Manual of Patriotism
I. THE CAMP ..Song, The Camp Flag.
2. THE HOSPITAL ..Song, The Good Comrade.
3. THE EXPOSITION BUILDINGS ..Song, The Centennial Hymn.
4. THE CONSULATE ..Song, Many Flags in Many Lands.
! THE LAND ..Song, Our Own Dear Land.
5• { THE SEA .Song, Ocean-Guarded Flag.
WHEN your fathers or your brothers enlist to fight for their country, they do not always march for the battle-field. They are sent at first “into camp,” as we say. Some of you have seen these camps,—long rows of white tents, with streets stretching between the rows on either side. Here, the brave men stay for a long time, spending their time in drilling, in doing guard duty, and in getting ready for the hardships of a soldier's life. Then, perhaps after months of waiting, the Secretary of War, at Washington, sends word to them to “break camp” and hurry away to the scene of conflict.
Again, a camp is often placed at the very edge of a battle-field, and there the soldiers, in their tents, try to get a little sleep, not knowing but that the bugle may call them “to arms” at any minute. What a joy it is to a soldier, whether in drill-camp or battle-camp, to see floating from the tall staff the banner of the stars and stripes, m whose folds he finds courage for the day of battle!
On the morning of July 1st, 1862, five thousand Confederate cavalry advanced upon Booneville, Mo., then held by Col. Philip Sheridan with less than a thousand troopers. The Federal line, being strongly entrenched, was able to hold its ground against this greatly superior force. But Sheridan, fearful of being outflanked, directed a young captain to take a portion of two companies, make a rapid detour, charge the enemy in the rear and throw its line into confusion, thus making possible a simultaneous and successful attack in front. Sheridan said to him: “I expect of your command the quick and desperate work usually imposed upon a forlorn hope,” at the same time bidding him what promised to be an eternal farewell. Ninety-two men rode calmly out knowing the supreme moment of their lives had come. What was in their hearts during that silent ride? What lights and shadows flashed across the cameras of their souls? To one pale boy, there came the vision of a quaint old house, a white-haired woman on her knees in prayer, an open Bible by her side, God's peace upon her face. Another memory held a cottage, all imbedded in the shade of sheltering trees and clinging vines; stray bits of sunshine around the open door; within, a fair young mother, crooning lullabies above a baby's crib. And one old grizzled hero seems to see, in mists of unshed tears, a bush-grown comer of the barnyard fence, and through the rails a blended picture of faded calico, and golden curls, and laughing eyes. And then the little column halted on a bit of rising ground and faced—destiny.
Before them was a brigade of cavalry three thousand strong. That ,vay lay death. Behind them were the open fields, the sheltering woods, safety, and dishonor. Just for a moment every cheek was blanched. A robin sang unheeded in a neighboring limb; clusters of purple daisies bloomed unseen upon the grassy slope; the sweet fresh breath of early summer filled the air, unfelt by all. They only saw the dear old flag of Union overhead; they only knew that foes of country blocked the road in front; they only heard the ringing voice of their gallant leader ordering the charge, and with a yell, the little troop swept on.
So sudden and unexpected was the attack, so desperate and irresistible the charge that this handful of men cut their ,vay through the heart of the whole brigade. Then, in prompt obedience to the calm command of their captain they wheeled, re-formed, and charged again. At this opportune moment, while the Confederates were in confusion, Sheridan's ,vhole line dashed forward with mighty cheers, and the day was won. That night, forty of the ninety-two kept their eternal bivouac on the field of battle, their white faces kissed by the silent stars.—John M. Thurston.
W.K.W.
Moderato.
THE CAMP FLAG.
HAMLIN E. COGSWELL.
WAR is a very cruel thing, never to be begun unless the honor or safety of the nation demands it; never to be continued for a single hour beyond that which is needful. For in every war, many brave men are killed and many more are wounded. Now, it is for these poor wounded fellows, as well as for those who are taken sick, that hospitals are needed. Many of them are only large tents, put up outside the line of battle. In these hospital tents, surgeons and nurses (noble-hearted women) do all they can to relieve the sick and wounded. If they get better, they are often sent to a permanent hospital, or better still to the dear home from which they started for the war.
