It was the Fourth of July in the year 1913. In accordance with the law
of precedent and of patriotism every town and city in the United States
should have had a public celebration of the day. But Fairweather was to
have none. With the exception of a flag-raising on the plaza in front
of the Barriscale mills the national anniversary was to go entirely
unrecognized in the town so far as any public demonstration was
concerned. But the flag-raising in itself was to be no inconsiderable
event. Through the liberality of certain public-spirited citizens,
principally gentlemen belonging to the Barriscale Manufacturing
Company, a tall and beautifully tapering staff had been erected, capped
with a gilded ball, and a handsome American flag had been procured and
was ready to be drawn aloft.
It was a rare July day. The air was fresh and clear, the sky was
cloudless, the heat was not oppressive.
The exercises were to take place at three o’clock, and it now wanted
twenty minutes of that hour, but people were already beginning to come.
They were strolling lazily down the four streets that led into the
plaza, standing expectantly at the corners, hugging the shade of the
big mill building on the west.
On the southerly curb, talking with each other, stood Halpert McCormack
and Ben Barriscale. They had both reached the age of eighteen years.
The one straight, slender and fair-haired, was telling the other that
he had obtained employment in the Citizens’ Bank and was to begin work
there the following day. The career thus to be begun was not the one
that had been planned for him. He was to have gone to college and then
into one of the learned professions. But the death of his father soon
after his own graduation from a preparatory school made it necessary to
change the plans for his future, and he was to go into business instead.
“It’s too bad,” said Ben, “that you had to cut out your college course.
You should have been a professor of something or other, you’re so chock
full of wisdom. What was it the boys used to call you? Socrates?”
“I believe so.”
“And you were going to set the world right; weren’t you?”
“Well, I thought there were some things in the world that needed to be
set right; I still think so.”
“For instance?”
“For instance, the unequal distribution of wealth.”
“Oh, every one can’t be rich. Who’d do the world’s work?”
“No, every one can’t be rich, that’s true. But if things were properly
adjusted every one would have plenty, and there would be no poverty.”
“That’s some of your socialistic nonsense, Hal. I’ve got a right to be
rich if I can get the money honestly. And I’m going to be rich, too, if
hard work will get me there.”
“Ah, but you’re Benjamin Barriscale’s son. And your father is a
millionaire. And you’ve got a chance that no other fellow in this town
has. That’s what I’m finding fault with. Opportunity should be equal
for all of us. And when things are set right it will be.”
How much longer this sociological discussion would have continued
had it not been interrupted is uncertain. But it was interrupted.
An automobile drew up to the curb, and in it was seated Miss Sarah
Halpert, alone save for the driver of the car. Her appearance and
manner indicated that she was a woman of some importance in the
community. She was appropriately gowned, attractive in looks, and under
the brim of her flower-bedecked hat her abundant hair showed becomingly
gray. The fair-haired boy greeted her cordially as Aunt Sarah, the dark
and stocky one with due courtesy, as Miss Halpert.
“I suppose you boys are here to see the flag-raising,” she said. “I’m
sorry I can’t stay for it. I like the idea tremendously.” She turned
to face the dark-haired boy and continued: “I’m not a great admirer of
your father, Ben, everybody knows that. But I certainly commend him for
heading the movement to put this flag here. Parades and speeches are
all right enough in their way; but when it comes to inspiring genuine
patriotism, give me the sight of ‘Old Glory’ waving in the breeze every
time.”
“Yes,” answered Ben, “there are so many persons of foreign birth
working in the mills that father thought the sight of the flag every
day would be a constant reminder to them of the duty they owe this
government, and the necessity they are under of obeying its laws.”
“Good idea!” exclaimed the lady. “Don’t you think so, Hal?” turning to
the fair-haired boy.
“I suppose so,” replied Hal, “provided the government is so conducted
as to command their obedience and respect.”
“Well, isn’t it?” she asked sharply.
