Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR. Taking one of the birds in my arms, by no means a light burden, I com- menced my laborious climb to freedom. The bottom of the tunnel was covered with jagged rocks, while the passage way was so low that I had to hitch along on all fours. Most things have an end, however, and finally with a last effort I threw the accumulation of stones and clay from the outlet, tore away the vines and clambered forth. A long despairing whistle broke from my lips, the blood leapt in a sudden fiery flood to my head, and I found myself dizzily tottering on a narrow shelf, three quarters of the way up the face of the cliff. With pains-taking care I sat down, feeling as though there was less danger of toppling over in that position. The view certainly was magnificent ; the forest stretched away in all directions and just beyond the edge of the wood to the south, I saw my home. As I looked, two persons dashed out of the house and began dancing up and down. “They certainly arc hopping mad over something,” tnought 1, forgetting for the moment my perilous position. Scarely had I taken this general view of the striking scenes when a rock went hurtling by and upward, which, striking just above my position, fell back with a clatter on my resting place. Quickly drawing back into the tunnel I waited patiently for further events. I hoped, vet hardly dared expect, that the rock had been hurled by my father; who, seeing the turkey laying in view over the edge had risked the shot, hoping to procure a part of our Thanksgiving dinner. Nothing occurring, I cautiously stretched out and waved my hat over the edge of the shelf. The mute signal was answered by a shout, and crawling out I peered down. Sure enough, it was my father, who, upon seeing the very person he had left at home in dis- grace n t over three hours before, stared in astonishment. “I’ve found the turkeys, but I can’t get down!” I shouted. Just then Ezekiel came into view with our dog, and his amazement was so great that he 11 could nothing but gaze; mouth wide open and eyes nearly starting out of their sockets. “Let down some string, if you have it,” cried my father, “if not, unravel your stocking.” My supply of string had not yet given out, so I was soon lowering away ; the turkey tied to the end to serve as a weight. To our confusion the line lacked a good twenty feet of being within my father’s reach, but suddenly I bethought myself, and tearing loose the long stem ot a vine I fastened it to my end of the string ; soon my father grasped the dangling turkey. Taking a coil of rope from Ezekiel he tied an end to the line, and a moment later, I had the means of escape safely grasped in my hand. It was the work of an instant to fasten the rope to one of the many outjuttings just within the passage, and then I shouted, “The turkeys are in a cave and I can only get them one by one ; wait awhile!” I still remember the exhausting labor of rescuing those turkeys from their pe- culiar position, but finally, all perspira- tion, begrimed with dirt and nearly ex- hausted, I grasped the last run away gobbler. Reaching the ground my story was soon told, and amid many exclamations of surprise and wonder, we started homeward. The first person we met was my grandmother. “The Lord be thank'd,” she cried, “I sartinly thought that you had gone an’committed suicide.” Of course the entire story had to be retold, and I was forgiven by every- body, by my father for leaving the gate open, and by the women folks for scaring them almost to death by my stra.ige dis- appearance with father’s gun. “I thought we’d find them,” exclaimed my aunt, for once departing from her pessi- mistic manner of speaking, “for who ever heard of a Knutt havin’a Thanks- givin’ without turkey?” R. Robinson, S. K. II. S., ’99. END.

