wife and children to his breast, bidding them return with their tale
of conquest to Rome. As for himself, he said, only exile and shame
remained.
Before the women reached home, the army of the Volscians was on its
homeward march. Coriolanus never led it against Rome again. He lived and
died in exile, far from his wife and children.
The Romans, to honor Volumnia, and those who had gone with her to the
Volscian camp, built a temple to “Woman's Fortune,” on the spot where
Coriolanus had yielded to his mother's entreaties.
THE WIDOW AND HER THREE SONS
(ADAPTED)
One day a poor woman approached Mr. Lincoln for an interview. She was
somewhat advanced in years and plainly clad, wearing a faded shawl and
worn hood.
“Well, my good woman,” said Mr. Lincoln, “what can I do for you this
morning?”
“Mr. President,” answered she, “my husband and three sons all went into
the army. My husband was killed in the battle of----. I get along very
badly since then living all alone, and I thought that I would come and
ask you to release to me my eldest son.”
Mr. Lincoln looked in her face for a moment, and then replied kindly:--
“Certainly! Certainly! If you have given us ALL, and your prop has been
taken away, you are justly entitled to one of your boys.”
He then made out an order discharging the young man, which the woman
took away, thanking him gratefully.
She went to the front herself with the President's order, and found that
her son had been mortally wounded in a recent battle, and taken to the
hospital.
She hastened to the hospital. But she was too late, the boy died, and
she saw him laid in a soldier's grave.
She then returned to the President with his order, on the back of which
the attendant surgeon had stated the sad facts concerning the young man
it was intended to discharge.
Mr. Lincoln was much moved by her story, and said: “I know what you wish
me to do now, and I shall do it without your asking. I shall release to
you your second son.”
Taking up his pen he began to write the order, while the grief-stricken
woman stood at his side and passed her hand softly over his head, and
stroked his rough hair as she would have stroked her boy's.
When he had finished he handed her the paper, saying tenderly, his eyes
full of tears:--
“Now you have one of the two left, and I have one, that is no more than
right.”
She took the order and reverently placing her hand upon his head,
said:--
“The Lord bless you, Mr. President. May you live a thousand years, and
may you always be the head of this great nation.”
MEMORIAL DAY
(APRIL OR MAY)
FLAG DAY
(JUNE 14)
BETSY ROSS AND THE FLAG
BY HARRY PRINGLE FORD (ADAPTED)
On the 14th day of June, 1777, the Continental Congress passed the
following resolution: “RESOLVED, That the flag of the thirteen United
States be thirteen stripes alternate red and white; that the Union
be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new
constellation.”
We are told that previous to this, in 1776, a committee was appointed to
look after the matter, and together with General Washington they called
at the house of Betsy Ross, 239 Arch Street, Philadelphia.
Betsy Ross was a young widow of twenty-four heroically supporting
herself by continuing the upholstery business of her late husband, young
John Ross, a patriot who had died in the service of his country.
Betsy was noted for her exquisite needlework, and was engaged in the
flag-making business.
The committee asked her if she thought she could make a flag from a
design, a rough drawing of which General Washington showed her. She
replied, with diffidence, that she did not know whether she could or
not, but would try. She noticed, however, that the star as drawn had six
points, and informed the committee that the correct star had but five.
They answered that as a great number of stars would be required, the
more regular form with six points could be more easily made than one
with five.
She responded in a practical way by deftly folding a scrap of
paper; then with a single clip of her scissors she displayed a true,
symmetrical, five-pointed star.
This decided the committee in her favor. A rough design was left for her
use, but she was permitted to make a sample flag according to her own
ideas of the arrangement of the stars and the proportions of the stripes
and the general form of the whole.
Sometime after its completion it was presented to Congress, and the
committee had the pleasure of informing Betsy Ross that her flag was
accepted as the Nation's standard.
THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER
BY EVA MARCH TAPPAN (ADAPTED)
In 1814, while the War of 1812 was still going on, the people of
Maryland were in great trouble, for a British fleet began to attack
Baltimore. The enemy bombarded the forts, including Fort McHenry. For
twenty-four hours the terrific bombardment went on.
