Spencer High School - Spencerian Yearbook (Spencer, IN)

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The Old School Bell. ARTHUR XVELLS, 'l5. Just north of the city of Spencer Is the haunt of our knowledge dispenser, Though of brick and as old as the hills, It is still the seat of a great many thrills. Each morning the bell rings out clearly, And, indeed, it's a sound I love dearly, For so long have I heeded each morning The old bell's regular warning, That it surely would cause me great sorrow If the bell should not ring on the morrow. 10

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The Indian Chief. WALKER OOLEY, '13. Long years ago, when our land was covered with forests, among the simple children of nature, the Red Men, lived a maiden and a young chief who were lovers. The love of the two was beautiful, it seemed that all nature rejoiced with them. The stream which ran along by the village rippled accompaniment to their love, the winds which blew through the trees whispered of it to the mountain beyond, the very birds sang of it. The happiness of the chief and his sweetheart was destined not to last long, for a swift-footedmessenger reported that an enemy was encroach- ing on the tribe's hunting-grounds. All was activity. Each warrior put on his fiercest paint and his best arms, and hastened to the muster-place. There the trunk of a tree was stripped of its bark, and the figure of a man was drawn on the exposed surface to represent the enemy. Into this the warriors threw their knives and tomahawks as if to destroy the hateful foe. Time passed, the war was overg the braves returned. But not all. Among those who did not come back was the young chief who had pushed beyond his companions in a brave search for scalps, and had never more been seen. Great was the grief of the maiden when she heard the sad news of her lover Doubtful of his proper burial,fshe imagined she could see him wan- dering in distress, and denied the Happy Hunting-grounds. In her sorrow she thus prayed: Oh thou Great Spirit, look kindly upon me. Relieve me of my burden, or take away my life-giving breath. Why should this life, prolonged for sadness, be continued? Only show me where my lover lies, that I may bury him aright! Be merciful to me, wretched, and hear my prayer. Thus the maiden spoke. Exhausted from her vigils, she slept. Then a voice whispered the answer to her prayer. Arise, seek thy lover. Follow the warriors' trail to the northward till you come to the shore of a great lake, and in the path of the setting sun, follow the margin till you see a flower, the likeness of which is not on earth gthere you will find your brave. Unswervingly she followed the shore till, as the last beams of day were vanishing over the western hills, she came to where a land-slide had partly filled a ravine. On crossing she saw a strange flower. Its center was as black as the war-lock which waved on the head of her brave, and its petals like the eagle feathers in his raven locks. She knew that this Was the fiower of which the voice had spoken, and that here was her lover's grave. The Great Spirit, watchful for his children, had buried the warrior, and had thus made it possible for the spirit of the chief to enter the Happy Hunting-grounds. The rising sun, with rays of amber, showed a maiden sleeping that sleep which man has not power to disturb. The Red Men came in search of the maid. They buried her beside her lover. The flower, standing sentinel, seemed to grow erect, and the Indians wondering at the token of the gods, named it The Indian Chief. I l2