[Illustration:
CLARA BARTON
See Contents.
]
CLARA BARTON
A CENTENARY TRIBUTE
TO
THE WORLD’S GREATEST HUMANITARIAN
FOUNDER OF THE AMERICAN RED CROSS SOCIETY
AUTHOR OF THE AMERICAN AMENDMENT TO THE INTERNATIONAL
RED CROSS CONVENTION OF GENEVA
FOUNDER OF THE NATIONAL FIRST AID
ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA
CHARLES SUMNER YOUNG, A.M. Ph.D
ILLUSTRATED
[Illustration]
BOSTON
RICHARD G. BADGER
THE GORHAM PRESS
COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY RICHARD G. BADGER
All Rights Reserved
Made in the United States of America
Press of J. J. Little & Ives Company, New York, U. S. A.
This book is respectfully dedicated to the Boys and Girls of the
World; and to the Men and Women who are still Boys and Girls, in their
love for humanity.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The author, in the preparation of his pen pictures, begs to acknowledge
with sincere thanks the courtesies extended to him by Mr. Stephen E.
Barton, the Executor of the Clara Barton Estate; by Doctor J. B.
Hubbell, for many years the manager for Clara Barton; by the Oxford
(Mass.) Memorial Day Committee of 1917; by the Twenty-First
Massachusetts Regiment G. A. R.; by many of the Army Nurses of the Civil
War; also for material assistance in data by the American National Red
Cross; by Mrs. J. Sewall Reed Acting-President, National First Aid
Association of America; by Honorable Herbert Putnam, Librarian of
Congress; by General W. H. Sears for the use of his data in his book of
177 pages, prepared for and used in the defense of Clara Barton before
the Library Committee of Congress, and his generous contribution of
incidents in the life of his personal friend; by Honorable Francis
Atwater for data in “The Story of My Childhood,” by Clara Barton; by the
Macmillan Co., Publishers of the Life of Clara Barton by Percy H. Epler,
the book of the best data on her life now before the American people; by
the National First Aid Association of America and likewise to many other
associations, personal friends and admirers of America’s most remarkable
woman.
There is a woman at the beginning of all great things.
LAMARTINE.
Honor women! they entwine and weave heavenly roses in our earthly life.
SCHILLER.
“The fairest chaplet Victory wears
is that which mercy weaves.”
I live to learn their story,
Who suffered for my sake;
To emulate their glory
And follow in their wake;
Bards, patriots, martyrs, sages,
The noble of all ages,
Whose deeds crown History’s pages,
And Time’s great volume make.
· · · · ·
For the cause that needs assistance,
For the wrongs that need resistance,
For the future in the distance
And the good that I can do.
THE FOREWORD
The author undertakes to produce a few pen pictures of a personal
friend—humanity’s friend. They are pictures of sentiment, pictures of
reality—pictures of humanity.
Although precluded the use of data left by Clara Barton for her
biography the author, nevertheless, is conforming to the sentiment of
her oft expressed wish that he write the story of her life. Recognizing
the wish to be a sacredly imposed trust, for the past six years he has
gleaned what he could for his sketches from public documents, from her
personal friends in California, New England, New York, Washington and
elsewhere, as well as from his memory of facts developing through the
years he enjoyed her confidence and received from her highest
inspirations.
The author assumes not a rôle literary—has herein no aspirations,
literary. His impulse to write is not fame; it is sentiment, a
love-sentiment for a woman whom all the world loves and whose “life
gives expression to the sympathy and tenderness of all the hearts of all
the women of the world.” His motive in writing is to point a moral in “a
passion for service”; to limn scenes, vivid, along “paths of charity
over roadways of ashes”; to depict for the lesson it teaches a career, a
career the memory of which must remain a rich heritage to the American
people.
In life’s drama, wherein Clara Barton played the leading rôle, there
appear faces to inspire, faces to instruct, but also the faces of
intrigue. In the closing incidents of a life-heroic time’s detectives
disclose the plotters, and the motive in their plot to destroy—
Like a led victim to my death I’ll go,
And, dying, bless the hand that gave the blow.