“Oh, I think there are some things that might be changed for the
better.”
“What are they, I’d like to know? No, you needn’t tell me. It’s just
some of your high-brow notions about the social order and that sort of
thing, and I don’t want to hear them. What business has a boy of your
age, anyway, befogging his brains over economic problems? Studying
baseball scores is a vastly better business for young fellows like you.”
The music of an approaching band had grown more distinct, and a
procession could be seen coming down the main street toward the plaza.
The procession consisted of town officials, speakers of the day,
committeemen, prominent citizens, a group of young girls dressed in
white, and the local company of state militia. Miss Sarah Halpert
stood up in her automobile to watch the soldiers as they marched by.
Dressed in khaki, arms at a right-shoulder, straight and sturdy,
obeying commands with the precision of veterans, they certainly formed
a pleasing and inspiring sight. The woman clapped her hands vigorously
in approval, her eyes sparkled, and a flush came into her cheeks.
“Splendid!” she cried. “There’s young manhood for you!” She turned
toward the fair-haired youth.
“Halpert McCormack,” she exclaimed, “you ought to be in that company
this minute. A boy whose father was captain of it for ten years has no
right to be outside of it.”
“I’ve been thinking about joining,” responded Hal. “I’m eighteen now,
and I suppose I could get in. I think father would have liked me to be
a member.”
“Of course he would. You must apply for admission to the company at
once. What about you, Ben?” turning to the other boy.
“Oh, my application’s already in,” replied Ben. “I believe in the
military life. It’s splendid discipline for any fellow. Besides, when
my country needs soldiers I want to be prepared to fight.”
“Good! That’s the talk!” She clapped her hands again. “Now go to it,
Hal. See who gets a commission first, you or Ben. I’ll tell you what
I want,” she continued; “I want to see Halpert McCormack captain of
Company E, as his father was before him, and Benjamin Barriscale its
first lieutenant.”
“Suppose the order of rank should be reversed?” inquired Hal,
laughingly.
“It wouldn’t hurt my feelings a great lot,” she retorted. “It’s only
because ‘blood is thicker than water,’ and because you’re my only
sister’s son, that I want you to be the ranking officer; but if you
don’t deserve the honor I hope to goodness you won’t get it!” She
consulted her watch and continued: “Well, I must be off. I’ll leave you
boys to see that that flag is properly raised. Good-bye, both of you!”
She gave hurried directions to her driver, the car moved forward, and,
with a final wave of her hand, she disappeared up the street down which
she had so recently come.
The procession had passed by, the soldiers were standing at the foot
of the staff at “parade rest,” and the band had already begun to play
the opening number of the programme when the two boys, pushing their
way through the crowd, reached more nearly the center of activity.
Following the music there came an invocation by a local clergyman and
a brief address by the mayor. Then the young girls, dressed in white,
charged with the duty of actually raising the flag, came forward to
perform their patriotic task. Assisted by the chairman of the flag
committee, they fastened the colors securely to the halyards and
awaited the order to begin hoisting. The company bugler sounded to the
color, and the band struck into the first chord of The Star-Spangled
Banner. Some one shouted: “Hats off!” and immediately the hat or cap of
every man and boy in the assemblage came from his head, the hat or cap
of every man and boy save one. Immediately back of Ben and Hal stood
a black-haired, dark-eyed young man, apparently of foreign birth or
descent. His hat did not come off. He was fairly well dressed, he bore
marks of intelligence if not of culture, and there appeared to be no
reason why he should not join the rest of the company in doing honor
to the national anthem and the national flag. Moreover, from his easy
manner and confident look, it soon became apparent that he acted, or
failed to act, not from ignorance or inadvertence, but from deliberate
choice.
“Take off your hat!” said a man standing beside him.
“Why should I take off my hat?” he replied.
“Because they’re playing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ and they’re raising
the flag, you fool!”
