Petersburg High School - Missile Yearbook (Petersburg, VA)

Page 32 text:

“ The Jylissile Sea Gulls By John Prichard REMEMBER them flocking about the docks before the departure of the ship, flying diagnonally, zig-zig, and every other conceivable way. They made peculiar cracked sounds while searching for their food around the hull. Colored like the spray, some with a dash of blue, others as gray as the beard of an old mariner, the gulls would rest on the water until their breath required they move off in some other direction. They follow the ship, leaving the port, and cling in its wake far out to sea, relentless, pursuing, the thought of food upper- most in their minds. If the prey is a large passenger liner they will hover to her across the Atlantic to Liverpool, or along the shores of our continent to Panama, there to be joined by others of their kind ... all in the search of food. On studying one from close range I noticed in his eyes a peculiar expression as if vexed by his surroundings. Was he not better than any of his mates or those foolish beings who stood upon the decks of his prey, now and then casting him a sidelong glance? His eyes hold the secret of many sea trage- dies not written in the annals of the nations. Locked in this bird’s heart, perhaps, is the tale of the fate of Nungesser and Coli and others victim to that same dreadful end. Everything a gull can say is bound to a hoarse croak emanating from his smooth beak like a warning. Is it true, as the old sea legend runs, that he is the spirit of an old mariner preferring the sea to paradise? The gull’s whole life is anchored to a scrambling for food. The more food the wealthier he is. Is his life so much unlike the wealth-drunk financial magnates of our large cities? Neither is content with sufficient or over-sufficient means. They must have more and more. So from the ends of the earth the gulls come and go ... . all in the quest of food. Page twenty-four

Page 31 text:

P. H. S “The following evening she once again set out for her ac- customed place of meeting. The sun was shining brightly. Soon a setting sun tinted the sky and the ledge with its glorious hues. In turn, the moon and the stars one by one came out to lend their light beams to the darkened world. Still the young maiden did not return. “The moon crept higher in the sky, and the old chieftain awoke, startled from his afternoon nap, and inquired for his daughter. “‘Not here? Then ’tis true,’ he moaned. T had a dream. In my vision she jumped from the ledge into the arms of her young Pamunkey brave and he took her far, far away’.” When the legend was finished there was a momentary si- lence, a sigh, the shuffling of feet and changing of positions among the guests as they one by one came back to Afton from the region of the unreal. -o- By the Ocean By Margaret Watkins Like little boys in snowy caps Who laugh and run all day, The white caps toss their little heads, And beckon the sands to play. Like hoary-headed gentlemen Who bow their heads to pray, The bigger waves seem quite content To let the youngsters play. J Page twenty-three

Page 33 text:

— P. H. S. Water Lilies By Gertrude Gresham Deep within the dark, green marshes, Close upon the water’s brim Grow the lilies, snow white lilies, Choicest flower made by Him. In their verdant, cup-like sepals, Heart-shaped petals open wide, Each one smaller than the other As if something they must hide. If you were to gently open Each white bloom so wondrous fair, Would you be surprised to find A tiny fairy hidden there? o Almost a Crash By Theodore James XCITEMENT reigned high in Williamsport. The First National Bank was the victim of a malicious rumor. Williamsport was a city with a population of 18,000 people of which 15,000 were gossips. The bank was due to open its doors at 8:30 A. M. A line of some of the bank’s depositors (approximately 5,000), extended from the bank’s doors five blocks down Main Street. In Williams- port practically everybody banked at the First National. The person who started this gossip had done his work well. As soon as Mr. Hart arrived, he immediately went to the office of his cashier, Donald Franklin. Mr. Hart had been pres- ident of the First National for twelve years. He sank into a chair looking like a man about to die. “What shall we do? What ever under the sun shall we do? We’re ruined .... absolutely ruined, I tell you. I know and you know the bank is O. K., but those money-mad fools outside don’t know it. As I understand it, we have money enough in our vaults to pay less than half of our depositors.” Young Franklin was worried, but he tried not to show it. “Mr. Hart, why not leave the doors closed until after you have had time to call a meetings of the directors?” Page twenty-five . . . .