The following text was automatically extracted from the image on this page using optical character recognition software:
Transcription starts in top, left-hand corner:
[Picture of a flag]
THE OLD FLAG
“Flag of the free heart’s only home,/ By angel hands to valour given,/ Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,/ And all thy hues were born in heaven!”
FORD CITY, MARCH 15th, 1864.
PRIZE STORY!
For the best original story of not less than THREE nor more than FIVE column of the FLAG, to be sent in by the First day of April, 1864, we will pay the magnificent sum of FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS!
Payment to be made two years after the conclusion of the present War, in Confederate Money.
DONATION:- From the loyal supporters of the “OLD FLAG,” we acknowledge to have received a splendid donation of Corn-federate money, which just at this particular period affords us needed succor. Editors are proverbially poor – even those single in life – but we, with wife, one small children, and nine at the breast, a small circulation and candles Fifty dollars per Hundred, had begun to contemplate the probability of soon having to remove our sanctum sanctorum to the Poor-house (Cor. Battery-Place and Shin bone Alley.) when this god-send of “phunds” came, Finnigan-like, to the rescue; and in the words of Peter the Great, when the youthful George Washington, with his little hatchet, chopped his trees down, “Richard is himself again!”
BUT!! – Alas! We have discovered to our infinite sorrow the truth of that old adage, “Money is the root of all evil!” No sooner had we this little fortune in our grasp than secret enemies, jealous of the success and rapid growth of our loyal little sheet sprang up all about us, and that which was intended as a blessing to us, threatens to become our bane by exciting envy and dissentions in the community. Better far for us to become a poor but honest parient than to have our unhappy wealth the fruitful mother of calamities to the peaceful and unsofisticated community of virtuous, intelligent, patriotic, religious, and muscular citizens. We therefore succomb to destiny, and retire into private life with the publication of this number. Henceforth let Big Kerbee with his British gold undermine our shared institutions! Henceforth let every cackling cockney, from England, with nary red in his pocket, nary sence in his head, insult our simple and innocent manners and custom by invideous comparasons with his ‘Hold ‘Hinglish “models.” Our broken heart bids adieu to weeping subscribers, and to the brave phalanx of our Greek defenders! Farewell! Owdacious McFinningan! Good bye, light-footed and ever active Avery. We tare ourselves away! We abdicate, resign, and retire like into volentary exile, like Louis Philippe, or the elder Pickwick. Let this epetaph alone be recorded on our monumental pile,
Hic Jacet, (Here lies)
AN EDITOR
Who died from the effects of his / patrons paying up their / subscriptions.
Copperheadism in our City!
We have to record another flagitious attempt to muzzle the free-press. We were assaulted last week, under a misapprehension by the Irish population, lead by Mr Finnigan and barely escaped with life. But justice compells us to say that McFinnigan’s party had been cruelly deceived by our secret enemies who spread the report that we were Know-Nothings. The slander nearly assasinated us, but we acquit Mr McFinnigan’s brave countrymen of all blame. Mr. McF _, magnanimously returned to us our pocket book, of which we had been robbed in the melee by some base ruffian. Mr Finnigan and the Emerald Islanders are now convinced of their error, and are heartily with us. Indeed we are indebted to them for our rescue from the last murderous attack which was planned and perpetrated by our hitherto concealed foes, the British party, led by that stalwert emissary of England, Big Kerbee the Fireman. He has circulated his British gold quite freely among “certain lewd fellows of the baser sort” whom he terms his followers, and last Wednesday was emboldened to attempt a public and shameful outrage upon our person. Jealousy of our success, and rage at the sons of Erin who support us, are at the bottom of Big Kerbee’s hostility. But we fear him not, and warn him and all others disguised braves, that we shall hereafter go ARMED. and sustain the freedom of the press and of speech at all and every hazard. Verb. Sat. Sap.
A Still Later Assault !!!
While quietly taking notes on the occasion of the Great Freshet, we were attacked by an infuriated mob, who surrounded our printing establishment: we were forced to place a sentinel with a loaded musket at the door until our friends could be rallied to beat off the Copper-head myrmidons. Big Kerbee was conspicuous among the mobocrats.
YET LATER!
We have to record another attempt at our personal assassination! A gallows was erected in front of our door on Friday last, and we were threatened with Lynch Law if we refused to submit to mob-rule. The ruffians even went so far as to dig a trench, which they declaried should be our Editorial Grave, but as the immortal Webster said, (when he said so!) “We ain’t dead yet!”
LATEST!
An infamous wretch has threatened to flog the Editor!
We laugh his puny menaces to scorn !! – and advise him to pay his debts!
EPIGRAMS.
ON OUR DAILY LABORS.
Two fields of daily toil we get, / To exercise our mess-men; / In one they turn a summer-set / In one a sett of Chess men. / On one or both our wind to breathe / We don’t know which we’d rather - / The first will bring you to a lathe, / The second to a – lather.
ON A NEW REVOLUTION.
Brave Captain Proctor ne’er should lack his meal / For he’s the guardien of our Common Wheel.
TO OUR PATRONS
We shall make it our first object on our arrival at New York City – which will probably be within a few weeks after our Exchange – to learn the practicability of getting the three numbers of the “Old Flag” Lithographed. Should the expence be too great to warrant our adopting this means of securing fac similie copies, we shall print with types as nearly similar to the letters penned by us as can be procured, with headings and Illustrations engraved. We shall endeavor to make the copies close imitations of the original papers. In addition we propose to publish a few accurate pictures, delineating life at Camp Ford, Camp Groce, [e]tc, printed on sheets, inserted in each number of the “Old Flag.” With a Title Page, and complete List of the Officers Prisoners at this place neatly bound.
TO MRS COL R. T. P. ALLEN.
All kindly acts are for the dear LORDS’ sake, / And His sweet love and recompense they claim: / “I was in prison” – thus Our Savior spake, / “And unto me ye came!”
So, Lady! while thy heart with mother’s love / And sisters pity cheers the captives lot, / Truth keeps her record in the courts above, / And THOU art not forgot.
Though nations war, and rulers match their might / Our human bosoms must be kindred yet; / And eyes that blazed with battles lurid light, / Soft Pity’s tears may wet.
Were all lik thee, kind Lady, void of hates, / And swayed by gentle wish and peaceful thought, / No gulf would yawn between contending States, / No ruin would be wrought.
With sister’s voice to chide when brothers frown, / With mother’s love the angry sons to still - / With pious prayers to win God’s blessing down - / With Peace the land to fill.
May all thy matron heart, with joy run o’er / For children spared to bless thy leangthened years - / Peace in thy home and plenty at thy door, / And smiles to dry all tears.
And may each cheering hope and soothing word / That thou to us, sad prisoners hast given, / Recalled by Him who all our prayers hath heard, / Bring thee reward in Heaven.
D x x x x x x
Camp Ford, Tyler, Texas, March 14, 1864.