Nowadays, over every battle-field hospital in all civilized countries is seen the flaming “Red Cross” of the society of that name. That is the pledge that the sick and hurt soldiers will not be attacked by the enemy. And yet, even with that cross of mercy, how dear to the wounded patriot is the sight of that flag for which he is willing to give his life—“the last full measure of devotion.”
In hospitals, women are the “ministering angels.” What a fine, patriotic exercise children could make up from the services of such immortal names as Florence Nightingale, Harriet Beecher Stowe, and Clara Barton. Theirs is a heroism and patriotism no less grand and self-sacrificing than that of the bravest soldier they ever nursed back to life and health.
Do you remember, in that disastrous siege in India, when the little Scotch girl raised her head from her pallet in the hospital, and said to the sickening hearts of the English: “I hear the bagpipes; the Campbells are coming!” And they said, “No, Jessie; it is delirium.” “No, I know it; I heard it far off.” And in an hour, the pibroch burst upon their glad ears, and the banner of St. George floated in triumph over their heads.—George William Curtis.
A!la marcia.
THE GOOD COMRADE.
GERMAN.
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r. I once had a broth—er sol —drer,
2. So swift a ball comes speed—ing,
3. No more we'll march, 0 com —rade,
A com—rade true and tried; Is it for me or thee? To bat tie side by side;
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marched at sig—nal giv .—en, With step so blithe and e — ven, To at my feet he's ly — ing, And as I watch him dy —ing, He hand shall clasp thee nev—er, Yet thou re—main—est ev — er My
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In the year 1876 there was a great exposition, or exhibition, at Philadelphia, to celebrate the one hundredth anniversary of our independence as a nation. To that Quaker city gathered people from every part of the globe—many bringing with them strange wares or costly merchandise from across the seas. It was a sight never to be forgotten; it made Americans better acquainted with all the nations of Christendom.
In the year 1893, another and greater exposition was held at Chicago, to celebrate the four hundredth anniversary of the landing of Columbus upon our shores. So many were the buildings, so beautiful even by day, so fairy-like by night when lighted by thousands of dazzling lights, that the millions who saw the sight called it the finest the world had ever known.
But the fairest vision, after all, both at the “Centennial” and the “Columbian Exposition” were the countless flags of red, white and blue that flamed out by night and day—telling of the peace and prosperity of our nation, and inviting the people of every nation to a share in our happiness.
A travelled Frenchman was asked the other day_ how the buildings of the Columbian World's Fair compared with those of the last exposition in the French capital. After reflecting a moment, he replied: “The buildings at Chicago are what you might have expected at Paris; the buildings in Paris were what you might have expected in Chicago.”
No world's exhibition was ever better housed, or more conveniently arranged. As it stood on the day of its formal dedication in October (1892), incomplete, its decoration in progress, with the scaffolding and building stages still marring the architectural effect, in the midst of the debris of ten thousand working-men, driving on the work, night and day, it was already a sufficient answer to the doubt whether the American genius is equal to the creation of any works except those of mechanical ingenuity. The distinction of the Columbian Exhibition is not in its magnitude; it is not that it contains the largest building ever erected in the world; it is in its beauty, its harmonious grouping, its splendid landscape and architectural effects. This is best comprehended as a whole in the approach from the lake. The view there, especially at the coming of evening, when the long rows of classic columns, the pillars and domes, are in relief against a glowing sunset sky, is a vision of beauty that will surprise most and will appeal most to those familiar with the triumphs of man's genius elsewhere. Tht little city of the lagoon, reflected in the water as distinctly as it stands out against the sky, seems like some fairy exhalation on the shore, suggesting the long perspective of columns on the desert of Palmyra, the approach by the sea of Marmora to Constantinople, and the canals and palaces of Venice as seen from Lido. In its light and airy grace it is like a city of the imagination.—Charles Dudley Warner, in Harper's Magazine.
[From poem read at World's Columbian Exposition on New York State Day.]
