How the Flag Became Old Glory Part 2

Snow-girdled crags where the hoa.r.s.e 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL.]

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 sh.o.r.es 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 G.o.d 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!

Now they are gone through the night with never a thought of fame, Gone to the field of a fight that shall win them deathless name; Some shall never again behold the set of the sun, But lie like the Concord slain, and the slain of Lexington, Martyrs to Freedom's cause. Ah, how at their deeds we thrill, The men whose might made strong the height on the eve of Bunker Hill.

CLINTON SCOLLARD.

THE FLAG OF FORT STANWIX

TRITE but true is the old adage that necessity is the mother of invention. The first flag that flew over an American fort was constructed from an "ammunition shirt, a blue jacket captured from the British, and a woman's red petticoat."

The garrison at Fort Stanwix (Fort Schuyler) had no flag; but it had possession of the fort despite the siege of twenty days against it by the British; and it had five British standards taken from the enemy. So it improvised a flag and, with cheers and yells befitting the occasion, ran the British standards upside down upon the flag mast and swung the Stars and Stripes above them. The redcoats looked, and, it is safe to a.s.sert, laughed not, as to them the humor of the situation was not appealing. But if they were lacking in the sense of humor, these sons of Old England were not lacking in persistence, and they besieged the fort with steady determination.

Fort Stanwix stood at the head of navigation of the Mohawk River and was an important feature in the plan of General Burgoyne to cut off New England from the southern colonies and thus control the whole country.

Embarking upon this expedition, he had instructed his army: "The services required are critical and conspicuous. Difficulty, nor labor, nor life are to be regarded. The army must not retreat." As he advanced down the Hudson he swept everything before him. Ticonderoga, Mount Defiance, Whitehall, Fort Edward, each in turn fell: and he now antic.i.p.ated no successful resistance to his forces.

At the beginning of General Burgoyne's invasion a force of Canadians, Hessians, New York Tories, and Indians commanded by General St. Leger had been sent against Fort Stanwix. The post was held by General Gansevoort with some seven hundred and fifty men. They were ill supplied with ammunition and had few provisions. To Burgoyne defeat seemed here impossible. The siege had, however, been antic.i.p.ated by the garrison, and the men had determined to hold out to the last extremity.

Word was surrept.i.tiously conveyed to Colonel Willett within the fort that General Herkimer would set out with eight hundred volunteers to reenforce him and that a successful sortie might be made against the besiegers by acting in conjunction with General Herkimer's forces. This sortie was to be made when a certain signal was given. But the best-laid plans, as we all have doubtless learned by experience, are not always dependable.

St. Leger in this case learned of Herkimer's advance and sent the savages under his command to intercept and ambuscade him. A terrible hand-to-hand combat ensued in which a hundred and sixty of the colonists were killed and the loss to the Indians was as great. General Herkimer's horse was shot under him and he himself wounded severely in the leg.

Notwithstanding his agony he insisted upon being placed with his back against a tree for support, and therefrom he continued to direct the battle. In the heat of the contest he lighted his pipe and smoked.

The further advance of the Americans to the succor of the fort was prevented, but Colonel Willett, in ignorance of this, made his sally from the fort at the hour appointed. Marvelous to state, the British were taken wholly by surprise and, having no time to form, fled. The Americans took possession of their supplies and their standards, as before mentioned, and retired to the fort.

Failing to sh.e.l.l or starve them out, St. Leger then began efforts to induce a surrender. Two of his American prisoners were compelled to write letters to the commandant at the fort, exaggerating the strength of the enemy and urging, in the name of humanity, a surrender. To this Gansevoort returned no answer. St. Leger then tried another plan.

A white flag appeared before the garrison. Two British officers were blindfolded and admitted to the fort. They were courteously received and, when they were seated, were proffered refreshments. One of the officers then presented the message of General St. Leger, which was in substance a threat, couched in polite language, that if the fort was not surrendered, the Indians would be turned loose upon the country, and not only the men but all the women and children would be tomahawked. Not one should escape. But if the garrison would capitulate, not only would these evils be averted, but none of the garrison should be injured or made prisoners.

Colonel Willett arose. "I consider, Sir," said he, "the message you bring a degrading one for a British officer to send and by no means reputable for a British officer to carry. I would suffer my body to be filled with splinters and set on fire, and such outrages are not uncommon in your army, before I would deliver this garrison to your mercy. After you get out of it, never expect to enter it again unless you come as a prisoner."

