Vandergrift High School - Spectator Yearbook (Vandergrift, PA)

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T HK SPEC T ATOR 15 Note: These adventures are given as nearly as possible just as related to me by Mr. Smith, since I believe that no literary flights, however exquisite, could surpass in effect the clearness and simple accuracy which marked Mr. Smith’s narratives. If these accounts have merit, it lies alone in their scrupulous truth and honesty. —The Author. ADVENTURE I. “Necessity is the mother of invention,” and indeed I, William Smith, have often had occasion to note the truth of this adage. When I say this I have in mind an incident which occurred during my first Polar expedition. I had been for several days on the trail, accompanied only by one Eskimo and my dogs. When we halted that night, I found, to my surprise and consternation, that we had not one match with which to light a fire, and as we could not keep moving forever, a blaze was an absolute necessity. However, emergencies such as these never “stump” me for long as I am naturally of an optimistic and resourceful nature and so 1 soon bethought myself of the sunglass which I always carried with me on my tours. But, after a moment of sane deliberation, I soon saw that this method was impossible, since the northern sun at that time rose for so short an interval, and gave so little heat, that it would never suffice to ignite the most inflammable material. At this junctui'e I felt myself barren of further ideas, so, being always a’ded in such dilemmas by smoking my pipe, I filled my meenschaum, and was feeling in my pockets for a match when I remembered myself. “Indeed,” thought I angrily, “either I am getting old or absent-minded!” But now I set to work in earnest to find some method by which I might obtain fire, since my inconvenience was now increased tenfold, due to my being unable to smoke, “To die,” thought I, “is inevitable and not unendurable—but to be without smokes—!” I could not harbor the idea. At this point I bethought myself of an experience in Africa, where I had seen a savage create fire by rubbing two sticks together. But I knew that this required years of practice, in order to acquire the necessary speed of vibration. I knew I had not that speed, and that I must devise some means to make the necessary vibration. At this moment a happy thought struck me, and in a moment I was putting it into execu- tion. First I took my portable phonograph, and putting a jazz recoi'd into place prepared it for playing. Then I piled plenty of fire wood at hand, and, all being now ready, I took two dry sticks, stripped them of their warm coats of bark, started the phonograph, and held the sticks tightly together. In a moment, due to their having no bark to keep them warm, they began to shiver convulsively from the cold, and, this condition being aggravated by the jazz music from the phonograph, which caused them to shimmy quite shamelessly, the two sticks were soon vibrating at an extraordinary rate of speed, and before long, due to the heat of friction caused by their rubbing, the sticks were blazing merrily. With due care these little blazes were nursed into larger ones, and soon my Eskimo and myself were enjoying a meal in the grateful warmth of a roaring fire, while the phonograph ground out merrily the strains of “Keep the Home Fires Burning.” ADVENTURE II. Recently a certain passage in “The Adventures of Baron Munchausen” was called to my attention as being especially unbelievable. In this passage the self-styled “Baron” asserts that during his (imaginary) adventures in the far north it sometimes became so cold that sounds—especially human speech—were frozen. This, be it said, is the accurate truth, but where this imposter found the information I am at loss to say. If my “Memoirs” were at press or had been printed I should suppose that in them he had obtained data, but (or so I thought) they have been kept a profound secret, and I would have thought them safe from prying eyes. But, it appears, this colossal fraud has means of securing access to places where he is not wanted, so to end controversy, and in order that all may judge between my account and his, I hereby publish a true account of my discovery and use of this phenomenon, and of how my life was saved by it. This incident occurred during my third northern expedition in the winter of 1909. We had erected a comfortable cabin in a slight declivity, and this constituted our headquarters. We had constructed it of logs, chinked it as well as possible, and then had carried water from a nearby lake, throwing it over the cabin until a sollo sheet of ice covered it, giving us as cozy a dwelling as could be desired.