Jackson Park, the pride to-day of Chicago, upon whose buildings, vast and stately, the majesty of the nation descended this morning in dedicatory services, tells of the resolve to redeem all promises, to realize all hopes. Hither shall be brought the products of labor and art, the treasures of earth and sea, the im·entions of this wondrously inventive century, the fruits of learning and genius. The entire globe is astir in preparation to fill to repletion the palaces we have erected. The invitation has gone out to the world in all the fullness and warmth of the heart of this republic, and the nations of the world have harkened to it as they never did before to a voice calling men to an exposition. The best that America can bring, the best the world owns, shall soon be in Jackson Park.
What may be added? I will give reply. What is there more important, more precious than matter and all the forms in which matter may be invested? Is there not mind? What is there greater than all the results of the thought—the labor of man? Is there not man himself, the designer, the maker of his works? Bring hither, then, mind. Bring men—not merely the millions, anxious to see and to learn. These do we need; they do not suffice. Bring the men whom the millions desire to contemplate, and from whom they may receive valued lessons. Bring the thinkers, the workers, the scholars, the apostles of action, who have rendered possible or have produced the marvels which will be housed in Jackson Park, whose dreams make toward the building up of humanity, whose arms reach out to the improvement of men along all the lines of human progress. Let us have the Columbuses of our time. Let us have Parliaments of the leaders of men convoked from all lands under the sun. In this manner is your exposition complete in all its parts, truly representative of the age and truly great. You have matter and men; you have the works and the workers. In men far more than in matter you have the highest products of progress. There is progress only when men grow. In men you have the potent means to determine the progress of the future. God has made men the agents of progress.—Right Rev. John Ireland, D. D., at dedication of World's Columbian Exposition.
Words by special arrangement with HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & Co.
:Music used by permission of OLIVER DrTSoN CoMPAsv, owners of copyright.
New York has built two houses at the Fair. One is the palatial structure before us, a fitting representation of the dignity and opulence of the Empire State. The other is an humble structure at the opposite end of the park destined to show how a workingman and his family may be enabled to live with due regard to the requirements of sanitation and healthful nutriment. The house in which we stand has been one of the sights of the fair. It has been a matter of pride to every New Yorker visiting Jackson Park tha:t the headquarters of his state Were so beautiful, so commodious, and so popular. He has found here the conveniences of a club, the educating influence of a museum, and the rest and refreshment of a summer villa. The true attitude of the people of New York tmvard this Exposition has nowhere been more fitly represented than in the superb proportions and princely magnificence of this their State house of call. But if this be New York's idea of the regal attire which befits her as a guest at the table of nations, the other edifice— the model workingman's home—is no less typical of her care for the welfare of the lowly, and her sense that the qualities that go to make her great are those which are nourished in the homes of the toilers.—Roswell P. Flower, at World's Columbian Exposition, New York State Day.
[At dedication of New York State Building, World's Columbian Exposition.]
MANY FLAGS IN MANY LANDS.
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1. There are man —y flags in man —y lands, There are
2. I know where the pret —ti—est col—ors are, And I'm
3. I would cut a piece from an eve—ning sky, Where the
4. Then I'd want a part of fleec—y cloud, And some
5. We shall al —ways love the “Stars and Stripes,” And we
flags of ev—'ry hue; But there is no flag how—
sure if I on—
stars were shin—
red from a rain—mean to be ev—
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Then hur —rah for the flag, Our coun —try's flag, It's
stripes and white stars, too; There is no flag in
an y land Like our own “Red, White and Blue.”
THE word “consulate” is taken from the Latin and, with Americans, refers to the building in which any man appointed by our government transacts, in any foreign port, or town or city, such business affairs of the government as may be entrusted to him. Always, except in very small places, the office is filled by American citizens, perhaps residing abroad, but more commonly leaving home for the express purpose of representing our country and its interests in foreign lands. But the Consul—for by that name is he called—has a more sacred duty to do—that of protecting any American citizen who may be in danger in a foreign land. Then the flag flying over the Consulate seems to demand protection for any and all its citizens seeking its shelter. Even more,—it often protects men of other nationalities. When a Mr. Poinsett was our Minister to Mexico from 1825 to 1829, the Mexicans, in a rage, sought the lives of certain European Spaniards. The Spaniards fled to the Consulate; the Mexicans pursued, and were about to attack the building, when Mr. Poinsett unfurled the Stars and Stripes, and standing beneath its folds saved his own life and that of the frightened Spaniards.
