Manual of Patriotism
GROUP V.
OF
I. THE MINUTE MAN,
2. DEPARTURE AND RETURN OF
STATES,
3. MARCH OF FLAGS,
4. ARMY AND NAVY,
5. HOMAGE TO COLUMBIA,-
AND
THE FLAG GLORIFIES THE PATRIOTIC UTTERANCES
OF
I. LONGFELLOW,
2. WHITTIER,
3. Hou.rns,
4. LOWELL.
THERE is hardly any kind of patriotic exercise in which children give so much pleasure, or from which they receive so much profit, as in the representation, in costume, of a great historical event. It is true that such picturegrouping cannot easily be arranged for an ordinary school openmg. But now and then, on a public occasion in afternoon or evening, there is nothing into which children will so heartily enter as such a pictorial exercise; and there is always some teacher, or children's friend, to be found who has the needful enthusiasm, intelligence and ingenuity to make the matter a success. And let nobody think that great elaboration or expense of costuming is needful. Things simply and inexpensively made, or the use of an old-time coat or dress found in a garret or unused drawer at home, may serve all needful purposes. To all taking part, the meaning of the exercise should be made clear,—and indeed it is well, on printed program, or by oral explanation, to give a preliminary hint to the audience. Several pictorial programs follow, for the benefit of those who believe that novelty induces interest, and interest—in things patriotic as in things financial— begets profit.
The name, “Minute Man” refers to those patriots in the time of the American Revolution, who were ready, “at a minute's notice” to seize their muskets and fight against the British. This was exactly what they did when the “Redcoats” came marching from Boston on through Lexington to Concord. No better idea could be given of the intention of the British than is conveyed by Longfellow's poem of “Paul Revere's Ride.” This might be read or recited before the tableau is shown. In the tableau the central figure should be a minute man. A good model of him may be had by studying a photograph of French's “Minute Man,” a finely chiseled bronze statue, standing near the Concord bridge, at a point where the colonial farmers met the British regulars, and sent them, frightened and flying, back towards Boston. About this central figure group thirteen girls, in white, representing the original colonies that stood “shoulder to shoulder” during the Revolution; their arms raised and hands extended as if to bid the rustic soldier “God speed” in his defence of native land. While the tableau is still in view, let a clear-voiced and intelligent pupil repeat the famous ode written and recited by the great American scholar and patriot, Ralph Waldo Emerson. Here it is:
As the poem ends, or even before if the young folks cannot hold their positions, let the curtain fall, and have a good boy speaker declaim “The Minute Man” by another great American, George William Curtis.
The Minute Man of the Revolution! And who was he? He was the husband and father, who left the plough in the furrow, the hammer on the bench, and, kissing wife and children, marched to die or to be free! He was the old, the middle aged, the young. He was Captain Miles, of Acton, who reproved his men for jesting on the march! He was Deacon Josiah Haines, of Sudbury, eighty years old, who marched with his company to South Bridge, at Concord, then joined in that hot pursuit to Lexington, and fell as gloriously as Warren at Bunker Hill. He was James Hayward of Acton, twenty-two years old, foremost in that deadly race from Charlestown to Concord, who raised his piece at the same moment with a British soldier, each exclaiming, “You are a dead man!” The Briton dropped, shot through the heart. Hayward fell, mortally wounded. This was the Minute Man of the Revolution! The rural citizen, trained in the common school, the town meeting, who carried a bayonet that thought, and whose gun, loaded with a principle, brought down, not a man, but a system. With brain and heart and conscience all alive, he opposed every hostile order of British council. The cold Grenville, the brilliant Townsend, the reckless Hillsborough, derided, declaimed, denounced, laid unjust taxes, and sent troops to collect them, and the plain Boston Puritan laid his finger on the vital point of the tremendous controversy, and held to it inexorably. Intrenched in his own honesty, the king's gold could not buy him; enthroned in the love. of his fellow-citizens, the king's writ could not take him; and when, on the morning at Lexington, the king's troops marched to seize him, his sublime faith saw, beyond the clouds of the moment, the rising sun of the America we behold, and careless of himself, mindful only of his country, he exultingly exclaimed, “Oh, what a glorious morning!” He felt tha:t a blow would soon be struck that would break the heart of British tyranny. His judgment, his conscience told him the hour had come. Unconsciously, his heart beat time to the music of the slave's epitaph:
