Walt Whitman Junior High School - Pioneer Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY)

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THE ANSWER AN ENGLISH KING REVEALS A STRANGE SENSE OF HUMOR Many years ago, as King john, the reigning king of England, was taking his morning stroll a- round Buckingham Palace, he chanced upon Lord Tryon, with whom he frequently conferred on important matters of state. As they chatted, the conversation turned to an exchange of their war experiences. Reminiscing, the King related an incident which occurred in his youth while he was in the army. The King, together with oth- er British noblemen, was cap- tured by the enemy and sentenc- ed to immediate death. The prisoners were lined up for ex- ecution, and, just as the enemy was taking aim, there was a sud- den attack by the British and they were set free. HA remarkable escape, indeed,H Lord Tryon said when the king finished his story, Ubut how did it feel to be so close to death?H The king stiffened, apparent- ly'very much annoyed at this question. HHow dare you ask me such a question?H said the king. Lord Tryon looked bewilder- ed and asked him what had made him so angry, repeatedly apolo- gizing for his apparently of- fensive remark. The king, never- theless called to the castle guards and ordered them to take Lord Tryon to the dungeon to a- wait execution the following morning, Lord Tryon could hardly be- lieve it! HDeath for a simple question to my friend, the king?H he thought to himself, unbeliev- ingly. He sat in the dungeon l 22 thinking and trying to under stand this terrible and unex- pected turn of events. He re- membered how much trust the king had always put in him and tried desperately to think back to the exact moment he used the word which might have offended the king. He was tortured by the thought that his life was to end so suddenly and unexpectedly, and was filled with a terrible desire to live. That night sleep was impossible. At dawn a guard arrived and led the dazed Lord Tryon to the courtyard. The sweat was drin- ping from his face. With bow- ed head and shaking legs, he walked to the wall of the court- yard. He found it hard to be- lieve that death was inevitable, even though he knew it was so. Silently, he prayed as he stood against the wall facing the fir- ing squad. Suddenly, the king, standing in the back of the courtyard, shouted an order. The firing squad raised their guns. Lord Tryon closed his eyes. The king shouted another order and the firing squad took aim. Lord Tryon's body tensed as he wait- ed for the last order. A final time the king shouted:HHalt!n The king walked up to Lord Tryon and said, nYou wanted to know how it felt to be at the point of death. I think you now have your answer.H n Lord Tryon opened his eyes wide, unbelievingly. Managing to speak, he said, with a deep sigh, HYes, now I know.H Steven Flexser

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DEATH MUTINY He whipped us unmercifullyl He made the crew go hungry! He worked us eighteen hours a day, but he was captain and he was supreme. From his first brutal act,we knew he was not fit to command. While we were off the coast of New Zealand, one of the men was caught stealing a few morsels of bread. He was stripped to the waist and beaten mercilessly with a cat-o'-nine-tails. Other heartless punishments for minor offenses continued for weeks on end. Then the crew took action. The captain was with the pi- lot when mutiny rang through the ship. It was a bloody but short Sailors fell limply on revolt. the deck as they were overpower- ed. The shouts of helpless men competed with the explosive noise of the musket. There was the re- lentless thud of falling men and the slash of the cutlasses. When the sudden revolt ended, the ship was in the hands of the mutineers with the captain locked in the galley. But the crew was not satisfied. They wanted the captain to be punished for his fiendish practices. A vote was proposed and the crew agreed that the captain should be whipped. His once mighty figure was shackled to the mast like a com- mon seaman. Each time the whip cut into his flesh the crew roar- ed. Each slash paid for one more of his vile acts. Suddenly a volley of French guns thundered across the port side, and the deck became a con- fusion of debris and broken bo- dies. The evil captain lay dead crushed bv a fallen mast. Again .. 4?5:L. .1 .f-'ith 'ZS -is sh i f ff-git.-.... 4 , 9 A.-3, 3' 5' ii- Z- - Q- - -s-':.2-b -Wim a volley of shells thundered across our bow and smashed into our hull, Fires broke out in the magazine. We were in serious trouble. The guns were red hot and couldn't be fired. Our once proud ship was now a raging in- ferno. The men cried in agony as the flames licked at them. Moments later two British men- of-war came into view. Unknown to us Britain had de- clared war on France months be- fore, after a series of interna- tional incidents. Again guns fired and men screamed. This time French blood stained the water. Our survi- vors were picked up by one of the British ships. That's the story as I saw it, and here I am with the other nine- teen members of the ill-fated crew about to be hung in a public square in London. Keith Sherwood Z1

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,X lr. p C nm! f i I ml5 'Llm i . HH , I - a ii , si if .eta -1 1 E I I i i A THE LAST MILE ,R l My footsteps fell with dull thuds as I moved along the nar- row corridor. HPressH, said I, flashing my credentials at the guard standing by the gate. This was not my first hanging nor would it be the last. I had been in other prisons, but this particular one had an eerie feeling at the moment. I walked by the cells and glanced at one sullen prisoner after another. They seemed to look at me with a dull curiosity, probably due to the fact that I was a well-known news correspondent. Oh, I hated this place. I could think of two hundred other places where I'd rather be, but a job is a job. This prison seemed so familiar, but then again all death houses are alike I had reached the witness box and the heavy metal doors were swinging open. I entered the room and was momentarily blinded by the sun shining through the solitary window. I approached the window and gazed out. Before me was the gallows. Here is where I would stand and see a man pay for his crimes.and,tonight, before retiring,would write a story that would capture the reader's attention. A man's life would end and the reader paying ten cents would enjoy reading about it. The more grue- some the story the better! Oh, well, mine is not to reason why. Mine is to do or-- Nwhat are you doing? Let go of my arm. I'm from the press. Don't you understand? I'm here to cover the hanging. I'm not the victim. Where are you taking me?U HThe gallows? No, not the gab lows. I'm from the press, the press,H I repeated frantically as the trap door sprang shut andl darkness enveloped me. jane Berman 23