Newspaper Page Text
i
j/OTEt,
VOLUME XLII—NUMBER THIRTY-SIX.
Atlanta, Ga., Week Endi
mber 5, 1904.
50c PER YEAR—SINGLE COPY Sc.
North CarolinaxOwns Flag Used
J&
By FRED A. OLDS.
In First
Wrttttn for DHc Sunni’ South
HE ntate of North Caro
lina lias in its great mu
seum here one of the
most interesting and his
torical of all the flags
used during the civil war.
It is known as the “Beth
el” flag, taking Its name
from the first regular bat
tle of that great struggle,
which was fought in Vir
ginia June 10. 1801, and
in which the First North
Carolina regiment of vol
unteers lost Henry A. Wyatt, the first
confederate soldier killed in a regular
engagement. The First North Carolina
icgimeitt was formed of companies
which had responded to fTie governor's
call long before North Carolina had se
ceded from the union, the date of this
slatals secession being May 20, and some
of these companies had been In posses
sion of the coast forts since early in
April, 1861. The regiment was mobi
lized at Raleigh, its colonel being -Dan
iel Harvey Hill, who afterwards rose to
be IiFirtennnt general.
The regiment was hurried to' the front
and so it was its fortune to be at Bethel.
Some of the federal forces had been
behind a dwelling house during the fight
on the battle ground and five men vol-
uneeded to burn it. Wyatt, a youth
under twenty, wus one of the five, and
another was Robert H. Bradley, now
marshal of the North Carolina supreme
• ourt. The live were members of com
pany A. from Tarboro. N. C. A bullet,
tvhlch came t seems from federal troops
in some woods near the house, struck
Wyott and mortally wounded hint. He
was a native of Virginia, hut had lived
a; Tarboro. where he was employed, and-
•h'" > tfnmv'ln Wk'comp!tny''kit.At%T? " tiff
■ is buried in plat K, in the great Holly
wood cemetery at Richmond.
The first regiment was so gallant in
this action that the state convention,
then in session, ordered that the wold
' Bethel'' he Inscribed upon its flag. The
photograph which accompanies this ar
ticle. shows litis flag held by Mr. Brad
ley. one or the survjvors of this the first
pitched battle of the war. The flag is
of silk, and is the “Stars and Bars, '
the number of stars in the field of the
Pag being only eight, as up to that time
only eight states had seceded. North
Carolina being the eighth. Mr. Brad
ley speaks most interestingly about tbiSj
flap, saying:
SURVIVOR TALKS.
“When the First regiment. North Car
olina volunteers, was mustered into ser
vice hero in May. 1861. no confederate
flag had been adopted, so far as North
Carolina was concerned, but several of
the companies had colors of their own.
Company E. the "Buncombe Riflemen."
from the mountain town of Asheville,
had this flag, which the regiment adopt
ed. The flag had been made by the ladies
of Asheville, and presented by them to
the company. After the regiment was
mustered out of service, it* term of en
listment having been si* months, this
flag was not placed In the hand* of the
governor, but was preserved by a mem
ber of the company from Asheville, who.
after the war. moved to Georgia. He
was James M. Young, and ten years ago
s. nt the flag to the then governor, re-
War Battle
Relative of Ben Hill Gives Intier*
| esting Unknown Details of Family History
The Confederate Flag of the First North Carolina Regiment of Volun
teers, Borne by That Regiment in the Batiie of Bethel. Where Henry
A. Wyatt, the First Confederate Soldier Killed in Regular Battle, Fell.
The Flag Is Held by Robert H. Bradley, of the Old Regiment.
questing $hat it should be placed in the
state museum for preservation. It is
now shown in the ‘Hall of History.’ in
the same case, being the sword and pis
tols worn by Colonel Hill, a history of
the regiment and the fla/, and a map of
the battle of Bethel, made by a confeder
ate engineer officer the day after the en
gagement. The flowing is the text of
the resolution regarding this flag, which
was adopted June 17. 1861: ‘Resolved.
That this convention, appreciating the
valor and good conduct of the officers
and men of the First regiment. North
Carolina volunteers, do. as a testimonial
o? the same, authorize the same regiment
to inscribe the word “Bethel” upon its
regimental colors.’
