The Face in the Cliff [pp. 233]

The Face in the Cliff
conquering nation. But he can hardly be
blamed for doing that. Many of us have
increased in self-importance on much less
encouragement. With his American wife
and American-born babies, Portusach has
now probably settled down to the life of a
plain American citizen in the Territory of
Guam, under the rule of Governor Leary.
The Charleston's work ended, she and
her convoy sailed at once for Manila, passing on her way over almost the very spot
where later she found her last anchorage
amid the sands of that Eastern sea, with
thirty-five fathoms of water ebbing and
flowing over her decks.
Save to those who desired to scoff at a
clever bit of work on the part of some of
America's most efficient naval officers, the
incident of Guam's capture stands as one
of the important events of the war. That
it was a bloodless victory, won without
injury to citizens of either contending
nation, is a matter of credit to the officers
concerned. To those of us who were
actually at hand, and can speak of the
details without depending upon secondhland or garbled information, it was a
time none of us will forget, nor will
we ever fail to render thanks that
circumstances favored every move made
against this portion of Spain's Oriental
domain.
THE FACE IN THE CLIFF
USTERE, in rugged dignity it stands,
A beetling cliff of unrelenting stone.
Ages of storms have swept its granite face
With power impotent. No frown responds.
Ages of sunshine have played about its brow
And warmed its stolid front, without a smile
For recompense. TIragedies have passed
Within its ken, upon the deep, of ships
Broken and swept, with the accompaniment
Of upturned, ghastly faces, and streaming hair
Mingled with seaweed and frost with ocean brine.
Fair moonlight nights have lit the sands,
And lovers strolled about its base, with song
And sigh and tender speech. No sign
UJpon its fixedness. Through storm and night
Or day and sunshine its lines remain unchanged.
And yet, behind that face of flinty stone,
Close within the caverns of its heart,
I found a clinging bird's nest: the mother
And her young twittering in sweet content.
Thlere crickets chirped, and in a shady pool
\Vere silvery fishes playing.
Jacob Keith 7uley.
233