“If Fort McHenry only stands, the city is safe,” said Francis Scott Key
to a friend, and they gazed anxiously through the smoke to see if the
flag was still flying.
These two men were in the strangest place that could be imagined. They
were in a little American vessel fast moored to the side of the British
admiral's flagship. A Maryland doctor had been seized as a prisoner by
the British, and the President had given permission for them to go out
under a flag of truce, to ask for his release. The British commander
finally decided that the prisoner might be set free; but he had no
idea of allowing the two men to go back to the city and carry any
information. “Until the attack on Baltimore is ended, you and your boat
must remain here,” he said.
The firing went on. As long as daylight lasted they could catch glimpses
of the Stars and Stripes whenever the wind swayed the clouds of smoke.
When night came they could still see the banner now and then by the
blaze of the cannon. A little after midnight the firing stopped. The two
men paced up and down the deck, straining their eyes to see if the flag
was still flying. “Can the fort have surrendered?” they questioned. “Oh,
if morning would only come!”
At last the faint gray of dawn appeared. They could see that some flag
was flying, but it was too dark to tell which. More and more eagerly
they gazed. It grew lighter, a sudden breath of wind caught the flag,
and it floated out on the breeze. It was no English flag, it was their
own Stars and Stripes. The fort had stood, the city was safe. Then it
was that Key took from his pocket an old letter and on the back of it he
wrote the poem, “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
The British departed, and the little American boat went back to the
city. Mr. Key gave a copy of the poem to his uncle, who had been helping
to defend the fort. The uncle sent it to the printer, and had it struck
off on some handbills. Before the ink was dry the printer caught up one
and hurried away to a restaurant, where many patriots were assembled.
Waving the paper, he cried, “Listen to this!” and he read:--
“O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming,
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous
fight,
O'er the ramparts we watch'd were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O say, does the star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?”
“Sing it! sing it!” cried the whole company. Charles Durang mounted a
chair and then for the first time “The Star-Spangled Banner” was sung.
The tune was “To Anacreon in Heaven,” an air which had long been a
favorite. Halls, theaters, and private houses rang with its strains.
The fleet was out of sight even before the poem was printed. In the
middle of the night the admiral had sent to the British soldiers this
message, “I can do nothing more,” and they hurried on board the vessels.
It was not long before they left Chesapeake Bay altogether,--perhaps
with the new song ringing in their ears as they went.
THE LITTLE DRUMMER-BOY
BY ALBERT BUSHNELL HART (ADAPTED)
A few days before a certain regiment received orders to join General
Lyon, on his march to Wilson's Creek, the drummer-boy of the regiment
was taken sick, and carried to the hospital.
Shortly after this there appeared before the captain's quarters, during
the beating of the reveille, a good-looking, middle-aged woman, dressed
in deep mourning, leading by the hand a sharp, sprightly looking boy,
apparently about twelve or thirteen years of age.
Her story was soon told. She was from East Tennessee, where her husband
had been killed by the Confederates, and all her property destroyed.
Being destitute, she thought that if she could procure a situation for
her boy as drummer, she could find employment for herself.
While she told her story, the little fellow kept his eyes intently fixed
upon the countenance of the captain. And just as the latter was about to
say that he could not take so small a boy, the lad spoke out:--
“Don't be afraid, Captain,” said he, “I can drum.”
This was spoken with so much confidence that the captain smiled and said
to the sergeant:--
“Well, well, bring the drum, and order our fifer to come here.”
In a few moments a drum was produced and the fifer, a round-shouldered,
good-natured fellow, who stood six feet tall, made his appearance. Upon
being introduced to the lad, he stooped down, resting his hands on his
knees, and, after peering into the little fellow's face for a moment,
said:--
“My little man, can you drum?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the boy promptly. “I drummed for Captain Hill in
Tennessee.”
The fifer immediately straightened himself, and, placing his fife to
his lips, played the “Flowers of Edinburgh,” one of the most difficult
things to follow with the drum. And nobly did the little fellow follow
him, showing himself to be master of the drum.
When the music ceased the captain turned to the mother and observed:--
“Madam, I will take the boy. What is his name?”
“Edward Lee,” she replied. Then placing her hand upon the captain's arm,
she continued in a choking voice, “If he is not killed!--Captain,--you
will bring him back to me?”
