A soldier devoted to cause and to God

April is a beautiful and exciting time of year on most Virginia college campuses — the grass turns a lush green from the rays of the warm spring sun; the dogwoods bloom; and songbirds’ praise fills the air. There is much for the eye to behold. April of 1861 brought more than the usual beauty and excitement to the University of Virginia campus, though.

Nineteen-year-old Randolph McKim heard shouts and cheers echo across the lawn of Mr. Jefferson’s university and ran to see what all the excitement was about, though he was sure he already knew. There, in front of the Rotunda building, stood a rowdy mob of laughing, shouting young men all pointing and looking skyward toward the Rotunda’s pinnacle.

McKim could not avoid a knowing smile as he squinted in the bright morning sun. Perched atop the Rotunda, snapping smartly in the breeze, was the Stars and Bars of the Confederacy.

A daring stunt

The night before, McKim, along with six other university students, had purchased the hand-sewn banner from “some young lady friends who were bound to secrecy.” After midnight, the boys had sawed through five doors to make their way to the roof of the Rotunda.

From their lofty position, the young men had been able look out over the sleeping little town of Charlottesville as they completed their secret mission. The April moon had given off just enough light for the conspirators to see that one misstep would mean certain death.

The flag finally had been secured to the Rotunda’s lightning rod — a symbolically fitting support — and brought to life by the winds “just as the first faint streaks of dawn appeared on the eastern hills.” Whether the prank was prompted by a desire to impress the girls or from a sense of Southern patriotism, we do not know.

Diffusing the crowd

As the news spread through the halls of the university, law professor John B. Minor made known his disapproval as he walked to his lecture room by reciting an impromptu verse of rhyme: “Flag of my country, can it be; That rag’s up there instead of thee!”

As one student after another scaled the steps of the Rotunda to exhort the crowd for the Southern cause, the growing multitude became more and more boisterous. Then the stout form of mathematics professor Albert Taylor Bledsoe appeared. There was immediate silence.

Bledsoe climbed to the top of the Rotunda steps. While professor Minor was a staunch Unionist, Bledsoe had made his Southern sympathies well known, interspersing his calculus lectures with what McKim called “vigorous remarks in the doctrine of States’ rights.”

Looking out over the excited assembly, the wise Bledsoe sought to defuse the situation without dampening spirits with which he agreed in principle. He assured his listeners that he was confident that the boys who had placed the flag atop the Rotunda were “the very nicest fellows in the University.”

However, Bledsoe reasoned, because Virginia had not yet voted to secede, flying the “Secession flag” was not the proper thing to do at that time. He advised the young men to take down the flag but added in a sympathetic tone, “Young gentlemen, do it very tenderly.”

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