“There is no staff to the flag, and so
in order to get the, photograph, it was
placed upon the staff of a flag which was
borne by the First Carolina regiment of
volunteers in the war with Mexico, upon
fiiis staff being a silver plate with the
following inscription: ‘The state of North
Carolina to her volunteers for the war
with Mexico.’ In the rear of Mr. Brad-
lev is seen the smokestack of the noted
confederate ram ‘Albemarle.’ w’liich was
built in a corn fleld on the Roanoke
river, and which played such a havoc
among the federal fleet in the North
Carolina sounds, the smokestack bearing
the marks of more than 200 shot, shell
and buliets.. The Albemarle, it will be
remembered, was afterwards sunk as
she lay at her wharf at Plymouth. Lule-
tenant Cushing, of the United States
navy, having writh extraordinary per
sonal daring exploded a torpedo under
her. his act being one of the most gal
lant in the annals of warfare. A piece
of the armor of the Albemarle is beside
the smokestack, this armor having been
made from old railroad Iron, taken up
in this state and sent to the Tredegar
Iron works at Richmond, where it was
rolled into plates not quite 2 inches in
thickness.
CONTINUED ON LAST PAGE.
By LAURA ALTHEA HILL.
Written .for tfhm taonr South
E publish below a letter
from'. *. nMce ot the late
Senator benjamin H. Hili
and granddaughter of Jqhn
Hill, which 'Is appreciated
as a valuable «otitrlbutk>n
to the history of this noted
family. And in reply to
tier criticisms the editor
would say only that pres
ent daj$ writers In their
efforts tb honor Beh Hill
have no choice—such
printed fact* as have gone
on record as history are their only reli
able source of Information, except when
members or friends of the family com*
forward, as in this instance/ to supple
ment what has been already written, but',
even with the facts at their command
only so much space tan -be-given- to any
one subject. Though the contributors
to The Sunny South are glad of «ny cor
rection where through misinformation
they tnajr^ have been led into error, ac
curacy being the one aim.
] with to correct some statements in
regar^i to the father of Ben Hill mad<*
in your issue of Octotwff- 8. While, of
course, such minor points do not make
much- difference in the effect of a great
manT* histoid on rising generations, still
it Is ’aa 'well to have every detail cor
rect; "and I am in possession of the facts.
Jo&rvHiH was my grandfather and I have
hearli the story from any father's lips of
ten and over, besides having family let
ters and. history to substantiate what I
say. And I have a special reason for not
wishing to see injustice done my stem
V- old grandfather, wftiej) will appear as. T
teed. ’ ,
iffive never rebel a"hlogrWit>lTy 'of-Rcrr
Hill that did not make the same mis
take that your contributor does, owing t.,
lack of accurate knowledge of family-
happenings and traits of character. Hav
ing stated that John Hill was a man of
sterling worth, the historians cast aooni
for some explanation of the well known
anamoly that he should have refused to
give his son an education, and the only
one that offered itself was the supposi
tion that the old gentleman lacked the
means.
There is a better reason on record for
his action than this, for John Hill was
of the character that would make any
sacrifices for a child if convinced that
such sacrifices were for the child's good.
He had puritanical ideas about plain liv
ing. and his children feared rather than
loved him, but he was a devoted father
where his children's welfare was con
cerned. according to family records.
That he may hove been in reduced cir
cumstances when he moved from Jasper
to Troup county Is possibly true, though
wc have n</record to prove it. But as
early as 1832 he owned two plantati^ls
and a number of negroes, sufficient to
run both, for in that year my father, a.
mere boy of 18. was detailed to oversee
the distant plantation, with the promise
that at the end of the year he should
have, the desired ot his heart, a college
education.
A HARD WORKER.
I hive heard him tell time and again
that he worked as hard as any of the
negroes in his endeavors to get the place
fts
John
Hill
^article to
Ir a condition to please his father. That
he succeeded too well was proved by the
old man’s refusing to give him up for
another year, and my father, moved by
promise that he should go to school as
long as he desired if he would only stay
with him one more year, went back and
did a second year’s worn. And here
comes in the explanation \ of the old
man’s conduct. \ j
He had already sent - j older son.
