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Cape Cod's Figure in Black

Page 10

by Bill Russo


  On the day she filled in the last page of the notebook given to her long ago, she drank deeply from her lake and walked to the burial hole. She looked sadly at the crumbling pile of rocks that had once resembled a warrior, disfigured by age and ready to collapse. She thought to herself, “We are twins now, old stone face. I too was once young and as beautiful as you were handsome.”

  With her hand she scooped away the last bits of the dirt supporting the granite visage.

  “Now we both will die.”

  A hawk flying high above, dive bombed so close to her she could see into its eyes.

  The penetrating, all seeing, dark orbs seemed to be sending a message - a signal of mourning and condolence.

  The fierce predator appeared to realize that the last of a great race was leaving earth. It was a breed of beings, not unlike his own species, that took what they needed for survival and no more: a people that gave back to the land in equal measure to what they took from it. A group of souls that the other people on earth derided, saying that the “Indians” had never invented anything of worth, like muskets and gunpowder.

  The hawk reached the bottom of its rapid dive and started to turn upwards. For a tiny fraction of a second it was absolutely frozen in the air, caught in that millisecond where there is no upward flight and the descent has stopped.

  In that brief slice of time the bird was absolutely still – neither elevating nor falling. That ‘second of stillness’ is a scientific fact. It is also a fact of science that birds cannot cry.

  Yet, as Scargo pushed aside the final fragments of earth and the stone face started to fall upon her – she saw tears in the hawk’s eyes that matched the ones in her own.

  The bird began its upward thrust. The Great Stone Face and all of its jagged parts tumbled down upon Scargo and covered the hole, leaving only a mound of granite blocks resembling the shape of a pyramid.

  Chapter Thirteen:

  Rebuilding the Ruins

  John Deer’s eyes clouded again. He closed them, blinking away tears of his own, as he pondered the ill fate of the vanished tribe. He felt soft, warm hands on his forehead.

  “You have suffered much from your injury John Deer and you have helped many people. Your long journey is near its end. I ask you for help for my people, but I will give you something in return. “

  “I’ll help you any way that I can Princess, but I’m not sure what to do. You don’t have to give me anything. I just want to help your people because it is the right thing to do.”

  “I have already given you something but you will not realize it until you get back on the train for Provincetown.”

  “How can I help the Nobscussett people?”

  “When I lied down and pulled the stone face onto me as a covering for our tomb, I had something in my hand. It was a notebook that tells the history of our tribe. In anger, I did not want any ‘white’ person to ever know of us – but I have changed my mind. Will you push aside the granite blocks and retrieve the notebook?”

  “Certainly. I’ll be happy to do it. What else can I do for you?”

  “Find a way to make our burial ground secure for us. Please ensure that no one can ever disturb our resting place.”

  “I have the means to do that Princess and I give you my solemn oath that it will be done.”

  As he spoke these final words the Princess removed her warm hands from his head and smiled. She began moving backwards, her image becoming translucent. In a moment she was gone.

  John Deer lied down on his bed of pine needles and slept. When he awoke at dawn he was unsure if he had really spoken to the American Indian Princess, or if it had been a dream – or perhaps another symptom of the brain injury that gave him the blessing/curse.

  It didn’t matter to him whether Princess Scargo had appeared to him in flesh or fantasy. He had pledged to help keep the memory of the tribe alive and he knew just who to call on for help.

  He began walking as quickly as he was able, to a building near the Dennis Town Hall. Soon he saw the place he was looking for. It had a new sign in place of the old one that had simply said, “Dennis Stables”. The new name of the business was Albert Crosby and Son – Motor Car Sales.

  “Hello Mr. Crosby. You probably don’t remember me, but I rented a Model T from you a short time ago and your son Albert, Junior was kind enough to…..”

  “Course I remember you. We don’t get that many bearded young men all dressed in black requesting to rent a horse and buggy anymore! I had to twist your arm to get you to rent a motor!”

