Pennell Institute - Whirlpool Yearbook (Gray, ME)

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4 THE PENNELL WHIRLPOOL Literary — THE MUTINY ON THE NOMAD. Flapping its sails idly, the tramp schooner “Nomad” rolled in a glassy sea. She was near the equator on her way from Boston to Buenos Avres with a cargo of textiles and had been overtaken by one of those calms that characterize the horse latitudes. The sun beat down, its heat accentuated by the absence of a single breath of mov- ing air. while the glistening, bright green water reflected its rays. Under an awning on the Nomad’s deck sat Charles Mason. His face showed the effects of the stinted diet foreed upon him by the depletion of the ship's provisions during the long calm. As the captain emerged from the forward companionway, Mason arose and started to follow him around the deck. Suddenly a pair of half-starved sailors flung themselves on the captain. He was taken by surprise and nearly thrown overboard before he could resist. So quick was their attack that Mason was stupefied, for a moment, but he quickly grasped a marlin spike and charged the ruffians. With one blow he crushed the larger’s skull, then whirled to the other, but the captain had choked him to death. In the meantime the crew had been arriving trom all directions, arm- ing themselves as best they could. The mutiny had begun---they were fighting for their lives! The captain emptied his revolver into the crew; then, picking up an axe from a dead sailor's hands, he and Mason fought their way toward the forecastle. The mutineers quickly scattered as the door burst open, and the other officers rushed out with drawn revolvers, escortung the two safely in, “They are after the provisions.” gasped the captain, as he stood panting on the threshold, “Cartes, vou and the second mate barricade the galley door.” f=) - (Juick as they were, the crew had beaten them to the galley and were looting the supplies when they arrived. “Phe mutineers were without firearms, while the galley was too narrow for close fighting. This being the case, the two officers soon drove them out and rein- forced the door. They now had the forward end of the ship, while the crew controlled the aft. There was a lull in the battle now as the officers bound up the captain’s wounds. That mariner remarked to the silent faces around him, “There are eight of us, men. We can starve them to submission, for we have the food.”

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THE PENNELL WHIRLPOOL 3 Hditorials AMERICA, “THE MELTING POT.” A noted writer once referred to the U.S. as the melting pot, into which all races and tongues in the world are cast, so that out of them might be made a new nation. We all know, but hate to acknowledge, that, with the exception of the Indians, we are all immigrants. So rapidly do some of the newcomers adopt our ways that it almost seems that the first day after landing, the immigrant learns to change money; the second day, he learns American slang; the third day, he mounts a soap box and urges others to “keep out the aliens.” In 1910 about one-seventh of our population were immigrants. We soon found out during the World War that many who were foreign born, or were of recent foreign ancestry, were not as completely Ameri- canized as we thought. It seemed to be their plan to come to America to earn only money enough to go back and finish their days in luxury in their beloved fatherland. We are now putting our best foot for- ward to teach foreigners what American ideals stand for, and to help them to put “America first.” Since the Great War so many Europeans have rushed to this country that Congress has limited immigration and has seriously thought of closing our ports entirely to foreigners. Something must be done. They come over here; work as cheap labor; their standards of living are much below ours; they are clannish and are swayed by prejudice and by corrupt use of money. These immigrants have much lower standards than our ancestors possessed. We have enough of these people in our country now. Must we always remain a melting pot for ignorant foreigners? M.C.S., ’2-4. ANNUS MIRABILIS. Of all the seasons in the year, The very best for me, Is the time of snow and wind and ice, Like 1923. When drifts are deep— ‘bout twenty feet, And the top of trees is all you can see, You can surely guess—in looking back, Twas 1923. When traffic all is stopped by snow, And ships are wrecked at sea, What year was this? Why don’t you know?—Twas 1923. When on every corner you heard folks say, “Next year in Florida I will be,” What vear was this? Just stop and think—of 1923. E. Cole, ‘24.

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THE PENNELL WHIRLPOOL 5 Here the second mate stepped forward and reported, “Sir, the crew are in possession of the flour and bacon, which they took before we could prevent them.” The officers’ look of consternation was in- terrupted by a cry from the ship’s carpenter. “A storm is coming” shouted the Swede excitedly. The captain sprang to the porthole to assure himself of the truth of the ca-penter’s statement. Sure enough, the sky was fast filling with black clouds. His face lighted up with- relief as he exclaimed, “The calm is broken! Now we have a chance.” Turning to the first mate, he ordered, “Take the wheel and hold it to a southwest course.” The Nomad’s sails slowly filled and she came up into the wind in response to its helm. Meanwhile the crew became busy. There is no [ght punishment for mutiny on the high seas, so they did not intend to let the Nomad make port with the captain in charge. To stop the ship from sailing until they should obtain control of the helm they reefed sails. Then they descended to the hold and fell to sawing thru the supports under the forecastle floor, As they were occupied in this manner, they found some rifles in the hold, so they were confident of capturing the officers. The first intimation of their danger to the officers was the sound of sawing under the floor. Then the floor sagged down in one corner as a timber was severed. The captain was quick to meet the emer- gency. With his axe he chopped a hole large enough to shoot thru at the mutineers. As the crew could not now saw without endanger- ing their lives, they retired and nothing happene d for the rest of the day. As night drew on the captain called a conference of the officers in the chart-house, realizing the necessity of immediate action. During the discussion that followed, the captain turned to Mason and said, “T wish you would look at my foot. ['m afraid of blood poisoning. You used to be a doctor, didn’t you?” After examining it. Mason opened the doctor’s kit for an antiseptic. As he hunted thru he gave a start and announced, “Pere’s a drug that will put the whole crew to sleep. if we could get it into their water supply! At this the captain, his foot forgotten, beckoned him into the fore- castle and started to enlarge the opening in the floor. Mason saw his idea; he could go the way the crew had come. So that night with the drug in one hand and a revolver in the other, he stealthily crept aft. He succeeded without mishap in his project. The next day the officers captured the few that had not succumbed to the drug and, having tied up the others, they set sail. Being very short-handed, the captain divided the crew into twelve-hour watches and steered for Santos, the nearest port. As they dropped anchor there two days later, the weary captain said to Ma son, “I think we’ve earned a rest. Tlow would you like to visit the coffee plantations?” GEORGE NENT.