Chapter 6

When the ships lay safely at the levee with but one of the squadron lost, Farragut by note requested the mayor of New Orleans to remove the Confederate flag and to surrender the city formally. In curt terms the doughty mayor refused to do so, stating there was not in the city of New Orleans a man who would take down that flag. Then ensued a most unique correspondence between the two, through which Farragut made himself misunderstood to the extent that it was rumored that it was his intention to turn the guns on the city. At the expiration of forty-eight hours, however, an officer of the fleet removed the offending flag and hoisted the Stars and Stripes over the city hall.

To injure purposely the defenseless, as in turning the guns on the city, was not in keeping with the nature of David Farragut as revealed in history. Power combined with gentleness were the marked traits of his character. This gentleness had its finest reflex in his delicate attentions to his invalid wife. In the presence of her continuous suffering his warrior nature was laid aside, and his chivalric kindness shone forth in acts of rare devotion and tender care.

When he was asked one day, as to his feelings during a battle in seeing men fall writhing upon every side, he answered, "I thought of nothing but the working of the guns; but after the battle, when I saw the mangled bodies of my shipmates, dead and dying, groaning and expiring often with the most patriotic sentiments upon their lips, I became faint and sick. My sympathies were all aroused." Markedly noticeable in his letters is the absence of self-elation over his victories. There are, rather, a rejoicing in the advancement of his cause and gratitude to the Almighty for preservation. In this we read anew the lesson of true greatness.

Just prior to entering into the noted action of Mobile Bay, he wrote his son respecting his views of duty and death. "He who dies in doing his duty to his country, and at peace with his God, has played out the drama of life to the best advantage." Shortly after this was penned, the _Hartford_ was steaming into Mobile Bay, under the heavy fire of guns of Fort Morgan and Fort Gaines, in the execution of a naval feat that attracted the attention and admiration of the whole civilized world.

At the mouth of the bay the two islands upon which the forts stood were less than a mile apart. The passage had been strewn with torpedoes by the Confederates, and only a narrow strip of water was left clear. Through this strip went Farragut's fleet: the _Tecumseh_ first, the _Brooklyn_ next, the _Hartford_ third. Suddenly the prow of the _Tecumseh_ lifted: she veered and sank. The _Brooklyn_ backed and held Farragut's ship directly under the guns of Fort Morgan. Shot and shell hurtled in the air. The smoke grew dense. The fire from the cannons lit the heavens. Men shouted and fell.

"What's the matter!" called Farragut.

"Torpedoes," some one answered.

Never a profane man, he now gave vent to an oath, and cried out, "Full speed, Jouett. Four bells, Captain Drayton."

The _Hartford_ steamed to the front. The torpedoes crackled under her as she sped on; but the forts were passed. And high in the rigging of his ship, in full view of the enemy and imminent danger of the fiery missiles, was seen Farragut, whence he directed all the ships' maneuvers. An officer, observing him standing there, feared lest a shot would cause his fall, and carried a rope and lashed him to the mast.

In maddened fury the ironclad _Tennessee_ plunged straight at the _Hartford_. All the fleet bore down upon the Confederate ship. And crowding together, the _Lackawanna_, needing room, struck the flagship by accident, and came near striking the commander. Against the _Tennessee_ every Federal ship now redoubled her efforts, until, battered and bruised and despairing, she struck her colors.

The captain of the _Tennessee_ was Buchanan, the same who commanded the _Merrimac_ in her fight with the _Monitor_ in Hampton Roads. "The _Tennessee_ and Buchanan are my prisoners," wrote Farragut home. "He has lost a leg. It was a hard fight, but Buck met his fate manfully."

Fort Morgan and Fort Gaines surrendered and Farragut's fierce conflicts were at an end. Nearly so was his path of life. Congress honored him with the rank of admiral, the highest honor to be conferred. America and foreign nations extended him the most distinguishing courtesies. And then--the unseen Pilot steered his course across the unknown sea unto the harbor of the city Eternal.

