Spencer High School - Spencerian Yearbook (Spencer, IN)

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v..v-..:: .,,, . ,, MY BOUT WITH DEATH--Continued. my back and swam very slowly, for I was numb, I could see myself nearing the shore. After keeping this up for what seemed to me hours, I turned over-only to sink. Again I fought my way back to the surface. I could see Jesse, whom the current had swept to a near bank, preparing to come in after me. Then I lost consciousness. When I came to, I found myself standing in water knee-deep, my teeth chattering, my limbs shivering and my voice faintly calling for helpy Finally, with Jesse's aid, I climbed up the low bank. We were in a strange part of the country, but headed toward a farm-house in the distance, which, it seemed, we should never reach. The people were very kind, and after our clothes were fairly dry, we returned to the river to recover our boat, but, alas! it was caught under a log, far out in the stream. So we plodded back to town, minus a good gun each, our borrowed boat, and our stock of confidence in our own boat management. Of course it gave the folks at home a good scare, and as for me-no more duck-hunting in those pesky boats. The Red Bird. UA'l'llARlN1'l M1m,1c:AN, 15. . High up in the top of the old oak tree Sings a reclbird all the day, His song is sweet and full of glee, As he whistles his merry lay. He sings of the cold days that have past, And the coming warmth of spring, The flowers, the trees, the fields so green, That the warm south wind will bring. His song is happy, and full of mirth As he sways aloft in the tree, For nothing troubles him on the earth, And his heart is glad and free. 20

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-v---'v-s--- .7-W - --Hg... W My Bout With Death. HERBERT WHITE, '13, One day in the Christmas vacation, I invited my friend, Jesse Cure of Martinsville, to visit me. When I 'phoned him, he made me promise him a good time before he would consent. This I did readilyg he came on the night train. My, but I was glad to see the rascal! He had not been here long before a duck-hunt was suggested for the morrow. When we found that we could secure a boat without much expense, we were over- joyed. After preparing the necessary outfit, we went to bed, but sleep came only in fitful spurts, for black mallards and teals flew through our dreams. We were up bright and early' next morning, and by day-break had every thing ready for the boat. After gobbling down a scanty breakfast, we started for the river and were soon packed in our long red skiff. As we rounded the eddy, a long curve in White River, the town clock solemnly struck seven. Jesse, who had never heard our clock, asked humorously whose funeral those bells were tolling. We floated on down the river, laughing and joking at each other's luck in the art of rowing and paddling. On our way there were bits of excitementg once Jesse was sure that some old snags, roots of an ancient sycamore, were ducks. Of course we both peppered away at the feathered U5 creatures, but imagine our chagrin when we found out the truth! Again an old king-fisher gave us some mighty fine shots, but neither of us winged him. By this time we had floated down to the first ripple, where I had camped the summer before. Here we began to ply our paddles and were soon shooting down the river at a rapid rate. Then came the dykes-huge piles of stones which were formerly used to keep the river within bounds. Just below the dykes We struck the narrows, where a little creek empties its waters into the river. Here the current was very strong, and swept the boat along like a feather. All at once I was startled to hear Jesse shout, Pull to the right! Quick! for God's sake! I pulled with all my might, but alas! it was too late. The boat struck heavily against a hidden snag, and was upsetting before I could have counted three. At the first shock Jesse was thrown far out into the river, and was instantly swept down by the current. I was left alone in a capsizing boat, unable to help myself. I remember running to the far end and jumping out into the stream with my shot-gun in my hands. - But instead of being swept away, I was caught by my sweater on the roots of the old snag, and there I hung, the current swaying me frantically under the water and out again. With a mighty effort I tore myself loose, and then went down! O, it was horrible! I could not breathe! I could not see! I remember thinking of my mother and my girl, and of their pain if I were drowned. Then my brain cleared! Letting my gun go, I fought for the surface. After years of battling for my breath, I finally reached the top. My lungs were aflame, and the air was life. I had a fight to stay on top, for hunting- ing-boots and shells weighed me down in the icy water. Then I turned on 19

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The Call. COY STEEL, '13, She sat in the shade of the old gray rock, her hands clasped about her knees, her bare feet tucked under her tattered gown. She gazed wist- fully out across the seemingly limitless expanse of majestic hills to where the sun was just disappearing behind Old Baldy's lowest peak. As she drank in the beauty of the evening, a vague feeling of awe for the great world beyond the mountains filled her soul, and she wished that she might go forth and mingle with its people. What was there? Would it fulfill her dreams? Suddenly her reverie was broken by a shrill voice calling, Berna--a -oh-Bernaf' Reluctantly she turned. Then, lithe as a deer, she sprang down the mountain side, in the direction of the Voice. Around an abrupt turn, she came in sight of a little log cabin perched on the hillside, with its scanty clearing at the back. This was her home, the typical home of the mountains, a home of many children and few resources, a home of many struggles and few pleasures. With one longing glance backward, she entered. Just inside the doorway sat her mother, an uncouth-looking woman, smoking a clay pipe. As the mountain girl entered, her mother scolded her for neglecting her work, and roughly commanded her to get supper before pa and the boys came. The girl obeyed with a heavy heart, for her thoughts were elsewhere. She realized that her parents could not understand her intense desire for a different life, a life of broader views and higher ideals than those of the people about her, the people shut in by the confining hills, and denied even the small luxuries which we think so littlc about. Soon the men, rough and hard-featured but withal kind-hearted, came. After Berna waited upon them--for it was the custom in the mountains for the men to eat first, the women serving- she herself sat down to the frugal meal of potatoes and corn-breadg its scantiness was not noticed, however, by the mountaineers accustomed to privations. The supper over, the girl climbed into the loft where she slept. Taking an old spelling-book from a chink, she sat down to read by the feeble light of a small candle. An old circuit rider had given her this book, and the little worn volume, together with the promising report which had worked itself back from a friend who had gone into the settlements below, had awakened within the girl an ever-restless and active desire for the light. First she had merely wished to master the old speller, but that accomplished she desired more books and a chance for schooling. To gain this she knew that she would have to go into the outside world, the world that seemed so distant to the backwoods farmers, for in their locality schools were entirely unknown. Every night she sat poring over her treasure, until her mother, little appreciating the girl's thirst for a fuller life, would call to her to stop her foolishness It was the pathetic story of a girl struggling under every disadvantage to rise above her existence, 21