Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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12 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR. The old man is described as tall, thin, and slightly stooped, wearing always a black gown and skull cap. Nearly all the time he remained m his workshop. But when mine host described the beau- tiful girl, he waxed as eloquent as though he had seen her with his own eyes. She was not very tall, he said, but as grace- ful and as lissom as a larch, with laugh- ing eyes and sunny hair and cheeks that rose-luies never equalled. Sometimes she assisted her father by writing down the results of his observations, some- times roamed about the meadows, sing- ing now and then a little snatch of some French song, for she knew not a word of English, and her father not much more than enough to make himself under- stood. The servant was a huge, broad fellow, as strong as an ox, and as stupid. Of course the curiosity of the country people was greatly aroused by these three strange foreigners. So much so, indeed, that the village lads sadly neg- lected the village maidens to get a smile or a glance from this beautiful French girl None dared approach her, how- ever, when her father was about, for he guarded heras a miser his hoarded gold. Through the long winter the old man worked at his seemingly never-ending task. From his room, the keeper said, came odors, as of sulphur, and net in- frequently was heard a small explosion. Less and less frequently did the French- man appear in public. His daughter, also, was with him more in the locked room. These mysterious doings began to arouse suspicion in the minds of the ignorant, superstitious country people. Some openly declared the strangers to be witches. She must have the “evil eye,” they said, else how could she so fascinate all the village lads ? And the sulphur smells that came from the work- room, were they not direct manifesta- tions of the Evil One? The two must surely be in league with “Auld Nickie Ben.” Once the keeper protested against these things to his guest. But the old man, instead of answering, so the story ran, made some strange passes before him with his hands, and led him out into the street by the sheer power of his eyes. This so terrified the poor host that he did not tell of it for some time. Cold winter softened and melted into spring, and the old man kept more fev- erishly at his work, for often the click of his mortar and pestle was heard far into the night. No visitors ever came to see the foreigners, save one—for one bright day the young Englishman came and walked in the fields with the girl until sundown, when they returned to the inn. The old Frenchman left his work long enough to come and bid the young fellow good-bye. He turned, and had nearly reached his room at the end of the hall, when the Englishman, who had long been looking with ardent eyes on his lovely companion, suddenly seized her in his arms and kissed her on the lips. She, half in pleasure, and half in anger, let slip a little cry. Her father turned, his face flushed with rage, and at a few short words of command, the burly servant sprang forward at the bold intruder. The latter stepped back in surprise at the sudden onslaught, but when he felt the heavy hand of the ser- vant on his shoulder, with a quick move- ment he seized him at his waist, then arching his back for the effort, hurled his astonished enemy straight over his shoulder, and sent him crashing down, half against the wall and half on the floor. At this exhibition of wonderful strength, the inn-keeper stood staring in the doorway, for he had been an eye- witness of the scene, and was just in time to get knocked sprawling down the stairway by the young officer, who bolted out for his horse, in time to escape a bullet that sung after him. Sometime after this adventure the keeper got sufficient courage to tell of the wonderful power that the old man had exercised over him when he had dared to protest against the mysterious doings in the work room. Of course this increased the feeling against the French strangers a hundredfold. Affairs reached a climax about a month after this time. The old chemist had been working day and night in his closed room, hardly stopping for food or rest At last he reached the end of his endurance and hurried dow.n stairs to sink down into a chair at the table and order food. “Another day and I will have it,” he murmured, and closed

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR. president and replied, “Thanks, aw- fully.” Then producing a piece of scrap-paper, and grinning at the waving trees, he rambled — As green as Pat’s emerald necktie, As fresh as a messenger kid: For Freshmen will be Freshmen, And do as they always did. What will the Sophomores do to them? Yes, what will they do, 0 quid! The Sophs will just be Sophomores, And do as they always did. What will their finish be. my friends ? Thus 1 close my little rid. For poets will be poets. And do as they always did. I I “Extinguish him!” thundered the president. He was promptly “extinguished” by six stalwart footballists. But there was a struggle. And in that struggle every- thing became blurred to the sleeping hero of this tale. With cries of “ A das! A has! every one rushed at his neighbor, and there was a lively melee, like a gigantic football game, with wails and shouts, a perfect hullaballoo. The dreaming Sophomore awoke, shuddered, turned over, and went to sleep again, muttering,— “The next time I play poker my name’s Cicero.” Zbc Bells of Sheathness Mlaoe. LESLIE II. GRANT. A tale, —I’ll tell. A tale, —I’ll tell. Thus ring, to this day, the bells of Sheathness Village, as they swing in the ivied, square-roofed tower overlook- ing the little square. But perhaps you are not acquainted with Sheathness Village. If you are, you will bear me out in my story; if not, I will try to enlighten you. Sheath- ness Village nestles in a green vale of pasture lands, with here