Moral influence is good, but it is also a good thing to have something material behind it. A missionary who recently arrived in this country, from Turkey in Asia, mentioned the following experience:
“I left,” he said, the “town of——in the morning. In the afternoon of that day it was attacked by the Kurds, and several hundred of the inhabitants were slaughtered. When I reached the seaport, intending to take the steamer on the way to America, I was told by the local authority that I could not have a permit to embark, for he was commanded to detain a person answering to my description until further orders. I explained to him the necessity of my taking the steamer, and the great inconvenience of delay. He expressed his regret, but declared his inability to allow me to proceed. Presently the steamer sailed without me, and I had to wait another week.
“Day after day passed, bringing only politeness and promises. The Consul telegraphed to Constantinople, but the telegram had to pass through the hands of the Government, and my name was purposely so muddled that the Minister could only telegraph back, ‘I have received your communication, but cannot make out to whom it refers.’ At last the Consul managed to get word to the commander of the gunboat, which was lying about sixty miles off. Next morning, looking out on the Mediterranean, I saw the smoke of an approaching steamer. As it came nearer, I said to myself, ‘Why, that looks like one of the White Squadron.’ Presently I saw at her fore-peak the Stars and Stripes. She anchored in the port, and the commander called on the local authority, and said to him, ‘I have come to inquire into the case of Mr.——.’ The local magistrate, with great urbanity, said, ‘Oh, that is all right. His papers are in order, and he can go at any time.’ The commander replied, ‘I am very glad of it, for otherwise I should have been compelled to demand him.‘”
THE land, your geographies tell you, makes up a large part of the earth's surface. And I am sure all children know that the extent of land, in this “Country of Ours,” as Benjamin Harrison calls it, is very great; very great also the stretches of sea-coast hemming in the land. But the larger the land the worse for the people, unless on every part of it—on every mountain, in every valley—there is enjoyed the order and protection which the flag represents. In olden times beacon-fires on hill-tops were the signals for freemen to rally to their country's aid. Let ours be the better, more inspiring, signal of the waving flag!
I remember reading a short time ago about a Celtic regiment, called the Black Watch, which had been gone from home for many years-,and when it landed again upon the shores, the men immediately kneeled down and kissed the sands of Galway. That's the kind of patriotism we want now-a-days; the patriotism that loves the soil upon which we tread, that loves the air that surrounds us here in America, that loves the stars and stripes because they represent this great republic; the kind of patriotism that not only seeks to defend our institutions, but seeks to elevate our manhood and womanhood.—Anon.
OUR OWN DEAR LAND.
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free!
thee! Right!
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In vain we search old o— cean'sstrand To find a land like ..,
The fair —est work of na • ture's hand-Our own dear land for
So may their sons, in Free-dom's cause Be fore—most m the
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me! Our own dear land, our na—tive land, O'er all our homes thy fight! Our own dear land, our na • tive land, Home ev • er of the
From LEvEKMORE's" Academy Song Book/' GrNN & Co.} Publishers, by permission.
, ,._ THE OCEAN-GUARDED FLAG.
I }AMES RILEY. L. V. H. CROSBY,
Air, “Dearest Mae.”
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1: That o —cean-guard—ed flag of light, for—ev— er may it fly! It
z. Tim-bers have crash'd and guns have peal'd be—neath its ar—dent glow; But
1 3. Its stripes of red, e—ter—nal dyed with heart-streams of all lands; I ts
flashed nev—white,
o'er Mon—mouth's blood—y fight, er did that en—sign yield the snow—capped hills that hide
and its in
lit Mc—Hen—ry's hon—or to the storm their up—raised
sky; foe; hands;
It Its I ts
bears fame blue,
up—on its shall march with the o—cean
folds of flame to earth's re—mot—est mar—tial tread down a—ges yet to waves that beat round free-dom's cir—cled
wave be .. shore;
The To Its
names of men guard those stars stars, the prints
whose deeds of fame that nev—er paled of an—gels' feet,
shall in that
e'er fight shine
in—spire on land
for ev
the or
er—
brave. sea. more.
