Petaluma High School - Trojans Yearbook (Petaluma, CA)

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THE ENTERPRISE ’2 2 The men stared at him for a minute with amazement, and then one said, “Say, what were yer fired fer!’’ “Not fer bein’ a coward,” Cap’n Bert exclaimed. “If no un else ’ll try it I will!” and he started for the door. “Hold on, suppose the ship and cargo are lost,” the manager cried after him. “It’d be hetter’n leavin’ the fish here to rot. This storm’ll prob¬ ably last a week,” and without waiting for the manager’s reply he went out into the storm, towards the vessel. He found the men sleeping in their hunks, and gave them the ir orders. They knew it was foolish to go out into that storm, they probably would lose their lives. But is a real fisherman, or sailor, ever afraid of the sea he loves? They sailed out of the port into the open sea, probably to lose their lives, yet no one was there to give them a send off, no cheers for them. It seemed, as wave after wave dashed over them, that the next one would sink the vessel, but the next one came and still the staunch little vessel withstood it. What a night! Cap’n Bert, guiding the vessel with supreme sea¬ manship kept his courage up by muttering, “Too old, too slow, too useless. I’ll show ’em.” And he clung to the helm with all the strength he had left, to keep the mighty waves from washing him away, for they tossed the boat around like a plaything. Where were they? Would morning never come? His whole body became numb, he couldn’t think, he only felt the cold waves and knew that he must keep hold of the helm. Dawn came slowly, the rain did not abate but the wind died down as if it had blown its last. The waves became more moderate, but Cap’n Bert, clinging to the helm, did not know that. All he knew was that he must reach the port. Was that it? He thought he could dimly see an outline of land. A man ran up to take Cap’n Bert’s place but he waved him aside. “I ain’t too old, I’ll show ’em,” he muttered. An hour later the vessel was running into the tiny port by the canneries. How had it gotten there, had it steered itself ? So it seemed to Cap’n Bert. He heard shouting. This welcome was differ¬ ent from his departure. Men came to help him on shore. No, he’d show ’em he was not too old to stand it and he walked towards the office. Wonld he never arrive? He was going to drop! “No, I ain’t too old,” he mumbled as he sank down in a chair in the office. Cap’n Bert now stands on the wharf with a smile on his face as he watches the loading of the vessel and thinks of his permanent po¬ sition. No, he was not too old, he had showed them, for now they call him “Young” Cap’n Bert. —27 DORIS McCARGAR, 22.

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(Prize Story) C AP’N BERT stood on the wharf of a little fishing village with bitter thoughts in his mind, as he watehed the departing fish¬ ing vessel sail from the port. He had worked for a fishing company until the night before, when the manager had come with a younger man, and said that as the fish must be taken to the canneries faster, and as he was too slow, his services would no longer be required by the company. “But I Ml show ’em ’ he muttered as he slowly left the wharf. It had been cloudy and dark all day and all the fishermen ex¬ pected a great storm to break that night; but none of them suspected the ferocity that was coming with the storm. The rain came down in cloudbursts, the thunder rolled, the lightning flashed, and the wind was a great hurricane, lashing the sea into high mountains of water. It was no night for a vessel to venture out to sea and yet the manager of the fishing company must have those fish in the canneries by the next morning. “The company will break up unless those fish are there. They have promised hundreds of orders for the next week, and unless the fish are supplied to the canneries daily, it will mean ruin to the com¬ pany,” he said to a group of fishermen in his office, with Cap’n Bert in one corner of the room, listening to the conversation. “What’s the matter with your cap’n, why don’t he try it?” Cap’n Bert spoke up. “He’s afraid of risking the lives of his men.” “It ain’t their lives, it’s his own; the coward.” If I could only find a man who would carry out the job he would have a permanent position the rest of his life in this company.” A light shone in Cap’n Bert’s eyes, for he loved the sea, and to be thrown from it hurt him more than one would think. “I’m the one to try it!” Cap’n Bert cried out. — 26 —

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The Land Where Dreams Come True A SMALL child sat on a bench outside a cottage door in Corday, a small village in Belgium. She held a picture in her hand. Only once did she raise her eyes from it, —to kiss it and then once more to gaze at it as though it were her dearest treasure. “Mig- nonne, ” the woman in the doorway addressed her thus. She arose and went inside with a sigh. Coming out again she saw a small boy down the street, and ran to meet him. The boy, Jean, had given her the picture, a “carte-postale” sent to him by an uncle in America. It was a view taken somewhere in the Sierras, a little gray house, in a field of poppies, with mountains in the distance. “And I shall take you there some day, Mignonne,” the boy was saying, “when I grow up. Just wait and see.” It is a dark night. We are again in Belguim. A bursting shell shows what there is left of Corday,—shows us the change that can be wrought in a few years, if the few years are aided by war. From among the ruins of the cottage where we met Mignonne we see a girl. In one hand she holds a scrap of paper, no, a worn and old postal, while with the other hand she helps the older woman with her. All is darkness again. “Come, mama, we must hurry. We have seen it,” a sob, “yes, for the last time.” The rosy dawn, mocking the gray of devastation found them near the sea. All night they had ridden in the jolty cart, driven by kind old Pierre. Only once had they stopped, then to give news to Jean that the enemies’ troops were advancing by way of Corday. The general thanked them and they were gone. The next week found them in America, land of opportunity. It did not seem so to them. They knew so little of American ways. At last Mignonne found work in a munition factory. She was not wholly contented there, but when she grew downhearted she thought of Jean, who thus far had been saved, and of his promise to take her to the “little gray house, in a field of poppies, with mountains in the dis¬ tance.” Then she kissed the postal card and this seemed always to comfort her. This life, hoping, praying, dreaming, working, lasted two years. To Mignonne it seemed a lifetime. Then, quite suddenly, the skies cleared, the old world was herself again, at peace. The munition factory closed. In vain Mignonne sought other work. Then one night, she did not even know 7 what had happened, she woke up in a white ward, a kind-faced nurse bending over her and her mother watching, anxiety visible on her face. Her purse lay on a near-by •— 28 —