Plymouth High School - Pilgrim Yearbook (Plymouth, MA)

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THE PILGRIM 7 SUBMITTED FOR THE AMERICAN LEGION PRIZE From the seventy-six papers submitted by the Senior history class, the staff considered these tivo most worthy of publication. THE OREGON TRAIL CAn Historical Essayj What was the Oregon Trail? That is the first question that con- fronts the student who seeks in- formation upon this subject. To the non-imaginative, mechan- ical, narrow-minded being, it is but a customary route that certain im- migrants traversed on their way to the West :-a trail that led from Westport on the Missouri River, along the Kansas, Platte, and Sweet Water Rivers into the Oregon Territory. Let us put aside this narrow, contracted view, and turn to the version of the imaginative, pensive, far-sighted man, the idealist,-a person like a painter who sees beauty in such commonplace oc- currences as a sunset or a child nestled in his mother's fond em- brace. In his sight the Oregon Trail was one blazed by dauntless faith, marked with human bloodshedg its guide-posts shining skeletons, bleached by the torrid, over-hang- ing sun known only to desert skiesg -vivid, graphic monuments left to tell the tales of blood-curdling massacres by frantic Indians, or, perhaps, of the sufferings of starv- ing human beings who had killed their mules and horses to provide food for aching stomachs. But there was little of that food that consoles for grief-torn minds and hearts who, in such pitiful predica- happy times enjoyed back home on the quiet farms of Illinois, Ken- tucky, and even of New Englandg hearts who in such pitiful predica- ments as they now found them- selves, turned to reverent prayer. What was the incentive that beckoned them onward from peace to strife, from the known to the unknown? We must remember that this army of immigrants was composed of various types, and as diverse were their aims in venturing into the wilds of the West. Some sought free land for new homes, some sought fur-bearing animals, while some sought gold, ever a source of trouble to mankind. Others, pioneers like Carson, were merely exploring this wild land for the enjoyment they received by being in constant contact with Nature Cin her native elementj, and by be- ing leaders in the conquests of civilization. Then there were the riff-raff, gamblers, and crooks, the parasites of society, seeking liveli- hood from others' labors,-it mat- tered not how they obtained it so long as little manual labor was re- quired. Also, here were those afflicted with the wanderlustg tumble-weeds rolling along, in whose veins flowed blood on fire with the desire to see new lands and people. Unknown to them, they were but following the same in- stincts that their barbaric ances- tors,-the Huns, the Franks, the Angles, and the Saxons had fol- lowed in the Past Ages. Also in the ranks of the immi- grants, could be found the mission- aries like Marcus Whitman, who realized their duty and were de- liberately risking their lives to try to convert the treacherous Indian. They were martyrs as were the Roman Christians that came be- fore them! To such types do we owe the con- quest of the West 3-it really was a conquest, for only by their settle- ments effected only by severe tribulations, was he United States able to establish such a strong claim to the disputed Oregon Territory, now a Wealthy section of our country. Once settled, they could not be easily moved, and, when in 1844 the con- troversey arose with Great Britain concerning the Oregon-Canadian border, they displayed their patri-

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6 THE PILGRIM black streak, this was the Biogra- phy which finally met opposition when it tried to penetrate the wall, the result being a well-bent book cover. Also through the air came a volley of words which do not belong to the English language. And finally through the air came the distinctive snore, which sound- very much like a train passing through a tunnel. Alec slept for three hours and twenty-six minutes when there was heard in the dark, mysterious atmosphere the penetrating ring of the little round alarm clock. There was another series of mis- used nouns, verbs, adjectives, and every other part of speech in the English language, plus a few more which we shall not mention just now. These were hurled at the alarm clock which, of course, could not be blamed for waking him up, because he, himself, had set it. Five hours later Alec was writ- ing a very lengthy book report in the English class. He filled two pieces of paper and half of another with his knowledge of forty pages of the book and the brief index. Laboriously he completed the last topic on the outline. VI Opinion of the Book? The bodk is very interesting and it is a pleasure to read it. Ivan Zavanovich is a very interesting character, and he did many noble things throughout his glorious life. F. WHITING '30 A FORGOTTEN TUNE Slowly I close my eyes, Softly the velvet black Holds me- Drifting. . . Softly down my street of dreams A forgotten tune- Never have I heard music blown so lightly, Now it touches my cheek, Daintily blows on my eyes-my hair, So close to me. Now far away-I've lost it! No, it's close again, Soft, ,so very soft-I shall sleep agaln. A delicate memory of the past- A dream lost among dreams. N. P. SEARS '30 oDE Arnnm-'XRTURE Edifice of understanding! to whom Enshrined within thy stately walls ,We've humbly looked for guidance, We found knowledge, omnipres- ent, Your legacy of learning we accept, And place within our hearts for evermoreg To you who set our course aright, Weill look, in years to come, With eyes alight with admiration. You moulded, from a shapeless mass, A mind, the navigator of the soul, Within whose reash may rest That oft-sought, ye seldom-gained Will o' the Wisp, that men call Fame. If glory is our goal, and we achieve Its heights, to you we'll give all praise, For, 'tis toward you, the friend of youth, To whom all eyes should turn. As epithets, tho' flowing o'er with gratitude, Can not convey our love, we'll say: As youths we've loved, as adults We shall thank and praise you, When, with quickened pulse, we turn Our thoughts toward you, our Alma Mater. H. GEARY '30 A SONNET The lakes and hills are permanent: Their beauty rivals all. The gallant oaks and stately pines Live on through ages long. The ocean, with the ceaseless roll Of wave upon the shore, Eternally does ebb and flow, Through darkness and through storm. And so, through numbered years, we must Prove true and worthy sons. The lessons we have learned, of love, Allegiance, guidance, health, Will help us all with strength to live, And benefit Mankind. K. FARNELL '30

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8 THE PILGRIIVI otism by the now famous words, H54-40 or fight! In little more than a half cen- tury, the charming and fertile valley of the Platte has been trans- formed into prosperous common- wealths, its development from an almost desert waste, a marvelous monument to the restless energy of the American people. Although the Iron Horse now rides rough-shod over the Oregon Trail, and although it has complete- ly effected the civilization of the West, the tourist from the win- dow of his car on the Union Pacific Railroad, gazes in wonder- ing awe at the wild scene that stretches out before him to the dis- tant snow-capped mountains,- isolated buttes, rocky bluffs, light- ning-splintered gorges, foaming torrents, fantastically-formed boul- ders-wonders that do not recog- nize puny man! The Platte Valley for un- told ages was a beautiful, aw- ful wilderness, the haunt of stately-headed elk, of vast herds of buffalo, of deer, and of other game. Through this garden of Eden flowed the Platte, described by Irving as the most magnificent and most useless of streams. To- day. its islands seem groves of ver- dure Hoating about on the spark- ling water, and, when seen in the rarefied atmosphere of the West, they create the impression of a master-piece fresh from the hands of God! Along the route followed by the train, are numerous evidences of the days when the mountains echoed the diabolical yell of the savage Redskin as he tore the reek- ing scalp from the head of the Paleface. There is Wood River, a noted landmark and camping place for those who followed the tide of im- migration, and Brady's Island, the scene of the brutal murder of an old-time trapper by one of his partners. One of the historic places on the left bank of the river is Ash Hollow, famous as the spot on which a bloody Indian battle was fought. Johnson's Creek was named for a missionary who, thinking bloodshed should be avert- ed, ventured forth to pacify a war party of Indians that was attacking the immigrant train of which he was a member. Independence Rock is an isolated mass of granite located in the middle of the river. Its base covers an area of five acres, and the rock rises to a height of three hundred feet. The front face of this ancient landmark, is covered with names of the trappers, traders, and others who perhaps thought their rude carvings would make them famous. The rock was named by a party of men who cele- brated their Fourth of July at the foot of this historic rock. There are other famous scenes too numerous to mention, and, as the train rushes onward, the traveler, awed by this immense, imposing beauty cannot but feel deeply sorry for those unknowing tourists who, in search of interest- ing scenery, forget their own country to travel thousands of miles to other lands! But the ignorant must be taught. Let this be a small step in the Americanizing of the American tourists, that he may better appre- ciate the natural gifts that are his by the sacrifice of others and by the grace of God! DELMO ENAGONIO '30 THE WESTERN PLAIN Across the eastern sky A crimson flush dawning Gilds God's dry inland sea. O'er rippling waves of grass Blown by sultry winds, Sun-iilled sails slack, drooping, As onward slowly toiling Across the blinding sand, Creeps the weary caravan. Beneath men's shouts and oaths, Like ocean's dreary monotone, Four rhythmic beats like music, Music-irritating-far from sooth- lng S Blow-wave-ripple-dip, Fill the weary brain With thoughts of friendly trees Etched in a cloudless sky,