“Yes, yes,” he replied, “we shall be certain to bring him back to you.
We shall be discharged in six weeks.”
An hour after, the company led the regiment out of camp, the drum and
fife playing “The Girl I left behind me.”
Eddie, as the soldiers called him, soon became a great favorite with
all the men of the company. When any of the boys returned from foraging,
Eddie's share of the peaches, melons, and other good things was meted
out first. During the heavy and fatiguing marches, the long-legged fifer
often waded through the mud with the little drummer mounted on his back,
and in the same fashion he carried Eddie when fording streams.
During the fight at Wilson's Creek, a part of the company was stationed
on the right of Totten's battery, while the balance of the company was
ordered down into a deep ravine, at the left, in which it was known a
party of Confederates was concealed.
An engagement took place. The contest in the ravine continued some time.
Totten suddenly wheeled his battery upon the enemy in that quarter, and
they soon retreated to high ground behind their lines.
In less than twenty minutes after Totten had driven the Confederates
from the ravine, the word passed from man to man throughout the army,
“Lyon is killed!” And soon after, hostilities having ceased upon both
sides, the order came for the main part of the Federal force to fall
back upon Springfield, while the lesser part was to camp upon the
ground, and cover the retreat.
That night a corporal was detailed for guard duty. His post was upon
a high eminence that overlooked the deep ravine in which the men had
engaged the enemy. It was a dreary, lonesome beat. The hours passed
slowly away, and at length the morning light began to streak along the
western sky, making surrounding objects visible.
Presently the corporal heard a drum beating up the morning call. At
first he thought it came from the camp of the Confederates across the
creek, but as he listened he found that it came from the deep ravine.
For a few moments the sound stopped, then began again. The corporal
listened closely. The notes of the drum were familiar to him,--and then
he knew that it was the drummer-boy from Tennessee playing the morning
call.
Just then the corporal was relieved from guard duty, and, asking
permission, went at once to Eddie's assistance. He started down the
hill, through the thick underbrush, and upon reaching the bottom of the
ravine, he followed the sound of the drum, and soon found the lad seated
upon the ground, his back leaning against a fallen tree, while his drum
hung upon a bush in front of him.
As soon as the boy saw his rescuer he dropped his drumsticks, and
exclaimed:--
“O Corporal! I am so glad to see you! Give me a drink.”
The soldier took his empty canteen, and immediately turned to bring some
water from the brook that he could hear rippling through the bushes near
by, when, Eddie, thinking that he was about to leave him, cried out:--
“Don't leave me, Corporal, I can't walk.”
The corporal was soon back with the water, when he discovered that both
the lad's feet had been shot away by a cannon-ball.
After satisfying his thirst, Eddie looked up into the corporal's face
and said:--
“You don't think I shall die, do you? This man said I should not,--he
said the surgeon could cure my feet.”
The corporal now looked about him and discovered a man lying in the
grass near by. By his dress he knew him to belong to the Confederate
army. It appeared that he had been shot and had fallen near Eddie.
Knowing that he could not live, and seeing the condition of the
drummer-boy, he had crawled to him, taken off his buckskin suspenders,
and had corded the little fellow's legs below the knees, and then he had
laid himself down and died.
While Eddie was telling the corporal these particulars, they heard the
tramp of cavalry coming down the ravine, and in a moment a scout of the
enemy was upon them, and took them both prisoners.
The corporal requested the officer in charge to take Eddie up in front
of him, and he did so, carrying the lad with great tenderness and care.
When they reached the Confederate camp the little fellow was dead.
A FLAG INCIDENT
BY M. M. THOMAS (ADAPTED)
When marching to Chattanooga the corps had reached a little wooded
valley between the mountains. The colonel, with others, rode ahead,
and, striking into a bypath, suddenly came upon a secluded little cabin
surrounded by a patch of cultivated ground.
At the door an old woman, eighty years of age, was supporting herself
on a crutch. As they rode up she asked if they were “Yankees,” and upon
their replying that they were, she said: “Have you got the Stars and
Stripes with you? My father fought the Tories in the Revolution, and my
old eyes ache for a sight of the true flag before I die.”
To gratify her the colonel sent to have the colors brought that way.
