officer of the navy present took up the flag, saying: "I will never
allow anyone to stand on the flag while I am present."
The national flag is raised on school buildings on all national
or state holidays and on anniversaries of memorable events in our
country's history. Most all schools now know the Star Spangled Banner
and when it is brought forward every pupil rises and gives a military
salute and distinctly repeats: "I pledge allegiance to my flag and to
the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty
and justice to all."
The eye of the home-comer catches sight of the large American flag
which floats from a steel pole 300 feet high at Mt. Claire, New Jersey,
before even he sees the Statue of Liberty.
Here's our love to you, flag of the free and flag of the tried and
true;
Here's our love to your streaming stripes and your stars in a field
of blue;
Native or foreign, we're children all of the land over which you fly,
And native or foreign, we love the land for which it were sweet to
die.
On June 14, 1777, in old Independence Hall, Philadelphia, Congress
adopted 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, the stars
to be arranged in a circle.
It was thirty-seven years before the Song to Immortality, the name of
our Star Spangled Banner, was written.
END OF THE REVOLUTION.
BY REV. THOMAS B. GREGORY.
The last battle of the Revolutionary war was fought at Blue Lick,
Kentucky, August 20, 1782.
England died hard, and in ways that were far from being in strict
keeping with international law tried to postpone the final surrender
as long as she could. It was in consequence of such tactics that the
battle of Blue Lick was fought.
On the 16th of August, 1782, a force of several hundred Canadians and
Wyandotte Indians laid siege to Bryan's Station, some five miles from
the present city of Lexington, the capital of the famous Blue Grass
region.
The next day a party of 180 frontiersmen, commanded by Daniel Boone,
John Todd and Stephen Trigg, hastened to the rescue, notwithstanding
the fact that they were greatly outnumbered by the enemy.
Upon reaching the near neighborhood of the station a council of war was
held to determine upon the line of attack. Boone's advice was to march
silently up the river and fall upon the rear of the enemy, while, at
the same time, the main attack should be delivered in front.
Unfortunately, this sensible advice was spoiled by the rash action of
a major named McGray, who dashed his horse into the river, shouting:
"Let all who are not cowards follow me." Of course, McGray's action
was madness, but it was a madness that became instantly contagious, and
soon most of the men were fording the stream hard after the rash major.
Crossing without molestation they reached the top of the ridge, when
their troubles began in dead earnest. From front and flanks they
received a deadly fire from the Indians and their Canadian allies. They
had been ambushed, and the invisible foe shot them down like dogs.
Outnumbered three to one, and presently quite surrounded, they fought
like the brave men they were until they realized that to remain longer
was to be annihilated, whereupon they broke through the fiery cordon
and escaped as best they could.
Sixty-seven Kentuckians were killed outright and many of the wounded
were afterward massacred. The loss of the Canadians and Wyandottes was
never known, as they carried away their killed and wounded.
But the redmen made no more trouble for Kentucky. The treaty of peace
deprived them of their British backing, and the United States was left
to deal with them after its own way. The memory of the brave fight that
was put up by the handful of frontiersmen lingered with them, and, with
no hope of help from England, they gave the Kentuckians a grand letting
alone.
Such, in brief, is the story of the last battle of the war of the
Revolution. Beginning away up in Massachusetts, the great struggle
ended at Blue Lick, Kentucky, a region that was an unknown wilderness
when the struggle began.
Indian Legends
COUNTIES OF GEORGIA BEARING INDIAN NAMES.
Seven of the counties in Georgia have been named to perpetuate the
memory of the first American, the Indian. Of peculiar interest is the
derivation and meaning of the names of these counties.
_Catoosa_: Gatusi in Cherokee language and means "mountain."
_Chattahoochee_: (Creek: _Chatu_ "rock" _hutchas_ "mark," "design":
"pictured rocks"). A former Lower Creek town on the upper waters of
Chattahoochee River to which it gave its name; seemingly in the present
Harris County, Georgia. So called from some pictured rocks at that
point.
_Chatooga_: (Also Chatuga, a corruption of the Cherokee Tsatugi,
possibly meaning "he drank by sips," or "he has crossed the stream and
come out on the other side," but more likely of foreign origin).