Except now and then in dim outline, the faces of intrigue in the
_tragic_ scene do not appear. These faces are un-American—inhuman—and
would mar humanity’s picture.
The Divine Humanitarian forgave His enemies, but the picture of the
crucified on the cross ever suggests the Pontius Pilate and the
executioners. Clara Barton also forgave her enemies, and yet some day a
literary artist may portray the Judasette Iscariot, or possibly the
plotting Antony and Cleopatra, to make a Clara Barton picture
historically and tragically complete.
In biography is the world’s history. If, in human logic, the silencing
of truth in biography be an imperative virtue, then literature should be
relegated to the ash-heap of forgotten lore. As “in a valley centuries
ago grew a fern leaf green and slender,” leaving its impress on what
have become the rocks of the centuries, so truth leaves its impress
imperishable on what become the tablets of history. Truth crushed to
earth again and again will appear; and, when Clara Barton’s Gethsemane
appears with all its delineations in a picture complete, there will be
none so poor to do reverence to Clara Barton’s character assassins, nor
to the Clara Barton ghouls who desecrate her tomb and use the United
States mails to traduce the dead.
Sentiment is the soul of action. The highest tribute to mortal is the
angel-sentiment—the tribute to self-sacrificing woman that blazes her
“path where highways never ran.”
Ever the blind world
Knows not its angels of deliverance
Till they stand glorified ’twixt earth and heaven,
and yet more powerful than armies is the soul-sentiment that protects
fame,—the fame of the Florence Nightingales, the Clara Bartons and the
Edith Cavells.
Her “friends” say time will vindicate Clara Barton. The more such
“friends” the more’s the pity. It’s not time, it’s truth, that
vindicates. “Procrastination is the thief of time.” The thief of time
must not be permitted to steal from the present, even under pledge to
disgorge in the future. The present is ours to possess, ours to enjoy.
It’s not that the millions can do something for Clara Barton; instead,
the Clara Barton spirit can do something for the millions. The plotter
may revile the Red Cross Mother; the Red Cross Artist may picture the
cross of red on the breast of a fictitious “Greatest Mother in the
World;” the self-constituted autocrat in Red Cross literature may
suppress, and belie, truth; but the spirit of Clara Barton is the
Mother-Spirit still, the real spirit of the American Red Cross, the Red
Cross spirit in all Christendom. The fighting sons of America on the
“Western Front” may not have read of Clara Barton in recent Red Cross
literature but, trooping under the Red Cross peace-banner that Clara
Barton brought here from Europe, were more millions of her followers in
America than in the world war there were soldiers marshalled under the
military banners in all the armies in Europe.
Grant was “Grant the Great” at Appomattox; Lincoln was more than “six
feet four” when in the home of Confederate General Pickett he stooped
down to kiss the brow of “Baby George” Pickett; Stephen A. Douglass was
more than “the little giant” when at the inauguration on the east steps
of the capitol he held the hat of Abraham Lincoln; Clara Barton was more
divine than human when, with love for her enemies, in her last world
prayer she gave expression to the forgiving sentiment of the Divine
Humanitarian.
Clara Barton said that the bravest act of her life was crossing the
pontoon bridge under fire at Fredericksburg. The historian will say that
the bravest act of her life was snatching her Red Cross child from the
social—political—fat-salaried-swiveled-chair clique at Washington, and
handing over her best beloved unharmed to the country for which in the
smoke of battle and terrors of disaster she had many times risked her
life. The historian will further say that in refusing to accept a
pension of $2500 for life and Honorary Presidency of the Red Cross from
that “clique” as the price of her child, and suffering persecution for
life as the penalty, there was shown the true mother spirit that must
commend her for all time to those who respect the spirit of
self-sacrificing Motherhood.
