Read Ebook: How the Flag Became Old Glory by Scott Emma Look Mrs Valentine A C Illustrator

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Ebook has 475 lines and 28888 words, and 10 pages

izens urged the burning of the city, that no spoils might be left to the enemy.

The fine suspension bridge across the Cumberland was fired. The commissaries were thrown open, and vast quantities of public stores, amounting to millions of dollars, were distributed among the inhabitants or destroyed. The archives of the State were hurriedly conveyed to Memphis. In the mad desire to escape an impending doom of whose nature they were wholly ignorant, residents vacated their houses and left priceless furnishings a prey to the invading army. On foot, on horseback, by wagon, by any available means that best favored their flight, the crowds surged out of the conquered city.

Notwithstanding the apprehensions of speedy hostilities, it was a week later before General Buell was encamped in Edgefield, opposite the city. To him the mayor formally surrendered Nashville. A proclamation was issued assuring the inhabitants of protection in person and property.

Up the Cumberland steamed fifteen transports and one gunboat--General Nelson's wing of the Union army. From the levee came the clamor and shouts of men, the rattle of musketry, and din of many feet. The Sixth Ohio was the first regiment to land. Captain Driver was an interested observer of the scene. "Now," said he, "hath the hour of Old Glory come!"

Lieutenant Thacher, of the Sixth, with a squad of soldiers, left the regiment and escorted Captain Driver to his home, a few blocks distant. They wrested Old Glory from its hiding place and, with the old mariner bearing the flag in his arms, quickly rejoined the regiment.

Up the hill, amidst rattle of drum and sounding trumpets, passed the bluecoats to the Capitol. There a small regimental flag was being hoisted. Suddenly a hush fell upon the waiting victors. The figure of Captain Driver appeared high against the dome of the Statehouse. The strains of "The Star-Spangled Banner" burst upon the ear; and amid cheers and cries of "Old Glory! Old Glory!" that echoed to the distant hills the old sea flag unfurled and floated above the topmost pinnacle of the Capitol of Tennessee. And thus Old Glory received her formal christening.

Swarming over the city, bent on various quests, went the victorious Federals. Not so the old sailor. The revered flag, flaunting the colors so joyously above his head once more, was far too weather-beaten, he feared, to withstand long the stiff breeze blowing about the elevated site. Torn to ribbons it must not be, howsoever good the cause.

Quietly he watched and waited about the grounds until after nightfall, when, under cover of the darkness, he again ascended the dome, rescued his beloved old flag, and swung in its place a big merino one that had figured as a campaign flag in 1840, when "Tippecanoe and Tyler too" was the slogan of the Whig Party. He then carried Old Glory to his home and laid it tenderly away in the old sea locker so long dedicated to its use.

Very gradually thereafter the pleasing appellation, Old Glory, made its impress upon the speech of the populace, until, in the later nineties, the "Hoosier Poet" was moved to expression in verse:

Old Glory, the story we're wanting to hear, Is what the plain facts of your christening were, For your name, just to hear it, Repeat it and cheer it, s'tang to the spirit As salt as a tear. And seeing you fly and the boys marching by, There's a shout in the throat and a blur in the eye And an aching to live for you always or die; And so, by our love for you floating above, And the scars of all wars and the sorrows thereof, Who gave you the name of Old Glory?

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.

But to the query the sealed lips of the old seaman answered not. For him had come the higher summons.

Captain Driver's death occurred in Nashville in 1886. At the head of his grave, in the old City Cemetery, stands a unique monument of his own designing. Upon an old tree trunk, in stone, appears a ship's anchor and cable. At the top of the anchor is inscribed the beloved pseudonym of his heart's own coinage, above him here, even in his last sleep: "His ship, his country, and his flag--Old Glory." About his body when placed within the casket was wrapped a United States flag.

A few years prior to his death Captain Driver placed his Old Glory flag in the hands of his elder daughter, Mrs. Roland, of Wells, Nev., who was then on a visit to him, saying brokenly as he resigned it: "Take this flag and cherish it as I have done. I love it as a mother loves her child. It has been with me, and it has protected me in all parts of the world."

