Chapter 2

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!

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 assert, 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 anticipated 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 anticipated by the garrison, and the men had determined to hold out to the last extremity.

Word was surreptitiously 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 shell 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, assured 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.

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 "Untitled Knight of the Sea," the Duchess 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 associates 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 passed 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."

Before the _Ranger_ was launched, Jones was informed that he was to be the bearer of most important news to France. This news was the daily expected surrender of Burgoyne, the surrender that was so powerfully to affect the result of the war for independence. As to his fitness for conveying such a message, Lafayette attested thus: "To captivate the French fancy, Captain Jones possesses, far beyond any other officer in your service, that peculiar aplomb, grace of manner, charm of person, and dash of character," a compliment better understood when it is remembered that an alliance with France against Great Britain was then sought by Congress.

The _Ranger_ lay in the harbor of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, ready for sailing, and Jones _with his own hands raised the flag to the masthead, the first American flag to fly over a man-of-war_. Jones had already brought credit to the American navy by the capture of prizes in American waters; now he was to serve his country's interests off the coast of England.

The tang of autumn was in the air when he set sail for France. Fulfilling his mission at Nantes, Jones set out for Brest, where the fleet of France was anchored. Would the Stars and Stripes, the symbol of the New Republic across the sea, be recognized by salute? The question was in every mind aboard ships, and the answer eagerly awaited in the United States. A note couched in the diplomatic and elegant terms of which Paul Jones was master, was sent by him to the admiral of the French fleet, inquiring whether or not the flag would receive recognition. "It will," came back the answer. With that the _Ranger glided gracefully through the fleet of ships; and Old Glory, in all the radiance of her new birth and coloring, waved response from the masthead to her first salute from European powers_. We, even after the long lapse of intervening years, feel still the thrill of her exultation.

Two months later the alliance between America and France was signed. The Duchess de Chartres became greatly interested in the young naval officer; and, having it in her power to advance his interests, she one day at a dinner presented him with a fine Louis Quintze watch that had belonged to her grandfather, saying, "He hated the English; and I love the Americans."

Paul Jones' response to the gift was as graceful as had been the presentation. "May it please your Royal Highness, if fortune should favor me at sea, I will some day lay an English frigate at your feet." Two years later he did this and more.

France had promised Jones a new ship better suited to his capabilities than the _Ranger_. But diplomatic affairs between nations move slowly, and in this case the waiting became tedious. Jones had exhausted the pleasures of court circles to which he had been admitted and he longed for the life of the sea. He finally preferred his request directly to the king and shortly afterward was given, not the great sea monster he had been led to expect, but an insignificant looking craft called _Le Duras_. In compliment to Dr. Franklin's magazine of the name and in humorous comment of the ship's appearance, he renamed it the _Bon Homme Richard_, meaning the _Poor Richard_. But with the _Poor Richard_, as with the human form, the spirit which animated it was the controlling power; and the valor of Paul Jones was to send the name of the _Bon Homme Richard_ ringing down through the ages of all time.

As Captain Jones of the _Ranger_, he had captured the _Drake_, in a big sea fight, and surprised England; and now, as Commodore Jones, he was to win distinction as the greatest of naval heroes.

Off the English coast at Flamborough Head, he sighted an English fleet. The flagship was the _Serapis_, in command of Captain Pearson. As the _Bon Homme Richard_ approached the _Serapis_, Captain Pearson raised his glass and remarked: "That is probably Paul Jones. If so, there is work ahead."

The salute affectionate between the vessels, after the formal hail, was a broadside. Then they fought, fought like fiends incarnate, clinched in each other's arms, in the death grapple, fought without flinching and, be it said, to the glory of the American navy and the credit of the English. The _Bon Homme_ was on fire and sinking. Captain Pearson, noting the situation, called, "Have you struck your colors?"

Above the smoke and din of the conflict, Jones' voice answered, "I have just begun to fight, Sir."

He then lashed his ship to the _Serapis_, and stood, himself, at the guns.

"Shall we be quitting, Jamie?" he said in banter to a Scotchman at his side.

"There is still a shot in the locker, Sir," replied the Scot.

"I thought," said Captain Pearson afterward, "Jones' answer to me meant mere bravado. But I soon perceived that it was the defiance of a man desperate enough, if he could not conquer, to sink with his ship."

The _Bon Homme Richard's_ sides were shot away; her prisoners loose; her decks strewn with the dead and dying; the _Alliance_, her companion ship, had turned traitor and fired into her. When the fight seemed well-nigh lost, a well-directed blow brought disaster to the _Serapis_, and she hauled down her colors. As Captain Pearson surrendered his sword, Commodore Jones remarked, "You have fought heroically, Sir. I trust your sovereign may suitably reward you." To this Captain Pearson returned no answer.

