James Harris Guy

In my recent searching, I ran across a gentleman by the name of James Harris Guy. Now, Jim Guy, as he was known, was a descendant of James Logan Colbert.

James Guy was a Deputy U.S. Marshall in what was known as the Indian Territory of Oklahoma back in the late 1800's. It was in his line of duty, that he was brutally gunned down by members of "The Lee Gang" on May 1, 1885.

Now, James Guy was also an accomplished poet within the Chickasaw Nation. In fact, he was considered the leading poet of the Chickasaw Nation. You can find some of his writings in a few books that can still be bought through Amazon.

The purpose of this post is to share with all of you, one of his poems concerning an old Fort in Indian Territory called Fort Arbuckle.

Here is the poem. It is believe to have been written just previous to James Guy's death in 1885.

Ft. Arbuckle: by James Harris Guy

The day has been long and dreary;
I halt with the sitting sun
To gaze on the open world
And the work the years have done;
And a vision rises before me,
Of the past as it hath been,
And all the rolling hills have heard,
And the bright-eyed stars have seen.

Full many a thrilling story
Could the echoing rocks repeat,
And methinks I hear in the forest
The tramp of hurrying feet.
The yells of the great Comanche
Ring once more in my ear
And files of the ghostly warrior
Appear and disappear.

I see the dusky phantoms
Rise from their graves to-day,
With the war paint still upon them
As they started for the frey;
They scorned the white man’s promise
And refused to be his slaves,
But their ranks were few and feeble,
And the sun sets on their graves.

Once more from the hills above me
The painted warriors ride,
And fall upon Ft. Arbuckle
Like rocks from the mountain side;
But now the bow and the quiver
Give place to the plodding plow,
A bible, a hut, a handful of corn
And a Christian’s broken vow.

Oh, Mystical Ft. Arbuckle
The sun is falling aslant,
And a friend stands out in his doorway;
God speed thee Thomas Grant;
For thou hast ever a seat at thy board
And thy heart a place,
For him who would sing the wide world o’er
The songs of a ruined race.