Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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THE SOMERVILLE RADIATOR 9 prising youngster, who thought he was going to earn a quarter, and started up the wharf. When I got to the head of it, the outlook was not en- couraging. There was just one street. On one hand a gentleman was assuring strangers that the best shore dinner could be had on the right, while on the other hand another gentleman was just as positive that we should go to the left. I did neither. Instead. I got into a carriage and took a drive through the town. I was calmly enjoying the quaint little city, when the carriage came to a sudden stop. The reason? Oh. simply we had met another carriage, and the question arose as to who should back into the broader part of the road. It was finally decided that we should turn around and go back over our course. Inside of fifteen minutes I was in a train and on my way up the peninsula. 1 pushed uo the cur- tain and looked out. Sand, sand. sand, and then some more sand, just for novelty's sake. Was there ever such a country? Add to barren reaches of sand an August sun. and ask yourself what beauty there could be in such a scene. Gradually the outlook changed. Here and there patches of grass appeared and stunted pines struggled sturdily for existence. I v the time 1 reached North Truro the aspect of the country was quite changed, and I took courage. As I plunged down a steep hill from the station in a strong country carriage. I looked with interest on the little village. Just one street wound to the north. hite farmhouses snuggled down among eld apple trees, and the village church looked across the street almost into the face of the squat little post-office. Then the well-kept lawns gave way to hay fields, which stretched away, swaying gently in the sun. The sandy road began to wind up and down over hills pretty to look upon, but oh. how trying to the pedestrian! The farmhouses came less and less frequently, and lo! we were away from the village and out in the open country, an undulating, dazzling combination of greens and yellows well calculated to win the heart T f the visitor. That evening I started out from the farmhouse where I was visiting, towards the beach. It was hidden from my view by a high hill, but when one reached the top what a sight greeted the eyes! The water of the bay stretches oft toward the horizon, guarded only by the protecting arm of the cape. Toward the west the sun was just sink- ing behind the little glistening city of Province- town. And as old Sol sank to rest. I turned away, well satisfied that such a scene should end my first day on Cape Cod. It jfisbtng Crip tit Jfoggv JSy? C. JE. 1b. tTClcatbcr HERE'S nothing the matter with the weather. W hy don’t you go fishing now? I’ll go with you. said Mr. Morrill, on entering the woodshed where Harold Atwood and I were sitting early one afternoon on a cold, cloudy day of last July. I was spending my va- cation in one of the outermost towns of Cape C od, Harold was passing a fortnight with me, and Mr. Morrill was a summer visitor with whom I had gone fishing on several previous occasions. Such was his answer to our question as to when, in his opinion, the weather would allow us to go fishing and have some small hope of success. And why shouldn’t we go fishing? Here was an opportunity to give Harold some new experi- ence, for as vet we had been unable to enjoy even that sport on account of continual disagreeable weather. Besides, my mother had remarked that morning that the house was nearly destitute of food, for. like many other small summer resorts, the question of knowing whence your next meal is coming was not one of the least puzzling. Then we were all ready to go. not even having to stop and get bait, because I had dug some on the pre- vious day. not knowing when we might need it. After considering everything to be gained by go- ing. we decided to go. W hile we were running about getting our oiled- skin coats, fishing tackle, and other necessities, my father, noticing our unusual activity, asked us what we were going to do. I told him. and invited him to join the party. Instead of responding, he looked displeased, walked to an easterly window, and stood looking out. while we impatiently awaited his reply. After a moment or so, he

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8 THE SOMERVILLE RADIATOR “letters to a jfresbman 1Rumber Qwc Dear Freshman: Believe me when I say that I wish I could have again the opportunity to begin high school which you are now having. But providentially it comes but once. I mean by that that if you make the most of your opportunity you will never regret it. If you do not, you will regret it just as I do now. And I suppose that is a part of Providence that we should learn by our mis- takes. What I mean by making the most of your op- portunity is this: You are entering school not only fresh in name, but in reputation. None of the teachers know you yet. so that in the first two years you will have the opportunity to make or mar a favorable impression with them, which is no mean consideration. It is needless to say that I marred mine, and have been fighting against a reputation for laziness for the past year. You have another opportunity which comes but once in the course. It is the chance to spread along equally and normally over the four years the work wliich is required to get you into college. Don’t do the way I did. I loafed the first two and a half years, and have spent the rest of the time repeating underclass courses and studying con- tinually. with the awful nightmare of approaching examinations ever hanging over me. And I wasn't the only fool. There were quite a few of us who sat up till twelve o'clock many a night, wish- ing we had again the chance to do our studying more gradually through the four years, as it was intended we should. But we thought we knew, and we had a good time, only to find that those who worked at first have the laugh on us now. Another point: I hope you take the various school interests thoroughly to heart, as well as the study part of it. The football season is now on. and our school has a good team. Don’t leave the support of the school activities to some one else, for if everybody did that nobody would have any interest. You’ll get a lot more out of your course if you support the various athletic, social, and literary enterprises which the schools offer. The Radiatou is a fine paper, but it will be better when all the underclassmen subscribe and try to write stories and class notes for it. 