Comrades – On a beautiful spot of ground in the suburbs of the city of Adrian, known as "Camp Williams," on the 21^st day of June, 1861, Mrs. W.S. Wilcox, on behalf of the ladies of Adrian, presented this regiment with a beautiful silk flag, with the expressed hope and trust that, at the close of our service, we should return to them the flag without a moral stain on the beautiful folds; with no star dimmed. Colonel Woodbury, in a few brief but fitting words, accepted the trust and the regiment received the flag with cheer upon cheer, and so promised the ladies that their expectations should be met and realized.

On the 24^th of June following, the regiment breaks camp and, headed by the flag, takes up its march to the beleaguered capital. Across the Potomac it leads us to the disastrous field of Bull Run; back to the capital we go to a season of inaction; out to the front again the old flag moves and flaunts defiance on the soil of old Virginia, from the battlements of Fort Woodbury; on to the front it goes until from the top on Minor’s Hill, its silken folds are kissed by the morning sun.

On with the general advance of the army, the flag leads us to the deserted field of Fairfax. Down to the Peninsula we go, and on the 23^rd of March, 1862, the flag is unfurled by the ocean’s breeze at Fortress Monroe. Up the peninsula it moves, pushing back the stars and bars of the rebs, until Yorktown is reached. Here it is first assailed by shot and shell, but it does not flinch, and during the long and weary siege the flag is seen floating over the growing earth-works in front of the sandbag battery. On up the peninsula it goes, and receives its first baptism of blood at New Bridge, on the 24^th of May, 1862, where the regiment wrote its name high on the roll of fame.

We follow its lead toward the capital of the rebellion and drive Branch from the field at Hanover Court House. On the Chickahominy, at Mechanicsville, it rallies its followers against the hosts of Stonewall Jackson.

At Gaine’s Mill, Savage Station, White Oak swamp, and on down the peninsula, through the 7 days fighting, ending at Malvern, we follow its wave, and, while furled to rest a Harrison’s Landing, let us look back and see how the hope and promise have been kept. As we look back up that peninsula, can we see at any point where the flag has been dishonored? As we count the cost, the precious lives laid as a tribute to its glory, the energies wasted in its defense, we can discover no disreputable act, but, instead, around its eagle cap there gathers a halo of glory in which are inscribed the names of these hundreds of Michigan’s brave sons, who have baptized it with their blood and consecrated it with the agonies and sacrifices of the citizen soldier. Brightly among these hallowed dead, shines the name of him into whose hands the flag was first committed, Colonel D.A. Woodbury. How well his part of the promise has been kept, we all know and history records.

Back to the Shenandoah valley, it takes us where, under Pope, we again see it amid the smoke and battle of a 2^nd Bull Run. Back through the streets of our own capital it leads us, from which we had gone only a few months before, flushed with the hope of victory and confident of a speedy close of the war.

Up through the verdant valleys of Maryland it jauntily floats, beckoning us on to the battle of Antietam. Across the Stone Bridge, the very mouth of hell, the old flag has forced its way until it rests on the heights beyond, again triumphant, reduced and hallowed.

Through the turbulent waters of the Potomac, at Shepardstown Ford, Griffin chooses our flag to lead, that others may follow.

Down the beautiful valley it follows close on the heels of the retreating Lee, who throws down the gauntlet at Fredericksburg. Quickly accepting the challenge, the old flag crosses the Rappahannock and waves its defiance in the very teeth of Marye’s Heights. Here, in this slaughter pen, surrounded by a leaden hail, the old flag is again stricken, and tooters, but he, whose life’s blood is fast flowing out, keeps it from touching the ground, while a more fortunate comrade grasps the flag, and it again moves forward and demands recognition at the very mouths of rebel cannon.

Out through the mud march under the leadership of Burnside, and in the Wilderness around Chancellorsville, the old flag is waving.

Back over the sacred soil the old flag takes us to the invasion of Pennsylvania, and on the rock bound ridge at Gettysburg it stands between "our loved homes and war’s desolation." Here for three days its beauty of outline is marred by ugly scars and deep rents, but these only add to its glory and increase its moral grandeur; and as it emerges from the baptism of fire and blood, refined and purified, its reflection is seen on the top of Mount Davidson, Nevada. Here was located a station of the U.S. Signal Corps, and while the battle of Gettysburg was going on, the eastern front of Mt. Davidson, overlooking Virginia City, put in such a funeral gloom that its outline could not be distinguished from the dead blackness of the heavens they rested against. This unaccustomed sight turned all eyes toward the mountain, and as they looked, a little tongue of rich golden flame was seen waving and quivering in the heart of the midnight, away up on the extreme summit. The whole city turned to gaze with bated breath at this one brilliant mote in the brooding world of darkness. It flecked and fluttered like a candle flame and grew wonderfully bright on its black background. It seemed like a supernatural visitor; like a mysterious messenger of good tidings. Suddenly its glory shone out and the people recognized the flag.

It was the nation’s emblem, transfigured by the departing rays of a sun that was entirely passed from view, and on no other object did the glory fall in all the broad panorama of mountains and valleys. This weird visitor winked and burned in its lofty solitude, while the thousands watched with fascinating interest.

The superstition grew apace that this was a mystic courier come with great news from the east, the seat of war, and while they looked, the telegraph announced the great things this sinking sun had seen that day in the east. Vicksburg fallen, and the flag victorious at Gettysburg.

Down the Shenandoah it follows close upon the heels of the retreating hosts, giving and receiving in turn, till it accepts the issue at Mine Run. Back into winter quarters at Beatton Station, it leads us, from which it emerges to join the grand advance under Grant in the spring of 1864. Across the Rappahannock and Rapidan it goes. Torn and scarred, it moves through the Wilderness, drinking up the blood of the hand-full left among whom was our third and last colonel, Geo. W. Lombard.

Out of the Wilderness it comes at the North Anna and pushes the enemy down to the peninsula, where it again waves over our old camp grounds along the Chickahominy. Through these swamps to the James, it leads, and on to the defenses of Petersburg. Here it takes an active part in all the movements around the beleaguered city, and on the 19^th of June, 1864, its term of service having expired, it gathers up its tattered garments and with its handful of followers, starts for home, where wives, mothers, sisters, brothers await to give it and they a hearty welcome and fond embrace.

And over us, today, floats that beautiful flag, hallowed by the prayers and tears of loved ones at home; baptized in the blood of over 400 brave, noble men, shed on 54 battle fields, -- consecrated on the altar of freedom and equality before the law. Stripped of its fetters, it floats over us today an emblem of the free, a thing of beauty and a joy forever.

And let us, comrades, "believe with courage firm and faith sublime that it will float until the eternal morning pales in its glories all the lights of time."

Speech given by H.S. Seage at the reunion of the Fourth Michigan Infantry held at Hillsdale, Michigan, on 20 June, 1882. From the Hillsdale Herald, quoted by the Alpena Argus, Wednesday, 12 July, 1882.