Without a doubt, one of the most enduring symbols of the Confederacy is the flag. I don't think I need to tell you which flag I'm talking about. It has grown from a popular emblem of the Confederacy into a hallmark of the South today. Unlike Confederate money, it is still in use today, and it has become a trademark of our Southern heritage - our physical link to our intangible past. It represents our vigor, our zest, our patriotic fervor. The flag symbolizes our fierce loyalty, our love for independence, and our reckless courage in demanding it. Without it we have no fire, no electricity, no enthusiasm for who we are and where we've been.
Yankees find it difficult to understand our attachment to an emblem of a defeated nation, finding in it too much of a paradox in that we simultaneously hold dear the flag of the United States. Is it contradictory that we should respect our heritage and hold as steadfastly to it as we do our present loyalty to the U.S.? Perhaps an average perspective would, indeed, allow for some incongruity; but, then, that's just part of being Southern, and we don't expect anyone else to completely understand it. I'm reminded of one of William Faulkner's characters who, in answer to a similarly perplexing question from his northern roommate at college, told him that no one could really explain the South to him - that he would just have to have been born there.
The familiar red flag with its blue bars and white stars, universally recognized as the flag of the South, is known by various names: the Confederate Flag, the Battle Flag, and the Southern Cross. It is surprising to many that this popular flag was never officially prescribed for use by the Confederate government, though it was carried on the field of battle as the ensign of the Confederacy and is today recognized as the bona fide Confederate flag.
The first official flag of the Confederacy was raised on March 4, 1861 at Montgomery, Alabama by Miss Letitia Tyler, granddaughter of former President John Tyler. A fine flag it was, and Southerners were as proud of it as they were of their brand new republic. However, it soon proved to be fatally flawed. Through the smoke and haze at Manassas, it was mistaken for the United States flag more than once, creating much confusion. It was decided, largely by the military, that a different flag would have to be devised.
Enter The Flag, the Confederate Battle Flag. General Beauregard proposed a new flag, consisting of a blue St. Andrews Cross emblazoned with thirteen white stars, resting on a red background. The flag was entirely symmetrical, perfectly square, and bordered by a narrow band of white. Due to its magnificent appearance, it was immediately accepted for use in the field by the armies and the navy. The first actual flags were made by three of Richmond's leading belles, the Misses Cary - Constance, Hettie, and Jennie - and formally accepted by Generals Beauregard, Johnston and Van Dorn in ceremonies before massed troops at Centreville, Virginia.
The Battle Flag became very popular, and by 1862 it had been introduced into the western Confederate armies. The Army of Tennessee used both rectangular and square versions, as did many other units outside of the Army of Northern Virginia.
This flag flew over many bloody fields, inspiring terror and gaining the respect of many Yankee soldiers who would look up to see this crimson banner emerging from the smoke of battle, accompanied by the piercing sound of the Rebel Yell. In the end, after the Confederacy had adopted three different national flags, this was the flag that was surrendered over and over in scenes of wretched despair across a defeated Southland, a flag under which the bravest soldiers the world has ever known had marched, fought, and died for four arduous years - the unofficial, never - adopted Confederate Battle Flag.
A dream was dying; a nation was dying; and nothing remained but a tattered symbol of immense significance. Thousands of brave souls who had spilled their life's blood under its banner were absent from the hallowed ranks who now had the solemn duty of retiring the proud emblem from the field. Many strong hearts in war - weakened, undernourished bodies wept over the final furling of the banner they had so gallantly defended. Soldiers gazed upon it and strove to touch it for the last time, bitter tears streaming down their furrowed faces as the scenes were re-enacted time and again across the land of cotton. In his book The Passing of the Armies, Union Army General Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, describes the scene at Appomattox, as the final surrender took place: “Bayonets were affixed to muskets, arms stacked, and cartridge boxes unslung and hung upon the stacks. Then, slowly and with a reluctance that was appealingly pathetic, the torn and tattered battle flags were either leaned against the stacks or laid upon the ground. The emotion of the conquered soldiery was really sad to witness. Some of the men who had carried and followed those ragged standards through the four years long years of strife rushed, regardless of all discipline, from the ranks, bent about their old flags, and pressed them to their lips. And it can well be imagined, too, that there was no lack of emotion on our side... a twitching of the muscles of tour faces...our battle-bronzed cheeks were not altogether dry...”
When the proud and sensitive sons of Dixie came to a full realization of the truth that the Confederacy was overthrown and their leader had been compelled to surrender his once invincible army, they could no longer control their emotions, and tears ran like water down their shrunken faces. The flags which they still carried were objects of undisguised affection. These Southern banners had gone down before overwhelming numbers, and torn by shells, riddled by bullets, and laden with the powder and smoke of battle they aroused intense emotion in the men who had so often followed them to victory. Yielding to overpowering sentiment, these high-mettled men began to tear the flags from the staffs and hide them in their clothing, as they wet them with their burning tears.
The Confederate officers faithfully endeavored to check this exhibition of loyalty and love for the old flags. A great majority of them were duly surrendered; but many were secretly carried by devoted veterans to their homes, where they will be cherished forever as honored heirlooms.
There was nothing unnatural or censurable in all this. The Confederates who clung to those pieces of battered bunting knew they would never again wave as martial ensigns above embattled hosts; but they wanted to keep them, just as they wanted to keep the old canteen with a bullet hole through it, or the rusty gray jacket that had been torn by canister. They loved those old flags, as mementos of the unparalleled struggle. They cherished them because they represented the consecration and courage not only of Lee's army, but of all the Southern armies, because they symbolize the bloodshed and glory of nearly a thousand battles.
How it must have hurt to give that flag into hands that, except for the rare instance of a man like Chamberlain, hated it - and how it still hurts us today when we hear remarks by people ignorant of history directed against OUR flag. That's right, this is OUR flag, and it is time that we take it back from people who hate it, or from people who misuse it as a symbol of hate. Unfortunately, this flag was given into the hands of such people early in this century but, I believe that, if we continue to carry our message of history, and our love for this flag to the people, we will win the final battle. If those unhappy individuals who find a scarecrow in every Confederate flag would delve deeper into the philosophy of human nature, or rise to a higher plane, they would be better satisfied with we Southerners, with Southern sentiment, with the breadth and strength of the unobtrusive but sincere Southern patriotism. They would see that we are so constituted - the immutable laws of our being are such - that to stifle the sentiment and extinguish the hallowed memories of our people is to destroy our manhood.
We all know of Father Ryan's great poem, “The Conquered Banner, “ but few know of a poem written by an Englishman, Sir Henry Houghton, titled “A Reply To The Conquered Banner.” I will close with his words.
Say not that your hopes are fled;
Keep that Glorious flag which slumbers
One day to avenge your dead.
Keep it widowed, sonless mothers!
Keep it sisters, mourning brothers!
Furl it now but keep it still
Think not that its work is done.
Keep it till your children take it,
Once again to hall and make it,
All their sires have bled and fought for -
All their noble hearts have sought for -
Bled and fought for all alone.
Shame alas! for England's glory,
All alone! Ay, shame the story!
Millions here deplore the stain;
Freedom called, and called in vain!
Furl that banner sadly, slowly,
Treat it gently, for 'tis holy;
Till that day - yes, furl it sadly;
Then once more unfurl it gladly -
Conquered banner! Keep it still!
