To all the Scouts of the World—Greetings!
In obedience to your commands, we, your representatives from distant nations and the far flung frontiers beyond the seas, are assembled here on this lofty mountain to give to it the name of our beloved Chief Scout. We feel that this mighty fragment from the Divine Hand better expresses our love and admiration for the Chief than any monument we could erect.
Far back in the pages of recorded history we find that, when the nations of mankind wish to confer a special tribute which they desire to last through the ages, they dedicate to their deities and heroes one of the dominating mountains of the world and so, in this instance, following the custom of our race through a thousand generations, your committee with great care has selected this particular peak because it is as characteristic and outstanding among mountains as our Chief is among men.
So today this address will consist of two short stories one of the mountain and one of a man.
You are now standing on one of the sentinels of the mighty Sierras which holds back the frowning desert from all our homes. This mountain closed the Sierras leaving only a space of such dimensions that it made of it the Khyber Pass of the West and held back forever those demons of the desert—thirst, storms and the creeping dunes that have in various parts of the world, again and again, blotted out whole civilizations. Way back in geological time this implacable desert drove strange monsters far down into the valleys below. You have all seen them in the La Brea pits or as skeletons mounted in our museums. Along the road you traveled today once padded softly in dead of night saber-toothed tigers, long-fanged wolves, and lions of enormous size. Down those winding canyons ponderous mastodons wound their way. High on these crags sat condors and eagles watching for some huge mammal that might be slain, or die of thirst. Herds of ancient camels, horses and many lesser animals passed between these walls of granite long ages before the first barefoot track of savage man left its imprint in the dust. Then came the soft and silent tread of the moccasined Indian and, ere long, the clanking spur and shining armor of the Spaniard. Then, from desertward came the tall sinewy, blue-eyed and skin-clad trapper, and, just behind him, almost within signaling distance, rumbled the heavy wagons of the pioneers. These were soon followed by the iron horse and ribbons of steel. Today you roll on air, while overhead these gleaming Scouts of the Sky, driven by fire, are now circling this mountain to pay a tribute of honor to the Chief. All this thrilling pageantry of life down through the centuries could not have been, had this mountain rampart given away.
Turn your eyes westward and see what a paradise it shelters of gently rolling hills and miles of open valleys stretching far away to the shining sea. Here millions of our people have built their homes, safely sheltered behind these battlements thousands of feet high. We trust this great Scout of all the mountains to hold the pass for us all and forever turn back the deadly desert
So we have chosen this mountain to symbolize our beloved Chief Scout. In the world of men he has always been a rampart against the small and mean things of life. For years and years he was, like this mountain wall, holding back the endless dunes of savagery that seemed bound to bury the outposts of civilization on the frontiers of the world.
It so happened that my first meeting with the Chief was under the shadow of another mountain in the heart of Africa. Here a handful of pioneers were about to be destroyed by overwhelming numbers of well armed savages. We had been fighting for months. Imagine our delight at his arrival in our midst. He came direct from the blood-stained jungles of Ashanti where the thrust of ten thousand spears was turned aside from another outpost of our race. His assistance to us was like that of one of the knights of King Arthur to a beleaguered castle. Finally, under the strong hand and glowing soul of Cecil Rhodes a just peace was made. Then the trail of the Chief wandered off into the Blue until another blast of war brought him again to help save Africa. Back and forth over the high veldt we surged and fought and trekked and finally came another respite from war. The saga of all these struggles can be found in endless records and many volumes in our libraries. I only touch on these matters to show the background and shall now tell you of the beginning of things far more important than fighting savages or even of planting a flag in the wilderness.