President Warren G. Harding, the president also of the Red Cross,
“entertains the highest sentiment regarding the splendid service of
Miss Barton.” Ex-President Woodrow Wilson—also ex-president of the
Red Cross—has voiced the sentiment of the American people in no
uncertain sound as has a second Clara Barton,—the soldier-angel
Margaret Wilson. General John J. Pershing has not been silent in his
admiration of the great woman, nor have the hundreds of thousands of
American boys on the “Western Front” been unmindful in gratitude to
the Founder of the American Red Cross; and, if signs fail not, from
the American Congress there will come to America’s greatest
humanitarian a testimonial—accompanied by an acclaim that will be
heard around the world.
On a certain state occasion the statement was made that there is less to
censure, and more to commend, in the public life of Clara Barton for the
twenty-three years she was President of the Red Cross than in the public
life of any one of the twenty-eight Presidents from George Washington to
Woodrow Wilson. There commenting on the statement, America’s beloved
Mrs. General George E. Pickett significantly said: “Yes, that’s true,
but Clara Barton was a woman.” But woman is coming into her own, and
Clara Barton said, “My own shall come to me.” Never was prophecy more
certain of fulfillment. With hundreds of thousands of Americans
receiving the benefits of “First Aid”; with more than thirty thousand
brave American nurses, ten thousand of these following the illustrious
example of Clara Barton by going to the battlefield; with more than
thirty millions of Americans serving the Red Cross in time of war; with
more than a billion of human beings making use of the Red Cross American
Amendment in times of peace and war, Clara Barton already has come into
her own.
The American nation will come into its own, as did respectively two
great nations of Europe, when she wipes out from the scroll of history
its foulest blot,—by giving national recognition to a national heroine;
the American Red Cross will come into its own when it shall repossess
the name Clara Barton; the American people will come into their own when
they patriotically recognize, and sacredly cherish, that immortal
Mother-Spirit which, after a half century of heroic sacrifices in the
war of human woes, passed triumphant through the archway ’twixt earth
and heaven.
If these pen pictures give to the boys and girls of America inspiration
to loftier patriotism and higher ideals in achievement; if truth in the
biography give renewed impulse to American Red Cross philanthropy; if
through this volume immortal deeds, and a name unsullied, be treasured
for world-humanity then Clara Barton’s dying message to the author shall
not have been in vain.
[Illustration:
CHARLES SUMNER YOUNG
]
The only picture of myself that I have cared anything about at all is
the one taken at the time of the Civil War (1865), in which I am
represented in the uniform of a nurse. If my friends had let me have
my way, I would never have had another picture taken. (_Frontispiece_)
CLARA BARTON.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I Babyhood Impressions 21
II School—Childish Memories—Military 24
III On Her Favorite Black Horse 28
IV Phrenology—Read Her Characteristics—Basis of Friendship 30