When they were unfurled and planted before her door, she passed her
trembling hands over them and held them close to her eyes that she might
view the stars once more. When the band gave her “Yankee Doodle,”
and the “'Star-Spangled Banner,” she sobbed like a child, as did her
daughter, a woman of fifty, while her three little grandchildren gazed
in wonder.
They were Eastern people, who had gone to New Orleans to try to improve
their condition. Not being successful, they had moved from place to
place to better themselves, until finally they had settled on this spot,
the husband having taken several acres of land here for a debt.
Then the war burst upon them. The man fled to the mountains to avoid the
conscription, and they knew not whether he was alive or dead. They had
managed to support life, but were so retired that they saw very few
people.
Leaving them food and supplies, the colonel and the corps passed on.
TWO HERO-STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR
BY BEN LA BREE (ADAPTED)
I. BRAVERY HONORED BY A FOE
In a rifle-pit, on the brow of a hill near Fredericksburg, were a number
of Confederate soldiers who had exhausted their ammunition in the vain
attempt to check the advancing column of Hooker's finely equipped and
disciplined army which was crossing the river. To the relief of these
few came the brigade in double-quick time. But no sooner were the
soldiers intrenched than the firing on the opposite side of the river
became terrific.
A heavy mist obscured the scene. The Federal soldiers poured a merciless
fire into the trenches. Soon many Confederates fell, and the agonized
cries of the wounded who lay there calling for water, smote the hearts
of their helpless comrades.
“Water! Water!” But there was none to give, the canteens were-empty.
“Boys,” exclaimed Nathan Cunningham, a lad of eighteen, the color-bearer
for his regiment, “I can't stand this any more. They want water, and
water they must have. So let me have a few canteens and I'll go for
some.”
Carefully laying the colors, which he had borne on many a field, in a
trench, he seized some canteens, and, leaping into the mist, was soon
out of sight.
Shortly after this the firing ceased for a while, and an order came for
the men to fall back to the main line.
As the Confederates were retreating they met Nathan Cunningham, his
canteens full of water, hurrying to relieve the thirst of the wounded
men in the trenches. He glanced over the passing column and saw that
the faded flag, which he had carried so long, was not there. The men in
their haste to obey orders HAD FORGOTTEN OR OVERLOOKED THE COLORS.
Quickly the lad sped to the trenches, intent now not only on giving
water to his comrades, but on rescuing the flag and so to save the honor
of his regiment.
His mission of mercy was soon accomplished. The wounded men drank
freely. The lad then found and seized his colors, and turned to rejoin
his regiment. Scarcely had he gone three paces when a company of Federal
soldiers appeared ascending the hill.
“Halt and surrender,” came the stern command, and a hundred rifles were
leveled at the boy's breast.
“NEVER! while I hold the colors,” was his firm reply.
The morning sun, piercing with a lurid glare the dense mist, showed the
lad proudly standing with his head thrown back and his flag grasped in
his hand, while his unprotected breast was exposed to the fire of his
foe.
A moment's pause. Then the Federal officer gave his command:--
“Back with your pieces, men, don't shoot that brave boy.”
And Nathan Cunningham, with colors flying over his head, passed on and
joined his regiment.
His comrades in arms still tell with pride of his brave deed and of the
generous act of a foe.
II. THE BRAVERY OF RICHARD KIRTLAND
Richard Kirtland was a sergeant in the Second Regiment of South Carolina
Volunteers. The day after the great battle of Fredericksburg, Kershaw's
brigade occupied the road at the foot of Marye's Hill.
One hundred and fifty yards in front of the road, on the other side of
a stone wall, lay Sykes's division of the United States Army. Between
these troops and Kershaw's command a skirmish fight was continued
through the entire day. The ground between the lines was literally
covered with dead and dying Federal soldiers.
All day long the wounded were calling, “Water! water! water!”
In the afternoon, Sergeant Kirtland, a Confederate soldier, went to the
headquarters of General Kershaw, and said with deep emotion: “General,
all through last night and to-day; I have been hearing those poor
wounded Federal soldiers out there cry for water. Let me go and give
them some.”
“Don't you know,” replied the general, “that you would get a bullet
through you the moment you stepped over the wall?”