_Cherokee_: The tribal name is a corruption of _Tsalagi_ or _Tsaragi_,
the name by which they commonly called themselves, and which may be
derived from the Choctaw _Chilukki_, "cave people," in allusion to the
numerous caves in their mountain country.
_Coweta_: (Kawita). The name of the leading tribe among the Lower
Creeks, whose home was at one time on the Ocmulgee, and later on the
western side of Chattahoochee below the falls. According to one old
Creek tradition the name means "those who follow us," and was given
them by the Kasihta Indians, another Creek tribe who traditionally
marched in advance when the Creeks invaded Alabama and Georgia.
_Muscogee_: (_Muscogee_, properly _Maskoki_) meaning unknown. Its
derivation has been attributed to an Algonquian term signifying
"swamp" or "open marshy land." Muscogee is the name by which the
dominant tribe of the Creek confedracy knows itself and is known to
other tribes.
_Oconee_: Was the name of a tribe which anciently lived on Oconee
River, but subsequently moved first to the east bank of the
Chattahoochee and later to Florida where it found a nucleus of the
people later known as Seminoles. Oconee, their chief town, was
situated, according to Hawkins, about four miles below Milledgeville.
Weekachumpa, their chief, known to the English as Long King, and one
of his warriors were among the Indians assembled to welcome Oglethorpe
when he arrived in Georgia in 1732.--Compiled by MRS. J. S. LOWREY.
STORY OF EARLY INDIAN DAYS.
A pretty story of early times in America is that of the restoration of
a little girl to her parents by the Indians. It is quoted from Currey's
"Story of Old Fort Dearborn," by the New York Post. The child, who was
nine years old at the time of her capture in western Pennsylvania, was
well treated, came to regard the chief and his mother with love and
reverence, learned their language and customs, and almost forgot her
own. At the end of four years, this chief was invited by a colonel who
was very popular with the red men to bring the girl to a council fire
at Ft. Niagara. He accepted the invitation upon condition that there
should be no effort to reclaim the child. When the boat in which the
chief and his captive had crossed the Niagara River touched the bank,
the girl sprang into the arms of her waiting mother. The chief was
deeply moved. "She shall go," he said. "The mother must have her child
again. I will go back alone." In the words of her daughter-in-law, who
wrote of this period many years afterward:
"With one silent gesture of farewell he turned and stepped on board the
boat. No arguments or entreaties could induce him to remain at the
council; but having gained the other side of the Niagara, he mounted
his horse, and with his young men was soon lost in the depths of the
sheltered forests."
The girl became the wife of John Kinzie, "Chicago's pioneer."
[Illustration: Chief Vann House, Built by David Vann, a Cherokee Chief,
prior to 1802.]
CHIEF VANN HOUSE.
At the foot of one of the highest peaks of Cohuttah Mountains in North
Georgia, there stood, one late autumn day, an Indian girl, the daughter
of a Cherokee Chief, and her half-breed lover.
As they talked she told him how the young men of her tribe hated him
and how they taunted her about her pale faced lover, and told her he
would be cruel and false to her. The old chiefs had told her of the
great white chief, DeSoto, who had built the fort on this very mountain
where they stood, when he rested in his journey from the Indian
village, Chiaha (the place where the city of Rome, Ga., now stands).
They told her how cruelly his followers had treated her people, tearing
down their wigwams, desecrating their graves, in their search for
Tau-lan-neca (yellow money) and they warned her that he belonged to
that same cruel race.
He answered her, his heart swelling with love for his father's people,
that they were not false and cruel but kind and good. He told her of
his recent trip to Washington where he had gone as interpreter for
their great Chief, Ridge, who loved the white people. He said they had
seen the great white father and he had talked kindly to them and had
advised them to sell their lands to the white people who would pay them
well for it and would give them lands just as beautiful in the far
west, which would be theirs as long as "grass grew and water ran."
He told her that if her people should be guided by Chief Ridge, and go
to this far away land, he, too, would go with them and try to make her
happy among her own people. If they did not go he would stay among them
and build her a house like the white people lived in, a house good and
strong that would last as long as their love, which would be forever.
