Richmond High School - Shield Yearbook (Richmond, CA)

Page 28 text:

RICHMOND RODEO them from the surrounding country. They lingered long at the water’s edge, the tiny waves lapping the beach at their feet. The moon broke forth again in all her glory and lit up every cranny and crevice of the rocky precipice. The bay sparkled in its silver mantle. Suddenly a shadow fell on the water from the overhanging bluff. The Gringo started and clutched his sword. There on the cliff directly over them, stood the stern visaged priest, hol ding a crucifix on high. His sword dropped and the Gringo sank back. The priest’s robes were an armor against which a sword availed nothing. He descended to the beach and ap- proached them. They dared not move, fearing the ban of the church. ‘‘Ah, my daughter,’’ he said, raising his hand. And with kind persuasion he led her, gently weeping, away. The Gringo stood petrified and watched them disappear. Then with clenched hands he strode up and down the beach. In that darkest stretch before the dawn, a great flame leapt into the heavens and lit up the sunrrounding sky. The cross, rising above the walls of the convent, in the very heart of the fiames, flashed with a white heat. Pushing off from the shore, the Gringo, his features glaring malignantly in the smoky light, pulled fiercely for his ship, which, her sails flung to the breeze, was already moving down the bay. The next evening a Spanish ship under full sail, carrying the survivors, passed through the Golden Gate into the face of the setting sun. t And now a crumbled foundation to be found on the Rich- mond hills, near where the Baptist church stands, marks the place where the old convent reared its adobe walls. —MURIEL TRULL, ’10

Page 27 text:

RICHMOND RODEO —it was as light as day; she could never dare to cross it. Keep- ing near the edge, she was making her way around in the shadow of the wall, when a footstep arrested her. She sank back into a doorway, fearing every breath detected. But it was only old Jose, the friendly keeper. As she went toward him he started and would have cried out, but she motioned him to be silent. ‘‘Jose—the door?’’ she whispered, clutching his sleeve. “fh! What did I promise, Senorita?’’ he said, and jingled his purse. She silenced him quickly, for the slightest sound awoke the echoes. ‘“‘Gratias, Jose,’’ she smiled. ‘‘Adios, Senorita.’’ He would have lingered but she dis- appeared abruptly in the shadows. At the timbered door in the outer wall she stopped to quiet her pounding heart and peer back into the moonlit gar- den. Then, finding the bolt in the dark, she slowly swung the door on its hinges, just wide enough to let her pass, and slipped out. But to close it—she seemed hours long. The ponderous weight jarred, and the iron bolt grated, until she was almost in a frenzy. Stealing away, she sought every clump of shrubbery and crept along until finally a friendly cloud covered for a moment the all too bright moon—then she sped frantically up the hill. The tall Gringo sprang to meet her, his eyes flashing—his voice tense— ““Ah, my Mercedes!’’ He took her hand and together they rushed on. Now over the top of the hill she stopped for breath, but soon they hurried on down the slope toward the water. There was the great ship riding at anchor on the brilliant bay, her masts swaying to and fro with the current, and below was the small boat that was to help them to the ship.. Climbing down the rocks they reached the beach. Here, surely, they need not fear, for the cliff hid 19

Page 29 text:

RICHMOND RODEO THE GOLDEN GATE =xy Q and fro, up and down the hill, from the old tepees to |) the new, toiled the squaws, their ragged skin garments flapping in the wind, their coarse, black hair blowing about their faces. Those straining up the hill, even though pappooses in cradles swung at their backs and children toddled behind, carried bundles of household goods, but those coming down were empty handed. The women worked rapidly, for the overcast sky and rising wind warned them that the storm had ceased only for a short time after all the long days of incessant rain. Already the water was among the old huts and the food must be moved to higher ground to escape the flood. The village stood on the eastern slope of the low range of hills that bordered the ocean. These hills formed the lake by obstructing the large river which entered from the northeast. Under normal conditions this lake stretched far to the north and south, but now it had left its usual sandy shores far behind and its waves drenched the green grass and spring flowers on the hillsides, up which the water still gradually crept, although the level of the lake was far above that of the ocean. Just back of the village was the lowest pass in the range, and already a great stream of muddy water overflowed through it and was cutting a channel to the sea. Evidently the storm reached far back in the mountains where the river had its source, for leaves, branches, and trees that grow only in the mountains, swirled along on the yellow flood. The oldest Indian in the village never had known such a storm. Everything was drenched. The old huts of thatched tules and brushwood were soaked through. The scrawny ponies became mired even in grazing in the rain soaked grass. Game had vanished, save only those birds which inhabit the water. 21