The young man with the covered head did not appear to resent the
uncomplimentary remark, but he made no move which might have been
interpreted as an intention to obey the order that had been given to
him. The two boys had already turned to face the speakers. People in
the vicinity who, by reason of the band’s music, had failed to hear
what had been said, yet knowing that a quarrel was beginning, began to
move toward the immediate scene of the controversy. The defiant young
man regarded them with cool indifference.
“The flag which they raise,” he said, “stands too much for the
injustice and the wrong, that I should honor it.”
The man who had protested grew red in the face.
“Why, you ingrate,” he shouted, “the protection you get from that flag
was what brought you to this free country, and you know it!”
And the defiant one answered:
“The only flag which gives the protection to all men alike is the red
flag of the common brotherhood. I honor no capitalist banner.”
He spoke distinctly, decisively, with an accent that marked him as a
student if not a master of English. Still his hat remained on his
head. More people, attracted by the speakers, began to crowd closer,
eager to hear, at short range, what was an interesting if not a heated
controversy.
In the meantime, at the foot of the flagstaff, there was confusion
and delay. The band was still playing, but the colors were not moving
upward. Something had gone wrong with the apparatus by which the
flag was to be hoisted. A portion of the blue field and some of the
milk-white stars had been drawn up above the heads of the audience,
but had refused to go higher. Apparently the halyards had caught in
the pulley at the top of the staff, and all the efforts of the young
girls robed in white, and all the efforts of the chairman of the flag
committee, mingled freely with perspiration and ejaculations, failed
to release them. But, even in the face of this attractively awkward
situation, people were turning and pressing in ever increasing numbers
toward the man who had refused to uncover his head either at the sound
of the music or the sight of the folds of The Star-Spangled Banner.
An impetuous young fellow, pushing his way in from the outskirts of the
crowd, cried:
“Oh, don’t fool with him! If he won’t take his hat off, knock it off!”
The suggestion was no sooner made than it was acted upon. A near-by
hand shot out, and the next moment the offensive head-gear went flying
out into the crowd. The face of the defiant one flushed and paled, his
dark eyes blazed with indignation, his lips twitched; but he did not
speak. No one appeared to sympathize with him; no one put forth any
effort to protect him. On the contrary, all those who witnessed the
overt act made noisy manifestation of their approval; all but Halpert
McCormack. He was silent and doubtful. He would have resented any
imputation of disloyalty on his part either in thought or deed. But the
thing that had just been done did not appeal to him. It offended his
sense of justice. His sympathy, which had always been for the under dog
in any fight, was aroused in behalf of the man who was standing alone
in the midst of a hostile crowd. But he said nothing; it would have
been useless to protest. Nor was he quite sure that the man had not,
partly at least, deserved the treatment he had received. Doubtless the
incident would have been closed then and there had not the red-faced
man who had originally protested desired further to express his
abhorrence of acts savoring of disloyalty to the flag.
“You’ve no kick coming,” he said, addressing the young man whose hat
had been forcibly removed and was now irretrievably crushed; “you’re
lucky not to have your face smashed as well as your hat.”
“Well,” was the prompt reply, “if this is what you call it, the American
spirit of fair play, then I have the good reason to dishonor your
American flag.”
And the red-faced man, growing still more angry, retorted:
“If you don’t like the American spirit, go back where you came from.
What business have you got here, anyway? Who are you?”
Again the reply came promptly and deliberately:
“I have the same business here like you. Me, I am Hugo Donatello,
Internationalist. My journal, which I publish in your city, is by name
_The Disinherited_. I commend it to your reading that you may learn
from it the first principles of human justice and decency.”
Then the fellow at whose suggestion Donatello was made hatless broke in
again:
“Oh, I know who he is. He’s an anarchist. He’s no business here. Run
him out!”
Half a dozen voices echoed the cry: “Run him out! Run him out!”
In the crowd there was a movement, perceptible and ominous, an
involuntary drawing toward the center of the disturbance. The red-faced
man spoke up again:
“Gentlemen, this fellow is not only an enemy to our government, he has
also insulted our flag. Before he is permitted to go he should be made
to apologize.”