V “Spontaneous Combustion” Laid to Clara Barton 34
VI Christmas—a Christmas Carol 36
VII “Button”—“Billy”—Clara Barton Ownership 38
VIII Pauper Schools; from Six to Six Hundred 43
IX Child Love—Joe and Charlie—Appreciation 45
X Temperance—Clara Barton and the Hired Man—Stranger than
Fiction 48
XI Looking for a Job—Equal Suffrage 51
XII Credulous Ox—Innocent Child—Clara Barton, a Vegetarian 55
XIII Fell Dead on the Ground beside Her 57
XIV Wickedness of War—Settles no Disputes 59
XV Her Wardrobe in a Handkerchief—The Battle Scene 63
XVI The Bravery of Women—Clara Barton’s Bravest Act 66
XVII Yes, and Got Euchred 69
XVIII To Dream of Home and Mother 71
XIX Tribute of Love and Devotion 74
XX Cheering Words—Always Ready—Wears a Smile 76
XXI Horrible Deed—Leads American Navy—Angel of Mercy 80
XXII Confederates and Federals alike Treated 86
XXIII The Enemy, Starving—Tact—The White Ox 89
XXIV Bullethole—Amputated Limbs Like Cordwood—God Gives
Strength 91
XXV Fearless of Bullets and Kicking Mules 95
XXVI His Comfort, not Hers; His Life, not Hers 97
XXVII Does not Need any Advice 99
XXVIII Had but a Few Moments to Live 102
XXIX Enlisted Men First—The Colonel’s Life Saved 104
XXX You’re Right, Madam—Good Day 107
XXXI Bleeding to Death—His Headless Body—Women in the War 109
XXXII Timid Child—Timid Woman 112
XXXIII Ez Ef We Wuz White Folks 115
XXXIV In Her Dreams—Again in Battle 117
XXXV Four Famous Women 120
XXXVI Simplicity of Childhood—Pet Wasps—Pet Cats—Loved
Life—Domestic 122
XXXVII Clara Barton in the Literary Field 128
XXXVIII The Art of Dressing—Clara Barton’s Individuality 133
XXXIX The Jewelled Hand and the Hard Hand Meet 138
XL Clara Barton and the Emperor 140
XLI America—Scarlet and Gold—Europe 143
XLII Three Cheers—Wild Scenes in Boston—Tiger!! No, Sweetheart 147
XLIII The Last Reception—Her Autograph—The Boys in Gray 150
XLIV Open House—Cost of Fame, Self-Sacrifice—Best in Woman 152
XLV Kneeled Before Her and Kissed Her Hand 158
XLVI I Never Get Tired—Eating the Least of My Troubles 160
XLVII Royalty Under a Quaker Bonnet 163
XLVIII Still Stamping on Me—Personally Unharmed 165
XLIX At the Memorial—“The Flags of all Nations”—A Good Time 167
L Clara Barton Kept a Diary 171
LI Nursing a Fine Art—Over the Washtub 176
LII Immortal Words—A Million Thanks 178
LIII The Pansy Pin—For Thoughts 180
LIV Clara Barton Pays Respects to Florence Nightingale 182
LV The Passing of Years—Right Habits of Life 184
LVI She Won His Heart 186
LVII You Buy It for Him 188
LVIII Or God Wouldn’t Have Made Them 190
LIX Clara Barton—Mary Baker Eddy 192
LX Like Tolstoi She Lived the Simple Life 194
LXI Clara Barton—Florence Nightingale 196
LXII The General Has Money—I Am His Reconcentrado 201
LXIII Abraham Lincoln’s Son 204
LXIV The Butcher Didn’t Get It 207
LXV The Kind of Girls that Needed Help 209
LXVI A Romance of Two Continents 211
LXVII The Little Monument—For all Eternity 215
LXVIII Story of Baba—Dream of a White Horse—Life’s Woes 218
LXIX People, Like Jack Rabbits—No “Show-Woman” 223
LXX Clara Barton’s Heart Secret—$10,000 in “Gold Dust” 227
LXXI Fell on Their Knees before “Mis’ Red Cross” 231
LXXII Clara Barton’s Tribute to Cuba 233
LXXIII At the Birthplace of Napoleon—The Corsican Bandit 235
LXXIV When Cares Grow Heavy and Pleasures Light 238
LXXV A Red Cross Red Letter Day 240
LXXVI Patriotic Women of America Self-Sacrificing 242