  “Yes and I’m glad you did. I found Albert to be a fine machine pilot. I need his services again. Is he available?”

  Albert was, and he was only too happy to spend the day chauffeuring John Deer. Albert remembered that he liked the ‘figure in black’ as he called him, and he liked the generous tip that he received.

  “Where to Mr. Deer?” said Albert as he pulled out onto Main Street, revving up the engine of the ‘flivver’. He soon got the motor car up to more than 20 miles per hour!

  “I’m looking for an old friend Albert. He’s in the construction business and is a boat builder. His name is Jimmy O’Kelly.”

  “I know him. Everybody in Dennis knows Mr. and Mrs. O’Kelly. In fact we recently sold them an automobile. I’ll have you there in ten minutes.”

  The ‘tin lizzie’ rolled to a stop in front of a beautifully kept, two story home overlooking the Swan River in Dennis Port. John Deer could see a fine vegetable garden in the rear yard along with a freshly painted red barn and a few outbuildings. An ornamental wrought iron fence enclosed the front yard which was home to a stunning rose garden surrounded by lush green grass and bright autumn flowers.

  “Thanks Albert. Will you please wait for me? I may be a little while, but I’ll want you and your motor for the whole day.”

  As his driver nodded agreement, John Deer got out of the Ford and started walking towards the open gate that framed the lovely home fit for a sea captain.

  From the second floor sitting room, Lucy O’Kelly glanced out towards the street and was startled when she saw a man stepping towards her fence. He was fairly young with a well kept beard. What was unusual was that he was dressed entirely in black from his shoes to the flat, wide brimmed hat on his head.

  “It can’t be!” she gasped. “Jim! Jimmy!” she called to her husband who was in his study working on some construction prints. “Come here honey, I think our benefactor from Gray Gables has returned!”

  In a few moments Mr. and Mrs. O’Kelly opened their front door and saw again the enigmatic ‘figure in black’, who had literally given them both new lives when they were at their lowest point.

  They welcomed John Deer and quickly served him coffee which he took with no sugar and fresh baked bread, which he took with no butter.

  “This is just like the first time I met you Mr. Deer,” said Lucy. “I was in that horrible diner near the Gray Gables Railroad Station and thought my life was over. You told me all I had to do to solve all my problems was follow you onto the next train. I thought it was insane, but for some reason I did it.”

  “And I thought it was crazy Mr. Deer, when you met me in Boston and told me to get on the train and go to Monument Station. I was very seriously thinking about ending my own life but you told me all that I had to do was get on the train again on the first run the next day and all would be well. We are living a fairy tale life now and it’s all thanks to you.”

  After spending a few minutes catching up on the details of Lucy and Johnny’s courtship and wedding, John Deer got to the point of his visit.

  “Jim, I need your help in a building project. Will you go with me today to North Dennis Village so I can show you what needs to be done?”

  O’Kelly quickly agreed and the two men went outside and got in the waiting motor car. Albert Crosby gave a hard pull on the crank in the front of the vehicle. After a backfire and a cloud of black smoke, the
‘Tin Lizzie’ started right up. He jumped in the driver’s seat and drove down Main Street at a murderous clip of over 25 miles per hour.

  “Albert, I know you’re a wonderful pilot, but I don’t think the motor was meant to go this fast!” exclaimed John Deer, who had a white knuckle grip on the stirrup mounted above his seat.

  “It’s okay Mr. Deer,” laughed Albert flashing a set of even white teeth that seemed even whiter when contrasted with his curly red hair and the hundreds of brown freckles on his face. “You’re just not used to riding in anything that isn’t powered by something with hooves and a tail. Tell him Mr. O’Kelly!”

  “He’s right John,” Jimmy laughed. “These cars actually can go even faster than this, except for the poor roads we have. Someday when the highways are paved in something better than cobblestones or hard packed soil, automobiles will be cruising at speeds of over 40 miles per hour!”

