The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1871-07-06
0THE STARsSPANGLED BANNER. +"
HOW IT WAS COMPOSED AND SET To MUSIC.
AS RELATED BY AN OcToGENARTAN.
"And you knew Francis Key?"

"And you knew Francis Kew"
"Knew him Why he lived but few
doors above my fathers house There
were once two brothers, John Ross and
Philip Barton Key Philip was an off.
Ger in The British army, during the Rev
olutionary war, while John was in that
Of the United States. John lived on
Pipes Greek, near Taneytown, Freder-
lex County, Maryland, where Francis
and his sister Anna, Johns only children,
were born. There was an exiled Scotch
man, Mr.. Bruce-said to have been heir
to the throne of Scotland who had
built q nail on Pipes Greek, and there,
in the company of this noble old aristo-
crat, Frank spent his very early boy
hood, The brothers, Philip and John,
were large, manly looking fellows, but
Frank and Anna were of much smaller
mold. Anna Key was beautiful little
girl, with the cheerfulest face and most
pleasant smile [ ever saw. When they
moved into town, near my fathers, Frank
was half grown, and ready to enter as
law student with Roger B. fancy. then
ii the head Of the Fredrck bar. Roger
was tall, gaunt fellow, and lean, they
used to say, as Potomac. herring, and as
shrewd as the shreWdest He married
bright little Anna. It was like the
union of hawk with skylark but
she lived to be the wife Of Chief Justice
of the United States, and [ never heard
that either repented of their marriage
Mr.. fancy was strict Catholic, and
Frank an Episcopalian, nos considered
very Jealous and sharp in his profession,
and much given to dreaming. He went
to Virginia, and brought home wife
much larger and taller than himself
went to housekeeping on Market Street,
and had a couple Of little children, when
I left home in 1909 to seek my fortune in
Lancaster, Pennsylvania.
You have heard of Admiral Cockburn,
who commanded the British fleet? The
atrocious scoundrel! Words can never
paint the IA SCRABBLE coward and boastec
ic his true colors. After his depreda-
tions along the Eastern shore Of Maryland,
there followed the sacking of Washing
ton, the battle Of North Point, and the
attempt of the enemy to take the city of
Baltimore by water, as they had failed
to do it by land. You know all about
the bombardment Of Fort M'Henry, Sep
TENDER 13, 1914. [ have gone over it
again, in fancy, hundreds Of times, and
I'll tell you Frank Key, patriotic as he
was in his hearts core, could not help
composing that poem. 1t was forced out
of him. Just think. He was a prisoner
on the fleet, which was anchored two miles
from Fort M'Henry, the city's main de
Tense. He could watch all the enemy's
preparations, and he knew the danger
they foreboded. Through the terrific
cannonading of that midnight fight,
while the sky was lit up with the fiery
courses Of the flying bombs, do you think
he could sleep? AS the struggle ceased
upon the coming morning, and he locked
through the dim twilight for the flag of
his country, his heart sick with fear aud
doubt, could he help the grand out5urst
of that first verse? And then, as through
'the mists of the deep the banner doomed
dimly in the morning suns first rays, and
he exclaimed,
'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh, long
may it wave
Ger the land of the free and the home of
the brave =
it was prayer and praise all in one; and
there has never been any thing like it
since"
Mr.. Hendon stopped to wipe his sweat
ing face with his red bandana handker
chief, and take few rapid strides across
the floor. He had forgotten his cane and
the weight of his eighty years in this
"Reminiscences of his strong young man
hood and if Admiral Cockburn had that
moment stood before him, in the flesh.
and blood insolence Of his real self,
would have been the chronicler of his
fate.
octave you heard Francis Keys poeng'
said one of our mess, coming in one
evening, as we lay scattered over the
green hill near the captains marquee
It was rude copy, and written in a
scrawl which Horace Greeley might have
mistaken for his own. He read it aloud,
once, twice, three times, until the entire
division seemed electrified by its pathetic
eloquence. An idea seized Ferd Durang.
Hunting up volume of old flute music,
which was In somebody's tent, he i'm
patiently whistled snatches of tune after
tune, just as they caught his quick oye.
| One, called 'Anacreon in Heaven q have
played it often, for it was in my book
that he found it), struck his fancy and
riveted his attention. Note after note
fell from his puckered lips until, with q
loc ur,A CHI h lo1,1 No1 d.