LXXVII Opposition—The American Red Cross “Complete Victory” 246
LXXVIII Greetings—National First Aid Association of America 255
LXXIX Humanitarianism, Unparalleled in All History 264
LXXX Clara Barton’s Prayer Answered 268
LXXXI Not the Value of a Postage Stamp 272
LXXXII Honorary Presidency for Life—Proposed Annuity 275
LXXXIII Clara Barton’s Resignation 279
LXXXIV No Red Cross Controversy 285
LXXXV International Red Cross—American Red Cross—American
Amendment 287
LXXXVI Blackmail Alleged—“Congressional Investigation”—Truth of
History 294
LXXXVII Of Graves, of Worms, of Epitaphs 332
LXXXVIII Turkey—Statesmanship of Philanthropy—Armenia 340
LXXXIX Treason—Lincoln Assassinated—Grant Protects Clara Barton 349
XC President McKinley Sends Clara Barton to Cuba 352
XCI In Details—Clara Barton, a Business Manager—World’s
Record 355
XCII Superintendent of Woman’s Prison 363
XCIII Greatness—An Immortal American Destiny—Immortality 365
XCIV What Was Her Religion? 369
XCV One Day with Clara Barton 373
XCVI The Personal Correspondence—Clara Barton’s Proposed
Self-Expatriation 377
XCVII Closing Incidents—The Biography—Other Correspondence 392
XCVIII A Record History at the Funeral 398
XCIX Clara Barton’s Last Ride 401
C Chronology of the Leading Achievements in the Life of
Clara Barton 403
CI The Press and the Individual 411
CII The Clara Barton Centenary—Memorial Address, 1921 415
CIII Clara Barton—Memorial Day Address, 1917 422
I want the last picture of the friends I love to show them in their
strength, and at their best, not after time and age shall have robbed
them of all _characteristic_ features which represented them in actual
life.—CLARA BARTON, from her diary of December 13, 1910.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
CLARA BARTON _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
CHARLES SUMNER YOUNG 12
THE UNIVERSALIST CHURCH, MAIN STREET, OXFORD,
MASSACHUSETTS 35
SUMMER HOME OF CLARA BARTON, OXFORD, MASSACHUSETTS 35
BIRTHPLACE OF CLARA BARTON, NEAR OXFORD, MASSACHUSETTS 42
OFFICERS OF THE W. N. M. A. PRESENT AT THE DEDICATION OF
THE CLARA BARTON MEMORIAL ON OCTOBER 12, 1921 42
HISTORIC IN EDUCATION, BORDENTOWN, N. J. 53
The School House
The Desk Used by Clara Barton
The Clara Barton Museum
REPRESENTATIVE TEMPERANCE ADVOCATES 56
Annie Wittenmeyer
John B. Gough
Mary Stewart Powers
Frances Willard
REPRESENTATIVE SUFFRAGE LEADERS 69
Susan B. Anthony
Carrie Chapman Catt
Dr. Anna Howard Shaw
WARREN G. HARDING 72
REPRESENTATIVES RESPECTIVELY OF THREE WARS 83
William T. Sampson
Isaac B. Sherwood
Joseph Taggart
REPRESENTATIVE OF TWO WARS 90
Mathew C. Butler
Joseph Wheeler
Harrison Gray Otis
LEONARD WOOD 117
THE RED CROSS HOME OF CLARA BARTON, GLEN ECHO, MARYLAND 120
REPRESENTATIVE OF THE LITERARY WORLD 133
Ida M. Tarbell
Lucy Larcrom
Elbert Hubbard
Alice Hubbard
W. R. SHAFTER 136
THE ROYALTY OF GERMANY 149
Empress Augusta
Emperor William I
Luise, The Grand Duchess of Baden
Friederich, The Grand Duke of Baden
THE ROYALTY OF RUSSIA 152
Nicholas II, The Czar of Russia
Alexandra Feodorowna, The Czarina of Russia
Maria Feodorowna, The Empress Dowager
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE between pages
182 and 183
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE MEMORIAL ON THE MALL, LONDON between pages
182 and 183
