The Little Book of the Flag :: CHAPTER XI THE FLAG IN WAR

CHAPTER XI THE FLAG IN WAR

"Old Glory" has flown over the battle-fields of three wars; the Mexican, the Civil War, and the war with Spain. In the war with Mexico victory depended upon taking the City of Mexico, and the path to that lay in the capture of the strong castle of Chapultepec. Long before sunrise one bright September morning, the American guns began to roar. All day long the Americans fired from below and the Mexicans from above. Fortunately for the attackers, the aim of the Mexicans was anything but accurate, and in twenty-four hours the American troops were pushing forward up the hillside, through a grove full of sharpshooters, over rocks and gullies, even over mines, which the Mexicans had no chance to set off. Cannon roared and volleys of musketry were fired at the assailants, but they dashed over the redoubt, up, still up, to the escarpment, and over it they tumbled. Meanwhile the Mexicans were standing on the city walls and peering out from the spires of the cathedral. They saw, as the Americans pushed on and up, the Stars and Stripes appear, now to the right, now to the left, as point after point was taken. Now the Americans had reached the main works. The scaling-ladders were planted and the men scrambled over the wall. Even then the Mexicans were not without a faint hope, for their banner still floated over the highest pinnacle. Suddenly it disappeared, and the Stars and Stripes took its place. The victory had been won. On the second day after the first gun was fired at Chapultepec, the American troops were following their flag into the City of Mexico.

The Civil War began with the firing upon Fort Sumter. Shot came in a whirlwind, half a score of balls at a time. The woodwork blazed, the brick and stone flew in all directions. Red-hot balls from the furnace in Moultrie dashed down like a pitiless hailstorm. The barracks were ablaze, streams of fire burst out of the quarters. Ninety barrels of powder were rolled into the water lest it should explode in the awful heat. The men were stifled with fumes from the burning buildings. Over the horrors of this attack the Stars and Stripes floated serenely from the staff, flashing out, as each gust of wind tossed the clouds of smoke aside for a moment, the glories of the red, white, and blue, clear and calm and unscathed.Beams fell with a crash, ammunition in one magazine exploded, black clouds of smoke filled the fort, and for hours the men covered their faces with wet cloths to keep from suffocating. Nine times the flagstaff was struck by a shot, and at the ninth the flag fell. Lieutenant Hall dashed into the storm of balls, caught up the flag, and brought it away. The halyards were cut and tangled. The flag could not be raised, but it was nailed to the staff, and in the midst of the incessant fire, Sergeant Peter Hart fastened it up on the ramparts. The fort surrendered, but not the flag; for as Major Anderson and his men left the burning ruins, they saluted "Old Glory" with fifty guns, then lowered it, and, as the Major stated to the Government, "marched out of the fort with colors flying and drums beating."

This was on April 14, 1861. On April 14, 1865, when the war was virtually over, Major Anderson, now General Anderson, was, by order of President Lincoln, called to Fort Sumter to raise again the flag which he had so unwillingly lowered. A special steamer carried from New York to the fort a number of prominent citizens. Hundreds came from elsewhere by land to Charleston and were taken to the fort by vessel. Two hundred officers of the navy were present and many army officers. After the opening exercises, Sergeant Hart opened a big carpetbag and drew forth the identical flag that had been hauled down four years earlier. The banner was unfurled, the assemblage cheered to the echo, and slowly the beloved banner rose to its old position, every one trying his best to catch hold of the rope and help raise it. Hats were waved and the old fort rang with cheers. The band struck up "The Star-Spangled Banner." A salute was fired by the guns on Fort Sumter, and this was responded to by every fort and battery that had fired upon Sumter in April, 1861. Henry Ward Beecher, orator of the day, made a thrilling address. Of the flag he said:—

There flies the same flag that was insulted. In the storm of that assault this glorious ensign was often struck; but, memorable fact, not one of its stars was torn out, by shot or shell. It was a prophecy.... Lifted to the air, to-day it proclaims, after four years of war, "Not a State is blotted out!"

Hail to the flag of our fathers, and our flag! Glory to the banner that has gone through four years black with tempests of war, to pilot the nation back to peace without dismemberment! And glory be to God, who, above all hosts and banners, hath ordained victory, and shall ordain peace!... In the name of God, we lift up our banner, and dedicate it to Peace, Union and Liberty, now and forevermore.

A few years later General Anderson died. He was buried at West Point and was carried to his grave wrapped in the flag that he had defended so bravely. On the death of his wife the flag passed by her gift into the hands of the War Department.

One of the most interesting flags of the recent war with Spain was borne by the First Regiment of the United States Volunteer Cavalry. A squadron of men for this regiment left Phoenix, Arizona, on their way to the field of war. It was noticed that they had no flag. The women of the Relief Corps attached to the Grand Army of the Republic took the matter in hand, for if this was not a case where relief was needed, where should one be found?

Night and day were the same to these energetic women. They bought silk and they sewed, all day and all night. The stores of Phoenix did not provide just the right sort of cord, so the staff of the battle-flag was daintily adorned with a knot of satin ribbon, red, white, and blue. Then the flag was carried to camp, and presented with all courtesy and dignity to the two hundred men who were to form a part of the First Regiment of the United States Volunteer Cavalry, better known as the "Rough Riders."

The little silken flag came to glories that it had not dreamed of, for the regular bunting flags were scarce, and therefore it held the most prominent place in parades and was even set up as guest of honor before the tent of Colonel Leonard Wood. In the attack on Santiago, the little party that first landed at Daiquiri, a small town on the coast a few miles from the city, carried the flag with them. On a transport in the harbor an officer from Arizona, observing the troops climb the hill, had seen the raising of the flag and discovered with a glass what it was. As the story is told:—

He threw his hat to the deck, jumped to the top of the bulwark, and yelled: "Howl, you Arizona men,—it's our flag up there!"

And the men howled as only Arizona cowboys could. Some one on the hurricane deck grabbed the whistle cord and tied it down, the band of the Second Infantry whisked up instruments and played "A Hot Time" on the inspiration of the moment, and every man who had a revolver emptied it over the side. Almost in an instant every whistle of the fifty transports and supply vessels in the harbor took up the note of rejoicing. Twenty thousand men were cheering. A dozen bands increased the din. Then guns of the warships on the flanks joined in a mighty salute to the flag of the Nation. And the flag was the flag of the Arizona squadron.

The Arizona flag led the regiment in the fight of Las Guasimas, where three thousand intrenched Spaniards were driven back by nine hundred unmounted cavalry; it was at the front all through the heat of the battles of Kettle Hill and San Juan Hill; it waved over the trenches before Santiago, and was later borne through the captured city to the transport.

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