Worn and faded and tattered, this flag is still in the possession of Mrs. Roland; and in her far Western home it is displayed on patriotic occasions and the story of its naming repeated. Another, presumably the Whig flag herein mentioned, and that, as has been shown, also flew over the Capitol of Tennessee, was sent by Captain Driver, upon request, to the Essex Institute, of Massachusetts. Some confusion has of late arisen in the public mind regarding the identity of the two flags, it having been generally believed that the original Old Glory was the flag in the Massachusetts Institute. This impression is, however, doubtless erroneous.

Notwithstanding a somewhat brusque address and a marked individuality of speech and action, Captain Driver was a man of warm and kindly nature. Although a stanch Unionist, he lent a ready and willing hand to the suffering ones of the South. He married the first time Miss Martha Babbage, of Salem, Mass. For his second wife he espoused a Southern woman, Sarah J. Parks, of Nashville, Tenn. Two of his sons bore arms in the Confederate service. One of these gave his life for the "lost cause."

It remained for yet another conflict after the civil strife to bring the name Old Glory into general and popular use, FOR THE BLENDED RANKS OF THE BLUE AND THE GRAY OPPOSED A COMMON FOE. When the North and the South joined hands against a foreign power and floated the Stars and Stripes above the emblem of Spain upon the island of Cuba, the flag of the Union became Old Glory to every man of the nation.

IN THE LIGHT OF THE OLD NORTH CHURCH

"History points no struggle for liberty which has in it more of the moral sublime than that of the American Revolution."

THEY were a godly people, these revolutionary fathers of ours. They prayed as they thought; and they fought as they believed and prayed. They sought no quarrel with the mother country; they asked only independent action, considering themselves full grown in point of knowledge of their needs and desires, although but infants in age as compared with other subjects of Great Britain.

When, therefore, Old England announced, "You shall pay taxes!" the colonists demurred.

"We are not represented in your Parliament; we have no voice in your councils!"

"But you must pay taxes," she commanded.

They replied, "We will not."

"I will compel you," retorted she.

"If you can," was the answer.

A British fleet then sailed into Boston harbor, and British soldiers swarmed over Boston town. This action enraged the citizens. It angered the "Sons of Liberty," whose name is self-explanatory and whose slogan was "Liberty or Death," and inspired them to more vigorous efforts toward freedom from Britain's power. The "Minute Men" were organized and stood ready to the summons, ready at a minute's notice to leave forest, field, or fireside, to take up arms in defense of their liberties and their rights.

The spirit of dissension ran rife; and petty altercations between the British soldiers and the citizens were of daily occurrence. A trivial happening brought about the Boston Massacre. A "Son of Liberty" and a British soldier disputed the right of way of a street passage.

"Stand aside," said the one.

"Give way," said the other.

Neither would yield. Blows followed. Rocks flew. The soldiers marshaled and fired into the crowd. Several citizens were killed. The town was ablaze with excitement. And the governor had finally to withdraw the troops from Boston.

When antagonism had abated in degree, King George devised new measures of taxation and stirred ill feeling again. Boston brewed British tea in the ocean. England disliked the taste of it. The people were declared Rebels; and the charter of Massachusetts was annulled by Parliament. Ten thousand British soldiers then came over. Boston Neck was seized and fortified. The colonists were to be forced into obedience.

Then from Lexington and Concord the signals of revolt were sounded--

"They were building well for a race unborn, As the British plowed through the waving corn, For the birth-pang of Freedom rang that morn."

The Battle of Bunker Hill that followed was but the natural sequence. Defeated though the patriots were in this their first real battle, it was a defeat that spelled for them ultimate victory. This they recognized dimly, but certainly, as they knew that they had gone into battle with a prayer on their lips for themselves, for their homes, and their country. Their hearts were fired anew for freedom. Their arms would be strengthened to their desires. As the lights from the belfry of Old North Church revealed to Paul Revere the route the British were to take against them in the memorable beginnings at Lexington and Concord, so the light from the Great Book above its chancel rail would direct them the way they should go.