CO-WORKERS WITH CLARA BARTON 195
Count Lyof Nikolayevitch Tolstoi
Dr. Henry W. Bellows
Dr. Julian B. Hubbell
WOODROW WILSON 202
SENTIMENT IN HISTORY 213
The Clara Barton Baby Cradle
The Pet Jersey Calf
Colony of Constantinople Dogs
HISTORIC AND SENTIMENTAL 216
Baba, Clara Barton’s Pet Horse
The Baba Tree and William H. Lewis
THE CLARA BARTON MONUMENT 229
MARIO G. MENOCAL 232
WILLIAM MCKINLEY 241
JAMES A. GARFIELD between pages
246 and 247
CHESTER A. ARTHUR between pages
246 and 247
THE INTERNATIONAL COMMITTEE OF THE RED CROSS (in 1898) 252
CLARA BARTON 275
HARRIETTE L. REED 275
MRS. JOHN A. LOGAN 282
AMBASSADOR BAKHMETEFF 289
ELUTHEROS VENIZELOS 293
GROVER CLEVELAND 296
FIVE PHOTOGRAPHS OF CLARA BARTON 300
ATTORNEYS FOR THE AMERICAN RED CROSS SOCIETY UNDER THE
PRESIDENCY OF CLARA BARTON 321
Richard Olney
Lewis A. Stebbins
William H. Sears
BADGES, MEDALS, DECORATIONS between pages
326 and 327
DORENCE ATWATER 332
DEDICATION OF MEMORIAL TO CLARA BARTON AT ANDERSONVILLE,
GEORGIA 332
CEMETERY AT ANDERSONVILLE, GEORGIA 339
DR. G. PASDERMADJIAN between pages
342 and 343
I. H. R. PRINCE GUY DE LUSIGNAN between pages
342 and 343
ABDUL-HAMID 346
WILLIAM R. DAY 355
HER BUSINESS RECORD between pages
358 and 359
Benjamin F. Butler
Francis Atwater
Leonard F. Ross
REDFIELD PROCTOR between pages
358 and 359
THE AMERICAN RED CROSS BUILDING, WASHINGTON, D. C. 362
HENRY BRECKENRIDGE 369
REPRESENTATIVE OF UNITED STATES CONGRESS 380
Champ Clark
Charles F. Curry
Denver S. Church
REUNION OF 21ST MASSACHUSETTS REGIMEN between pages
390 and 391
THE MEMORIAL TREE PLANTING TO THE MEMORY OF CLARA between pages
BARTON, 1922 406 and 407
Lieutenant-General Nelson A. Miles, with the first
shovel of dirt
Mrs. John A. Logan, with second shovel of dirt
The Clara Barton Oak
Miss Carrie Harrison, planting the Clara Barton Rose
Charles Sumner Young, while delivering the memorial
address
WILLIAM HOWARD TAFT 417
THE INSIDE OF MEMORIAL BUILDING, OXFORD, MASSACHUSETTS between pages
422 and 423
THE OXFORD, MASSACHUSETTS, MEMORIAL BUILDING between pages
422 and 423
REPRESENTATIVE MASSACHUSETTS STATESMEN 428
Henry Wilson
Charles Sumner
George F. Hoar
UNITED STATES SENATORS WHO SAW THE WORK OF CLARA BARTON 430
Charles E. Townsend
Jacob H. Gallinger
H. D. Money
NELSON A. MILES 433
JOHN J. PERSHING 435
ABRAHAM LINCOLN 442
THE RED CROSS MONUMENT 444
The embossed cut on the front cover is a reproduction of a bronze bust
by Mrs. Otto Heideman.
CLARA BARTON
There is a kind of character in thy life,
That to the observer doth thy history
Fully unfold.
I
I take my pencil (at 86 years of age) to describe the first moment of my
life that I remember. CLARA BARTON—In _The Story of My Childhood._
Do not sin against the child. GENESIS.
The fir trees dark and high,
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky.
HOOD—_I remember, I remember_.
The rude wooden cradle in which Clara Barton was rocked is now one of
the very interesting curios in possession of the Worcester (Mass.)
Historical Society. THE AUTHOR.
The child’s grief throbs against the round of its little heart as
heavily as the man’s sorrow. CHAPIN.
Baby lips will laugh me down. TENNYSON.
A child’s sob curseth deeper in the silence
Than the strong man in his wrath.
E. B. BROWNING.
Dispel not the happy delusions of children. GOETHE.
Happy child! The cradle is to thee a vast space.