William Pinckney Hill, Ig£ Vollege. hav
ing him trained for the Jaw; Tf he had
n0t been able to do this • Jilmself, lie
had received in 1825 h!s**sh‘are of hi;
father’s estate In Tenness^ythls father
being of a wealthy family
' olina. The grand-father
is said by a recent magazi]
have owned “as many Slav*
ham.” and the names of
are written on the fly leav
given by one of liis desecndi
derbilt University,
quite able to send his chfldr^g^to college
If he wanted tb. though “he in the
primitive fashion In vogue at that time
in all the more newly settled portions of
the country.
He also made his boys work from day
light till dark, telling them to cut rails
while they were “resting” from fleld
work. The household lie left entirely to
his wife’s management; and she In
dulged the children and shielded them
from their father’s displeasure’in every
way that she could. The reaction from
their early training is dearly shown in
the lives of his three sons, who became
most prominent. They were all notably
extravagant with their wealth and in
dulgent *to their children.
At the end of the second year’s work
my father. Isaac Lafayette Hill, went
to his father and claimed the promise
made to him two years before that he
might select hny collie in the state and
ftotr touts*- Tina# 5 *"”
rertently. he had selected a most inau
spicious time. In addition to having
had security debts to pay (that custom
which ruined so many men in those
days), the old man was very grieved
over his son Pinckney, who; after all
that had been spent on his education for
the law. suddenly brought to naught
the whole of his father’s plan for him
by allowing himself to be overpersuad
ed by friends into joining the ministry.
John Hill was a zealous Methodist, a
class leader, etc., but he wanted his
son to take the profession for which he
was best fitted, and after years proved
the wisd<*n of his views. Pinckney Hill
was graduated in the same class with
Bishop Pierce, and those who knew all
the boys intimately said that not only
was Pinckney a more brilliant man than
Bishop Pierce, but that he was far
ahead of his brother Ben in ^he same
respect. He lacked the* firmness, how
ever, that carried the. other two to such
heights of success. In later years,
Pinckney took up the law again, be
came judge of the confederate courts in
Texas, and after the war made as much
as $25,000 on a single case: Half the
time he had more money than he knew
what to do with; between times he Ih'ed
with my father.
To go back to the youth of'theso three
brothers, however: When Isaac came to
hi* father and said, in boyish enthu
siasm: “Well, father, I’ve selected my
college.” the old man. quite overcome
at the thought of Pinckney’s behavior,
fairly stormed at him: “Go back to that
corn field, sir. and don’t you T .et me
hear ’college* from you again!”
ENTERS HOUSTON'S ARMY.
The boy was so hurt and disappoint
ed, hnd altogether thunderstruck, over
his father’s breaking his promise to him
that he didn’t stop to think that his
father probably didn't mean all he said.
With his mother’s and sister’s knowledge
and assistance. If pot consent, lie* gath
ered up his few personal belongings tcon-
sisting mainly of a black broadcloth suit
his mother had given him* and a brace
of brass pistols), took his horse and
saddle and struck out for Texas with
$1.75 in his pocket and clad in home-
spun. He traded off everything but his
suit on the way. and reached Texas
with one lone quarter to his name.
Enlisting in the army, under Houston,
he fought in the battle of San Jacinto,
was made corporal, and upon the dis
banding of the arnfy was chosen as a
delegate to the convention which drew
up the constitution of the republic of
Texas. When the news of Isaac’s suc
cess reached his father, the old man
was at a hig Methodist campmeeting,
and he shouted right there. He had
looked upon his son as dead to him. and
it was like greeting him from the grave.
My father never quite forgave himself
for the sorrow he caused the stern old
man, and for this reason I am writing
to remove from his memory any shad
ow' that may have been cast upon it
in regard to his treatment of his famous
son, Ben, through the influence exerted
by my father’s behavior with respect
to a college education.
For following close on the old gen
tleman’s disappointment in his elder sons
came Ben, with his desire to go to col
lege, and his father wasted no time
in preliminaries. H*e said no. But here
the boy’s mother and great-aunt in
terfered in his behalf. Aunt Tucker was
an aunt of John Hill's wife, and she
was a. t»eouliar character. She'lived In
a house,her nephew’s yard^ but had
chep owiw prtvate servants. ^seldom
ate with the family, though a plate was
always laid for her. She had been mar
ried’ twice; her first husband being a
Mr! Harvey, for whom Ben Hill was
named. She insisted that Ben must go
to college, and, assisted by Ben’s moth
er, they carried him through. Another
instance of what great men have owed
to women. His biographers have also
made many mistakes about Mrs. Tucker,
chief of which is placing her In the
position of his father’s sister, when she
was his mother’s aunt.
