Wakefield High School - Oracle Yearbook (Wakefield, MA)

Page 7 text:

THE W. H. S. DEBATER tf lITTlECRAYMUmREL Am rove-coLORBD rieeoij- JiT ITTLE Gray Squirrel was very busy putting y. peanuts into holes in the ground in the yard of the Great University. It was summer and many mortals had come from far in search of morsels of learning, bringing in their pockets peanuts and kernels of com, which they very con- siderately threw on the ground. Dove-colored Pigeon, perched airly on the arm of a settee near-by, watched him at his work. You are very foolish, Little Gray Spuirrel, to work so hard this hot weather. Why do you not eat your breakfast and enjoy yourself as I do ? Little Gray Squirrel gave his bushy tail a little toss, winked his left eye, and went on with his work. By and by the mortals departed, each his own way, and there was an end to the peanuts and kernels of corn. Again Dove-colored Pigeon perched herself on the arm of the settee ; but this time her tail-feathers drooped very disconsolately, for she had had no breakfast. You are very fortunate to have so many peanuts to eat, she re- marked in an envious tone of voice to Little Gray Squirrel, who was busy taking them from a hole in the ground. Little Gray Squirrel gave his tail a triumphant toss, winked one eye and replied, You can ' t have your cake and eat it too. Elizabeth F. Ingram. The Indian ' s Lament BY PAULINE TAFT, ' 14 THE summer sky glowed with the last rays of the setting sun. Quietly twilight was falling and the shadows lengthening over the lake. Softly through the underbrush along the western shore of the lake crept a dark figure, tall of stature, with a swathy skin, high check bones, and piercing black eyes. It was Big Chief Quonopohit, who had returned to his hunting grounds of the long ago. Stealthily he crept nearer the shore and looked across the darkening surface of the lake. Where was his wigwam and the little village of his Saugus tribe of Indians ? In their places he saw the fine houses of white men, with velvety lawns extending to a broad street. Glittering reflection of the setting sun still lingered on the windows of the houses, appearing to the inexperienced eyes of the old Chief like in- numerable suns blazing in the east. In place of the old trail through the forest, there was a street with trees on either side. Along this street flashes of lightning seemed to follow huge monsters, while other monsters with gleaming eyes rushed wildly about in the gathering gloom. Only the lake remained as it used to be. Instinctively the old Chief raised his bow. A sudden noise startled him. Well he knew that sound. It was the sound of a paddle dipping in the water. Slowly the canoe came into sight, but how different from the birch bark canoe with which he was familiar. The canoe glided gracefully through the water with its fair-haired pale-faced occupant. Presently voices were heard and more canoes appeared until the twilight seemed full of gay chatter and laughter. As he looked the last ray of light faded into darkness and the first twinkling star appeared. Listlessly the bow fell to the old chief ' s side and a feeling of homesickness and regret came over him. Why did I, James Quonopohit, proud Sachem of the Saugus tribe of Indians, sign the deed which gave this fair land to the white man, he muttered, and wrapping his blanket closer about him, he turned sadly away and disappeared in the dark- ness.

Page 6 text:

