AN UNCANNY STONE.
(A sequel to the last chapter of "Wooed by a Sphinx of Astlan."')
"Gigantic shadows, dancing in the twilight Fade with the sun's last golden ray. On quivering bat-wings, sad and silent, Flits darkness--night pursuing day. Hark! as the twelfth hour sounds its knell At midnight, tolls a whimpering bell When yawning graves profane their secrecy. Ghosts stalk in dreamland haunting memory And spectral visions of departed friends arise Who freed of sin, that fetter of mortality, With Angels in their kingdom of Eternal Life Grace Heaven's choir of harmony."
The third day of July A. D. 1907 was a gala-day for the citizens ofPrescott, a historic date for Arizona, as then our governor, in behalfof the territory, formally accepted an equestrian statue from itssculptor.
This monument which commemorates our war with Spain had been erected onthe public plaza of Prescott in honor of "Roosevelt's Rough Riders,"the first regiment of United States Volunteer cavalry.
A master-piece of modern art the statue breathes life and action in theperfection of its every detail, representing a Rough Rider who is aboutto draw his weapon while reining his terrified horse as it rears in alast lunge. This is indicated by the steed's gaping mouth, distendednostrils, the bent knees, knotted chords and veins of its neck and body.
The expression of a noble beast's agony is rendered in so life-like amanner that its protruding eyes seem to glaze into the awful stare ofdeath, and instinctively the spectator listens for the stifled whimperand whinnying screams of a wounded creature.
Borglum's splendid statuary, this heroic cast of bronze which sofaithfully portrays the destiny of a dumb animal, man's most useful andwilling slave, always ready to share its master's fate, even untodeath--to my mind is a most eloquent, if silent, argument against allwarfare.
But the glory of the monument is its pedestal.
A solid stone, a bed-rock from the cradle of the idol-mountain it wascontributed by nature to the memory of one of its noblemen, "CaptainWilliam Owen O'Neill," who crowned his life with immortality, sufferinga soldier's death.
During the storming of San Juan Hill to anxious friends imploring himnot recklessly to expose himself, with smiling lips he gave thismessage of death's Angel, that mysterious oracle of a Sphinx which fromthe gaze of mortals veils their ordained doom: "Comrades, sergeant! Ithank you for your kindly warning--fear not for me, the Spanish bulletthat could kill me is not molded!"--when instantly he fell struckdead--not by a "Spanish" bullet--"no!" but by the bullet fired from aMauser rifle, "not made in Spain." Not an ordinary stone this Arizonagranite rock is entitled to highest honors among the stones of theearth.
By none outclassed in witchery it ranks equally in fame with theBlarneystone of Ireland; old Plymouth Rock does not compare with it,for that derives its prestige only from "Mayflower pilgrims" whoaccidentally landing at its base merely stepped over it.
Proudly our Arizona stone bears a most precious burden--the tribute ofa people who in exalting patriotism honor themselves.
Originally an archaean sea-bottom rock this stone lay submerged in theocean until during the Jurassic Period, under the lateral pressure of acooling earthcrust the table-lands and mountain-chains of Arizona rosefrom the seas.
Then it slumbered through several epochs of geology, representing manymillions of years in the bosom of earth, the mother, until at thebeginning of the psychozoic era, through erosion or the action ofatmospheric influences and nature's chemistry it came to the surface;uncovered and freed from all superimposed stratified rock.
It saw the light of day long before the advent of primitive man; butthe giant-flora and fauna of pre-historic time had developed,flourished and vanished while it rested under ground.
Contrary to the habit of rolling stones which gather no moss, thisArizona stone accumulated much, for when it had reached its assignedsite on the plaza of Prescott it had become a very valuable, expensiverock.
When first I saw it, this fearful Aztec juggernaut was within a halfmile of its destination. Slowly it crawled along, threateningdestruction to everything in its path, and in the course of a week hadarrived at the Granite-creek bridge.
It moved by main strength and brute force employing men and horsesafter the custom of the ancients when more than thirty-seven hundredyears ago King Menes, son of Cham reigned in Egypt, who albeit surnamedMizrain the Laggard, yet was the first king of the first dynasty of thechildren of the sun.
When I saw the direction from whence the stone had come I feared thatdisaster would overwhelm our town and unfortunately was I not mistaken.
