The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1912-05-24

pital in the suburbs of Alexandria, Va. l was
part of the wreckage of the second battle OF
Bull Run. In the ward in which lay and to
the right Of me was a comrade seriously
wounded He, too, was son OF Ireland. He
was the life of the ward and he smiled and
joked and laughed, confident of his recovery.
cone day the surgeon notified the visiting
priest that he had better inform Pat that his
time was short. / was lying so that had
good view of his face when the priest broke
the dread news to him. He choked in his
throat in an effort to master, himself, and then
asked the good father to wheel his bed around
SO he could look out of the window. 1t seemed
a strange request, but without hesitation the
priest obeyed. And then, as Pat turned his
gaze upon the world without his window, we
became aware of the reason Of his request-he
wished to once more before he died the
flag floating at the head of the staff outside!
Darlint,' he breathed, fervently, there We
are AN at tn top! Place God. We shtil wave
onchallenged from Maine to Mexico!
Then followed in rush of words the
things he had dreamed of it before he had
ever seen 1t on it's native SOIL He had prayed
that he and his loved ones might come under
its benefcent folds to enjoy the perfect liberty
1t promised Now it was in peril and he was
dying for it. unable even to raise his weak
ened hand and salute It. He babe the glorious
old banner goodbye, and, turning to the priest.
said:
Father yell write to her md break ut
gintly as We kin? Sore will be her hear-rut
whin she knows thut Pat will come back no
more to her, md tn bhoys. Till her 1 charge
her wit me dying breat' to rear tn bhoys so
that whn manhood comes to thhim, and the
flag should ivir made thin, they will give thir
loves aven unto death, as thir fayther gives
his loife this day. N now, fayther, to me
souls salvation 'A
I'm tha gray dawn of he folOwino morning
a connection near my bed awoke me. Open
ing my eyes l saw them lift his lifeless form
and carry 1t out of the ward"
did you ever hear of Tim Regan's fag?'
continued the old veteran, who paid as his
price of duty to his country both legs. mo?
Well, Tim Regan was a son of the Emerald
Isle who had gone to war with the 9th Massa
chusetts Volunteer Infantry. He, with many
other Union soldiers, lay in Libby prison as
that Fourth of July drew near. They chafed
in spirit at the thought of passing the Fourth
without even sight Of the flag. Tim con-
ceived the idea of making one. He had
new white wooden shirt and the others blue
ones. They pooled their slender amount of
cash and persuaded an amiable guard to pur
chase for them some red and white wooden
goods, on the pretext that they wanted to
make them up into shirts. Out Of this ma
terial they fashioned flag. crude In construc-
ton. butt represented Old Glory.
They gagged as well as they could the door
of the loft of the prison and the probable
height to which the patrolling guard might
raise his vision Then, the night of the 3rd
they clambered up among the rafters and
stretched their crude flag in the apex of the
loft The next day they gathered in circle
in the center Of the chamber and sang patri-
otto songs throughout the day. The guards
were a little curious to the cause Of the
unusual proceedings, but failed to discover the
banner above them. That night they took it
down, cut it into strips and divided 1t among
themselves. Each thereafter wore strip of
that flag around his body next his skin and
as each was paroled he bore out with him his
fragment of the banner.
"Regan had taken the precaution to ascer-
tain the home address of each man. After the
war he correspondent with them or their sur
viving relatives and finally-it was a work
Of years duration-had every bit of the flag
back again. Again he sewed 1t together.
Again he stood at salute before it. Now he
has gone to join his comrades in the great
beyond. but the flag he made is securely
guarded from dust and decay in a glass case