Shawnigan Lake School - Yearbook (Shawnigan Lake, British Columbia Canada)

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In spite of the fact that the old man watched me like a hawk and would give me no clue as to how to get back to civilization, I found that I was enjoying myself. My shoulder healed quickly under the watchful eye of the doctor, who somehow seemed to have plenty of medical equipment. I was able to converse freely with the doctor on matters such as English literature and historical events, although I found him curiously reluctant to discuss current affairs in spite of the fact that his only news on such things came when old Joe, as the trapper was called, brought him some magazines and books along with supplies. The only fact that marred what might have been a peaceful holiday was that I knew my sorrowing family must have long since given me up for lost. The old man refused to give even the vaguest idea of my where- abouts, making the rather lame excuse that I was not yet strong enough to move. The old boy probably wants to keep me here indefinitely for company, I thought grimly, and there isn ' t much I can do about it. Finally, one evening as we sat by the blazing log fire, he with a glass of his brew in his hand, and I with a copy of Scott ' s Ivanhoe (he kept a well-stocked but rather out-of-date library), he cleared his throat noisily and said: Well, I suppose you ' ve been wondering who I am and why I won ' t tell you how to get back to your God-forsaken civilization. Now before I tell you anything I want you to promise that during my lifetime you will not divulge this information to anyone. I assure you that I am no enemy to society, so don ' t refuse on those grounds. Please do this, remembering that it was I who saved your life. As I could find no grounds for protest, I agreed. He then went on to give me explicit instructions on how to make my way back to Fort St. James, making me promise to stay another week. We then lapsed into an uneasy silence, during which I pondered on whether or not I ought to broach the subject of his identity. Suddenly he drained his glass, nervously shifted his position several times and blurted out, Have you ever heard of Doctor Julius Shenwz ? Of course, I replied, every Canadian schoolboy has studied that amazing man. Why, did you know him ? He ignored my question. I see they haven ' t forgotten, he murmured, a wry smile twisting his lined face. Would you believe me if I were to tell you that he and I are the same person ? What ? I gasped, with amazement. What was the doctor trying to say ? This old codger and the one-time boy wonder of the Liberal party, one and the same person . . . impossible ! Yet there was some physical resemblance between the woods-dweller and the former Minister of External Affairs who had mysteriously disappeared at the beginning of the First World War. I don ' t suppose you believe me, but it ' s true, he went on in a tired old voice, which certainly seemed to have a ring of truth in it. As a matter of fact I think I do believe you, I replied. I thought you were supposed to have been kidnapped by an alien power when you disappeared in 1915. No ! he fairly shouted, that wasn ' t it at all ! It was because I saw the world was going mad . . . mad with hate and fear and conceit and distrust ! His voice had risen to a passionate crescendo and his eyes burned more fervently than ever with fanaticism. So that was it, I said. You were the fellow who made all those amazing predictions, weren ' t you ? Didn ' t you forecast the First War, the depression, the rise of Hitler, the Second War, and even the atom bomb ? They say you never made a wrong prediction. He jumped up, dropping his glass with a crash, a look of complete horror on his face. Ye Gods ! he cried, don ' t mention that ! I was a fool to ever say such things. Just forget about them . . . please never mention them again ! He sank back into his chair, his hands shaking violently. Why ? I asked, shocked that my statement should have brought such an answer. Never mind ! Never mind ! he shouted. Don ' t ever mention it again ! Then he fell, fainting, to the floor. During the next week the old man ' s condition went from bad to worse. For hours he would sit alone, staring blankly into the dying embers of the fire. During these periods he seemed to be in a trance, not uttering a word, but shivering violently. When he aroused himself his mad eyes shone forth in stark fear. He would do no housework and his once immaculate cabin soon looked sordid in spite of my efforts to keep it in good shape. Often I would hear him muttering to himself while he wandered through the house in a daze. I could understand little of what he said, except that he kept mentioning the date November third over and over again in an awed voice. This was rather disconcerting as I Page Twenty-Six

