The Ocala evening star. [volume] (Ocala, Fla.) 1895-1943, 1921-11-11
OCALA, FLORIDA. FRIDAY, NOVEMBER IL, 1921

ing place. Down there the new head
stones CLEAN in countless variety.
There is hardly an hour of any day
when sorrowing relatives are not
moving slowly among the new graves,
giving loving care to flowers on the
low mounds. On the headstones are
cut the names, the dates of birth and
death of the dead, and names of
French villages where they made their
great sacrifice. Man by man. their
record is written for all to know and
honor.
But for the nameless one, asleep on
the terrace above, there are no rela-
tives. He lies alone IN the mystery
of death. Laden with honOrs beyond
any of his fellows below, there is none
to tell of the way of his life and his
death, of whence he came or of what
he was, save that he died in France,
at the nations call. The American
people are his next of kin. He alone
may sleep there within the great
monument to all the nations honored
dead
Everywhere about the amphitheater
are monuments cut with names that
touch memory to life, that bring
echoes of the thunder of guns from
old, far off battle scenes. There lies
Sheridan; there lies Porter and Cook
ard Doubleday and yonder lies Dewey
Over the peaceful slope, row on row,
march the headstones of hundreds of
humble servers in the ranks like the
sleeper up there on the terrace, or
again, dimly seen through the trees
goes another long column of soldier
headstones, graying with time. But
officers and men, generals, admirals,
privates or the last bluejacket to join
the ship before the battle, they are all
sleeping here in honored graves.
Gathered they are from Mexico, from
all the far plains where emigrant
trains fought their way westward,
from storied fields of the civil war,
from Cuba and the Philippines, from
/ f1aILl ana from 4 rance.
Just beyond the amphitheater rises
the slender mast of the old Maine,
brought from Havana to mark the
resting place of her dead soldiers and
sailors and marines. 1t is their last
muster and for them all has been
raised the great marble pile wherein
the unknown sleeper from France
keeps his vigil.
The pure white outline of the struc-
ture, as yet unstained by time and the
shifting winds that sweep unchecked
through it's stately colonnade or its
vast, roofiess gathering place, rises
amid a setting that nature paints with
new beauty as the seasons come and
go. 1t stands atop the ridge, footed
among the evergreens and the native
Virginia woods that set it off in
chnaging shades in summer, deck it
out with the myriad tints of autumn
as the year wanes and wrap it about
with the delicate tracery of snow
laden, leafless branches in winter.
To form the eolonnade, double
row of the great marble pillars march
around the circle where in the marble
benches are set. Facing the benches
and with its back to the terrace where
stands the tomb, is the sculptured
hollow of the apse where the solemn
rites for burial take place. The struc-
ture has the lines of an ancient Greek
temple, fitting resting place for the
honored, unknown soldier who is its
only occupant.
Over the ridge beyond the amphi-
theater are seen the grass grown
ramparts of old Fort Meyer with the
dead clusteringabout them. Farther
along, the pillared portieo of the old
Lee mansion thrusts out through the
crowding woods to look down over the
vista of hill and river to Washington.
And just over the road stands the
army post of Fort Meyer, its garrison
flag a fiuttering glimpse of color over
the quiet scene, the roar of its sun
rise and sunset guns waking the
echoes among the graves of the dead;
the faint, far call of its bugles sing
ing also for these sleeping warriors,
resting in their last encampment.