FIRST AMERICAN WARRIOR
HONORS UNKNOWN CRUSADER

By WILLIAM SLAVENS M'NUTT.

An American fighting man of the olden time stepped out of the mists of antiquity into the full light of Now. His dress was that which the men of his race had worn in war when Columbus was pleading for ships to go exploring. His manner was that of the faraway time when the Western plains were brown with buffalo. The weapons of his fighting time were hickory bows and primitive arrows tipped with flint. He was an American Indian warrior, wearing beaded buckskin and a trailing war bonnet of eagle feathers.

At the American Indian's feet lay the body of an American fighting man of Now. The dead fighting man of today had spent his life in a war where the weapons were big guns that shoot 30 miles and little guns that shoot more bullets in a minute than the number of arrows the Red Man could have discharged in a day of fighting. The dead man had fought in an army where single regiments contained more men than the Indian had ever seen in action in the greatest battles of his fighting days; in an army where men rode roaring iron birds across the sky instead of wiry little ponies across the earth. The Indian - in buckskin and eagle feather bonnet was the first American warrior. The dead man in dust-colored, khaki at the Indian's feet was the last American fighting man.

Widely Different Types

There was nothing in common in their dress. Their education and modes of life had been as different as water is different from dust. Their skins were of a different color. They had nothing in common and yet they had everything in common. The soul of one was the soul of the other and the soul of each was the spirit of an American warrior, ready then and now and forevermore to suffer hardship and lay down life for the protection of home and honor. The American Indian warrior of the old time fought for what he believed to be his sacred national rights against the advance of modern civilization and was beaten. The American soldier of the great war fought in defense of that civilization and achieved a glorious victory The American warrior of the olden time, who knew the bitter taste of defeat, was come to honor his brother of the modern day who had drunk of the sweet cup of victory.

In the distance across the Potomac River the dome of the American National Capitol stood out white and sharp against the clear sky. Generals from mighty armies from around the world and gold-laced admirals of the

greatest navies history has known stood at attention. A silent crowd of many thousands thronged about. The Indian warrior spoke to his dead comrade. His words were in the language of the Crows and were not understood by the living. His thoughts were those of an American warrior in spirit, and one likes to fancy that the spirit of the American warrior whose clay lay at the Indian's feet interpreted and understood.

Honors His Comrade.

The Indian chief, Plenty Coos, of the Crow nation, swept off his great war bonnet and laid it on the casket of the unknown soldier. On that casket were decorations bestowed by President Harding, Gen. Foch, Gen. Dias, Admiral Beatty, Gen. Jacques and other notables of great nations. It was fitting that the last tribute to the unknown soldier should be paid by a representative of the first American fighting men. The gaudy bonnet with its long tail of eagle feathers quite covered the other decorations The chief, bareheaded, stepped back. Three salvos from a battery of artillery, the notes of "taps" from a bugle and the unknown soldier was one in American soil with the vanished ancestors of the Indian who had honored him.

There were men at Arlington for the burial who still wear the khaki and for whom the armistice is as yet ineffective. They were the wounded from Walter Reed Hospital. They arrived laughing and joking. The many who had to be carried into the amphitheater joked with their bearers. Theirs was yet the spirit of the American army in France, which was not a grieving organization. Seated in a body in the middle of the amphitheater they formed a striking contrast against the background of snowy marble. Khaki was made to mingle with the mud, not to harmonize with polished white stone. The wounded munched sandwiches and joked while waiting for the ceremonies to begin. They were like any detachment of any department of the American army in France; ready at all times for anything that might turn up but never ready to be ceremoniously serious until absolutely necessary.

Repeats Former Day.

It was a day that repeated the 11th of November on that American line in France three years ago. The mist and sprinkle of the morning had given way to a clear, thin sunshine long before the procession accompanying the casket arrived at the amphitheater. The cold purity of the marble structure was relieved by the gaudy uniforms of generals, admirals and diplomats seated in the boxes. The old fighting top of the U. S. S. Maine, resurrected from Havana Harbor and set up in Arlington was alive with men who used it once again as a post of observation. World

prominent figures were too plentiful to attract notice.

The Crow Indian Chief, Plenty Coos, was first on the platform. Before the casket arrived, he was visited by many Italian, French and British officers, who were interested in this representative of the first American fighting men.

When the casket arrived and was put in place on the black catafalque by the honor guard of decorated men, Gen. Pershing shook hands with the Indian Chief and sat beside him throughout the ceremonies. It was remarked that the three men on the platform bearing themselves with the greatest degree of military dignity were Pershing, Foch and the Indian Chief.

When President Harding began his address the audience was startled. They saw his lips move, but the voice that came to their ears issued from high up in the balcony at the rear of the structure several hundred feet from where the President stood. The voice was coming from one of the many huge Magnavox trumpets placed above the balcony. The standing thousands grouped outside were able to hear as clearly as those sitting just before the platform. It lent a touch of unreality to the scene. It was as though one dreamed of a scene of majestic splendor and in the dream heard a voice from an invisible being thundering down from out the skies.

Casket Is Decorated.

President Harding was the first to decorate the body, placing the Congressional Medal of Honor and the D. S. C. on the casket, following a few explanatory words. Then Jacques and Diaz speaking in English, Adm. Beatty was characteristically brief. Then came Foch, a striking figure with his white hair, dark blue tunic and red trousers, His clear, firm voice was better heard than that of any speaker of the day.

When the body was borne out through the apse to the crypt on the hillside overlooking the Capitol, the crowd outside pressed through the military lines and thronged about the rear or the amphitheater to witness the final ceremonies.

After the body was lowered into the grave and "Taps" had sounded, a battery in a nearby meadow thundered forth the Presidential salute of 21 guns, and the unknown soldier went to his final resting place to the accompaniment of the same mighty music that must have been ringing in his ears when his soul took flight - the roar of American artillery.