Provisions were running low, and some uneasiness became manifest in the fort. Colonel Willett, observing this, a.s.sured the men, "I will make a sally in the night, if compelled by lack of supplies, and cut our way through the besiegers or die in the attempt." The siege had now continued more than twenty days, when to the surprise of the garrison it was suddenly raised. This was due, it shortly appeared, to a ruse of General Arnold; Arnold the valiant, Arnold the traitor.

Among the prisoners of Arnold was a young half-witted fellow who was condemned to death. His sorrowing mother never ceased her pleading with General Arnold for her son's life. Accordingly one day he proposed to her this expedient: That her son, Hon Yost by name, should make his way to Fort Stanwix and in some way so alarm the British that they would raise the siege. Eagerly the old mother promised this should be done and offered herself as hostage for the fulfillment of the mission. To this Arnold would not consent, but retained another son in her place.

Before starting on his errand, Hon Yost's clothing was riddled with bullets to indicate escape from the Americans. Reaching the camp of the Indians, he told in a mysterious way of a premeditated attack upon them and aroused their fears. St. Leger heard of his arrival and questioned him. To St. Leger he related a touching story of his capture and miraculous escape from execution, and by signs, words, and gestures made it appear that he was an emissary of Providence to aid in their preservation. Canadians, Hessians, all became uneasy. When he was asked the number of the Americans about to descend upon them, Hon Yost pointed to the leaves of the trees to indicate a legion. In his efforts to terrorize he was ably seconded by a young Indian who had accompanied him. Panic seized the camps. In vain St. Leger strove to allay the frenzy. The result was precipitate flight.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WHEN HE WAS ASKED THE NUMBER OF THE AMERICANS ABOUT TO DESCEND UPON THEM, HON YOST POINTED TO THE LEAVES OF THE TREES TO INDICATE A LEGION.]

It is given by one authority that St. Leger was himself becoming as apprehensive of his red-faced allies as he was of the enemy he was fighting.

The fears he had sought to instill in the minds of the garrison were now returned upon his own head.

THE KNIGHT OF THE SEA

(OUR FIRST EUROPEAN SALUTE)

INSEPARABLY connected with the Stars and Stripes must ever be the name of John Paul Jones.

The "Unt.i.tled Knight of the Sea," the d.u.c.h.ess de Chartres--mother of Louis Philippe, afterward King of France; and granddaughter of a high admiral of France--was fond of calling him. For albeit John Paul Jones was of Scotch peasant ancestry, his a.s.sociates were people of the highest intellect and rank. In appearance he was handsome; in manner prepossessing; and in speech he was a linguist, having at easy command the English, French, and Spanish languages. His surname was Paul. The name Jones was inherited with a fine plantation in America.

The call of the sea was strong to the lad and of its dangers he had no fear. An old seaman one day watched him handle a fishing yawl in a heavy storm and thought he could never weather the squall. "That is my son, John," said his father calmly. "He will fetch her in all right. It is not much of a squall for him." The man complimented the boy and offered him a berth on his ship then bound for America, little dreaming that in so doing he would carry to the New World the Father of the American Navy.

Studious and ambitious, the boy devoted his leisure moments to acquiring the most intricate knowledge of his profession and soon held positions of command. When the news of the battle of Lexington reached him, he offered his services to Congress. He was made _First Lieutenant of the Alfred, and over this ship hoisted the first emblem shown on an American naval vessel_. The design of this flag was a pine tree with a rattlesnake coiled at the roots and the motto, "Don't tread on me," on a background of yellow silk.

June 14th, 1777, was made notable in American annals by the resolution pa.s.sed by Congress for a new flag. Embodied in the resolution the name of John Paul Jones appears thus:--

"Resolved--That the flag of the Thirteen United States of America be Thirteen Stripes, alternate Red and White; that the Union be Thirteen Stars on a Blue Field; Representing a New Constellation:

"Resolved--That Captain John Paul Jones be appointed to command the ship _Ranger_."

Paul Jones' remarks upon the resolutions were significant: "The flag and I are twins; born the same hour from the same womb of destiny. We cannot be parted in life or in death. So long as we can float we shall float together. If we must sink, we shall go down as one."