After the middle of the eighteenth century there was much talk among the colonies of liberty. It is possible that not all the people were quite clear in their minds what that "liberty" might mean; but whatever it was, they wanted it. England required nothing more of her colonies than other nations required of theirs. The colonies asked nothing of England that would not be granted to-day as a matter of course. The difficulty was that the mother country was living in the eighteenth century, while the colonists were looking forward into the nineteenth. A demand for liberty was in the air. The pole on which a flag was hung was not called a flag pole, but a liberty pole.

Most of the flags on these liberty poles bore mottoes, many of them decidedly bold and defiant. When the Stamp Act was passed, the wrath of the people rose, and now they knew exactly what they wanted—"No taxation without representation." The stamped paper brought to South Carolina was carefully stowed away in a fort. Thereupon three volunteer companies from Charleston took possession of the fort, ran up a blue flag marked with three white crescents, and destroyed the paper. New York's flag had one word only, but that one word was "Liberty." Portsmouth, New Hampshire, had a banner inscribed "Liberty, Property, and no Stamps." In Newburyport, Massachusetts, there was a regular patrol of men armed with stout sticks. "What do you say, stamps or no stamps?" they demanded of every stranger, and if he had a liking for a whole skin, he replied emphatically, "No stamps." One wary newcomer replied courteously, "I am what you are," and was uproariously cheered.

In going from one colony to another, it was not uncommon for a man to get a passport from the sons of Liberty to attest to his standing as a "Liberty man." When the stamps made their first appearance, Boston tolled her church bells and put her flags at half-mast. Indeed, a new sort of flag appeared in the shape of an effigy of Oliver, the stamp distributor, swinging from the bough of a great elm which stood by the main entrance to town. The Chief Justice ordered this image to be removed. "Certainly," replied the people politely, "we will take it down ourselves this very evening." So they did, but they laid it upon a bier and marched in a long procession through the old State House. Here, in the Council Chamber, the Governor and his Council were deliberating. Shouts came up from below, "Liberty, Property, and no Stamps!" and "Death to the man who offers a piece of stamped paper to sell!" "Beat an alarm," the Chief Justice commanded the colonel of the militia. "But I cannot," replied the colonel, "my drummers are in the mob." The procession marched on, burned the effigy in front of the distributor's house, gave three rousing cheers, and went home. In New York, when the rumor spread that a ship laden with stamps was approaching, all the vessels in the harbor put their colors at half-mast.

When every distributor of stamps had resigned his office, there was another outburst of banners. Charleston, South Carolina, hoisted a liberty flag, surmounted by a branch of laurel. The tree in Boston on which the effigy of the stamp distributor had been hung had become an important member of colonial society. It had been formally named the "Liberty Tree," and the ground under it was called "Liberty Hall." Banners were often swung from its branches, and notices were nailed to its trunk. Fastened firmly to the trunk was a tall liberty pole, and whenever any one caught a glimpse of a red flag waving from the top of the pole, he knew that the Sons of Liberty were to hold a meeting. When the Stamp Act was repealed, the Liberty Tree was the very center of rejoicing. At one o'clock in the morning, the church bell nearest it was rung joyfully. At the first rays of dawn, the houses about it, even the steeple of the church, all blossomed out with banners, and at night the tree itself was aglow with lanterns. In New York a liberty pole was set up with a splendid new flag on which was inscribed, "The King, Pitt, and Liberty." It almost seemed as if "liberty" meant having whatever sort of flag might suit one's whim.

This New York pole had rather a hard time. British soldiers cut it down twice, and when a third pole was raised, sheathed with iron around its base, they managed to cut that down also, although it bore the legend, "To His Most Gracious Majesty George III, Mr. Pitt, and Liberty." The city authorities would not risk planting another pole on city land, and thereupon the Sons of Liberty bought a piece of land for themselves, and marched up in brilliant procession; first a full band, playing with all its might, then six horses, made gorgeous with bright ribbons, drawing from the shipyard a fine new pole, sheathed in iron two thirds of its length. It was escorted by the Sons of Liberty in full numbers. Three flags floated over the little procession, but their mottoes were not so impressively loyal as the earlier ones. These read, "Liberty and Property." Nevertheless, "liberty" did not yet mean separation from the mother country; it meant only freedom in making some of their own laws; and what was known as the "Union Flag" did not refer to any union of the colonies, but rather to the union of Scotland and England. This flag, the regular flag of England, was red, with the crosses of St. George and St. Andrew on a blue field forming the Jack.

Once, however, more than twenty years before the Revolutionary War, there had been some talk of a union of colonies, beginning with the suggestions of the most far-sighted man in America, Benjamin Franklin. In 1754, when war between France and England was on the point of breaking out, there was a meeting at Albany of delegates from several colonies. They had come to see if they could make sure of the aid of the Six Nations of Indian tribes; and here the sagacious Franklin brought forward his plan for a union. His scheme was for the colonies to elect a Grand Council, which should meet every year in Philadelphia, to levy taxes, enlist soldiers, plan for defense, and, in short, to attend to whatever concerned all the colonies. Whatever affected them separately was to be managed by the colony interested. This Council was to have much the same powers as our Congress of to-day; but there must be a place in the scheme for the King, of course; so Franklin proposed that the King should appoint a president who should have the right to veto the acts of the Grand Council. This was the "Albany Plan." Franklin was much in earnest about the matter, and had a cut made for the Pennsylvania Gazette picturing a rather unpleasant device, a snake sliced uncomfortably into ten parts, the head marked "NE," for New England, and each of the other pieces with the initials of some one of the other nine colonies. With the motto, "Unite or die," this work of art appeared for a number of issues at the head of the Gazette; but many years passed before the colonies began to make any practical use of the wisdom of Franklin in 1754.