Page 48 - 1959

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AFRICAN NIGHT
Nothing is so breathtakingly beautiful and so hauntingly hostile as an African night. In Africa there
is no twilight; first the sun is high on its meridian, then in a glorious burst of crimson, orange, and pink, it drops behind the rim of hazy, blue hills in the distance. Over the scorched land comes the cool relief of night.
The velvet blackness of the sky is pricked by a myriad of dancing, frolicking stars while Orion and Arcturus keep guard over the hushed world. Above the jagged, craggy outline of the mountains, a shade blacker than the sky, climbs the African moon, pale, virginal, and aloof.
Beneath the high-riding moon, a new world awakens. For anyone who is unused to African nights, the sounds hold a nameless harrow and dread. Each slight noise, magnified by the intensity of listening ears and a wildly beating heart, becomes a legion of shapeless, formless terrors .
A vague whisper of a breeze glides through the treetops, having a different effect on each tree. The palm fronds rub together dry-ly, giving almost the same sound as the scratch of a cobra's scales on the dry earth. The mango leaves, shining silver in the moonlight, give a gentle slap-slap sound, contrasting with the soft rustle of the Flame of the Forest leaves.
Who can tell what dangers lurk in each shadow, the dark jungle, on the rugged mountain? The grass sways and parts at the noiseless passing of a mamba. A low cough heralds the night-hunting of Damisa the leopard; in answer, a twig snaps, betraying the terrow of a startled doe. The incessant chirping of cicadas is interrupted only by the weird, raucous laughing of a distant hyena.
The deep, rolling thunder of the jungle drums wells over the tree-tops, rolls down the valley, and echoes from the mountains. In a jungle clearing, naked savages dance and sing in a wild, throbbing rhythm. Under the moon, they play out their destinies in the pattern of the ages.
A baby wails from the dark recesses of a smoky hut. Life will never be easy for this child of the forests and mountains. He will be a warrior as his father was before him, and his father's father; and warriors must be strong, valiant, and unflinching.
In another hut in the bush, a miner tosses on his camp cot. He mutters a curse as he slaps wearily at mosquitoes. Will there ever be one peaceful night, one night without the drums and without the mos- quitoes?
A cool wind springs up, proclaiming that dawn is near. Over the horizon creeps the first pink and gold streaks of light; the slumbering world begins to toss off the bonds of sleep. In minutes the night will be forgotten in the ceaseless moil and heat of the merciless day.
AUDREY ABERNETHY 12A
BRAVERY AT SEA
As I watched the ship that morning, I saw the people on board waving handkerchiefs confidently
to the crowd on the shore, and heard the boat's horn hooting. It seemed such a note of certain victory and earnest bravery that I felt sorry for those on shore and the disillusionment that they were in. Bravery? Unheard oH Inside the ship, captain and crew alike fought their fears because their mission was indeed a dangerous one. They were to travel across the Gulf of Mexico, that hugh, wild expanse of water.
All went fine the first day. The crew managed to stay on the top deck most of the time because, in the case of any sudden emergency, they must be the first off. Several boat drills were held so that shouldthe boat sink, therewould be nodangerbecausethe crew all knew their life-boat and the passengers - well, they didn't really matter.
Then disaster struck! It was the second day of the dangerous voyage when the man who daily col- lected the eggs from the craw's nest spotted, upon his descent, a piece of drift-wood adrift. The nerve of it drifting along there unnerved and infuriated him. Leaning over the side to get it, he fell in. The ship manoeuvred to try to rescue him. In all the excitement, however, the ship hit an ice cube. This proved disastrous. First thing I saw after that was the brave captain lowering a life-boat for himself and the crew doing the same. The passengers all drowned but why did it matter? The captain and the crew were off. In the papers, the disaster was a picture of true bravery and sea rescue. Only forty-nine passengers drowned (all there were on the boat) and the crew and captain, bravely, staunchly, and fearlessly went down to a watery death.
Some weeks later, however, I saw the same captain working m a downtown store. Although he didn't recognize me, I saw him, that wonderful captain who drowned so faithfully for his ship.
CAROLYN CHRISTENSEN 9A