The idea became suddenly popular.
“Yes,” was the cry from a dozen throats, “make him apologize!”
The red-faced man turned toward the intended victim. “Well,” he
demanded, “are you going to do it?”
“Do what?”
“Apologize.”
“To whom?”
“To the flag.”
“But I do not honor your flag. It is the same as nothing to me.”
“We’ll make you honor it. By the shade of Washington, we’ll make you
kiss it!”
“Ah, that is the autocratic boast! But I am of the people. I defy you!
I will spit upon your flag!”
He stood, with bloodless face and blazing eyes, desperate and defiant.
He could no longer hold his anger in check. He had spoken his mind. And
he knew, or should have known, that he must now pay the penalty for
his rashness. It was Ben Barriscale who, echoing the red-faced man’s
suggestion, shouted:
“Make him kiss the flag!”
It was a suggestion and a demand that was caught up at once by the
crowd, and immediately there was a concerted movement to carry it out.
A powerful man, standing near Donatello, seized his arms and pinioned
them behind his back. A dozen hands reached out to force him toward
the spot where the colors still lay in the arms of the girls dressed in
white.
Up to this moment Halpert McCormack had looked on disapprovingly,
but had held his peace. He could remain silent no longer. His sense
of fair play had been outraged. To hound this man into expressions
of disloyalty and contempt and then to make him pay the humiliating
penalty strained his patience to the breaking point.
“It’s not fair!” he shouted. “You drove him into it. You’ve got no
right to punish him!” He started forward, with arms raised as if to
strike off the hands that were gripping and pushing the defamer of the
flag. But men who were not able to reach Donatello could reach his
would-be defender, and they did. They held him back and pulled down his
arms, and the red-faced man shouted at him:
“You hold your tongue, young fellow, or you’ll get a dose of the same
medicine.”
But the victim of over-zealous patriotism shot a grateful glance at the
boy.
“You have the red blood,” he cried; “I salute you!”
Then, hatless, white-faced, outraged in soul and body, Donatello was
propelled, not too gently, to the foot of the flagstaff.
The young girls in white became so frightened at the spectacle that
they forgot all rules of flag etiquette and dropped the colors to the
ground and fled. And into the mass of red, white and blue bunting,
caught up by some rescuer, the face of the man who had expressed a
desire to spit upon the flag was rudely and violently thrust. He had
been forced to his knees, his coat was half torn from his shoulders,
and his mass of black hair was flung in disorder across his eyes.
After his commendation of McCormack’s futile effort to protect him
he did not again speak. He knew that words would have been not only
useless but provocative no doubt of still greater violence. And when
the crowd, burning with patriotic zeal, had worked its will with him,
had made him, after its fashion, “kiss the flag,” they let him go. They
not only let him go, they helped him on his way. They escorted him to
the curb at the opening of the main street into the plaza, turned his
face to the north, and, with one final thrust, sent him reeling up the
walk. Having performed this patriotic task they returned to the foot of
the flagstaff where renewed efforts on the part of the chairman of the
committee had finally resulted in the freeing of the halyards, and “Old
Glory,” hoisted by the girls in white, at last flung its emblematic
folds out on the sustaining winds, and flashed its splendid colors in
the sunlight of a perfect summer day.
But one young American, Halpert McCormack by name, unconscious of any
feeling of disloyalty to his country’s flag, believing nevertheless
that it had been made the occasion and the cause of unnecessary and
disgraceful persecution, turned away in disgust from the crowd that
had been so rudely patriotic, and walked thoughtfully and regretfully
toward his home.
And one young radical of foreign birth and destructive purpose, son
of Italian parents, outraged beyond expression at his treatment by a
patriotic mob, sought his modest quarters to brood over his wrongs,
and to lay plans and conceive plots that should in time satisfy his
passionate desire for revenge.