Warwick High School - Warwick Yearbook (Newport News, VA)

Page 12 text:

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Page 11 text:

5 9 l D E B R I S. dgeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeqx 4' ' Th F ' k W' t X hite's N euralgia 3 3 ran ln ef gi 5 Remedy Cures..... Q ardware Ompany ,' Sold by All Druggists. Q it q 25 and 5o cents. 5 sq gg 3 .K -o ,nz lea... up ,Q V ' J M! -- W C T W V M W 9 : : ii an 'l V 7f' 2 S A l 5 W EN 2,5 LOUIS DURAIN, sv A . sv ni N Q E THE il, . V as l Q CARRIESALINE 01: W A ' 5 2 i 133 N. GOLUMBUS sr. IZ Not Equalled in the Cit . Q ii LANCASTER- OHIO- sv y A gl 'lbnaaaaaaaaaaiaaaaaaiaaaagaaaiaaaaaaaaaif .l A along the road toward Orleans, the raising of dust, the trampling of feet? Why do the women run to their doors with such looks of joy? An army you sayg but how mustered, and why such a look of determination in the faces of the tired foot-sore soldiers? But see! all faces are lifted to- wards a girl in glittering armor, seated on a white charger, with the lily banner of France floating out behind her. And who is this that calls forth such looks of conhdence, such adoration? Joan of Arc! This inspiring leader of men, can this be the same small peasant maid you beheld trudging along the road to Chinon some months ago? Then you have not heard why she is the talk of France, this maid, who, after the greatest per- serverance, was given an audience with the kingg who surprised all with the answers she gave to the white wigged men who prepared her by hard cross-questioning for her station at the head of armies, It was rather through her influence on the common people and on the army than any true belief in her competence that led the king to give her soldiers. Most severe indeed were the hardships she was forced to undergo. But behold her at the seige of Oleans, encour- aging her men, rushing, regardless of danger, into the thick of the fight and finally riding at the head of her army into the city. But un- tiringly she pushes on, rallying her men to the capture of that long line of strongholds leading to Rheims. It is there she brings her king and has him crowned. Then when she might have de- manded honors for herself, her only wish is to return to the peace- ful quiet of her old home at Domremy. But now she is no longer visited by the visions. She is the object of many jealousies, and giving her half-fed, worn-out armies her king and country press her into further use. At last she is cap- tured by the Burgundians and sold to the English. She knows now that nothing can save her. Oh the dragging on of the weary weeks. Will the trial never come? It has come but Joan was convicted before she ever appear- ed. The questions put to her had no exonerating answers and are a shame to civilized countries, while her replies were an illumination. To think that a Bishop of the Church should be one to convict her, this innocent, brave girl! More languishing in cruel pris- ons, more scofhng to be endured, while outside the nature she loved is coming to life. Soon it will be the glad Easter tide. And then her execution! The horror of it! As you read it seems like a nightmare out of which you pray to waken. All roads lead to Rouen, or at least all heads are turned that way. The roads are a mass of living forms all hurrying in the same way, all talk- ing of the same thing. For hours the market place has been packed with people and with armies, and in the midst of it all rises a great structure, a huge platform, with mouth wide open waiting to lap up with a tongue of fiame an innocent young life, as brave a girl as ever lived. A girl made a woman by a few months of re- sponsibility and suffering. The crowd stirs, there is a low rumble as of a growling tiger about to de- vour its prey. Here she comes bravely facing death, she who has lived death over many times in the last few weeks. Who would know her for the pink-cheeked hap- py shepherdess of Domremy, this emaciated girl walking to her exe- cution through a throng of scofiing people, her debtors. Ah, you jeering men where would you and your country be were it not for this maid? The fagots are thrown on, the flames rush with a roar up through many air channels and wrap her in the cloak of a martyr. Bishop of Beauvois, you who have sold yourself for earthly honors, you who are unworthy to throw your- self in these blessed ashes: Oh France! you who have stained your ground with the blood of this glorious martyr-it is too late! She is dead! DOROTHY BELL WHILEY, '1O.

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