FARRAGUT

FARRAGUT, Farragut, Old Heart of Oak, Daring Dave Farragut, Thunderbolt stroke, Watches the hoary mist Lift from the bay, Till his flag, glory-kissed, Greets the young day.

Far, by gray Morgan's walls, Looms the black fleet. Hark, deck to rampart calls With the drums' beat! Buoy your chains overboard, While the steam hums; Men! to the battlement, Farragut comes.

See, as the hurricane Hurtles in wrath Squadrons of clouds amain Back from its path! Back to the parapet, To the gun's lips, Thunderbolt Farragut Hurls the black ships.

Now through the battle's roar Clear the boy sings, "By the mark fathoms four," While his lead swings. Steadily the wheelmen five "Nor' by East keep her." "Steady," but two alive: How the shells sweep her!

Lashed to the mast that sways Over red decks, Over the flame that plays Round the torn wrecks, Over the dying lips Framed for a cheer, Farragut leads his ships, Guides the line clear.

On by heights cannon-browed, While the spars quiver; Onward still flames the cloud Where the hulls shiver. See, yon fort's star is set, Storm and fire past. Cheer him, lads--Farragut, Lashed to the mast!

Oh! while Atlantic's breast Bears a white sail, While the Gulf's towering crest Tops a green vale, Men thy bold deeds shall tell, Old Heart of Oak, Daring Dave Farragut, Thunderbolt stroke!

WILLIAM TUCKEY MEREDITH.

August, 1864.

PINE AND PALM

(GRANT AND LEE)

Charles Francis Adams in address before Chicago Chapter of Phi Beta Kappa, June 17, 1902.

I NOW come to what I have always regarded--shall ever regard as the most creditable episode in all American history,--an episode without a blemish,--imposing, dignified, simple, heroic. I refer to Appomattox. Two men met that day, representative of American civilization, the whole world looking on. The two were Grant and Lee,--types each. Both rose, and rose unconsciously, to the full height of the occasion,--and than that occasion there has been none greater. About it and them, there was no theatrical display, no self-consciousness, no effort at effect. A great crisis was to be met; and they met that crisis as great countrymen should.

That month of April saw the close of exactly four years of persistent strife,--a strife which the whole civilized world had been watching intently. Then, suddenly, came the dramatic climax at Appomattox, dramatic I say, not theatrical,--severe in its simple, sober, matter-of-fact majesty. The world, I again assert, has seen nothing like it; and the world, instinctively, was at the time conscious of the fact. I like to dwell on the familiar circumstances of the day; on its momentous outcome; on its far-reaching results. It affords one of the greatest educational object lessons to be found in history; and the actors were worthy of the theater, the auditory, and the play.

A mighty tragedy was drawing to a close. The breathless world was the audience. It was a bright, balmy April Sunday in a quiet Virginia landscape, with two veteran armies confronting each other; one game to the death, completely in the grasp of the other. The future was at stake. What might ensue? What might not ensue? Would the strife end then and there? Would it die in a death-grapple, only to reappear in that chronic form of a vanquished but indomitable people, writhing and struggling, in the grasp of an insatiate but only nominal victor?

The answer depended on two men,--the captains of the contending forces. Think what then might have resulted had these two men been other than what they were,--had the one been stern and aggressive, the other sullen and unyielding. Most fortunately for us, they were what and who they were,--_Grant and Lee. Of the two, I know not to which to award the palm._ Instinctively, unconsciously, they vied not unsuccessfully each with the other, in dignity, magnanimity, simplicity.

THE CONQUERED BANNER

LIKE several other poems of renown, "The Conquered Banner" was written under stress of deep emotion.

Abram J. Ryan (Father Ryan) had been ordained as a Catholic priest. Shortly after his ordination he was made a chaplain in the Confederate army.

When the news came of General Lee's surrender at Appomattox he was in his room in Knoxville, where his regiment was quartered.

He bowed his head upon the table and wept bitterly.

