He said "As for me, I dare not, will not, be false to freedom. Where the feet of my youth were planted, there by freedom my feet shall ever stand. I will walk beneath her banner. I will glory in her strength. I have seen her in history struck down on a hundred fields of battle. I have seen her friends fly from her, her foes gather around her. I have seen her bound to a stake. I have seen them give her ashes to the winds; but when they turned to exult, I have seen her again meet them face to face, resplendent in complete steel, brandishing in her strong right hand a flaming sword, red with insufferable light. I take courage. The people gather round her. The genius of America will yet lead her sons to freedom."
How could such a spirit, such a faith fail to overcome the forces of disunion and slavery or fail to inspire his fellow-Oregonians with his own unalterable patriotism. Despite all the warnings, despite all the months and years of anticipation and alarm, here, as elsewhere, the fall of Sumpter came like an electric shock.
Douglas democrats and republicans alike became but Union men and the old flag waving in the breeze brought tears, tears of shame and tears of determination, even to the eyes of many who had voted for Breckinridge and Lane.
On the same steamer that brought the news of the fall of Sumpter, came Joseph Lane, the ex-senator, the defeated candidate for Vice President. It is known that he came prepared, if not officially, yet fully authorized to head a movement for capturing Oregon for disunion. Numerous boxes of guns and ammunition accompanied him to his destination for this purpose.
But scarcely had he put foot on the wharves of the Oregon metropolis, than he realized the vast misconception he had made of his home people. Douglas democrats and republicans, and many who had but lately voted for him for the vice presidency, declared without hesitation for the Union; and the idol of the Oregon democracy, tainted with secession and disunion, spurned even by his former friends, made his way unaccompanied and unheralded to his southern Oregon home by a devious trail, fearing the mob justice of the justly enraged citizens of the leading valley towns. And yet it was not all one way in Oregon in those troublous days. In certain quarters the disunion sentiment was powerful and dangerous.
In the Historical Society's rooms in Portland hangs a banner first flung to the breeze on July 4, 1861, not forty miles from that city. It is fashioned of long strips of red and white ribbon, and in the center of its starry field is an eagle, made by the deft fingers of a pioneer woman. The old immigrant who donated it to the Historical Society has related how, when he heard the news of the fall of Sumpter, he immediately determined to celebrate the Fourth of July by flinging the Stars and Stripes to the breeze from his own home and with that end in view had procured the ribbon and caused his liberty loving wife to fashion it into his country's flag. This coming to the ears of certain hot-heads among his neighbors, he was called upon by a committee and asked if it was true that he intended hoisting the Old Flag on the anniversary of the nation's birth. To his affirmative reply came the sharp retort that it would never be allowed to stay, but would forthwith be torn down.
"No man will haul down that flag except over my dead body," was the stern reply of the sturdy old pioneer. The days ran by and the self-formed committee thought that the old pioneer had heeded their warning, when one day the news spread that a flagstaff, tall and straight, and as unbending as the old man's determination, lay before the pioneer house. Then the elders of the hot-heads began to counsel moderation, to tell of the old neighbor's good deeds, of his unswerving sense of duty, of his faultless marksmanship that before that flag could be lowered not only the rough old patriot must lie cold in death but many of the attacking party would bite the dust.
Reflection cooled the disunion ardor; perhaps "a tinge of sadness, a blush of shame o'er the face of the leader came," howbeit on the Fourth of July, 1861, that beautiful silken banner floated on the wings of the whispering wind and in the eagle's beak a dead serpent hung, sounding a note of derision as well as of triumph from the old man's heart.
And while in a few days a more generous impulse came over him, and he himself took down the flag and had the serpent removed from the eagle's beak, yet with that single exception, until the final pæan of victory was sung at Appomattox, that silken emblem of his beloved country caressed by summer zephyrs and kissed by the soft mists of winter, floated undisturbed above his patriotic home.
Col. George Hunter, in his quaintly interesting narrative "Reminiscences of an Old Timer," tells of a somewhat similar incident down in the Rogue River country. He says: "One day there had assembled at a store, where the double-distilled extract of corn was chiefly dispensed, a considerable crowd of men, most of whom were violent secessionists, and they were soon filled up, as good democrats were supposed to be, with the exhilarating beverage. From some cause or other the grand old Stars and Stripes had on this day been raised on a pole or staff near by, and pretty soon these half-tipsy fellows took offense at the defiant colors, and swore they would tear it down. Two or more of them started to execute the threat. Some of the crowd remonstrated, but to no avail. I being a stranger and a democrat, supposed the republicans present would protect the flag, but seeing no movement in that direction, and that if the flag was kept floating something must be done and done quickly, I grabbed an old musket that chanced to be standing in the corner of the store, and with my best speed I made for that flagstaff. My great-grandfathers had both served with Washington at Brandywine and Valley Forge, and my grandfather with Jackson at New Orleans, and I could't stand by and see the grand old banner disgracefully lowered by a drunken rabble of rebel sympathizers. As I ran swiftly forward I called frequently to their leader to stop, but he paid no attention to me. Knowing that nearly all men carried pistols in those days, and that these men were made desperate by drink, I determined to have the first shot. I took a quick aim and drew the trigger. The cap burst clear, but no report followed. Then there was a race between me and their leader for the flagstaff (all the rest stopped when the cap burst). We met at the flagstaff, and just as he was about to cut the halyards to lower the flag, my gun went off in a different way (it didn't snap that time), and the barrel brought down on his head proved more effective than the bullet which refused to leave the barrel.