Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 17 cauticn, for I had not proceeded a hun- dred yards before I heard a rough voice shout gruffly, “Halt!” and hastily pulling up my horse, I found myself gazing down the muzzle of a musket held by a redcoat. Swiftly I looked around for an avenue of escape. Vain hope! I was surrounded on all sides by what was evidently a for- aging party. “Their leader, a tall, scarred man of unprepossessing features, scrutinized me suspiciously for some moments, and then demanded my name and business. After hearing my answer, he promptly called me a liar, at which I kept a discreet silence. My calmness seemed to enrage him, for he gave an order to two of the soldiers, who violently seized me by my arms and dragged me from my mount. Then they led me none too gently to a ramshackle building. The leader called for a rope and, binding my wrists with one end, he then threw the other over a beam above my head and addressed him- self to me thus: T believe,’ said he, ‘that you know more than you pretend; so choose between giving me your informa- tion willingly or being made to tell by this,’ and he nodded his head significantly toward the rope. I glanced cautiously around me. The rest of the party were standing about in a circle, with expectant looks on their faces. During all this time I had been thinking, first, surprised at the sudden change of fate which had led me into this unexpected predicament, and secondly, wondering how long and to what end this would continue. But my mind was made up as to what course I should follow, and as I was determined to die rather than betray any information to the enemy, I knew what my fate was likely to be. “Angry and impatient at the manner in which I was delaying him, he repeated his demand with an oath. ‘Well, have you decided, Mr. Paul Aubrevr’ “ ‘I have nothing to say,’ I answered calmly. “‘Nothing, huh:’ he said with a sneer. ‘Well, my hearty, you’ll soon sing a dif- ferent tune,’ and he struck me in the face. “ ‘Go to the devil!’ I cried, and bring- ing my bound arms around in a swing, I struck him a blow that knocked him head over heels. He picked himself up, curs- ing, his face purple with rage. With a bound he seized the rope and, shouting for the others to help him, they strung me up by the wrists in a twinkling. He stood there in front of me, as I hung helpless with the rope cutting into my wrists, gloating and chuckling in great amuse- ment. “ ‘This is the thing that will make you talk, my brave rebel. It’s go ahead and be d—d to you at first, and then it’s mercy, in God’s name. Strip him, men,’ cried the enraged leader; ‘off with his coat and shoes. You’ll soon wish that you had never been born for trying any monkey- business with the King’s soldiers and for not answering when you’re spoken to. Xow, my stubborn bird,’ he concluded, ‘we shall leave you for a while,’ and, turn- ing, he went out, followed by his grinning helpers. “I heard the door close, a chain rattle, and I was alone. With the stillness my situation was brought home to me with a shock. Dazed by the rapid succession of events, I groaned in despair, cursing my misfortune. Every muscle in my body began to ache and groan with the strain, as if being pulled out from its place. The drag upon my arms made me sick as if from tossing on the sea, and a giddiness swam over me. A dryness in my throat began to choke me so that I could scarcely swallow. A numbness stole inch by inch along my legs and retreated with a thou- sand needle-pricks. The lower part of my body felt paralyzed, while my arms seemed as if they were being pulled out from their sockets. I could have raved and shouted, but half-maddened as I was from the cru- cifying pain, I was determined not to give them a chance to gloat over me if they happened to be posted outside at the door listening. A sweat sprang out upon me, trickling down my face and limbs and oozing into my clothes. Each breath my lungs drew in stabbed my vitals like a keen knife. God! How much longer must I endure this agony? I wished that I could die and end it all at once, but the throbbing of my heart grew harder and harder with each beat. My head felt as if it were bursting, everything whirled be- fore me. Then the light went out before

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16 THE GOLDEN-ROD off the walls because she forgot to feed it. I threw it out. . . . While I was painting over my ruined masterpieces I ran out of red color, and so took some from the kind that the girl uses on her cheeks. She caught me, and called me a ‘dizzy nut a term meant ... to convey disrespect. August 31: Last night the terrible singer was at his post again, singing a bit shakily on two cylinders, so to speak, but nevertheless fairly persistently; tonight I (Here the MS. ends.) Glossary and Excuses Diplodoci and Cotylossauri —Prehis- toric mammoths. Jalcs —Approximately £4 nii. Kwaal '—A species of lizard. Entelodanti —We think that the cave-man is trying to fool us; we don’t know what he means anyway. Golpas —Probably the first golosh- es, or overshoes. Mon — i 2 lb. We really believe that the eminent pro- fessor is trying to ‘‘put something over” on the credulous public, so we would not advise anyone to use this data as infal- lible. Sincerely, Elinor Strickland, June, ’24. The Hidden Manuscript To this day I still wonder whether it was the handwriting upon the fly-leaf or the generally aged appearance about the book that made me buy it. Sometimes, when I wonder how I ever happened to secure the book, though its outward at- tractiveness played a small part in its purchase, I am strongly inclined to be- lieve that the bold, distinctive handwrit- ing, evidently a masculine hand, betraying a strong character, was what urged me to obtain it. As soon as I reached home, I hurried to my room and library combined, and with the true collector’s enthusiasm began carefully to examine it. It was in a remarkable state of preservation, the covers being faded dry-as-parchment leather, much worn at the corners. On the fly-leaf was written: “Paul Aubrey, his book, July 14, 1785.” As I was slowly turning the book around in my hand and glancing at the first few pages, in some manner it slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor, striking rather heavily on one corner. Stooping hastily, I picked it up. hoping that the binding was not loos - ened. But great was my amazement when I saw that the leather, much worn and aged at the corners, had split, and that through one of them projected a small packet of papers which really was two large sheets of paper folded many times to the size of about a quarter of the cover of the book. Curiosity leaping high within me, I drew them out carefully and hastily set about to unfold them and—but read for yourself: “My name is Paul Aubrey,” began the manuscript, “aide-de-camp to General W-----under the command of General Washington, commander-in-chief of the American armies. I know not what im- pels me to write this, for my nature is far from vain. But through some impulse I care not to analyze, I am placing this manuscript beneath the covers of this book, a curious place, indeed, hoping per- chance that it may some day be discov- ered, and thus reveal to the finder an interesting event hitherto unknown to anyone but myself. In the year 1774, I was riding for the town of M— with im- portant news for General R—, news I had been compelled to memorize, fearing to secrete it about me even though it were written in code, lest it might be discovered if I should chance to fall into the hands of the enemy. I had scarcely covered half of the way, for the ground was ex- ceedingly rough and I was forced to ride cautiously to avoid wandering parties of redcoats, when my horse cast a shoe and began to limp. Heartily cursing fate at this unexpected delay, I made as fast as possible for a group of houses which I saw at a distance off on the right. The accident must have made me forget my

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18 THE GOLDEN-ROD my eyes, and oblivion mercifully took its place. ‘T awoke. It seemed to me that my body was one great ache. Where was I: What had happened: Then I remem- bered. I was now lying on the ground, untied. I could not see or hear a soul around me, and after a great many efforts that left me trembling, I managed to stand up. A sudden noise to my right brought my heart into my throat. I turned hastily around, thinking it was my captors. But no, it was a horse. My horse! Groping and stumbling my way toward him through the darkness, I pain- fully mounted him and resumed my jour- ney, thinking myself lucky to have escaped alive, though I felt that I should slip out of the saddle any moment. As I write this narrative, I wonder what caused the rascals to leave me unharmed and alive. Perhaps they thought that they, after all, had been mistaken and had killed an innocent traveler. Or were they frightened when they found me uncon- scious, and left me untied on the ground: I cannot fathom even to this day the reason why they left me so suddenly.” With a sigh of disappointment that so interesting a tale was ended so soon, I reluctantly but carefully placed the papers in their original place, and decided that it was time to go to bed, for the clock had just struck twelve. Isadore Richmond, June, ’24. BE A SPOUT There’s a certain little saying That we hear from time to time. No matter where we’re living, In any age or clime; It’s an age-old, kindly saying. And it fits in any rhyme— Be a Sport! At times when you are lonely, When you are feeling blue, When nothing seems exactly right. No matter what you do: Whene’er these feelings strike you, Here’s my advice to you— Be a Sport! Suppose the side you’re backing Doesn’t ever seem to win; Suppose the thing is over Before you do get in! Other folks have just such troubles: Take heed from this and grin— Be a Sport! If friends should disappoint you, Say things behind your back; If days are over-clouded, And all the world looks black; Start counting up the things you have. And not the things you lack— Be a Sport! And if a pain you harbor. You’ll find it pays to smile: If everyone should do it ’Twould soon be quite the style: It’s little things like grinning That help the long, last mile— Be a Sport! Nona West, June, ’26.