'Hie Debating Society, also, ought to interest you. If you are in the English School, join it. If in the Latin School, make it a point to attend the public debates. You'll be proud to see how well your schools do. Don't forget that they are yours. If you play any instrument except the har- monica. bring it along and try to make the school orchestra. If you’re good at it. vour chances for making it arc good; because not many have the inclination or industry to learn to play anything more than “Chopsticks” on the piano. Above all. be sure to attend your class meetings and join the Athletic Association. Don’t let a clique or a society run the elections. Take an in- terest and interest others. If they want you to run for any office, don’t shirk. You’re probably as good for the place as any one—perhaps better. Don’t be a “Don’t care. or I’ll never be Your friend, A Senior. 3first ITmpresstons of Cape Cob m Isabel m. TllUbcr, X., ’00 1C Ble steamer made its way up Provincetown harbor, I stepped to the rail to catch my first glimpse of the city. It looked as though it had serious intentions of falling into the bay, rising, as it did, from the very edge of the water. I didn’t have long, however, to speculate on the possibilities of such a calamity, for within ten minutes I was on the wharf. And what an uproar! Every kind of noise and cry, from “Carriage, lady, carriage! to Baggage transfer! greeted my ears, until I thought I had stumbled into a miniature Boston. I finally man- aged to get my dress-suit case away from an enter-

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IO THE SOMERVILLE RADIATOR turned and said: “It looks as if the fog might shut in at any minute, and there arc wind clouds off in the east. In short. I won't go, and you shouldn't. Such undeniable arguments, founded on perfect knowledge, should have convinced us. but we had decided to go. and instead of listening to reason, we were soon sailing down the river in my small sailboat. This river flows into the bay about a half a mile below our cottage, and this short dis- tance was quickly covered, and we were soon steering straight for the fishing trap or weir that had been most successful that summer. As the wind was still dead astern, we were alongside within fifteen minutes. We went around the end and came to anchor under the lee of the weir. The fishing around these traps is better than either farther off or close in shore, because perch and flounders feed on the small marine growth on the poles, and the distance at which they are placed from shore has been proved by experience the most profitable. It is not desirable to anchor di- rectly to these traps, however, as there arc leaders under water in which your tackle is likely to be- come entangled. After we had been fishing for about two hours, it became very evident that the boat was dragging her anchor, for we had left the trap far behind, where we had originally anchored. We had not noticed this before, although we had won- dered what made our lines trail out so. As the fishing, which had at first been very exciting, now began to abate and the wind rapidly increased, we saw the necessity of changing our position. Still we fished on, each waiting for some one else to move, until at last we were two miles from where we anchored originally, and our lines could no longer reach bottom. There was no use waiting any longer: indeed, we had waited too long al- ready. Large masses of wild fog were floating over our heads, and night was setting in nearly an hour earlier than usual. We hauled our lines in together, and while Mr. Morrill took in the anchor, Harold set the jib and I hoisted the mainsail, so that we were soon under way. But it was obvious to me almost immedi- ately that little or nothing could be gained by sail- ing. for every wave was so large that they continu- ally threw the boat’s bow off and shook the wind out of her sails, and before she could gain any headway the operation was repeated. I gave up the tiller and took the oars, while Mr. Morrill, who was not yet convinced, tried his hand at sail- ing. By our combined rowing and sailing, we at dusk reached the weir we had first anchored near, but now the trap was directly in our way. and we had either to come about and work up so as to pass to windward of it. or to abandon sailing entirely. We decided upon the latter course, be- cause of the saving of time, and as 1 had been rowing continually since we began to sail. Mr. Morrill relieved me at the oars. The wind had risen to quite a gale, and we began to see the wis- dom of my father's advice. Mr. Morrill rowed until he was exhausted, and we had scarcely gained a hundred feet. Each wave carried the boat with it. and it took one’s entire strength to hold, while on one of these billows, what he had gained with much exertion. Harold and I now took an oar apiece, and it was soon evident that we had gotten to some ex- tent under the lee of the shore, both by our prog- ress and by the size of the waves. It was now dark, and our only guide was the lights in a group of cottages which we knew to be just above the river mouth. What was our astonishment to sec them disappear simultaneously even as we watched! Harold gave several guesses as to the cause, but I knew that the fog that had been lying in a bank off to windward all day had crept in at sundown, and unless we reached the beach before we lost our sense of direction, we would have the opportunity of spending a night on the water, which I personally did not fancy. I took both oars now. and rowed as hard as I could, until it seemed as if we should have reached the beach had we been traveling in the right direc- tion. Just as we had decided to change our course, a verv dangerous thing to do under the conditions, what was our surprise to feel the boat stop abruptly, accompanied by a soft, grinding noise under our bow. On close examination, we found we were really aground, the water and the sand looking so much alike that we had approached it unconsciously. 'I he fog was now so thick and it blended so perfectly with the water that it was nearly impossible to tell whether you were float- ing in fog or water. We followed the shore within ten feet of the water's edge, as there was no surf to hinder us. and after considerable diffi- culty found the river mouth. And what a strange looking river it was! Although I thought I knew every inch of it. I didn't know my way in it. and its strangeness was increased bv the strained condi- tion of our eyes. At last we reached home, and found my father anxiously awaiting us; lie had worried more than we had. We were too tired to do anything but eat our supper and go to bed, reserving the story of our experience until the next day.