He then arose and looked about him for a piece of paper, but could find nothing but a sheet of brown paper wrapped about a pair of shoes. Spreading this out upon the table, he, "in a spirit of sorrow and desolation" as expressed in his own words, wrote upon it "The Conquered Banner."

The following morning the regiment was ordered away, and the poem upon the table was forgotten. To the author's surprise it appeared over his name, in a Louisville paper, a few weeks later, having been forwarded to the paper by the lady in whose house he had stopped in Knoxville.

The poem was widely copied, and was read at gatherings throughout the South with ardor and often with tears.

As an expression of sorrow without bitterness it is considered a fine example.

THE CONQUERED BANNER

FURL that Banner, for 'tis weary; Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary; Furl it, fold it--it is best; For there's not a man to wave it, And there's not a sword to save it, And there's not one left to lave it In the blood which heroes gave it; And its foes now scorn and brave it; Furl it, hide it--let it rest!

Take that Banner down! 'tis tattered; Broken is its staff and shattered; And the valiant hosts are scattered, Over whom it floated high. Oh, 'tis hard for us to fold it, Hard to think there's none to hold it, Hard that those who once unrolled it Now must furl it with a sigh!

Furl that Banner--furl it sadly; Once ten thousands hailed it gladly, And ten thousands wildly, madly, Swore it should forever wave-- Swore that foeman's sword could never Hearts like theirs entwined dissever, And that flag should float forever O'er their freedom or their grave!

Furl it! for the hands that grasped it, And the hearts that fondly clasped it, Cold and dead are lying low; And the Banner--it is trailing, While around it sounds the wailing Of its people in their woe.

For, though conquered, they adore it-- Love the cold, dead hands that bore it! Weep for those who fell before it! Pardon those who trailed and tore it! But, oh, wildly they deplore it, Now who furl and fold it so!

Furl that Banner! True, 'tis gory, Yet, 'tis wreathed around with glory, And 'twill live in song and story Though its folds are in the dust! For its fame on brightest pages, Penned by poets and by sages, Shall go sounding down the ages-- Furl its folds though now we must.

Furl that Banner, softly, slowly; Treat it gently--it is holy, For it droops above the dead; Touch it not--unfold it never; Let it droop there, furled forever,-- For its people's hopes are fled.

ABRAM JOSEPH RYAN.

DEATH OF GRANT

AS one by one withdraw the lofty actors From that great play on history's stage eternal, That lurid, partial act of war and peace--of old and new contending, Fought out through wrath, fears, dark dismays, and many a long suspense; All past--and since, in countless graves receding, mellowing Victor and vanquished--Lincoln's and Lee's--now thou with them, Man of the mighty day--and equal to the day! Thou from the prairies?--and tangled and many veined and hard has been thy part, To admiration has it been enacted!

WALT WHITMAN.

The humblest soldier who carried a musket is entitled to as much credit for the results of the war as those who were in command.

U. S. GRANT.

ROBERT E. LEE

A GALLANT foeman in the fight, A brother when the fight was o'er, The hand that led the host with might The blessed torch of learning bore.

No shriek of shells nor roll of drums, No challenge fierce, resounding far, When reconciling wisdom comes To heal the cruel wounds of war.

Thought may the minds of men divide, Love makes the heart of nations one, And so, thy soldier grave beside, We honor thee, Virginia's son.

JULIA WARD HOWE.

OLD GLORY ON THE ISLAND

MEN who have had grave differences and looked at each other coldly and passed with unsmiling faces have, when some calamity threatened, sprang shoulder to shoulder and spent their united strength in defense of a common cause.

Thus in the Spanish-American spurt of war,--serious enough, too serious, alas, in some aspects; but great in some of its beneficent results. In that call, "To Arms!" was laid to rest--forever forgotten--the old enmity between the North and the South, engendered by the Civil Strife.

On the island of Cuba, the trenches of the United States Army were five miles in extent and in shape of a horseshoe. Above the trenches, five curving miles of _Stars and Stripes_ gleamed.