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14 THE SPECTATOR obtained this tiny revolver which can be held in the hand undetected. “My first real escape from death happened when I was sent over the top with three other boys to learn how the enemy were behaving themselves and to see what we could do for them. We received our necessary information and when returning they gave us a few shots. On exploding, a piece of shrapnel hit about two inches from my head, striking a German helmet and pushing it in the ground about a foot. I hurriedly picked the piece up and put it in my pocket and that is what you are handling now. “Many months I went through this life, during which time I collected enough medals to make that belt you see. A German officer’s helmet, and a gas mask of German make were the largest articles, but one of the most valuable of these relics was this pair of German binoculars which are of the very best make. Just focus it and look at that flag down the street and see how large it appears. “At last on November 1, 1918, I went over the top for the last time. It was raining ‘knives and forks’ and the night was inky black. It was ideal for an attack. But unfortunately, the enemy thought so too and we met them on the center of the field, in deadly combat. We were too close to use guns so we used our bayonets. I got my first man but as I was preparing to strike again I felt the sharp sting of cold steel as it pierced my back. A deadly fear seized me and I became cold as that blade hit my back. Then I knew no more. I became conscious in the hospital. A beautiful American nurse was sitting at my bedside and she told me how the Americans had been victorious in the battle in which I was wounded. I recovered after lying about six weeks with nothing to do but keep still. I tell you it w s an awful bore. That little French pocketbook was given to me by the nurse with whom I had become quite friendly while in the hospital. I lost all trace of her till last week when I received a letter from her asking me to go up and see her.” “And I’ll bet you’ll go too. I wondered why you were acting so queer for the past few days. But you never mentioned anything about these medals which were given to you.” “Well-er-er—” “Yes, I understand you don’t like to speak of your own bravery, but Hen, I congratulate you on your 100% Americanism.” “Thank you, George, but I just look at it this way; that I did my duty like millions of other boys. But these relics, as I said before, will always be treasures dear to me.” “But say, Hen, I should think that you would consider that little American nurse the dearest treasure you obtained—er—of course you hadn’t said anything about obtaining her, but-a-you do care for her, don’t you?” “Well, I-I suppose I do, and she did say something about-er-er-a-feeling lonesome and I-ah-well, I am lonesome myself and-a—” “I know how it is, Hen. We all fall sooner or later.” “Well, Hen, I surely did have a delightful afternoon but I won’t be satisfied until you have secured the best little token of the Great War that anyone could desire.” All Hen said was, “Wait and see.” —KENNETH STROSTER, ’23. THE ADVENTURES OF BILL SMITH PREFACE ILL Smith, explorer, adventurer, and traveler, needs no introduction. I only wish to assure the reader that the happenings here recorded, as related to me by Bill Smith himself, are absolutely authentic, and are vouched for by the highest authorities. I have been especially appointed by Mr. Smith to record his adventures, and am the sole and only one so appointed. All others are frauds. Therefore, my reader, when you would doubt, remember I beg of you, that “there are more things in heaven and on earth than are dreamed of in thy philosophy.” And be it also mentioned here that Mr. Smith has personally assured me that the so-called “Baron Munchausen” who has created a flurry lately by his accounts of travels in distant lands is an imposter, has never been outside the state where he was born, and is no Baron, but a simple country dweller with an ingrowing imagination which he is turning to good financ’al account. —The Author.

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16 THE SPECTATOR From this cabin I set out one day with two companions for a reconnoitering tour taking along only a homing pigeon with which to communicate with my companions in case of emergency. I intended to be gone but a few hours, so took no provisions. We proceeded swiftly, noting the signs of wild life about us, the vegetation, the ice formation; in fact everything which later might be of benefit to the scientists who awaited the result of our expedition. We had gone possibly five miles, when, without the slightest warning a terrific storm arose, accompanied by sleet and hail of the worst sort. Within five minutes we had lost our bearings entirely. It steadily grew colder, and when the chill began to penetrate my clothing, I knew that something must be done, and that quickly, lest we be frozen. I thought of the pigeon, and fumbled in my coat for paper and pencil, to discover, to my horror, that I had neither. A moments reflection, however, convinced me that it could make no difference, for in this cold a bare hand would stiffen and freeze before a word could be written. I knew that another plan must be adopted. Two heads are better than one, so I turned and shouted to my companions. Not one sound reached them, for the words, frozen dropped to the ground—I stooped and picked up several, examining them curiously. They weighed practically nothing, and suddenly I saw the way out of our difficulty. I found that when words were spok- en quickly, they froze together, and issued in a continuous stream from the mouth, much like the tape from a stock ticker. I took our pigeon from the case (we fed him continually on red-hot whiskey, to prevent his freezing) and fastened several words to his leg. Then I began talking as fast as possible, hooking the first word of the string over one of those previously fastened, where it immediately froze. Then I let the pigeon go, and as he climbed kept the string of words coming, with the result that as he flew, a line of conversation joined us. After a lapse of fifteen minutes, during which I talked continuously, the line slackened, by which I knew that the pigeon had reached his cote. We then simply followed the line, rolling it up as we went, and within an hour we were safely at the cabin, where we put in an enjoyable time listening to my oration as I fed it into the fire and thawed the words out. I had given Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, Patrick Henry’s “Liberty or Death”, and Macbeth’s Soliloquy, and was half through “Casey at the Bat” when the line reached the cabin. We found the words to average in length, about a foot per syllable, from which data mathematical students may compute the exact distance which we had gone from the cabin. Within the near futux-e I hope to publish a scientific treatise concerning my observations of this truly remarkable phenomenon. —JOSEPH A. BREIG. (To be continued) AN INDIAN LEGEND N the moons of long ago the little Indian children had to find their way alone from their mothers’ arms to the Land of Sleep. Sometime they grew frightened at the noises of the night and lost their way in the darkness. They missed the daylight sounds— singing birds, whispering leaves, and running water; and they stumbled over roots and stones. The Great Spirit was sad because the smallest children could not find their way to the Land of Sleep. So he went to the Moon Mother and asked her for some tiny stars. When she granted his request, he took the stars down from the Sky Road that leads to Mother Earth, and at the end of the journey he gave wings to each little star. After that, when the little Indian children went from their mothers’ arms to the Land of Sleep the Stars—With Wings flew ahead of them to show them the way. They made a happy company on the road to the Land of Sleep. The little Stars— with Wings led the way, and the drowsy children ofllowed while high up in the sky the Moon Mother kept loving watch. One night when the company had reached the Land of Sleep one little child was missing. All the Stars-with-Wings went back to find him. The sun had gone to sleep behind the high mountains and the music of the day had stopped—only the West Wind softly singing an evening song. After a long search they found the child. He was lying fast asleep, snug and warm under a tall tree. Lying close by on the ground was a little Star-with-Wings. The Indian children loved the Stars-with-Wings better after this. At twilight you may see in the meadows the Star-with-Wings or the Will-of-the-Wisp guiding some drowsy little child to the Land of Sleep.-LILLIAN BLACK, ’23.