The ballad was, and is, most popular through the North, for it belongs in the class which the world will never willingly let die. But it aroused great enmity in the South where people bitterly resented the statement that a favorite general had ordered his men to fire on an old lady. There were many denials of all the details of the story, some from members of the Fritchie family--that Jackson did not pass the Fritchie house, proved by statements from his staff; that Barbara had waved her flag only to welcome the Union army, and the incident had been blended with the story of Mrs. Quantrell, a loyal school-teacher who did wave the flag in sight of the Confederates; that no such person as Barbara Fritchie had ever lived in Frederick! Said Whittier years later, “There has been a good deal of dispute about my little poem. That there was a Dame Fritchie in Frederick who loved the old flag is not disputed by any one. If I made any mistake in the details there was none in my estimate of her noble character and her loyalty and patriotism. If there was no such occurrence, so much the worse for Frederick City.” Across the town from the little churchyard where John and Barbara Fritchie lie buried is the monument marking the grave of the author of _The Star-Spangled Banner_. And in both cemeteries the flag floats out, signaling the one to the other, fulfilling the lines of the Quaker poet: “Over Barbara Fritchie’s grave Flag of freedom and union, wave! And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick town.” CHAPTER XV CLARA BARTON 1821-1912 Clarissa Harlowe Barton was born on December twenty-fifth, in an old farmhouse in Worcester County, Massachusetts. Her grandfather had fought through the Revolution, her father in Mad Anthony Wayne’s campaigns against the Indians. Clara listened to many a stirring story of the dangers they had met. As they fought their battles over again, she learned her country’s history and loved it passionately. The older Barton children were her teachers and very rapidly indeed she learned. For she went to school at three, able to spell words of three syllables, but so shy she could not answer questions. Her athletic brother David, whom she admired greatly, taught her to ride. “Learning to ride is just learning a horse!” said he. “How can I learn a horse?” asked the little sister. “Just feel the horse a part of yourself, the big half for the time being. Here, hold fast by the mane,” and David lifted her up to a colt’s back, sprang on another himself and away they galloped down the pasture--a mad ride which they repeated often, till she learned to stick on. In after years when she rode strange horses in a trooper’s saddle, for all-night gallops to safety, she was grateful to David for those wild rides among the colts.