To the United States prisoners, confined in the prison, within sight of these flags, but _under the flag of Spain_, the waving emblems before their eyes brought daily hope and courage.

In full vision of the men in the trenches fluttered the flag of Spain; above their heads Old Glory flew,--the sheltering Stripes and Stars.

As night came down, and land and shimmering sea was bathed in the white light of the sub-tropics, the strains of the "Star-Spangled Banner" were borne upon the air and fell away softly, as if coming from across the water. Every man uncovered and stood with silent lips, and eyes fixed upon Old Glory until the last echoing note died in the distance, then turned again to duties; but upon his face was stamped the deeper understanding of the meaning of it all--_of Flag, and Home, and Country_.

Thus from the shores of a tropic island, fighting together for the flag of the nation, both Blue and Gray gained a new and happier viewpoint; and looking back across the warm and shining waters of the Gulf Stream, each knew that all was good, and said:--

"Lo! from the thunder-strife, And from the blown, white ashes of the dead, We rise to larger life."

"There is a peace amid'st the shock of arms, That satisfies the soul, though all the air Hurtles with horror and with rude alarms."

"That clarion cry, My country! makes men one."

WHEELER'S BRIGADE AT SANTIAGO

'NEATH the lanes of the tropic sun The column is standing ready, Awaiting the fateful command of one Whose word will ring out To an answering shout To prove it alert and steady. And a stirring chorus all of them sung With singleness of endeavor, Though some to "The Bonny Blue Flag" had swung And some to "The Union For Ever."

The order came sharp through the desperate air And the long ranks rose to follow, Till their dancing banners shone more fair Than the brightest ray Of the Cuban day On the hill and jungled hollow; And to "Maryland" some in the days gone by Had fought through the combat's rumble And some for "Freedom's Battle-Cry" Had seen the broad earth crumble.

Full many a widow weeps in the night Who had been a man's wife in the morning; For the banners we loved we bore to the height Where the enemy stood As a hero should His valor his country adorning; But drops of pride with your tears of grief, Ye American women, mix ye! For the North and South, with a Southern chief, Kept time to the tune of "Dixie."

WALLACE RICE.

SOLDIERS

SO many, many soldiers At reveille fared forth; Such ready, willing soldiers, From sunny South and North.

So many gallant soldiers At noon to face the fight; So many weary wounded Home-dreaming in the night.

So many quick to answer To drum and bugle sound; So many war-scarred sleepers On death's white-tented ground.

O soldiers, silent soldiers, Calm-sleeping in the sun, Beneath one happy flag again, God rest you, every one.

Of every human difference Great Time, the high priest, shrives; While Southern winds are telling The fragrance of brave lives.

Beneath the Southern willows, In slumber folded deep, O soldiers, brothers, every one, God's peace attend your sleep.

WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE.

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Our battle-fields, safe in the keeping, Of Nature's kind, fostering care, Are blooming,--our heroes are sleeping,-- And peace broods perennial there. All over our land rings the story Of loyalty, fervent and true; "One flag, and that flag is Old Glory," Alike for the Gray and the Blue.

JOHN HOWARD JEWETT.

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Printed in the United States of America.

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Transcriber's Note:

The original punctuation, language and spelling have been retained, except where noted. The following changes were made to the original text (correction in brackets):

Page v: for "Soldiers"; to Mr. John Howard Jewitt[Jewett] for Page v: for "The Cruise of the Monitor" by George M.[H.] Boker; Page 60: Now all is hushed: th[the] gleaming lines Page 67: And the star-spangled banner n[in] triumph shall wave Page 74: Packenham[Pakenham]! Page 75: General Packenham[Pakenham] heroically waved his troops Page 80: As fair and free as now[now?] Page 83: CHARLES DAWSON SHANLEY[SHANLY]. Page 113: GEORGE M. BAKER[H. BOKER]. Page 173: WILL ALLEN DROMGOLOE[DROMGOOLE].

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End of Project Gutenberg's How the Flag Became Old Glory, by Emma Look Scott