(It seems a prophecy for it is still standing).
He kept his promise to her and the house he dreamed of was built. What
a marvelous thing it was to those savage people to watch the building
of this house, with its carved mantels that reach to the ceiling,
and the wonderful spiral stairway that excites the admiration of the
skilled workmen of today and the hinges of the doors of beaten brass.
This palefaced lover little dreamed of what the future held in store,
that he (David Vann) should become a chief of his Nation and go again
to Washington with Chief Ridge and bring back to their tribe the
purchase money for their lands, how dissensions had arisen among them
in regard to the division of the money, how he buried the money near
his home and how the wife that loved him begged him not to tell her
where he buried it for fear the Indians would come and torture her and
make her tell where it was buried.
Little did he dream that he and Chief Ridge would be basely murdered by
the Indians.
This house has never been known by any other name but the Chief Vann
house. It is impossible to find out the exact time it was built, as
there were no white people living here at that time. White, in his
Georgia Statistics, says that when the Moravian Mission was started in
Spring Place that Chief Vann gave them the land for their buildings
near his house and sent his children to their school. That was in 1802,
so the house had been built before that date.
Judge George Glenn in a published article has told of Chief Vann's
later life, his marriage to an Indian princess, his visits to
Washington, his receiving and burying the gold, and his murder by the
Indians, all of which is authentic.
The material for the house was said to have been carried on the backs
of Indian ponies from Savannah, Ga., but other accounts say that Chief
Vann taught the Indians to make and burn the brick there.
Thus ends the romance, mingled truth, and tradition, but the house in
fairly good repair is still standing in Spring Place, Ga., today. This
little town was the only place of any size at that time. In the jail
at this place John Howard Payne was imprisoned, accused of being a
spy. The jail is still standing.--MRS. WARREN DAVIS, Historian, John
Milledge Chapter, D. A. R., Dalton, Ga.
INDIAN TALE.
"Grandfather, tell me about the Indians," said little Annie Daniel,
as she climbed upon the arm of a large rocking chair in which
Mr. Abel Daniel was sitting, dreaming of the past with its many
varied experiences. The person thus addressed had even now reached
his fourscore years and ten, yet his mind was keenly alert, his
carriage erect and his immaculate dress revealed the "Gentlemen of
the old school." Washington County, Georgia, was proud to claim so
distinguished a son, so valiant a hero and such a cultured gentleman.
Capt. Daniel had survived three noted wars; the "War of 1812," the
Indian and the Mexican, in all of which he had been a true soldier and
had won honor for his home and native state. His gallant service in the
wars with the British and the Mexicans interested the grown people.
How he helped General Gaines and his men capture the little village in
Clay County on the banks of the Chattahoochee, which is now called Fort
Gaines and drive the Indians back into Florida, always delighted the
young boys and his lullabies sung in the Indian language pleased little
Annie, but tonight she begged for a real Indian story.
"Well, dear, I shall tell you of one which relates to my own life and
is really a great part of it," said grandfather. "After helping to
expel the Indians from our borders, I decided to go live with them for
a time in order to learn their crafts and become better acquainted with
a people whom I believed to be honest and loyal."
"Having crossed the border and tied my handkerchief to a leafy branch
and waived it aloft as a flag of truce, they quickly responded and gave
me a most cordial welcome. During the seven years of my stay with them,
I was known as the 'White Man' and treated as some superior being. The
best of all they possessed was at my command and they counted nothing
too dear that would add to my pleasure. I was made a sharer in all
their hunting and fishing sports, having been presented with one of
their very best ponies.
"All went well until one day I discovered that the Chief was plotting
a marriage between me and his beautiful daughter. As a marriage dowry
he would present us with several barrels of specie, thus showing in
what esteem he held me. I could never think of marrying this Indian
maiden so I at once began to plan my escape. The next day I rode my
pony as far as possible, taking my gun along as a pretense of hunting,
but returned the following day with my game. After letting my pony rest
a day I started out a second time to test her strength still further.
This time I stayed two days and two nights and decided my pony was
equal to any undertaking. After a second rest we started out the third
time and made a safe flight across the line to my own people.