In the year 1861, as every intelligent boy and girl should know, the followii:ig States resolved to sever their connection with the Union, or, as the phrase ran in those days—"to secede” from the Union: South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, Texas. Arkansas, North Carolina, Virginia, Tennessee followed. It was a sad day for our country when they decided thus to leave the National roof and the House of the Union that had sheltered them so long! But they seemed to think they were right, and so they marched forth with a very defiant air. Choose, then, seven girls of spirit to represent these·departing States. Let South Carolina, bearing a palmetto branch, be the leader,—and all attired in white. Then let the Northern, Eastern, Western States be each represented by a girl,—or if that would make the number too great, let three girls stand, one each, for the North, the East, the West. Let these, in black, take their places in the background, center of the stage or platform, with their eyes downcast, while, to the playing of a piece in a minor key, theprncession of the Southern States sweeps by. As they disappear, the North, East, West pass slowly off at the opposite side of the platform. Straightway a sympathetic voice repeats the following poem:
Just as the voice dies away, to a march in major key, the Northern States, in white, march in with flags waving, escorting the Southern States, waving flags also—andall march about the stage singing as only patriotic children can sing, “My Country! 'tis of Thee.” After the curtain falls, let the children be seated, or grouped, upon the stage.
When the curtain has been raised, let a good speaker declaim the following extract from that great Union Southern citizen, Henry W. Grady; another., the next selection from a great Northern citizen, Robert C. Winthrop.
With consecrated service, what could we not accomplish; what riches we should gather; what glory and prosperity we should render to the Union; what blessings we should gather into the universal harvest of humanity. As I think of it, a vision of surpassing beauty unfolds to my eyes. I see a South, the home of fifty millions of people, who rise up every day to call from blessed cities, vast hives of industry and thrift; her country-sides the treasures from which their resources are drawn; her streams vocal with whirring spindles; her valleys tranquil in the white and gold of the harvest; her mountains showering down the music of bells, as her slow-moving flocks and herds go forth from their folds; her rulers honest and her people loving, and her homes happy and their hearth-stones bright, and their waters still and their pastures green, and her conscience ciear; her wealth diffused, and poorhouses empty; her churches earnest and all creeds lost in the gosp,.el. Peace and sobriety walking hand in hand through her borders; honor in her homes; uprightness in her midst; plenty in her fields; straight and simple faith in the hearts of her sons and daughters; her two races walking together in peace and contentment; sunshine everywhere and all the time, and night falling on her gently as from the wings of the unseen dove.
All this, my country, and more, can we do for you. As I look, the vision grows, the splendor deepens, the horizon falls back, the skies open their everlasting gates, and the glory of the Almighty God streams through as He looks down on His people who have given themselves unto Him, and leads them from one triumph to another until they have reached a glory unspeakable, and the whirling stars, as in their courses through Arcturus they run to the Milky Way, shall not look down on a better people or happier land.—Henry W. Grady, from an address delivered at Dallas, Texas, October 26, 1887.
We are one, by the memories of our fathers! We are one, by the hopes of our children! We are one, by a Constitution and a Union which have not only survived the shock of foreign and of civil war, but have stood the abeyance of almost all administration, while the whole people were waiting, breathless in alternate hope and fear, for the issues of an execrable crime! We are one, bound together afresh, by the electric chords of sympathy and sorrow, vibrating and thrilling, day by day, of that live-long summer, through ev.ery one of our hearts, for our basely wounded and bravely suffering President, bringing us all down on our knees together, in common supplication for his life, and involving us an at last in a common flood of grief at his death! I dare not linger on that great affliction, which has added, indeed, “another hallowed name to the historical inheritance of our Republic,” but which has thrown a pall of deepest tragedy upon the falling curtain of our first century. Oh, let not its influence be lost upon us for the century to come, but let us be one, henceforth and always, in mutual regard, conciliation, and affection!