These are ail minor points, as 1 said,
however. The greatest thing that can
be said of Ben Hill lg that he was true
to his family, his friends, his coun
try, and his God.
PERSUASION AND CONFESSION.
“Did I understand you to say that this
boy voluntarily confessed liis share in
the mischief done to the school liouse?’’
asked the magistrate, addres^ug the de
termined-looking female parent of a small
and dirty boy, says Cassell’s Saturday
Journal.
“Yes, sir. he did,” the woman respond
ed. “I just had to persuade him a little
and then he told me the whole thing
voluntarily.
“How did you persuade him?” queried
his worship.
“Well, first I gave him a good thrash
ing.” said the firm parent, “and then I
put him to bed without any supper and
*ook his clothes away and told him he’d
stay in bed till he’d confessed what he’d
done, if ’twas the rest of his dayjj, and
I should thrash him again in the morn
ing. And in less than an hour he told
me the whole story voluntarily.”
^ One Virginia Night
By Kenneth Brown
Second in Series of Love Stories by Prominent Authors
OS.T of the wedding guests
were in the parlor. Jn
one comer of the sitting
room were the hero and
the heroine. Of what?
Oh, nothing much, only of
each other. The room was
bare of furniture, for danc
ing; she sat on a footstool,
clasping her hands around
her knees and looking
down at him: and he sat
on a music book, for the
sake of Ills clothes, at th*
heroine’s feet, for her sake of h*r. A
red-headed girl and her escort were over
in the opposite corner, and she made
complimentary remarks about the heroine
in a stage undertone. The remarks were
strictly true, but the heroine despised
the red-headed girl, and considered them
impertinent; the hero considered them
superfluous.
“If she does not stop talking abou.
m*.*’ said the heroine. ‘1 shall go
away.”
“And punish me for the sins of ;!ie
red-headed girl.” the hero asked, “when
I have been so good ail the ei'eniig?
This is almost the only time I have mo
nopolized you tonight.”
“Yes; but you have been rewarded by
knowing that I wanted to talk with you.
Instead of the other*/*
“Trying to believe that, by myself, isn’t
over satisfactory.”
“Isn’t this satisfactory?" Her eyes hud
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a slightly hurt look in them that was
very effective.
He halfway reached his hand out to
hers; then remembered the red-headed
girl. “It is worth ages of being good,
dear." he said softly. “It is worth so
much that 1 shan’t even tease you to
do something which I know you can’t
but which 1 do wish you could.”
“Wliat is that?”
“It is to drive down to the station with
me when the bride goes away. T know
you can’t, but wouldn’t it be nice?”
The heroine sat a minute thinking.
“Yes. it would be nice.” she said slowly,
reflecting. ”1 don’t suppose I could go.”
“Oh! can’t £ou?” he cried eagerly,
hope springing up where he had thought
there was no room for hope.
”1 must go away now.” she said, jump
ing to her feet. She turned as she
reached the door. “I’ll see.’’ she called
back.
He would have followed her. except
that that would not nave been “good.”
and he knew he would lose everything
unless he were good. It was an unfair
game; she could move swiftly away from
him without attracting attention; while
he could not move after her at all. though
really a better walker than she. But.
then, he had so much more to gain tha i
she. And by practice he had become
philosophic, which is a good thing if one
become not so philosophic as to seem
Indifferent—and even that has its uses.
He went into the parlor and danced
with the bride. They were very good
friends, and. had his mind not been
filled with the heroine, he would hare
regretted that so nice a girl should be
married. The guests dwindled away a
few at a time, except some of the more
intimate friends who were going to stay
until the bride went to the train at 2
o’clock. By and by the dancing stopped
and someone began to play plaintive airs
from Heller’s “Studies” and “Martha”
and part of the “Pathetic Sonata” which
fitted in. The people sat down on the
sofa and the chairs, then on footstools,
and then on the floor. The bride
nestled down at her father’s feet and
leaned against his knees, arranging her
dress around her in the way girls have
to keep it from getting soiled, until slip
appeared like a fluffy nautilus.
Some listened to the music, and some
talked softly of the wedding and of the
bride’s chances for happiness. They were
those who had married and lived unhap
pily ever after; yet the woman who had
suffered most was the most optimistic.