and there an acre of oaks to relieve the eye, and is not more than a mile from the Sussex shore; so near, in fact, that when the southern gales are blowing, the “rote,” or low roaring of the beating seas, can be heard plainly by the villagers. “A tale—I’ll tell!” ring the bells; but though they iterate and re-iterate the promise, the telling is left to the inn-keeper of the “Three Trees,” almost under the shadow of the bell tower. The host of this quaint, sleepy hostelry is a harmless, amiable fellow, who, with- out much pressing, will tell you the whole story, with many embellishments of his own thrown in. I suppose nearly every old English village has its “village tale,” but this one is of especial interest to me, perhaps, because I enjoy such lore, and perhaps because it was told me on the very spot of its occurrence. The host, it seems, received this story from his grandfather by word of mouth, and he, in turn, from his grandfather, who was the host of the “Three Trees” at the time. One very stormy night in late Octo- ber the bells rang out the warning that a ship had gone ashore at Sheathness Hook. This ship was a large French brig. From the wreck but eight or nine persons were saved—an old Frenchman with his servant, and his daughter, a beautiful girl, a young English soldier, and four or five of the crew. The Eng- lishman swam ashore with the girl—the rest were saved by the townspeople. Most of the wreckage was claimed by the people, but several large boxes were proved to be the old man’s property, and were taken to the inn where he took lodgings. The English soldier proceeded on to London, but the French family remained in Sheathness. There the old man pro- duced from his rescued boxes a variety of queer bottles and flasks, and mortars and pipes which he (the inn-keeper) did not disturb, as they savored strongly of witchcraft. These things the guest set up in his room and worked there con- tinually, making queer powders and other such things.

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR. »3 his eyes, meaning to sleep only a min- ute. The host bustled in with steam- ing tray, but pitied the tired man and did not wake him. Ilis daughter was working at the window on a piece of lace. But the chemist had forgotten that an important process was going on in his retorts and cylinders. Without a second’s warning there was a fearful explosion, flames rushed from the hall, and the landlord and his servants sprang into the streets, shouting, “The old wizard has done it at last! lie has b.own us all up!” Again the bells rang out their wild alarm, not now fora ship- wreck ; fora still more deadly enemy — fire. It was not long before several adja- cent cottages were shooting forth sparks. Their dry, thatched roofs caught fire like tinder. A frantic crowd had already gathered, summoned by the pealing bells. The screams of a child rose from one of the burning cottages. Blended with the noises of the flames came the wail of a helpless, frantic mother. Suddenly some one shouted, “Who did this thing? Where are they? Find them ! Kill them ! ” From the crowd came shouts of “It is the witches!” “They are burning our houses over our heads ! ” “ Enough of their devil’s doings!” “Catch them! They would burn our wives and chil- dren ! ” All at once the crowd surged toward the trembling pair, for excite- ment runs in a crowd like fire in a stub- ble-field. Rough hands were laid on the old man, and hands no less rough on the beautiful girl. “ She is as bad as he!” “ Take her too! ” “She has an evil eye! ” Toward the Common all rushed, bearing along the prisoners. “We’ll make a fire for them ! ” “ Hurry, hurry ! Such shouts were heard on every side. The old man had now re- covered his usual calm, and went along with dignity while they tore his clothes and pushed him about. But his daugh- ter, with death-pale face, could hardly keep upright. Her clothes were half torn from her, too. One bared white arm bore red cuts and slashes already. “Such tender skin,” they shouted in her ears, as they cut at it, “and yet she would burn our tender children ! The devil finds strange agents for his work !” The Common was soon reached, and while the crowd rushed about them, two fires were built and green withes were brought with which to tie them. Witches were burned at the stake in those days. The old man began to struggle desperately, and the lovely, wild-eyed girl, at sight of the grim faces and the fires, fought with all the rem- nant of her fast-failing strength. But cruel hands were at her white throat, cruel hands bound hers behind her, cruel hands smothered her wild cries. “Throw them on,” howled the now pitiless mob again, as they were forced toward the fires. But just then the crowd turned. A detachment of cavalry were swinging down toward them. Its commander halted and asked the cause of this seem- ing riot. “We are burning witches!” was the answer. Then his eye caught a a pale, imploring face turned to him from the fire. With a maddened shout he charged straight into the mob, his trained men following like one, cutting and trampling all of the aston- ished peasants who dared raise a scythe or a flail against them. On he rushed until, with one hand he raised the un- conscious girl from the ground, and with the other beat down her captors. Again he charged, until the opposition burst and scattered like a covey of part- ridges. A week later the English officer re- turned to the village. Beside him rode the girl and her father ; behind him his soldiers. The townspeople looked on him with threatening eyes, but fear held their hands. Straight up to the church he rode, helped his companions to alight, and led them inside. When the party issued again the young French girl carried flushed cheeks and downcast eyes, the English soldier her hand and a happy smile,— while the Sheathness bells were ringing “A —tale, I’ll tell, a tale, — I'll tell, a tale, — I’ll tell.” So they have rung ever since, but you have heard the tale.