"Before reaching the old homestead a neighbor had informed me of my
father's death and my mother's total blindness. The dear old soul
was seated on the porch as I rode up; near her was a water bucket
over which was hanging a long handled gourd. Just as her feeble hands
reached out for the gourd, I handed it to her, saying; 'Here it is,
mother.' She recognized my voice as that of her baby boy and fainted
away. From that day I never left my aged mother, but tried to make
amends for the sorrow my wanderings must have caused, by attending to
her every want and making her last days as comfortable, happy and free
from care as ever a loving child could.
"My Indian pony was treasured as a relic of the years spent with the
Indians and my fortunate escape from the hand of his daughter.
"But my little girl is getting sleepy, so kiss grandfather good night,
and he'll tell you more another time."--MRS. ANNIE (DANIEL) CLIFTON,
Stone Castle Chapter, D. A. R.
WILLIAM WHITE AND DANIEL BOONE.
In 1750, William White and Daniel Boone settled at what is now known as
Bull Bradley Springs in Tennessee. The Indian trail from the Hiwassee
town Northward, passed near this home.
One evening, two of the boys, aged ten and twelve, went out into the
forest to cut and prepare wood for the night. When darkness came on
and the boys did not return, a search was made and their axe was
found leaning against a small hickory tree which the boys must have
been cutting down when they stopped their work. Signs of Indians were
discovered. These were followed next morning and were found to lead
into the Indian trail. There seemed to have been a large party of the
Indians going Northward. The pursuers failed to overtake the Indians
and despite all their efforts were unable to rescue the boys.
Years afterward an officer in Wisconsin had published, for the benefit
of any relatives of the parties concerned, that two white men, past
middle age, had been found with one of the Northwest tribes. These men
had forgotten all knowledge of the English language. They remembered
that they had been captured by Indians while engaged in cutting wood
and that their captors had brought them many miles, but in what
direction they were uncertain.
This description, though meager, made all certain that these men were
no others than the lost sons of William White. They had become so
thoroughly "Indianized" that they refused to leave the tribe and come
back to their people.
On the day of the boys' capture, William White was getting out a rock
for a hearth. These rocks were cut from a single stone, and were called
"Hath-stones." When no trace of his boys could be found, Mr. White went
on with his hearth making, laying the "hath-stone" in its place, and on
it he carved the date of their capture. The stone is still to be seen
in a hearth in the home now located where White's house stood. The date
and names are plainly visible. Some of White's descendants still reside
in the historical home.--ROBERTA G. TURNER, Xavier Chapter, D. A. R.,
Rome, Ga.
A LEGEND OF LOVER'S LEAP, COLUMBUS, GEORGIA.
One mile above the city of Columbus, Georgia, the Chattahoochee's
turbid waters dash, fret and foam in angry surges over and among a
group of giant bowlders forming what was called by the Red Men of the
forest, "Tumbling Falls."
From the eastern bank of the river rises a rugged, perpendicular cliff
to a lofty height, which is covered almost to its verge by majestic
trees, vines and shrubs of a semi-tropical growth. This is crowned by
a colossal bowlder of dark granite, and from its summit is one of the
most magnificent and picturesque views of river scenery that nature has
produced.
This is "Lover's Leap," famous in song and story; where the "Young
Eagle" of the Cowetas clasped to his brave heart the bright "Morning
Star" of the Cussetas and leaped into the deep, restless waters below.
The Alabama hills, forming a long, undulating chain, and covered with
verdant beauty, arise across the river, which, below the precipice,
flows gently onward until it reaches the city limits, where the waters
again dash with insane fury over clustering bowlders and form the
Coweta Falls, which are there arrested and utilized by the palefaced
stranger to turn thousands of looms and spindles for his own use and
profit.
A short distance below the Leap is the "Silver Wampum," a lovely stream
of pellucid water, which rises beneath a clump of sweet-scented bays
and magnolias, and flows and quivers in sunlight and moonlight, like a
silver girdle, along its green and flowerdecked banks, until it reaches
a rocky bed, where it falls by a succession of cascades, which form an
exquisite fringe to the "Wampum" before dropping into the Chattahoochee.
