is burning. Also, if one can sit still in boring classes while Professor Oglesby, ogles at pretty girls, wheezes, talks through his nose, and generally acts in a dis- gusting manner, one is a marvel. To me, the best and safest outlet during this time, seems to be drawing, espec- ially on blotters. But if this is im- possible, 'talking to your neighbor, particularly if you can utter that an- noying class-time giggle at odd intervals, is a good substitute. Doing proper things at proper times is an art not even geniuses often acquire. For instance, if you had Algebra first period, and Physics the second, Wouldn't you occasionally get mixed- up? That is do the right homework in the wrong period. Another impor- tant thing is, at a banquet, to be able to pick up, from an array of all shapes and sizes, the correct piece of silver without slyly watching your neighbor who is also watching you therefore bringing things to a stand- still. More important still is staying awake during, clapping and laugh- ing pleasantly at, stale jokes and speeches. More of those little-things-that one-must-not-do are C13 stuttering when other people stutter-this is cruel, and 123 walking with feet ex- tremely in-toed or out-toed-a habit impossible to correct. The greatest achievement of all is making people do what you say, and not what you do. It is so em- barrassing, when a little child who idolizes you is scolded for some fault of yours which she has aped. But retribution comes, when some ab- normal the'd have to belperson, takes your advice. Self importance is so comforting in spite of non-fitting hats, etc. JEAN MacLEAN, '38 ENCORE Standing on the bridge of a coast- wise freighter on a cold February night, blinded by mist and drenched by wind-whipped rain and sleet, a man has plenty of time to think. So on the lurching bridge of the An- drea, plowing the water off Sandy Hook as she stood in for New York, the bear-like form of Captain James R. Holbrook paced back and forth. His steel-blue eyes, narrowed to pierce the night, glistened from a round face that reflected old copper in the wan greasy light from the binnacle, when he stopped to peer at the compass. Two bells struck in the first watch. Ever since his last leave in New York, he had reserved the sourest place in his heart for Owen Roberts. Tonight he was ruminating again this tender subject. Roberts, captain of the Faulkner, a grain carrier out of New York, had been introduced by two friends of Holbrook's, one evening at a board- ing house. A poker game which had run its normal course far into the night, had come to a violent ending when Holbrook, nearly cleaned out, discovered an extra card in Roberts' hand. The friends would long remem- ber their difficulty in keeping the two apart. But his hate for Roberts had yet more fertile soil, in which it promptly sprouted like a weed. On a December night, such as this with its mist and driving seas, Hol- brook had glimpsed the lights of a ship off the port bow, in these same waters. Although his engine was reversed, and the helm thrown hard aport, a collision could not be averted. After the impact, he had radioed the other ship for her name and plans for

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A The Shipbuilder page fifteen arrive. But no lights appeared in the murky welter. Even now it was too late, the Andrea's bow buried itself in the seas as though every plunge were to be her last. Holbrook rang the telegraph and spoke urgently in the tube, She's going. All you men on the bridge. A mountainous wave rolled over the harassed vessel's foredeck. She had a gallant effort, but the surging weight bore her bow down. As the engineer's force gained the bridge, it seized upon the chance to take the remaining boats with no leave from the captain. Although they knew that they would be capsized, any ef- fort at self-preservation was a relief. They were hardly over the side when the old freighter pitched deeply and then with a roar of pent-up steam and heavy machinery breaking loose and sliding forward, she dove to the bottom in a great swirl that rivaled the waves in their might. As the sun cast its morning glow over the sky, and chased away the last of the breaking clouds, a few gulls wheeled about. Then they de- scended and stood on the weed-grown hulk of the Faulkner, as she rolled heavily in the dying swells. From va- rious openings under the surface, bubbles of gas from fermented grain rose and broke in the falling wind. CHRISTIAN FENGER, '38 THE FORTUNES OF WAR It was the zero hour! December 2, 1917, somewhere in France. A young American Captain glanced at his watch as he looked down at a line of men about to do or die, all strong hard men who had been through this tense moment before, except for a young private standing beside him. He puffed nevously at his cigarette. He cast pleading glanc- es at his captain and stuttered, I'1n afraid I can't go through with it sir. The captain replied Buck up youngster, the first time is always the hardest. It was too late to say more. The whistle sounded up and down the long line of men and 150 American dough boys went over the top, amid the stuttering of machine guns and the wail of high explosive shells. The captain gave the young pri- vate one glance, reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him up and over the top. They ran on for about one hundred yards when there came the scream of a big shell. The cap- tain immediately dove for the near- est shell hole as the big shell burst with a shower of hot metal and flame. The concussion was terrific. After the captain had come to his wits, he found himself still clasping the hand of the frightened youngster. Without turning his head he said, Well son, that was a close one. But there was no answer from the young- ster. The captain slowly turned his head, and what he saw made him recoil with horror. He was merely holding the hand and fore arm of what had once been some mother's loving son. The fortunes of war! May they never strike again. Betty Mesheau, Class 10 MOUNTAINS Some like to eat, drink wine, or play, Or read and dream the time away, But give to me the mountains vast, With fleecy clouds a'drifting past, Their rocky crags, gold in the sun, This is the place where I must come. To hike along the mountain's base, To drink where crystal streams do race, And marvel at the lacy spray, Sparkling with gems in the sun's bright ray. Then up along the balsamed track, Plodding higher, higher, no turning back, For the challenge of nature is in my veins, And its the spirit that grasps the reins. So I'll climb higher and reach the top, But never till then can I stop, For the lust of the climb is in my feet, And the air of the mountains is pure and sweet. So then to reach the top, what a thrill! That even the pain of the trail can't kill. To stand at the top and trace the trail,