THE W. H. S. DEBATER proud Chief Wasawam. In vaid did the Indian maiden plead with the father to be allowed to marry the man she loved. Chief Wasawam was obdurate. Made desperate by the thought of the marriage which was so repugnant to her, on the morning of the wedding day, she fled to the rock now known as Castle Rock, and threw herself from the cliff and was killed. Many years after a wealthy white man planned to build a castle on the rock where the Indian mai- den met her death, but for some reason the plan failed and ncthing came of his castle in the air. The rock, however, received the name of Castle Rock. Such is the legend that wes told to me, whether it is true or not, I can not say. Breaking in A Landsman BY ROBERT HOLMES JrVE merry campers were we, seated around a soap box, before a cherry fireplace, eating our breakfast, when the skipper suddenly suggested that we take a run over to Gloucester in tke launch, a distance of about ten miles. We readily agreed, and after hurriedly finishing our breakfast, the mate and the crew fixed the camp up ship shape, the cook and I washed the dishes, and put what was left ot the grub into the box transformed into a pantry, while the skipper carried the battery box to the launch, and tuned up the engine. Fifteen minutes later we were on board the launch. The engine, after its usual sputtering, and balking, started, and we were off towards the quaint little city of Gloucester. The sky was clear the sun shining brightly, the engine running smoothly, and there was hardly a ripple on the surface of the ocean, and so, of coarse, nothing un- usual happened on the way over. How could any- thing happen with such ideal conditions ? We arrived in Gloucester harbor in about two hours, and after making fast to one of the piles of the pier, beside which lay a long, black, fiishing schooner, we wandered up one of the narrow cob- blestoned streets to the center of the town. Here we amused ourselves by looking around a bit, and buying a few souvenirs. Then after a good dinner at a nearby restaurant, we returned to the launch. But what a change had taken place. The sky was black, and filled with hurrying clouds, the wind was blowing in fitful gusts, the sea was a murky, inky color, and one could feel in his bones, that a storm was brewing. We tumbled quickly into the launch almost without a word. The skipper started the engine and we glided away from the wharf. The mate steered while the skipper stooped over the little engine, getting all the speed possible out of her. The rest of us pulled down the rainshield and fastened it, got out the oilskins, and put all our purchases under the little fore and aft decks, where they would be dry. We were soon out to sea. The skipper sat at the wheel, the mate and cook held a rubber poncho over the engine, an additional protection against the spray, and the crew and I sat aft in our oil- skins trying to keep the ship trim. All of us ex- cept the cook had been out in this little launch in rough weather before; but the cook was a lands- man, who had never seen a body of water larger than a country pond until he joined our camping party. Imagine his feelings as the little boat pitched, and rocked, and sank her nose into the crest of a huge wave, which broke with a terrific splash through the rainshield, drenching him to the skin. But he was game all right, as he sat huddled beside the engine, his teeth chattering, his knees quaking, trying to smile as he clutched the rubber poncho in the attempt to keep the engine dry. There was really no danger. The skipper handled the little boat finely, the engine ran as smooth as grease, and we managed to keep most of the water pumped out of the bottom of the launch. But whenever a large wave came over the bow with a splash, we could see the cook cringe, and then utter a whoop of joy as he triumphed over the wave and held the poncho in place. After a two hours ' struggle with the storm, we found ourselves running with the waves and approaching a safe harbor. All except the cook proceeded to take off their oilskins and to make themselves comfortable. He alone remained at his post and refused to talk. It was not imtil supper was over, and we were seated around a roaring camp fire that he uttered a word. Then he broke forth into a wild and impassioned oration on the character and appearance of waves, and the folly of going to sea in a tub; and ended by solemnly de- claring that never again would he attempt to sail the seas in anything smaller than an ocean liner.

Page 8 text:

THE W. H. S. DEBATER THE TRINITY OF LABOR === BY MARJORIE CARTWRIGHT, 1912 Against the simm ' ring shafts of mid-day sun The glow ' ring city flings its soot-clad towers ; Along its streets the busy hum of life. The stir of noon-returning toll with cries Confused, and mingling hoarsely like the sound Of seething surf breaking with sullen song Upon the shore, moves army-strong, and like The vandal hordes, vast and all-conquering. Sweeps away huge barriers and surges On to meet the whistle ' s clarion call. Street venders, raucous voiced, shout loud Their petty wares, and crowd the thronging press With elbowed mutterings, while blue-sleeved law Restrains with Vviide-protecting arms, and guards The trafficked curb. And still the hot sun pours Its burning rays upon the beaten pave Reflecting twice and thrice its mirrored self : While echoing and re-echoing toil Its step directs in duty ' s pathless way. And higher up the deafening clamor mounts Upon the sultry, leaden winged air Far up where office windows burnished gleam. And brain and concentrated thought provide Th ' accustomed tasks of daily man. Here life And all its myriad movements are controlled. And strength is taught the power of reason ' s sway : Here Capital pours forth its golden flood To labor ' s outstretched hand, and craftily Extracts its more than rightful due, watching With hundred peacocked eyes its victims wrilhe. And struggle in the gilded toils : here, loo. Calm-thinking Science sits, and chin on hand. Broods pensively some new device for man; Or oft conceives a filmy thread of thought. Weaving the warp and woof iiito a web Of perfect structured form, that shall teach men The guiding of the universe, — shall show To Capital the master of its power, Shall give to sweating Labor hard wrought wage — Science, dependent victor that she is. Half grudgingly shall give her counseled craft. And here shall Capital and Science both Watch Labor ' s ceaseless toil, and listening Shall hear from out the depths of seething earth Its chorded song rise full and mellow, like The swelling organ ' s rounded harmony Full-throated from the diaphragm of Toil ; Still with intentness listening, shall discern