A Poem a Week is a new series of (mostly) weekly posts providing historical background and analysis of a chosen poem.
During the Civil War, as this particular legend goes, General Robert E. Lee was marching his troops through a Confederate occupied Frederick, Maryland. Confederate General Stonewall Jackson arrived shortly behind Lee. As he and his troops marched through town, Jackson ordered all Union flags to be pulled down. Until finally he arrived at the house of devout Unionist, Barbara Fritchie, who had hung a Union flag from her attic window. Jackson ordered the flag to be shot. And so it happened. As the flag fell, Fritchie opened her window, poked her head out and picked up the flag. She proudly held the symbol of freedom and responded with force, “shoot if you must this old gray head, but spare your country’s flag.” Fritchie was 95 years old at the time.
Details of this interaction are disputed as to what actually conspired, especially the likelihood of Stonewall Jackson being present in Frederick at this particular time. But whether the interaction is only half true or even real doesn’t bear much importance. Legends of this nature are powerful battle cries against the immoral and become immortal. Barbara Fritchie was a real person. In fact, if you found yourself in Frederick, Maryland today, the home where she lived has been rebuilt, as it was, and converted into a bed & breakfast where you may choose to stay overnight.
The voice of Barbara Fritchie was forever immortalized in John Greenleaf Whittier’s famous poem “Barbara Frietchie” (Frietchie was another way to spell her name).
“Barbara Frietchie” by John Greenleaf Whittier
Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn, The clustered spires of Frederick stand Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. Round about them orchards sweep, Apple- and peach-tree fruited deep, Fair as a garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, On that pleasant morn of the early fall When Lee marched over the mountain wall,— Over the mountains winding down, Horse and foot, into Frederick town. Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars, Flapped in the morning wind: the sun Of noon looked down, and saw not one. Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bowed with her fourscore years and ten; Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down; In her attic window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet. Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. Under his slouched hat left and right He glanced: the old flag met his sight. “Halt!”— the dust-brown ranks stood fast. “Fire!”— out blazed the rifle-blast. It shivered the window, pane and sash; It rent the banner with seam and gash. Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf; She leaned far out on the window-sill, And shook it forth with a royal will. “Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, But spare your country’s flag,” she said. A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came; The nobler nature within him stirred To life at that woman’s deed and word: “Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies like a dog! March on!” he said. All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet: All day long that free flag tost Over the heads of the rebel host. Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well; And through the hill-gaps sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night. Barbara Frietchie’s work is o’er, And the Rebel rides on his raids no more. Honor to her! and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall’s bier. Over Barbara Frietchie’s grave Flag of Freedom and Union, wave! Peace and order and beauty draw Round thy symbol of light and law; And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick town!
Today, September 7th, marks the anniversary of John Greenleaf Whittier’s death.
Whittier was not just a remarkable poet, he was a force for moral good; he was a voice of freedom through the abolition of slavery. When you think of great poets during the Civil War, Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson are generally the first that come to mind. But Whittier’s war time writing was as powerful, if not more so. Whittier spent 30 years of his life as a vociferous opponent of slavery; he became one of the more influential voices. Giving up his first job as a newspaper editor due to ill health, he started to devote himself to his own writing in the 1830’s. Whittier ultimately sacrificed his own desire to be a politician for a cause that was extremely unpopular in the 1830s. Some of his most compelling work was written in this 30 year period including “Ichabod,” which is an incredible poem in response to the defection of a Massachusetts Senator from abolitionist to supporter of the South prior to the Civil War.
“Barbara Frietchie” starts as a serene, quiet visual over the first nine lines, but quickly transforms into a tormented town by the realities of war. You need not read far past the “meadows rich with corn” or “orchards… fruited deep” or the fair “garden of the Lord.” This sounds like an idillic place you want to be. Until Lee arrives in the fifth couplet and you are forced to contend with the potential fate of all who live in a peaceful place. We are quickly introduced to Barbara, “bravest of all in Frederick town,” the sharp as a tack, intransigent person we all have been around before. Rustling for the flag to hang in her window “to show that one heart was loyal yet.” But soon comes Stonewall Jackson to wreck her day.
Stonewall gives the order and then the blast. “It shivered the window, pane and sash; / It rent the banner with seam and gash”. Barbara grabs the “silken scarf” and releases words that force Stonewall to reckon with his “nobler nature.” What concludes in the last ten couplets is a victory for the virtuous and what we might presume as some admiration from Stonewall Jackson for the person willing to not be swayed by a “rebel horde” with guns. “Let a tear / Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall’s bier” finding its way into “Peace and order and beauty draw / Round thy symbol of light and law;”.
Whittier’s poem was published in October of 1863, a little over a year after the event in Frederick, Maryland. In the time between the event and the poems publishing, both Barbara Fritchie and Stonewall Jackson died.
Again, we don’t know what of this story is real or not. But much like any great legend, myth, fable, or Biblical parable, there is basis for the story. Courage, not giving into oppression, and, most importantly, a heroic wont to maintain character in the face of death are traits that a lot of people fall short of on a day-to-day basis—I certainly have my moments. Not Barbara Fritchie. Not the 95 year old with an iron will.
After John Greenleaf Whittier’s death on September 7, 1892, Oliver Wendell Holmes, one of Whittier’s co-founders of The Atlantic honored Whittier in verse (full eulogy linked):
Death reaches not a spirit such as thine, — It can but steal the robe that hid thy wings; Though thy warm breathing presence we resign, Still in our hearts its loving semblance clings. Peaceful thy message, yet for struggling right, — When Slavery’s gauntlet in our face was flung, — While timid weaklings watched the dubious flight No herald’s challenge more defiant rung. ... In the brave records of our earlier time A hero’s deed thy generous soul inspired, And many a legend, told in ringing rhyme, The youthful soul with high resolve has fired.
You can read a poem such as this without the slightest clue of how rich the background story is. Before this week, I had read this poem multiple times, but I had no idea who Barbara Fritchie was and I knew very little of John Greenleaf Whittier’s life other than him being one of the more powerful abolitionists of slavery prior to and during the Civil War. History is something to be revered and studied. Not cast aside as delusion that times are different now. We are more than capable of making the same mistakes twice.
Sources:
Poetry Foundation - John Greenleaf Whittier bio
"Barbara Frietchie" by John Greenleaf Whittier
The Atlantic - In Memory of John Greenleaf Whittier by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Barbara Fritchie bio and the history of Whittier's poem
Library of Congress - Robert E. Lee bio
Britannica - Robert E. Lee's Maryland campaign
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