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Again there was a long pause as he dissected me with his piercing eyes as if he were deciding whether I should be trusted with a confidence. Finally he shook his head and replied, You ' re in my home. Where ? I asked, trying master the excruciating pain in my shoulder. And how did I get here ? I found you lying by the creek this morning. Never mind where you are; we ' ll talk about that later. Right now let us concern ourselves with that shoulder of yours. You ' ve got a nasty gash in it, but I don ' t think it ' s infected. How does it feel ? It hurts, I admitted. My name is Jefferson, Brian Jefferson. By the way, how in goodness ' name did you get here? As you can no doubt imagine it isn ' t very often that I have the pleasure of receiving visitors in this neck of the woods. To cut a long story short, I got lost while fishing; fell down a cliff into a creek and managed to save myself from drowning by reaching your beach. Wh What are you doing ? This last remark was prompted by the fact that he had grabbed my shoulder. Just changing the bandage, he said. It was only then that I noticed to my amazement that my shoulder had been excellently attended. Are you a doctor ? I asked. Yes, as a matter of fact I used to be, he answered, a wry smile spreading across hh sunburnt face. Doctor who ? I enquired, quite amazed that this old fellow had once been anything more than a trapper. Never mind ! he snapped, and then went on in a more friendly tone. But for con- venience ' s sake let us say Smith. I think that the fewer question you ask at the moment the better we will get along together. 1 assure you that everything will be explained to your satisfaction at some date in the future. Try as I would I could get no more information from him and soon I drifted into a deep sleep. The next few days were the strangest of my life. The old man ' s cabin was in a small green valley, picturesquely situated by a roaring mountain creek that emptied into a trout-filled lake about half a mile down from the shack. Rugged, snow-capped mountains completely surrounded it, forming a barren contrast to the lush vegetation that abounded along the course of the stream. Dr. Smith had managed to clear a large pasture in which about a dozen cows grazed languidly staring at the intruder who had been thrust into their midst. There was also a carefully tended vegetable garden at the rear of the cabin that produced the most delicious peas and carrots that I have ever tasted. The doctor also managed to keep his larder well stocked by fishing in the creek, a task in which I delighted to help as I regained strength. The doctor himself was a paradox. Above all, he was an expert woodsman, having thorough knowledge of all that must be known by one who lives in the wilds. As I gradually learned, he had come to these parts about forty years ago to escape some unpleasant circum- stance that had forced his early retirement. By himself he had managed to build his cabin, clear the land, and carve a productive farm out of the dense bush. It must have taken immense courage for such an obviously important man to break with the past and come to live in such a wild, unknown area. His only human contacts during these years had been an old Indian family which had lived at the other end of the valley for some twenty years, and a drunken old trapper who bought him such necessary supplies as sugar and salt once a year. Around the farm the doctor was a tower of strength. He worked continually at all manner of tasks, completing each one with meticulous care. If a job ' s worth doing, it ' s worth doing well, he often quoted when I expressed amazement at the precision of even the most menial of tasks. His stooped but wiry form could be seen working for hours in his garden during the Indian summer which followed the storm that had accompanied my arrival. He was both an excellent cook and a good housekeeper, his little shack being kept as neat as a city mansion. His one form of relaxation was fishing, and for hours he would work up and down the creek, usually returning with a fairly good catch of the large, firm rainbow trout that abound in the streams near Fort St. James He was fond of drink, and consumed a large amount of a potent brew that he distilled himself, one glass of which was enough to knock me off my feet. However, he showed no outward sign of intoxication. Sometimes he would jump at the slightest sound, and when holding paper he often tore it into shreds. I noticed that this trait became more pronounced as time went on. as if something terrible was bothering him. Often I would see him staring mto the distance with his wild eyes, mouthing soundless words. Page Twenty-Five

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had promised him that I would stay until the fourth. He would repeat these words in a dreary succession when he thought he was alone, putting the same dreadful emphasis on each syllable. It was, therefore, with a feeling of dread that I awoke on the morning of that fateful day. I quickly glanced over at the old man ' s bed, but it hadn ' t been slept in. I immediately jumped up, throwing on my clothes. Julius, Julius! I called, beginning to search for the old fellow. Suddenly I saw him entering the door, and the sight that he presented made me shiver with horror. He had obviously not slept the night before, for his bloodshot eyes were surrounded by hollow circles. From them shone forth a look of horror. His thick lips were covered with tiny specks of foam, and his beard was a stringy mess. His whole body was periodically convulsed with sharp spasms of shivering. What time do you make it ? he asked, his voice cracking with emotion. Nine o ' clock, I answered, sure that I was addressing a madman. One hour . . . only one hour left ! he shrieked, his eyes rolling wildly back into his head. One hour till when ? I asked hesitantly, backing further into the kitchen and grabbing a stout bread knife. Who said you could ask questions ? he snapped. Don ' t worry your weak head about me. Who are you to know what is to happen ? I am great. You are puny . . . small . . . nothing ! He then wandered aimlessly around the house destroying everything possible, cackling with fiendish joy as he wrecked his most valuable possessions. When I tried to reason with him he only spat venemously, swore, and said it didn ' t matter any longer. Time ticked by. For a long time he said nothing, gazing into the dying embers of the fire, sweat pouring down his sad old face, making tiny rivulets through a week ' s grime. I looked outside and shivered. It had begun to snow; swirling flakes drifted down from the dirty grey clouds that hung ominously above. A cold wind blew open the door, bringing a cloud of freezing flakes in with it. I ' ll have to get out of here today, I thought, or I ' ll be trapped all winter with this lunatic. However, since he saved my life, I should try to do something for h im. He turned around sharply and asked in a hoarse whisper, What time is it ? I glanced at my watch, my hand was shaking so much that I could barely read it. Nine thirty, I croaked. Without warning he jumped to his feet and grabbed me, pinning me against the wall ! I struggled to free myself from his vice-like grasp, but his strength was fantastic. He slapped me twice across my face with his hideous hands and then grasped my hair, forcing me to look in his eyes. They were now bright and red, the pupils had contracted to become two tiny dots, that flashed terrifyingly. I suppose you think I ' m crazy ! Well, you ' ll see. You ' re not great enough to know. I ' ll leave you here ! he shouted, his mouth twisting into an indescribably savage smile. Wh - - - wh - - - wh - - - where are you going ? I stammered. To hell! That ' s where! he yelled, laughing insanely, Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! You can read about it in my diary . . . but make it quick. His eyes burned with a fiendish glee. I ' ll be seeing you in Hades ! he screamed. With this parting speech he turned quickly and dashed through the open door. The last I saw of him he was running through a blinding snowstorm, shouting gibberish, his long hair streaming behind him, shouting and screaming into the storm. I tried to follow him but it was useless. Then I remembered the diary. Quickly I went over to where it lay and opened it. The leaves fell back at a marked page. There under the heading of June 2nd, 1915, was the following statement: The world is going to explode on November 3rd, 1955, at ten in the morning. I glanced at my watch. It was five past ten. —A. VINCENT. ti it DIVE FOR DISASTER Dave Johnson aroused himself from a deep sleep and gazed bleary eyed at the alarm clock which had rudely awakened him. It was 7:30 p.m., time to report at the dockyard for duty. Tonight was a very special occasion. For seven months he had been working on the new submarine H.M.C.S. Glory, which was now ready for her final test run. The first few days of the tests had consisted of surface cruises but tonight Dave, as engineer, had to go down with her on her maiden voyage into the depths of the sea. Page Twenty-Seven