The wonderful combat on the sea became the talk of all Europe. Paul Jones' name was honored wherever spoken. Contrary to court etiquette, he was invited to occupy apartments in the palace of the Duke and Duchess de Chartres. While he was there, a banquet was tendered him. During the progress of the dining, he called an attendant to bring from his apartment a leather case. This when it was opened disclosed a sword. Turning to the duchess, the commodore asked if she recalled his promise to lay a frigate at her feet one day? "Your Royal Highness perceives," he went on, "the impossibility of keeping my promise in kind. The English frigate proved to be a 44 on two decks; the best I can do toward keeping my word of two years ago, is to place in your hands the sword of the brave officer who commanded the English 44. I have the honor to surrender to the loveliest woman the sword surrendered to me by one of the bravest of men,--the sword of Captain Richard Pearson, of his Britannic Majesty's late ship the _Serapis_."

The Royal Order of Military Merit with the title of Chevalier and the gift of a gold-mounted sword were conferred upon him by the king of France. Upon returning to America, he was given the rank of Head of the Navy.

Remarkable as was the career of Paul Jones, the winds did not always set in his favor. Many times was his life bark driven through the waters of bitter disappointment. But "all that he was, and all that he did, and all that he knew, was the result of self-help to a degree unexampled in the histories of great men."

The flag of the _Ranger_, saluted by the French fleet, was transferred by Jones to the _Bon Homme Richard_, and, says he, in his journal as given by Buell, "was left flying when we abandoned her; the very last vestige mortal ever saw of the _Bon Homme Richard_ was the defiant waving of her unconquered and unstricken flag as she went down. And as I had given them the good old ship for their sepulcher, I now bequeathed to my immortal dead the Flag they had so desperately defended, for their winding sheet." Here was: "the only flag," says one, "flying at the bottom of the sea, over the only ship that ever sunk in victory."[1]

And everywhere, The slender graceful spars Poise aloft in the air And at the masthead White, blue, and red, A flag unfolds, the Stripes and Stars. Ah, when the wanderers, lonely, friendless, In foreign harbors shall behold That flag unrolled, 'Twill be as a friendly hand Stretched out from native land, Filling his heart with memories Sweet and endless.

LONGFELLOW.

[1] In Preble's "History of the Flags of the United States," it is given that when the _Bon Homme Richard_ was sinking the flag was transferred to the _Serapis_, and was afterward presented by the Marine Committee to James Bayard Stafford of the _Bon Homme Richard_ for meritorious services.

WHERE THE STARS AND STRIPES UNFURLED

BURGOYNE was in the enemy's country. He was cut off from reenforcements. His very efforts to separate the colonies now recoiled upon his own armies. He could neither advance nor retreat with safety. For two weeks the opposing armies had stood opposite each other without fire. In desperation the British general now hazarded another battle. After a sustained and terrible struggle Burgoyne went down in defeat. His best and bravest officers were lost and seven hundred of his men were killed. General Frazer, beloved by every British soldier and respected by those opposed to him, had fallen at the hands of one of Morgan's riflemen, of whom it was said, they could strike an apple in mid-air and shoot out every seed.

On the American side Benedict Arnold, although divested of his command, had ridden to the front of his old regiment and became "the inspiring genius of the battle." He charged right into the British lines and received a severe wound. He received also the disapproval of General Gates and the reprimand of Congress. The battle raged furiously until nightfall, when the proud Briton who had boasted "the British never retreat" fled under cover of the darkness. He gained the heights of Saratoga, where he found himself completely hemmed in by the Americans. With but three days' rations between his army and starvation, he was forced to surrender. While he was holding consultation with his officers concerning this, a cannon ball passed over the table at which they were sitting, and, no doubt, hastened their conclusions.

Colonel Kingston was detailed to confer with the American general on articles of capitulation. He was conducted blindfolded to General Gates and with him arranged the formalities. The morning of October 17, seventeen hundred and ninety-one British subjects became prisoners of war. They marched to Fort Hardy on the banks of the Hudson and, in the presence of Generals Morgan, Wilkerson, and Lewis, laid down their arms. The eyes of many of the men were suffused with tears; others among them stamped upon their muskets in anger.

The colors had been preserved to the British army through the foresight of General Riedesel, who had handed them to his wife for safe-keeping. To the credit of the victorious Americans, it is said, they showed no disrespect to the defeated foe. "General Gates," wrote Lieutenant Ansbury, one of the captured officers, "revealed exceeding nobleness and generosity toward the captives, commanding the troops to wheel round the instant arms were grounded. And he, himself, drew down the curtains of the carriage in which he was sitting, as the troops passed him in returning."