  Pretty much reassured by his friend, John Deer relaxed for the remainder of the five mile ride to Scargo Lake. He showed Jimmy the great mound of boulders, as well as the graceful stand of Hemlock trees. He briefly explained the history of the location and the story of the princess and her tribe.

  “Jim, I want to enclose the Hemlocks with a fence of iron rails and granite posts. I want no gates however. The area is going to be perpetually open for visitors to sit by the trees and meditate. I want to put a few granite benches near the trees. Perhaps we’ll make a single plaque of iron, with raised letters to mark the meaning of this place.”

  “This is a very easy job John. I’ll put my men on it and have it done inside of three days. “

  “That’s not the main job Jim. The big project has to do with that mammoth pile of boulders. That rubble was once a natural statue of an Indian Chief. I don’t want to re-create the statue but what I wish, is to use the rocks to build a tower. I want to build a granite tower as high as we can, so that people can climb it and from its peak, be able to see almost all of Cape Cod from one end to the other.”

  “That is a big job John. I can get the men and help you out with the cost but it is going to be very expensive.”

  “I appreciate what you are offering my friend, but I want no special price on this. I desire it to be done as quickly as possible and in this matter, money does not matter. I want you to charge me a full and fair price for the job. I have already been paid for it in a way that I cannot explain to you.”

  It was agreed that Jimmy would go home and immediately set the project in motion. He would draw the tower plans and the prints for the fence that very evening and get started on the project the next morning. Workers from as far away as Bourne to the West and Truro to the East would be brought in so that the entire job could be completed in less than a month.

  As the construction proceeded, John Deer had increasing doubts as to whether he had actually spoken with the flesh and blood incarnation of Princess Scargo, or if the whole affair was just an illusion induced by his affliction – the unhealed divide in his head.

  The answer to his uncertainty came soon after Jimmy’s crew had cleared away the stones covering the tomb. A few moments of digging led to the grim discovery of the bones of the tribe, just as the princess had said.

  In the skeletal fingers of a tiny hand, was a leather-bound note book – the diary of Princess Scargo. It confirmed everything that she had told him.

  Though he still couldn’t be sure if he had communicated with her in person or through a dream, it didn’t matter. He had her written record of the Nobscussett tribe. Later, he donated the priceless work to the Cape Cod History Association.

  True to his word, Jimmy O’Kelly and his crews finished everything in less than a month. With newspapermen from half a dozen village presses covering the event, the tower was opened to the public on November 24, 1910. As per John Deer’s instructions, there were no gates leading to the structure, no fences locking it off from public access, and no admission price. It would forever be free for any person with a desire to climb to the highest place in middle Cape Cod and gaze down upon Scargo’s Lake.

  Scargo's Tower - photo copyright, Bill Russo

  Sixty feet tall, the tower on Scargo Hill is the highest point in all of Middle Cape Cod and was the highest place for hundreds of miles in all directions for a few months, until the completion, a few months later, of the 252 foot Pilgrim Monument in Provincetown.

  Getting to the observation deck at the top is easily accomplished by mounting the steel steps of an interior spiral stair case.

  A steel, spiral staircase winds up the tower to the observation deck where you can see the lake as well as the Big Water, and all the way to Provincetown. Photo by Bill Russo, copyright 2016

  The tower is open every day. There are no fees. It is one of the most popular tourist destinations in a land overflowing with historic places and beaches. It is located very close to the final resting place of the princess and her people.

  Scargo Lake as it was in 1910. Photo - copyright, Bill Russo

  Two weeks before the completion of the tower, the fence enclosing the stand of Hemlock trees was completed. As requested, Jimmy installed a granite slab bench for people to sit on. As the years passed however, the bench became a display table for the various gifts of beads, pottery and such that were left for the princess.

  The two acre stand of graceful Hemlocks was surrounded by a double set of iron rails embedded in sturdy granite posts.

