Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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14 THE CHIMES sticks, flourished over the heads of the beseiged, bewildered the wolves. The dogs were soon lost control of, and with angry snarls they surged into the pack, all but faithful Mitzi. The rest of the wolves, not occupied with fighting the dogs, were pushing forward almost tasting the blood and flesh of the humans. With madness several at a time would dash forward, only to be repulsed by the fires and flaming brands. The woods, to the beseiged, seemed an ocean of gleaming teeth and fiery eyes. They grabbed and tore the fur rugs to shreds. Defeat and death seemed near. And then sudd enly Jose remembered his automatic. In the frenzy of the barricading and starting fires, he had for- gotten his means of defence — firearms. He fired into the surging, angry pack. The flash and report frightened and terrified them. For a moment and only a moment, they stood as if frozen in their tracks. Then they turned; and with a last snarl and howl fled into the darkness of the woods. The moon made a white path over the hills and lighted the woods. On the ground lay frozen bodies of dead wolves. But the night was serene, and from the distance came the howl of the still hungry, hunting pack. Katrine Schuyler, '27. NIGHT A cricket's tune, 'Neath a silver moon, A soft wind's sigh, A starlit sky, A flicker bright Of a firefly's light — And this is night. Helen Healy, '26. THE STORM KING The Storm King comes in his chariot of white With his wintry winds and snows. He whistles and shrieks like The war of the bands That come from the depths below. The Storm King is a man of great age With his hoary locks so pure; To watch him as he soars through the sky Will remind you of mythical days of yore. The Storm King is a man of great strength He destroys things that come in his path Like a reaper of Death, he does not select But takes them as they pass. L. Panetta, '26

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THE CHIMES 13 THE LIFE OF THE NORTH The ground was covered with glistening, crusty snow. Off in the distance the snow-capped mountains reflected the pinks of the setting sun. The trail was worn down to a rutty mass of white, with a coating of ice which cut the feet of the hard- working sled dogs, and left little red stains which made a pretty contrast with the white snow. Up the lonely trail came a sled drawn by eight husky sled- dogs. On the sled, partly buried with fur robes, sat a young girl. Her face was aglow with a healthy red, and her hair curled around her face in yellow ringlets. A fur cap was pulled down to meet a fur collar, and she was urging the dogs onward to a greater speed. Through the gathering dusk came the cry of wolves, ever nearing; and Justine's eyes glistened with the cold and with the fear of the e creatures. On and on went the team; down the frozen river, and up the bank — in silence except for the grating ice under t he runners and an occasional whine from a dog. Mitzi, the leader of the team, was growing restless. Every in t nt she set up a howl to the moon that echoed through the stillness of the v oods. F om the distance came an answering cry from the pack of wolves. Justine shivered. Then in the distance appeared a black spot. It was rapidly approaching; and as it came nearer, Justine recognized it as a dog team. She was instantly alert. Wild thoughts were surging through her mind. Friend or foe? But it turned out to be Jose from the trading post. Justine sat back with a feelinsr of security as he came up and turned his team about. As they jogged along toward home, he explained that the family had become worried, and he had set out to find her. and bring her safely home. Then they realized that the pack had scented their trail and v ere ''dogging them. In Jose's quiet manner there was no Fign of fear, but he was inwardly planning how to protect themselves. Finally he said, ''We had better stop and build a fire. We can't go much farther without being attacked. So they rolled out of the blankets and started a fire with the box in which Justine was carrying provisions on her sled ; they al o secured some large dry limbs and made a pile to burn, little by little. Then the frightened dogs were un- hitched and the sleds turned sideways with the fires at each end to fo m a barricade. By this time the pack was sneak- ing near them, not quite knowing what to do, as fire was their greatest enemy. Justine and Jose threw the hungry pack a huge quarter of lamb, one of the articles of provision. This kept the pack quiet for several minutes, eating and growling. The lighted

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THE CHIMES 15 THE LOG JAM A lazy shiftless good-for-nothing — that is what the tru- ant master, Deacon Brown, had said while calling on his father last evening. Well, he had played truant, he solilo- quized, but he hadn't meant to. The river as usual had called him, and he couldn't resist its wild appeal. It called him today, more loudly, more persistently than it did yesterday; and his willing feet were even now carrying him directly toward it and away from school. What did Deacon Brown or his father, for that matter, know of this wild urge within him to follow, follow, the siren call of the river ; to yield himself to its racing tide and float with it under sun and moon, far, far away, into the great world of men, or across the wide ocean at its mouth to savage isles or strange golden strands; or even to stand man to man and fight the angry seas. Today the ice was breaking up; and the great cakes, sparkling and glistening in the sun, sailed away like fabled argosies on some great adventure. In the distance could be heard the crash and boom of logs released from their winter sleep in the ice far to the north ; booming and rollicking, turn- ing first one slippery side to the sun and then rolling over in wild abandon seemingly of joy, they raced toward the arches of the old bridge, upon which stood John. Here around the masonry of the bridge strong platforms of cement and stone had been so placed that a man could stand upon them, and with a good strong pike or bar fend off the racing logs from the supports of the bridge and steer them through the openings. On, on, came the logs, leaping into the air, twisting, boom- ing like sea monsters, John thought, and he thrilled with joy at the mad, wild flight of them toward the sea. But what was that wild cry of fear? It was a man fleeing from death as he climbed up beside John, his pike in his hand, and his face blanched, as he looked down UDon the SDot he had deserted and beheld a tangled mountain of lo gs piled high. A jam was ahead, and a bad one, at the weakest spot on the bridge, its very center. It must be broken at once or the bridge would go down. John looked back at the miles of water full of racing logs, and at the men who, aware of the almost certain death com- ing to the man brave enough to carry the dynamite down to the bottom of that nest of logs and blow up the log that con- trolled the jam, would not volunteer. Lazy, shiftless, good-for-nothing — they had said of him — surely he was the one to be spared. This was why his feet had led him to this spot perhaps. He grasped the sticks of dynamite before the men were aware of his presence or pur- pose, and descended the iron rods of the ladder riveted to the masonry. The roar of the logs, still piling up or crashing by,