Petersburg High School - Missile Yearbook (Petersburg, VA)

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ington’s hair, and an old Bible of Washington’s. The names inscribed on it remind us once again of the great who so valiantly served our country. Across the street is the Dudley Digges House which is said to have been made from bricks brought from France. The bricks were brought to America in the hull of his ship. A miniature model of the ship can be seen in the Custom House. Farther down the street stands probably the most romantic and pic- turesque building in Yorktown — the Nelson House. Here Cornwallis made his headquarters during the latter part of the war. You can hardly blame him. Though it is not extremely large, it transplants you into colonial days. It is so very easy to picture gay cavaliers and fair maidens strolling in the garden, the aristocrats gathered around the table at an elegant din- ner with the chandalier hanging overhead, reminding you of large rain- drops falling. The mistress of the house, walking lightly down the stairs, graciously greets her guests. Those were the happy, carefree days. Then the war! Everyone making use of the secret staircase which led to safety ; everyone becoming frightened when the siege begins, then turning it over to Cornwallis for his headquarters. Standing across the street from the Nelson House is the oldest house in Yorktown. That is its only importance, but perhaps that is importance enough. The Old English Tavern, now called the Yorktown Hotel, was the first favern to be built in Yorktown. It was here that Washington, Lafayette, The Swan Tavern, re- produced on the original site, was opened as a house of entertainment more than one hundred and thirty years ago. The gayety and laughter that must have rung there makes itself heard. How happy the peo- ple must have been gather- ing there, awaiting their entertainment. So when your tour of Yorktown is over, your throat tightens a little bit. For Yorktown isn’t a boisterous, conceited town. It takes its stand- ing in history simply, proudly. But the visitor leaves with the feeling that, at least, he has had a brief, but never-to-be-forgotten, look into the past. and other great generals were entertained. Page eighteen THE MISSILE

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down upon her, she sparkles as though she knows and is proud of why she was erected. To the south of the monument stretches what is now a national park — during the Revolutionary War, a battleground where the war was fought to the glorious end. Yet how carelessly we glance about us, caring little for the rich history of this spot. But look back more closely. Can’t you see soldiers posted in the trenches, waiting anxiously by their guns ; lead- ers worried, frowning, issuing orders? Bullets whiz by, the air is misty with smoke, cannon balls strike the earth, while weary, ragged soldiers wish desperately that the war would end. Then a more peaceful scene comes to the mind. The crisp, autumn air brings a faint color to the strained, bloodless faces of the English generals. Their flaming red coats shine brilliantly for the last time, as a sword is handed to General Lincoln. Yes, in your veins is blood mixed of those who fought to begin our great democracy. No matter how heavily feet trample upon you or how carelessly eyes look over you, your heart will always beat with the knowl- edge and strength that can never be conquered. The Moore House About two miles from Yorktown stands the Moore House where the Articles of Surrender were drawn. It is a small, unpretentious white house. Upon entering, to the left, is the room where the Articles were drawn. You can almost see great figures sitting in the empty chairs, arguing, curs- ing, fighting — at last deciding upon terms to suit both the Americans and English. Though it is not an imposing house, somehow you can feel how b ppy and perhaps frightened its occupants were on that historic day. Back into the heart of the town, your interest becomes more intense. About half a mile from the monument is the Yorktown Museum in which the entire history of Yorktown is summed up by pictures on the wall. In the center of the main room a huge map shows the general layout of the town. Perhaps, over one hundred and fifty years ago, generals of both armies were studying similar maps, mapping plans for attack. Old Buildings of Yorktown On the same street stands the old Episcopal church. The original building was cruciform, but the arms of the cross were destroyed, and only the main part of the building is left. The bell and communion service were presented to the church by Queen Anne. Not far from this is the first Custom House in America, built of old English brick. In a large glass case is preserved a lock of George Wash- THE MISSILE Page seventeen

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By Dorothy Arnold Relief T last the fatal day has arrived. I have been living in fear of this day for a week as it is the day on which I have to face the dentist, the modern Nero in a white coat who waits to torture you with his drill. I draw near to his den and summoning all my available cour- age I knock at the fatal door. Looking up I discover that it is not the door I have been kno cking on for the last five minutes but the nurse’s face. Amidst apologies and explanations I stumble into his den and find a chair as far in the corner asp ossible. The nurse looks at me as if I were an escaped lunatic. She puts her desk between us and then she asks me what my name is, as if she is half-expecting me to say Napoleon Bonaparte, but I fool her and tell her my real name. “The doctor will be with you in a few minutes,” she says in a tone that reminds me of the time Humphrey Bogart was being sentenced to the chair. Under the watchful eyes of the nurse I pick up a magazine and pre- tend to be interested in it, only to discover that it is the Farmer’s Weekly, a subject of which I know nothing and care less. I try another one and this time I am confronted with a dentist’s picture on the first page. I give up in despair and try to calm my nerves by chewing on my fingernails. Half way through my third one the door in the far corner of the room opens. I grow cold. Chills run up and down my spine. “Come in, my dear,” he says with a smile, more like a sneer. I struggle with my weak limbs and pass into the dreaded room. The sight of the drill chills my blood. I am seized with a sudden desire to rush out, but I change my mind and climb timidly into the chair and sit waiting as if expecting the electricity to be turned on any minute. If only I could by some miracle disappear from this horrible place. “Now let’s see. Open wide. Hm-m-m-m,” mumbles the dentist, while he yanks my mouth open and probes around with several of his torture tools. I sit silently not daring to move lest he should slip and cut half of my face away. “Well, my child, your teeth are all right. Just a little cleaning, that is all,” is his final verdict. I am so startled that I just let my mouth hang open. THE MISSILE Page nineteen