With one impulse the colonies sprung to arms; with one spirit they pledged themselves to each other, "to be ready for the extreme event." With one heart the continent cried, "Liberty or Death!"

BANCROFT.

SLOWLY the mist o'er the meadow was creeping, Bright on the dewy buds glistened the sun, When from his couch while his children were sleeping, Rose the bold rebel, and shouldered his gun. Waving her golden veil Over the silent dale, Blithe looked the morning on cottage and spire; Hushed was his parting sigh, While from his noble eye, Flashed the last sparkle of liberty's fire.

On the smooth green, where the fresh leaf is springing, Calmly the first-born of glory have met, Hark! the death-volley around them is ringing! Look! with their lifeblood the young grass is wet! Faint is the feeble breath, Murmuring low in death,-- "Tell to our sons how their fathers have died;" Nerveless the iron hand, Raised for its native land, Lies by the weapon that gleams at its side.

Over the hillsides the wild knell is tolling, From their far hamlets the yeomanry come; As through the storm-clouds the thunderburst rolling Circles the beat of the mustering drum. Fast on the soldier's path Darken the waves of wrath, Long have they gathered and loud shall they fall; Red glares the muskets' flash, Sharp rings the rifles' crash Blazing and clanging from thicket and wall.

Gayly the plume of the horseman was dancing, Never to shadow his cold brow again; Proudly at morning the war steed was prancing, Reeking and panting he droops on the rein; Pale is the lip of scorn, Voiceless the trumpet horn, Torn is the silken-fringed red cross on high; Many a belted breast Low on the turf shall rest, Ere the dark hunters the herd have passed by.

Snow-girdled crags where the hoarse wind is raving, Rocks where the weary floods murmur and wail, Wilds where the fern by the furrow is waving, Reeled with the echoes that rode on the gale; Far as the tempest thrills Over the darkened hills Far as the sunshine streams over the plain, Roused by the tyrant band, Woke all the mighty land, Girded for battle, from mountain to main.

Green be the graves where her martyrs are lying! Shroudless and tombless they sank to their rest, While o'er their ashes the starry fold flying Wraps the proud eagle they roused from his nest! Borne on her Northern pine, Long o'er the foaming brine, Spread her broad banner to storm and to sun; Heaven keep her ever free, Wide as o'er land and sea, Floats the fair emblem her heroes have won!

O. W. HOLMES.

ON THE EVE OF BUNKER HILL

The consequences of the battle of Bunker Hill were greater than those of any ordinary conflict. It was the first great battle of the Revolution, and not only the first blow, but the blow which determined the contest. When the sun of that day went down, the event of independence was no longer doubtful.

WEBSTER.

June 16, 1775

'TWAS June on the face of the earth, June with the rose's breath, When life is a gladsome thing, and a distant dream is death; There was gossip of birds in the air, and the lowing of herds by the wood, And a sunset gleam in the sky that the heart of a man holds good; Then the nun-like Twilight came, violet vestured and still, And the night's first star outshone afar on the eve of Bunker Hill:

There rang a cry through the camp, with its word upon rousing word; There was never a faltering foot in the ranks of those that heard. Lads from the Hampshire hills and the rich Connecticut vales, Sons of the old Bay Colony, from its shores and its inland dales; Swiftly they fell in line; no fear could their valor chill; Ah, brave the show as they ranged a-row on the eve of Bunker Hill.

Then a deep voice lifted a prayer to God of the brave and the true And the heads of the men were bare in the gathering dusk and dew; The heads of a thousand men were bowed as the pleading rose,-- Smite Thou, Lord, as of old Thou smotest Thy people's foes! Oh, nerve Thy Servants' arms to work with a mighty will! A hush, and then a loud Amen! on the eve of Bunker Hill!

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