“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant; “but if you will let me go I am willing
to try it.”
The general reflected a minute, then answered: “Kirtland, I ought not to
allow you to take this risk, but the spirit that moves you is so noble I
cannot refuse. Go, and may God protect you!”
In the face of almost certain death the sergeant climbed the wall,
watched with anxiety by the soldiers of his army. Under the curious gaze
of his foes, and exposed to their fire, he dropped to the ground and
hastened on his errand of mercy. Unharmed, untouched, he reached the
nearest sufferer. He knelt beside him, tenderly raised his drooping
head, rested it gently on his breast, and poured the cooling life-giving
water down the parched throat. This done he laid him carefully down,
placed the soldier's knapsack under his head, straightened his broken
limbs, spread his coat over him, replaced the empty canteen with a full
one, then turned to another sufferer.
By this time his conduct was understood by friend and foe alike and the
firing ceased on both sides.
For an hour and a half did he pursue his noble mission, until he had
relieved the wounded on all parts of the battlefield. Then he returned
to his post uninjured.
Surely such a noble deed is worthy of the admiration of men and angels.
THE YOUNG SENTINEL
BY Z. A. MUDGE (ADAPTED)
In the summer of 1862, a young man belonging to a Vermont regiment was
found sleeping at his post. He was tried and sentenced to be shot. The
day was fixed for the execution, and the young soldier calmly prepared
to meet his fate.
Friends who knew of the case brought the matter to Mr. Lincoln's
attention. It seemed that the boy had been on duty one night, and on
the following night he had taken the place of a comrade too ill to stand
guard. The third night he had been again called out, and, being utterly
exhausted, had fallen asleep at his post.
As soon as Mr. Lincoln understood the case, he signed a pardon, and
sent it to the camp. The morning before the execution arrived, and the
President had not heard whether the pardon had reached the officers in
charge of the matter. He began to feel uneasy. He ordered a telegram to
be sent to the camp, but received no answer. State papers could not
fix his mind, nor could he banish the condemned soldier boy from his
thoughts.
At last, feeling that he MUST KNOW that the lad was safe, he ordered
the carriage and rode rapidly ten miles over a dusty road and beneath
a scorching sun. When he reached the camp he found that the pardon had
been received and the execution stayed.
The sentinel was released, and his heart was filled with lasting
gratitude. When the campaign opened in the spring, the young man was
with his regiment near Yorktown, Virginia. They were ordered to attack a
fort, and he fell at the first volley of the enemy.
His comrades caught him up and carried him bleeding and dying from the
field. “Bear witness,” he said, “that I have proved myself not a coward,
and I am not afraid to die.” Then, making a last effort, with his dying
breath he prayed for Abraham Lincoln.
THE COLONEL OF THE ZOUAVES
BY NOAH BROOKS (ADAPTED)
Among those who accompanied Mr. Lincoln, the President-elect, on his
journey from Illinois to the national capital, was Elmer E. Ellsworth,
a young man who had been employed in the law office of Lincoln and
Herndon, Springfield.
He was a brave, handsome, and impetuous youth, and was among the first
to offer his services to the President in defense of the Union, as soon
as the mutterings of war were heard.
Before the war he had organized a company of Zouaves from the Chicago
firemen, and had delighted and astonished many people by the exhibitions
of their skill in the evolutions through which they were put while
visiting some chief cities of the Republic.
Now, being commissioned a second lieutenant in the United States Army,
he went to New York and organized from the firemen of that city a
similar regiment, known as the Eleventh New York.
Colonel Ellsworth's Zouaves, on the evening of May 23, were sent with
a considerable force to occupy the heights overlooking Washington and
Alexandria, on the banks of the Potomac, opposite the national capital.
Next day, seeing a Confederate flag flying from the Marshall House,
a tavern in Alexandria kept by a secessionist, he went up through the
building to the roof and pulled it down. While on his way down the
stairs, with the flag in his arms, he was met by the tavern-keeper, who
shot and killed him instantly. Ellsworth fell, dyeing the Confederate
flag with the blood that gushed from his heart. The tavern-keeper was
instantly killed by a shot from Private Brownell, of the Ellsworth
Zouaves, who was at hand when his commander fell.