There the beautiful "Morning Star" would often sit indulging in love
dreams, as she beaded the gay moccasins, bags and wampums, while the
"Young Eagle" followed the chase. There he would bring her the first
fruits and flowers of the season.
From some warmer climate unknown to his rivals he would often
procure boughs of the fragrant calycanthus, queenly magnolias and
sweet-smelling jasmines, and secretly adorn this sylvan retreat in
anticipation of her coming, long before the native buds began to expand
their beauty. Frequently she would be startled in her blissful reveries
by the rolled petal of a magnolia falling like a great snow-flake at
her feet.
This she recognized as a private dispatch from "The Young Eagle,"
Cohamoteker (blow gun) to apprise her of his approach and hastily
arising she would eagerly await his coming.
At a later date, when duty required her attentions at the wigwam, she
would frequently find rare products of the chase suspended without.
This was always prepared with unusual care, and relished by her father,
the chief, who was too old to indulge often in his favorite pastime,
and was somewhat dependent upon his braves for many luxuries of that
kind.
Consequently, he did not question the source from which they came, but
when particularly pleased with his repast he would say:
"Yaho Hadjo (Crazy Wolf) is good. In his wigwam will be found the
richest venison and rarest birds of the air. He is a worthy mate for
the Morning Star!"
When a child she had been betrothed to Young Eagle, the noble son
of the Coweta chief. Their love had grown with their growth and
strengthened with their strength, until it had reached an intensity
where death appeared preferable to a life apart.
A rivalry had suddenly sprung up between the two tribes, who had so
long smoked the calumet of peace together. The pledged word of the
veterans was broken, and a feud more deadly than that of the Montagues
and Capulets then existed between the brave Cowetas and Cussetas, who
were of equal prowess.
The aged chief of the latter could no longer follow the warpath with
the alacrity of his youth, but by the council fire all did reverence to
his eloquence, and were ready to rally at his battle-cry.
His lion-hearted sons, the pride of a war-like sire, had gone in the
vigor of their early manhood to the Spirit Land and the chieftain stood
alone, like a giant oak of the forest, stately and grand in age and
decay, with the once vigorous branches all leafless and dead save one,
which still flourished in pristine beauty.
His daughter, with her starry eyes and step as fleet and graceful as a
wild fawn, was the idol of his heart. In childhood he had called her
"Minechee" (smart, active.) As she grew in stature and beauty, twining
herself more closely around his heart, he called her "The Morning
Star," for she would arise with the birds, and often waken him from
slumber with songs and merry laughter while preparing for his comfort.
By the latter name she was known among the tribe.
"The Morning Star is up and shames the laggard to the chase! He should
have been over the hills and far away."
The young warriors likened her to some ideal being, who basked in the
smile of the Great Spirit, and worshiped her with truly loyal hearts.
If we could raise the curtain of time, and read the thoughts that
agitated the dusky bosoms of those fearless young braves, it would be
evident that the affection and attention lavished on their old chief
was partially due to their admiration for the bright and beautiful
Morning Star.
Among her many suitors was Yaho Hadjo, who had cunningly ingratiated
himself into her father's favor, and had long vainly sought the hand
and heart of the bright-eyed maiden. In his fierce wrath, he had
secretly vowed vengeance against a more successful rival. Under the
garb of friendship and loyalty to his chief, he had secured a firm
footing in his wigwam, and thus constituted himself a spy on the
actions of the unsuspecting daughter.
She had waited long and patiently, hoping that time would soften
the feud and remove every impediment to her union with the peerless
Young Eagle, while he had endeavored to conciliate his tribe by every
possible means that a brave warrior could to restore peace to the
nation.
Alas! jealousy, that hydra-headed monster, had completely enslaved
the heart of Yaho Hadjo, and at its bidding he continued to secretly
add fresh fuel to each expiring flame until it had reached enormous
proportions, and open hostilities seemed inevitable.
The lovers no longer dared to meet by day, but beside the Silver
Wampum, when the Great Spirit marshalled his starry hosts through the
blue vaulted sky, they met to renew vows of eternal love.
The stealthy footsteps of Yaho Hadjo had followed the Morning Star
to the trysting place, and his watchful eye had witnessed the tender
meeting with the Young Eagle.