At the bridge the stone gave the first manifestation of its unholyheathen power when it balked, defying modern civilization and throughsorcery or in other unhallowed ways contrived to interfere with thepublic electric traction service, paralyzing the traffic so effectivelythat every street car in the town was stopped; not merely a few hours,but for days.
Like that colossus of strength and wisdom, the elephant which refusesto pass over a bridge until satisfied that this will uphold its weight,the cunning stone did not budge another inch until the bridge had beenbraced with many timbers.
As foreseen by me this uncanny rock was sent by the Idol of themountain, the "Sphinx of Aztlan," to cast a hoodoo, an evil spell overthe monument.
It caused dissension among the people and confused their minds intorendering abnormal criticisms, making them indulge in eccentricvagaries and speculations on the artistic and intrinsic value of themonument. Some persons guessed at the value of the metal contained inthe statue, while others reckoned the cost of the horse or that of therider's accoutrements.
However, of thousands of admiring and delighted spectators none sharedan exactly like opinion except in this, that the statue bore noindividual resemblance; but that also was contradicted by a young ladywhom I heard exclaim: "Girls, surely that looks like Buckie O'Neill,but in love and war men are not themselves!" "How do I know? Oh, mammasaid so!"
During the ceremony of unveiling the monument a dark, ragged stormcloud hung over the Aztec mountain, fast overcasting the sky. Thousandsof people strained their eyes and held their breath in the gladanticipation of seeing the features of their lamented friend,Prescott's honored mayor, immortalized in bronze. When after moments ofanxious suspense the veil which draped the statue parted and fell toearth, the sun's rays pierced the clouds, while deafening cheers rentthe air. I thought I heard a weird, faint cry, an echo from thepast--but cannons boomed, drums crashed as a military band rendered itspatriotic airs.
And we saw--not the familiar, fine features of our soldier hero, sostrikingly portrayed by a famed artist and molded into exact, lifelikeresemblance, but instead we beheld an unknown visage--a type, merelythe semblance of a "Rough Rider," its rigid gaze riveted on theIdol-mountain, forever enthralled by the Sphinx.
In nineteen hundred seven, on the third day of July With shining mien and naming sword earthward St. Michael came To save--ever auspicious be the blessed day-- From blighting heathen guile a Christian hero's fame The while, breathless with awe, solemn the people gazed And rhetoric's inspired flame on Aztlan's altar blazed. Adore the Saints, behold a miracle Divine! Hallowed, our Saviour, be Thy Name And Heaven's glory thine!
Of idol-worship now has vanished every trace In deepest crevice and highest place On mesa, butte and mountain-face; From the Grand Canyon's somber shade The sun-scorched desert, the dripping glade And sunken crater of Stoneman's Lake. The "Casa Grande," a home of ancient race-- A ruin now--is haunted by Montezuma's wraith. In Montezuma's castle, crumbling from roof to base The winds and rain of heaven ghosts of the past now chase.
Where erstwhile the Great Spirit's children dwelt Forever hushed is the papoose's wail, and stilled the squaw's low-crooning lilt. No longer shimmers starlight from eyes of savage maids Worshippers of the fire and sun, poor dwellers of the caves-- The sisters of the deer and lo, shy startled fawns of Aztec race Or coy ancestral dams of moon-eyed Toltec doe. Now Verde witc
hes bathe in Montezuma's well And over its crystal waters the tourists cast their spell.
Rejoice! To Arizona has the Saviour vouchsafed His Grace For our Salvation Army lass teaches true Gospel faith: "Be saved this night, poor sinner, repent, the hour is late! Salvation is in store for thee, brother do not delay As fleeting time and sudden death for no man ever wait!" "Praise God!" the lassie's war-cry is, the keynote of her song. To the tune of "Annie Roonie" and kindred fervid lay With mandolin and banjo, marching in bold array The devil's strongholds storming, battling to victory-- With banners flying, the tambourine and drum Forever has she silenced the shamans vile tom-tom. All Fetish Spirit-medicine she has tabooed, banished away Except bourbon and rye, sour-mash, hand-made And copper-distilled, licensed, taxed and gauged, Then stored in bond to ripen, mellow, age. God bless the Army, rank and file who fight our souls to save! Modern disciples of the Son of Man, true followers of Christ, They work by day, then preach and pray and pound their drum at night.
Tales of Aztlan; The Romance of a Hero of Our Late Spanish-American War, Incidents of Interest from the Life of a Western Pioneer and Other Tales Page 11