To the hero it seemed a long time that
the heroine inquired him to be good. He
was really more unhappy than if she had
not given him the hope of driving in with
her; he kept telling himself that there
Was not the faintest chance—he was
Polycrates throwing. his ring into the
sea.
At last she came and stood beside him.
“I will come If I can.” she said in a low
tone; then moved a step away from
him, and raising her voice spoke of other
matters, for the room to hear. She asked
him one or two questions without get
ting an answer; stopped, and looked in
quiringly at him.
’You may as well go on talking for
the gallery,” he said; “I am paying ab
solutely no attention, except to what
you said first; there is nothing else I
care for now—if it is only true.”
She moved a step nearer to him, and
stooped down to examine the ferns on
the mantelpiece. “Please don’t look at
me like that,” she whispered, “it’s such
a—such a giveaway.”
He dropped his eyes to her hand ner
vously arranging the ferbs. “I must be
good with my eyes, too, must I? But it
isn’t polite to gaze at the ceiling while
talking with—now don’s give the obvious
retort that in that case it would be wiser
not to talk.”
They were standing very close to
gether, as people who examine fern?
sometimes do. She raised her eyes to
his; she who could preach so well had
better practice, for her soul was In her .
eyes, and much protestation would be
needed to unsay what her eyes re
vealed. &
She left him standing by the ferns and
the candles, in front of the mantelpiece.
To him it all was background to h»-r
eyes, it and the people and the lights,
and further back the music, and even
the wedding ceremony itself. He felt as
though he had been lost and drunk up
ir. her eyes—as though there remained
but the husk of himself, now that she
w as gone.
Next came the getting ready to drive
to the train. Some men who had waited-,
half sentimentally, to go down with the
bride, bustled about cheerfully, glad of
the nearer prospect of sleep. One of the
girls called to know in which carriage
the heroine was going, and the ‘hero’s
heart stopped as he waited to hear her
answer, certain that she would not dare,
before them all, to say that she was
going with him. But the heroine was
upstairs, and the hero kept on telling
himself that at the laat minute some
thing would happen to prevent.
At last she came down. There was a
block of various vehicles driving up to
the door, and he asked her in a low tone
If she would mind talking to where his
horse was tied to a tree. “He does not
stand well.” he explained. She went
with him, disbelieving the excuse, ^ut
into the dark' beneath the trees; and
they drove down the winding road be
hind a “dayton” full of cheerful men,
•his horse plunging and trying to run,
from his long wait In the cool air.
“It wag true, you see, you boy of lit
tle faith.”
“And now I can look at you in the
starlight without fear and without re
proach—or rather without fear of re
proach.”
“No, you can’t. I can look-at you in
ihe starlight; but you, poor thing, have
to be circumspect, as though there were
a dozen people around, because the road
is narrow and on your driving depends
the unbrokenness of two very nice necks
-*and it’s so unromantic to break a girl s
neck.”
They trotted swiftly along the sinuous
undulating road. On the left the dark,
wooded hills rose steeply from the edge
of the road, while oh the right the mead
ow. three or four feet blow them T in
vited an easy upset. The red Piedmont
clay makes night driving an affair of
keen sight, not reflecting that glimmer
of light which dirt or gravel roads do.
Providence has wisely given the red
roads to the south, where such obstacles
to social Intercourse are not considered.
The heroine held the hero’s left hand
between her*. At times he had to snatch
it suddenly away, to save them from
driving over the edge of an unprotected
bridge or down into a more than usually
encroaching ditch; for driving a not
over-well-broken horse with one hand re
quires more care than the hero was will
ing to gi\'e when t*he heroine was beside
him. The stars above them gave that
light more clear and unearthly than any
moonlight; and for a time the hero was
content.
When they got out on the country road
no longer had to pay so much atten
tion to the horse. He looked at her pure,
starlit face beside him, and once or
twice he leaned toward her till his cheek
touched hers.
“Some one will see.” she said gently,
but not moving from him.
“Please, ma’am. how good do you
think people’s sight is?” he asked.
“But it is getting lighter!” she protest
ed.
“Yes, I expect the moon is beginning to
rise— r shall have to drive a little more
slowly.”
“O-h!” she laughed; “I wish I hadn't
spoken.”
A long hill was before them, and when
they got to the top, they saw the wan-
CONTINUED ON LAST PAGE
