Thursday, May 21. One of our quarter-masters has just finished a new and splendid flag, which we shall display at the islands. How profound the love and reverence of the sailor for his flag! He connects with it, as it streams in freedom and light on the wind, a thousand glorious memories. It points to crimson waves where his comrades of the deck have triumphed or sunk overpowered to their rest. He holds the deepest crime to be that of treason to its obligations and sacred hopes. He would surrender it only to the King of kings.
The last words of the late Commodore Hull were addressed to the stern majesty of Death.
“I STRIKE MY FLAG.”
I strike not to a sceptred king—
A man of mortal breath—
A weak, imperious, fickle thing;
I strike to thee, O Death!
I strike that flag which in the fight
The trust of millions hailed,
The flag which threw its meteor light