Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

Page 17 text:

NIGHT IN A HOUSE BY THE SEA Spencer Peel I lie at night and listen to the waves upon the beach, And think—It must be God I hear, in wordless, wonderful speech. A whisper low of something sad, a breath of mystery, Waves that wash the ageless sands of shores across the sea, The tall, dim ghosts of sunken ships, and all infinity Come through my open windows and, silent, speak to me. A lonely, faithful lighthouse-beam, a lobster-boat in the haze, Graceful gulls against grey skies—such visions charm my gaze. I lie at night and listen, and the waves upon the shore Sing my soul an old, strange song, a song I’ve heard before: It sings in the rushing roar of surf, in a fog-horn’s haunting call; Dawn’s grey mist can bring it, too, when sails hang limp and tall; It moves through the long, smooth surge of a yacht, in the wind, in the beat of the rain, In the nautical smell of oakom, like an old friend back again. It stirs in me vague longings, goes through me sweet and strong, And I pray my soul may never lose the clear, fresh charm of that song.

Page 16 text:

Together they went to the rent amidships and crept in, carefully tend- ing their air-hoses from the sharp edges. Turning sideways Evans forced his way through the narrow doorway into the control room. Andrews followed. Obviously the water had rushed in too quickly to be checked, for the submarine was open all the way to the torpedo room. The first body was found just inside the second door where the rush of water had caught the poor devil before he could escape. Gingerly Evans grasped it beneath the arms and pulled it after him into the control room. He felt quite relieved when he had left that awful sight behind him near the conning tower. Gliding back he found Andrews tugging at a mass of wreckage dislodged when the S-40 had struck the ocean floor. Tom saw him signal and when he answered, Phil pointed to a yellow-haired lad a few years younger than themselves caught beneath it—a look of horror still imprinted upon his face. Unknowingly Evans swallowed a lump that had risen in his throat. Obeying Phil’s signal, he attempted to shift the wreckage in order to release the body. He stepped to one side, after a few tries, to rest a bit and and see how the other diver was getting along. Suddenly he saw the heap waver and begin to fall his way. Involuntarily he shouted, nearly deafen- ing himself. He tried to step aside, but his air-hose was caught on a pro- truding valve. He did not dare to tug the line. The next instant the wreck- age struck and, though it missed him, he was filled with added horror as he saw the severed end of his air-hose from which the life-giving air was streaming in a myriad of silvery bubbles. The little air left in his helmet was rapidly growing foul. He struggled to keep upright for he knew the air would spill out if he fell. His ears began to throb and he felt himself growing dizzy. Tom began to gasp and choke as the air deadened and all the horrible fantasies of a dying man filled his brain. Peace settled upon him as he sank to the floor. Andrews was filled with terror at what had happened. Frantically he raked his brain for some method by which he might save his friend from almost certain death. Just then his eye fell upon a loop of Evans’ air-hose caught in the wreckage. Ripping his razor-sharp knife from its sheath, he cut it loose and pulled the freed end down, then knelt beside the uncon- scious diver and slit the suit just below the breastplate. Into this he thrust the end of the hose from which the bubbles rose steadily. A breath of re- lief passed his lips when he saw the air bubbling through the escape-valve of Evans’ helmet. With the inert diver thrust before him, he managed to get through to the jagged break in the submarine's shell. From this he hurried to the mooring line. He was breathing heavily; the thick air did not seem to fill his lungs. The line was cut in a second from where it was held and he grasped it firmly with one hand. The other still clutched the unconscious diver. [Continued on page 38]

Page 18 text:

DURGA THE WONDERFUL An Experience of my grandfather, a Baptist Missionary in India Samuel Evans S I jogged along the Grand Trunk road in my trap. I saw in the distance, a great throng of Hindus congregated under a pepal tree. In their midst was a newly carved statue of Durga, which was being worshipped by the people. I stopped my horse and hailed the haughty Brahmin priest. “What is this great “puja” (worship) V “It is nothing the Sahib-dog would understand, but this I will tell you; the people of the village have suffered greatly from cholera for two years and since there is no temple to Durga here, they have had an image made so that at her pleasure Durga will remove the curse. I am here to invoke the spirit of the goddess and after this puja, Durga will dwell in the idol,” the surly Brahmin replied. “That’s all stuff and nonsense; how can a god be in a stone?” “We know it is a stone, for the man that carved it is in our midst, but you do not realize that all Hindus have progressed further in religion than white men ?” The ceremony began, drums sent forth that weird, throbbing challenge; dancers took their places, and as the ceremony progressed, leaped wildly, uttering wild heart-rending shrieks like frenzied devils. Faster and faster, wilder and wilder, louder and louder, until at last wearied, panting, and breathless the dancers dropped, and a ceremony of prayers began. A goat was killed as a sacrifice and its blood, still warm, sprinkled over the idol, and the people fell down and worshipped it rubbing oil and red ochre over its body. “Does the spirit of Durga dwell in the idol yet?” I put the question to the Brahmin priest, at the end of the ceremony. “Yes!” came the emphatic reply. “How would it be, “I said, “if I should give that greasy, slimy Durga a slap?” The priest, when he had recovered his voice, answered even as he paled at the thought. “Don’t do it, you’ll drop dead.” I ambled over as calmly as I could and to the horror of the worshipping people, gave the idol a terrific slap—nothing happened! “You’ll die to- night,” the disgusted Brahmin muttered. There was a deep well nearby and to show further the sham of the priests, I said, “If I drop Durga into the well, and she flies out of the well