For—ev —er may it fly! For—ev er may it fly! That
Words by permission of CASSELL & Co., Limited.
SEA, with all its perils and shipwrecks, seems to have had little of terror for the hardy seamen of America. In every war in which we have fought, their skill and courage have been shown. And not only ships of war, but ships of trade have run the gauntlet of the waves. But battle-skill and commercial supremacy count for little unless the flag flies from the masthead of every ship and brightens every harbor and haven into which our ships enter. In ancient times, the galley-prows bore figures of heathen gods and heroes. Better far, the adornment of that flag which stands for the living manhood and immortal valor of our sailor lads!
During the Civil War it was an easy thing in the North to support the Union, and it was a double disgrace to be against it. But among the highest and loftiest patriots, those who deserved best of the whole country, were the men from the South who possessed such loyalty and heroic courage that they stood by the flag and followed the cause of the whole nation, and the whole people. Among all those who fought in this, the greatest struggle for righteousness, these men stand preeminent, and Farragut stands first.
He belongs to that class; of commanders who possess in the highest degree the qualities of courage and daring, of readiness to assume great responsibility and to run great risks.
As a boy he had sailed as a midshipman, and he saw the war of 1812, in which, though our frigates and sloops fought some glorious actions, our coasts were blockaded and insulted, and the Capitol at Washington burned, because our statesmen and people had been too short-sighted to build a big fighting navy; and Farragut was able to perform his great feats on the Gulf coast because in the Ciyil War we' had ships as good as any afloat.
No man in a profession as highly technical as the navy can win great success unless he has been specially brought up in and trained for that profession, and has devoted his life to the work. Step by step Farragut rose, but never had an opportunity of distinguishing himself in his profession until, when he was sixty years old, the Civil War broke out. He was made flag-officer of the Gulf squadron; and the first success that the Union forces met with in the southwest was scored when one night he burst the iron chains stretched across the Mississippi, swept past the forts, sank the rams and gunboats that sought to bar his way, and captured New Orleans.
In the last year of the war he was permitted to attempt the capture of Mobile. All he wanted was a chance to fight. He possessed splendid self-confidence, and utterly refused to be daunted by the rumors of the formidable nature of the defences against which he was to act. “I mean to be whipped or to whip my enemy,” he said, “and not to be scared to death.”
The attack was made early on the morning of August 5. Every man in every craft was thrilling with excitement. For their foes who fought in sight, for the forts, the gunboats, and the great ironclad ram, they cared nothing; but all, save the very boldest, dreaded the torpedoes—the mines of death—which lay, they knew not where, thickly scattered through the channels. Farragut stood in the port main-rigging of the Hartford, close to the main-top, lashed to the mast. As they passed the forts, Farragut heard the explosion of a torpedo and saw the monitor Tewmsclz, then but five hundred feet from the Hartford, reel violently, lurch heavily over, and go down head-foremost. This was the crisis of the fight, and the crisis of Farragut's career. The column was halted in a narrow channel, right under the fire of the forts. A few moments' delay and confusion, and the golden chance would have been past, and the only question would have been as to the magnitude of the disaster. Ahead lay terrible danger, but ahead lay also triumph. The other ships would not obey the signal to go ahead, and the admiral himself resolved to take the lead. Backing hard, he got clear of the others and then went ahead very fast. A warning cry came that there were torpedoes ahead. “Go ahead, full speed,” shouted the admiral, and he steamed forward. The cases of torpedoes were heard nocking against the bottom of the ship; but they failed to explode, and the Hartford went through the gates of Mobile Bay. Within three hours the Confederate flotilla was destroyed, the bay was won, and the forts around were helpless.
Farragut had proved himself the peer of Nelson, and had added to the annals of the Union the page which tells of the greatest sea-fight in our history.—Hon. Theodore Roosevelt, adapted from “Hero Tales.”