  Best of all, Jimmy O’Kelly had crafted a plaque, which would be the sole marker in the burial ground. There would be no stones or other writing, only the following inscription of raised letters on bronze…..

  “Burial Ground of the Nobscussett Tribe of Indians, of which tribe Mashantampaine was Chief.”

  Photo copyright by Bill Russo

  Just before the burial ground was opened to the public John Deer dragged to the granite bench, three sacks full of items purchased from Duffy’s Mercantile. The bags were full of glass beads and other trinkets that had gone out of style years before. The figure in black thought that they resembled the baubles the Europeans used to induce the “Indians” to give up their lands without payment of money. He spread them around the bench and at the base of the trees to remind visitors of the shabby treatment given to the original people of Cape Cod.

  To his surprise, guests at the graveyard followed suit and brought things of their own to deposit as gifts. They left coins, dollar bills, hats, shirts, beads, feathers, shells, pottery, smooth stones and all manner of interesting items.

  The bench became a shelf for the tributes to Princess Scargo.

  The lake is just beyond the trees. Bill Russo photo.

  Tribute to Scargo, placed on the Hemlock by a visitor to the burial grounds in summer, 2016. Bill Russo photo

  For more than a week after the opening of the burial grounds John Deer stayed at the Corporation Beach Hotel eating his evening meals happily in the comfortable dining hall and reposing in his soft bed at night, without once being troubled by his illness.

  He telephoned Emily daily. They both wished he could get on the train and go west instead of east towards Provincetown.

  “I can’t Em, though I truly want to,” he told her. “I’m pretty sure that this business in Dennis with the lake and the burial ground is the last job I’ll have to do. That part of my life is over. Scargo said she was giving me a present. I didn’t know what it was, but I do now. She put her hands on my forehead and I felt warmth on my scar-line. The bones of my head are finally lining up correctly and healing.”

  “That’s wonderful news John. Have you been getting the headaches?”

  “No, they’re gone too. I have had no tremors or twitches, no blackouts, no premonitions. I feel perfectly normal. When I looked in the mirror this morning, I could still see the scar above my eye, but my forehead is now completely even – that bone that was pressing against my brain moved
back to its original position.”

  “Do you think that the phantom princess had something to do with it?”

  “I have no doubts about it,” John said. “I don’t have the ‘second-sight’ anymore but I am thinking more clearly than I ever have. I’m even starting to get little glimpses of my life before the injury.”

  “I hope you don’t find out that in your other life you were married and had six children!”

  “No Em, I feel sure that I have never been married and I am quite sure you’re the only girl for me. I’m going to get on the train tomorrow and go to Provincetown and have it out with fate. One way or the other, I want this thing resolved by Christmas.”

  Chapter Fourteen:

  Back on the Train

  After spending his last evening in Dennis with his friends Jimmy and Lucy O’Kelly, John Deer returned to his room at the hotel. He had a long list of correspondence to attend to.

  He wrote a letter to Jim Davis regarding the Sandwich Glassworks – a portion of which stated… “You have been a good friend Jim and an excellent administrator of the company. If for some reason I don’t get out of this Provincetown mess alive, my brokers have been instructed to turn my 51 per cent of the company over to you.”

  To the Russo brothers in Beverly he wrote…”Many thanks for your fine work in recovering the money stolen from the glassworks. That the business is now prospering is due in large part to your efforts. I have an urgent matter I have to attend to in Provincetown during the Christmas season. I don’t think I have a great chance of success, but if I do come out on top, I will be contacting you about building a house near Salem for myself and my bride to be.”

  To his brokers he gave a long list of instructions which can be summarized as follows: In the event of his death, the bulk of his vast estate would go to Miss Emily Rapport of Boston. James Davis was to receive the stock certificates of the glassworks.

  Other sums of money and property were slated to be sent to the Russo brothers, the hospital in Boston where his life was saved, and a dozen worthy charities. He also left a grant to Provincetown for the completion and upkeep of the new Pilgrim Monument.

 

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