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IO THK SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR. There being no other alternative, and despairing of getting out of the pit in the natural way, 1 immediately resolved to find whither the new-found tunnel led. Sinking down on my hands and knees and carefully thrusting my gun before me, I commenced crawling along the winding passage. Every moment lumps of dry clay showered down on me, and soon I was covered with the yellow soil. Progress was necessarily slow, and as again and again I turned a corner only to find another stretch of passageway, the feeling gradually took possession of me that I was but creeping into my own sepulchre. Having these feelings, and almost a prey to despair, I was illy pre- pared for the startling sights which were revealed to me, when I suddenly emerged into an immense and grotesquely pro- ortioned cavern. A vision of rare eauty was disclosed as though by en- chantment. From all points of the roof glittering stalactites hung pendant, aping, grotesque shapes, and forming, just at my right, a curtain so wondrously natural that I had to feel its moist folds before I could believe it was immovable. Immediately in the centre of this realm of wonders was a massive fluted stalag- mite, a good ten feet in diameter and reaching from floor to ceiling. Through this was an opening, and stepping be- neath the dripping sides, I suddenly found myself standing in the midst of a flood of light. It was a hollow column and extended to the outer air. An un- expected stubbing of my toe caused me to glance downward. Wonders upon wonders ! there was a perfect moccasin and numerous bones encrusted with crystals. The legend of the Indian maid came to my mind in an instant, the truth of which was proven bv these remains. Stepping out on the opposite side of the column, I cautiously made my way along, scarcely daring to tread lor fear of bringing down one of the magnificent stalactites on my ill-fated head. Wind- ing in and out among the queer forma- tions—now a crystal-encrusted basin of still water, then a representation of a tumbling cascade—I finally found my- self between the dripping sides of two great masses of crystals, the remains of fallen stalactites. At this spot the roof nearly met the floor, but cutting into it, not unlike an attic window projecting from the roof of a modern house, was a rough surfaced opening which ran obliquely upward. At the further end could be seen the light of day, glimmering dimly through the crevices formed by numerous stones and interwinding vines. It needed but a glance to assure me that my imprisonment was at an end. I turned about to give one last glance at the marvelous wonders. How my heart did jump! Was I dreaming? There, showing just above a stalagmite cup was the full, spreading disk of a turkey’s tail, its glossy colors showing in sharp contrast to the almost white aspect of the many formations. Slowly the attending body came into view, and following it in a sedate single file were the other nine of our runaway turkeys. I was beside myself with joy, and the birds themselves were seemingly not adverse to my sudden appearance in their midst, for with low cries they crowded about me pluming their feath- ers in gladness. “So far so good !” I exclaimed aloud, “but how about getting them out of here ?” Taking a ball of string from my pocket I tied each turkey's leg together and secured their wings. It was while doing this that I made a discovery that explained the mystery which I was puz- zling over when my head received such a blow. Since entering the cavern I had been sorely puzzled over a peculiar glow which filled the place. To be sure there was the light from the central column, but that was not enough to make visible the most remote objects. This was ac- counted for by an unexpected thinness in one of the walls, it being so trans- parent that the light easily made its way through. Putting two and two together, keeping in mind the strange thinness of the wall, I finally arrived at the conclu- sion that those mysterious turkey cries had come from our own flock, but that they had been on the inside and close to this spot.

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12 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR. MISS AIARY F. GARRICK. Miss Carrick’s early life was passed at her birthplace, Nashville, Tenn. Later, coming to Boston, her High School education was received at the Roxbury High School. After completing the course in the Massachusetts Normal Art School, Miss Carrick was for some time supervisor of drawing in the High Schools of Natick and Chelsea. In June, ’98, she was elected to fill the vacancy in the department of Free Hand Drawing in the English High School, caused by Miss Davenport’s resignation. With increased facilities for excellent work, with its much-im- proved and enlarged studio, this ever- popular department, under Miss Car- rick’s charge, has before it a bright and most promising future. Mother (solemnly): “ Did you tell God that you were sorry for being a naughty girl?” Little Elsie: “Yes, I did, and he said, ‘ Dreat Stott, Elsie, zat’s nussin’. They’s lots far worser than you is.’ ”—Ex. It is interesting to note that school papers from all over the country give athletics an important place in their issues. MISS ETTA A. SEAVER. Miss Seaver was born in Davenport, Iowa, but early removed with her parents to New England, where her life has since been passed. She was pre- pared for college by Mr. Charles T. Murray of the Latin School, entered Smith College in ’88, receiving the de- gree ot B. A. in ’92. After teaching for four years in the Annis High School at North Easton, Miss Seaver was elected assistant in the English High School in the departments of English and History. Nothing but sickness should prevent every member of the two schools from attending Somerville’s game with the Training School on Thanksgiving Day. It is the final effort of the boys, and we owe it to the clean, sportsmanlike game they have put up, to support them with a large attendance. Come then, if you never came before. Systematic and well-timed cheering will be in order, so get into practice, and come prepared to see Somerville finish the league series successfully. The oldest iron vessel in the world is the Michigan, built in 1S44.