“Go on, hand in hand, 0 States, never to be disunited! Be the praise and heroic song of all posterity! Join your invincible might to do worthy and godlike deeds!—Robert C. Winthrop.
In this tableau, an even number of boys and girls—any convenient number, all carrying flags, march upon the stage to the music of “Stars and Stripes Forever,” by Sousa. It may be well also to have one additional boy and one girl, with larger flags, round which the rest of the little flag-company may march or wheel. If blue suits for the boys and white for the girls cannot be had, ordinary costumes will do—especially if the boys will wear soldiers' caps, and the girls, sailor or liberty caps. The marching may be very simple or very intricate, according to time and ingenuity. A pleasing effect will be produced if during the march the flags are massed or “stacked” in the center of the stage, leaving the two standard-bearers there as a guard of honor while the rest of the company resume the march around the flags. After a time, the marchers return to the center, each taking a flag from one or other of the standard bearers. Then marching away, but soon returning to the stage-center, they form a tableau, by grouping themselves about the two leaders— the latter standing erect and facing front, while the rest, each holding the flag in the left hand, with the right remove the cap, bowing to and saluting the two central banners on the stage. Then the curtain falls.
To the music of familiar tunes, the thirteen colonies, represented by as many girls, march in, in single file, and in the order of the creation of the various colonies as states. They are followed, similarly, by other girls representing the remaining thirty-two states. All march J.S they may be directed by their teacher-leader, going through, for a little time, with evolutions more or less varied. Finally, as they range into lines at opposite sides of the stage, the boys march in, in single file—the “Army“distinguished by blue coats and soldier caps—the “Navy“by blue blouses and sailor caps. They form a tableaugroup in center of stage, with a tall boy as color-sergeant, flag in hand, in the midst of the group. Then the “States” resume their march, circling about the mid-stage soldiers—and sailors—and at length all march off the stage in the following order: (r) The Color-Bearer; (2) The Thirteen Colonies; (3) The Army and Navy; (4) The States. A beautiful color effect will be added to the stage-picture if each girl will carry a short staff with a small “banneret” of red or blue, with the name of colony or state in white letters in the center. Let the soldierboys carry muskets, easily made—the sailor-boys, cutlasses. One flag will suffice to give distinction to the entire tableau.
Columbia should be impersonated by the “Goddess of Liberty “—a girl whose pleasing face and tall figure may come nearest to the ideal of such a character. She should be seated in a chair placed upon a platform or dais. The best costume,—a white dress with the flag draped over it,—or,a flag-dress, such as any skillful and tasty lady teacher can readily make. Upon the head of the Goddess, let a crown, or wreath, or liberty cap be placed; let her right hand carry a spear, surmounted by an eagle. Thus placed and ready, the curtain may be raised. To the sound of march-music the States of the Union, represented by girls, march in,—and following, an equal number of boys, as soldiers and sailors, to stand for the Army and Navy. In single file they pass before the Goddess, each one in turn bowing to her, then passing to form a line at the back of the stage. The march proper may then begin—changing from “ones” to “twos” and “fours,” or even wider lines—a boy and girl marching together, well-matched in size and bearing. How to vary the march and execute its “figures,” some teacher in every school will well understand. I have tried the plan—and it worked admirably—of having each girl carry a banneret of red cloth on whjch was sewed, in white letters, the name of a state; the soldier boys carrying toy guns; the sailor lads, paper cutlasses. At the proper time, the Goddess rises—signals for the troop to wheel before her, raise aloft their bannerets and weapons, then bow—as the Goddess extends her spear—bowing lower as the curtain descends.
It would not be possible to estimate the influence which these four poets have had upon our national life and character. They were all born in New England;-yet they all wrote on themes that concerned the whole country. Surely a half-hour, or indeed a half-day, could not be more profitably spent than in reading aloud or reciting a few of the poems of each. So, a few suggestions, easily amplified, are here set down: