Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOLDEN ROD. FRENCH TRANSLA IVON. E VIEUVILLE was sudden- ]y interrupted by a desperate cry, and at the same time a pecul- iar noise was heard. This cry and these noises came from the in- terior of the ship. The captain and lieutenant hurried towards the gun-deck, but they were una- ble to enter. All the cannoneers were ascending, dismayed. Some- thing frightful had just happened. One ot the carronades of the bat- tery, a piece of eighty calibre, had become detached. Nothing more terrible can happen to a man-of- war at sea going at full speed. A cannon which breaks its moor- ings becomes suddenly no one knows what kind of a supernatural monstei. It is a machine trans- formed into a demon This mass running on wheels has the move- ments of a billiard-ball, inclining with the rolling of the ship, plun- ging with the pitching; goes back, crosses the ship from one end to the other like an arrow, whirls, conceals itself, kills, exterminates. It weighs ten thousand pounds and bounds like a child’s ball. There are sudden whirlings cut- ting right angles. What is to be done ? How is one to get the mastery over it ? A tem- pest will cease, a cyclone pass over, the wind calm, a broken mast can be replaced, but what is to be done with that monster of bronze ? How is one to begin ? Yon can reason with a dog, stun a bull, fascinate a snake, frighten a tiger, and soothe a lion, but there is no resource with this monster, a de- tached cannon. You cannot kill it ; it is dead, and at the same time it lives. It lives a wicked life which comes to it from the infinite. In an instant all the crew were on deck. The accident was the fault of the captain of the gun, who had neglected to lock the nut of the mooring-chain and badly shackled the four wheels of the car- ronade. A strong wave having struck the port side, the poorly shackled cannon recoiled, broke its chain, and began to wander freely about the deck. Let one imagine, in order to have an idea of this strange slipping, a drop of water careering over a pane of glass. When the chain broke the can- noneers were in the battery, some in groups, others scattered about occupied with their usual work when sailors are in anticipation of a clearing of decks for action. The cannon, thrown by the pitching of the ship, scattered this group of men and crushed four at the first blow, then, darting back, was dis- charged by the rolling of the ship, and cut a fifth miserable one in two, and hurled to the port side a piece of the battery which it de- tached. Thence came the cry of distress which they had just heard. All the men hurried to the companion- way. The battery was emptied in the twinkling of an eye. The enormous cannon had been left alone. It was its own mistress and the mistress of the ship. All the crew, men accustomed to laugh in battle, trembled; to describe such terror in words is impossible Captain Boisberthelot and Lieu- tenant Le Vieuville, both brave men, were, however, standing at the top of the stairs, mute, pale, and hesitating, looking down on the gun-deck. Some one nudged them with the elbow and went down. It was the passenger, the peasant, the man of whom they were speaking a moment ago. The cannon careered to and fro on the gun-deck. It continued capering over the ship ; it had al- ready broken four other guns and made two holes in the side of the ship, fortunately above the water line, but through which the water would enter if a squall came on. It threw itself frantically against the frame of the ship. The strong beams resisted. The curved tim- bers had a peculiar solidity, but one could hear them crack under this huge mass striking on ail sides at once. The four wheels passed and re- passed over the dead men, cutting, crushing and mangling them ; the five bodies made twenty fragments

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THE GOLDEN ROD. ken. Tonight we stand on the threshold. Behind us is the school life we have just finished. Before us the portals of life’s school are opened wide to receive us. Above the entrance I fancy I see the following words inscribed: “Something yet to be attained.” Indeed, we feel that we have by no means reached the acme of knowledge, for there are more steps for us to climb, and Minerva stands waiting to offer us many things from the richness of her store. Though we reluctantly leave the school within whose walls we have received instruction and pleasure, let us enter upon our life work with a determination to succeed. May we at all times do our duty. Let us waste no oppor- tunity for ennobling ourselves and shedding an influence for good around us. Classmates, let us— “Do noble things, not dream them all day long, And so make lite, death, and that vast forever, One grand, sweet song.” —Cassendana Thayer, ’93. CLASS POEM-1893. Backward we look with ever lingering eyes, And with reluctance close the school- room door; While joyous memories in our minds arise, Of by-gone times too lightly prized be- fore. We recollect our pride and keen delight, When problems deep at last were fully solved, Or Latin sentences were read aright,— Hard sentences, that patience great in- volved. Sweet memories of our pleasant inter- course, With dear familiar scenes for aye en- twined, We know the mystic power to enforce Regrets that we must leave so much be- hind. Still comes an impulse o’er us with the day Bidding us hasten forward, thus to learn What fortune has for us of grave or gay, Our restless human hearts would tate discern. Whate’er our way, whate’er our fate may be, With whatsoever dangers we may cope, Whatever lot before us we may see, We will endure it while we still have Hope. Yes, Angel Hope our aid and stay shall be. That Hope which through all ages has endured, And through the world’s long troubles ceaselessly The timorous heart of man hath aye as- sured. When fair Pandora could not overcome The overpowering wish to ascertain Of golden wealth within that box the sum, Then first on earth began misfortune’s reign. But Hope came, too, with her bright rain- bow hue. To assuage the sorrow and to heal the pain Of man; and more, she did his soul im- bue With thoughts of happiness he yet might gain. And ever since, this varied world through- out, Eternal Hope hath made her welcome way, Shedding on many a path her joy about. On great and lowly with impartial ray. Thus when the rich man, tired of soulless ease, Doth loathe his aimless life, by Hope he can For noble uses turn his treasure keys. And gain reward by aiding fellowman. And when the poor man, wearied by his toil, Would murmur. Hope low whispers that he may Lay down his burdens, leaving labor's moil For rest eternal; cheered he goes his way. Great men with mighty works for them to do, Oft pause in dread lest they more strength should need, Till courageous Hope sweeps before their view, And lo! the world is glad by some grand deed. And humble men, in humble spheres re- pining That’t is not theirs great actions to per- form, By Hope are told that God is still assign- ing All parts, with-love and justice uniform. So as we sadly close the schoolroom door, And at the portal of Life’s school we stand, Dear Hope, we pray thee, ever as before. Take our hands in thine own all helping hand. Until Life’s lessons all at last are done. And golden light streams forth through “Gates Ajar,” Until Life's graduation day is won, Sweet Hope, be thou, we pray, our guid- ing star. —Annie E. Burns, '93.

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THE GOLDEN ROD. which rolled across the deck ; the dead heads seemed to cry out; streams of blood were forced out on tie flooring according to t rolling of the ship. The inside planking, damaged in several places, began to leak. The whole ship was full of this terrible noise. The captain quickly regained his calmness, and by his orders they threw everything through the open- ing into the gun-deck that would blockade or stop the course of the ungovernable cannon,—the mat- tresses, hammocks, spare sails, rolls of rigging, and the crew’s sacks. But what could these trifles do? No one dared descend to place them as it was necessary. In a few minutes they were reduced to pulp. Suddenly, in this kind of unat- tainable circle where the escaped cannon bounded, one saw a man appear. It was the author of the catastrophe, the captain of the can- non, guilty of negligence, and the cause of the accident, the master of the carronade. Having done the mischief, he wished to repair it. He grasped an iron bar in one hand and a length of heavy tackle with a slip-knot in the other, and jumped through the opening into the gun-deck. He crawled along the side ot the ship, his bar and cord in his hand. The cannon appeared to under- stand, and as if it expected a snare shunned it. The brave man pur- sued it. The cannon seemed to perceive him, and without taking the trouble to return, recoiled on the man with the promptness of a stroke of an axe. The man, hurled against the side of the ship, was lost. All the crew uttered a cry. But the old passenger, until then immovable, threw himself forward more rapidly than- all these fierce movements. He had seized a bale, and at the risk of being crushed, he succeeded in throwing it be- tween the wheels of the cannon. This decisive and perilous action could not have been executed with more correctness and precision by a man trained in all the exercises described in Durosel’s book on “Manoeuvers of Sea-guns.” The bale acted like a plug. A pebble will stop a block, the branch of a tree turn an avalanche. The carronade stumbled. The cannoneer, in his turn seizing this fearful pause, thrust his iron bar between the spokes of the hind wheels. The cannon stopped. The man implanted his bar like a lever and made it %way. The heavy mass fell down with as much noise as a tower-bell which falls, and the brave man, rushing heed- lessly forward, passed the slip-knot around the neck of the vanquished bronze monster. It was ended. The man had conquered. The ant had got the better of the mastodon, the pigmy had made thunder a prisoner. The soldiers and sailors applauded. All the crew hurried with ropes and chains, and in an instant the can- non was fastened. —Nellie Me Nealy, ’93. SOME HOMERIC RELICS THE Smithsonian Institute at Washington has lately re- ceived a wonderful collection of Trojan relics, the gift of Madame Schliemann, widow of Doctor Schliemann, the great archaeolo- gist. There are one hundred and eighty-eight of these articles, and although they have little intrinsic worth, their historic value is very great. Most of the ornaments and vessels of gold and silver which were dug from the ruins were sold to different museums, to pay for the expense of excavation, but Doctor Schliemann made many fine gifts of {unique collections to various museums, and his widow has kept up the noble practice. Until Doctor Schliemann dug- down thirty-five feet into the earth and found the city of Homer’s song, the story was generally thought to be a myth. Four cities had been built one upon the other, and had decayed in turn. But there was stili the original Troy, and three thousand years after its destruction its streets were once more trodden by human feet. An enormous quantity of all