SCHILLER.
Who can foretell for what high cause
This destiny of the gods was born.
ANDREW MARVELL.
BABYHOOD IMPRESSIONS
Babyhood repeats itself. Babyhood is practically the same yesterday,
today and forever. And yet who does not try to recall first impressions
and first experiences? Clara Barton says her first baby experience that
she recalls was when she was two and one half years of age. She thus
describes it:—
“Baby los’ ’im—pitty bird—baby los’ ’im—baby mos’ caught ’im.
“At length they succeeded in inducing me to listen to a question, ‘But
where did it go, Baby?’
“Among my heart-breaking sobs I pointed to a small round hole under the
doorstep. The terrified scream of my mother remained in my memory
forevermore. Her baby had ‘mos’ caught’ a snake.”
Her second experience that she recalls was when four years old, at a
funeral of a beloved friend of the family. She previously had been
terrified by a large old ram on the farm. On this occasion she was left
in care of a guardian, in a sitting room. The four windows were open.
Suddenly there came up a thunder storm. Sharp flashes of lightning
darted through the rising, rolling clouds. She thought the whole heavens
were full of angry rams and they were coming down upon her. Her screams
alarmed, and her brother rushed into the room only to find her on the
floor in hysterics.
Sorrows put permanent wrinkles on the face, in maturity; on the mind, in
childhood. Only strangeness may produce fear in babyhood but, with a
baby, strangeness is everywhere. Darkness and strange noises frighten.
Forms of phantasy float on the imagination; when gradually, it’s comedy;
when suddenly, it’s tragedy.
These tragic moments left their impressions on Clara Barton’s plastic
mind. Such impressions ever must remain. Miss Barton said she remembered
nothing but fear in her earlier years; and terror-stricken she remained
to the end, except when she could serve someone in distress, or rescue
someone from danger of death. An English philosopher says: “the least
and most imperceptible impressions received in our infancy have
consequences very important and are of long duration.” The greatest
minds of earth, in all ages, have tried to recall baby experiences, and
have wondered what they had to do with success or failure.
II
At three years Clara Barton was taken a mile and one-half to school on
the shoulders of her brother Stephen; at eleven years she ceased
growing, then but five feet three inches. THE AUTHOR.
When I found myself on a strange horse, in a trooper’s saddle, flying
for life or liberty in front of pursuit, I blessed the baby lessons of
the wild gallops among the beautiful colts.
CLARA BARTON.
Clara Barton—The memories of her childhood belong to our little town,
and are our most precious heritage.
MRS. ALLEN L. JOSLYN, Oxford, Mass.
Remember that you were once a child, full of childish thoughts and
actions. CLARA BARTON.
Sweetly wild
Were the scenes that charmed me when a child.
LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.
The sports of children satisfy the child. GOLDSMITH.
Children’s plays are not sports, and should be regarded as their most
serious actions. MONTAGUE.
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I
thought as a child. I CORINTHIANS.
A sweet child is the sweetest thing in nature. C. LAMB.
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.
S. WORDSWORTH.
The scenes of childhood are memories of future years.
J. O. CHOULES.
I do not like to beat my children—the world will beat them.
ELIHU BURRITT.
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood
When fond recollections present them to view.
S. WORDSWORTH.
Deep meaning often lies in childish plays. SCHILLER.
Backward, turn backward, O time, in your flight!
Make me a child again, just for to-night.
ELIZABETH A. ALLEN.
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain;
Take them, and give me my childhood again!
E. A. ALLEN.
The Baker homestead (Bow, N. H.)—Around the memory thereof cluster the
golden days of my childhood.
MARY BAKER EDDY.
A long way seems the dear old New England home—its sheltering groves
and quiet hills; amid the clustering memories my tears are falling
thick and silently like the autumn leaves in forest dells.
CLARA BARTON.
Children have more need of models than of critics.
JOSEPH JOUBERT.
Children think not of what is past nor of what is to come but enjoy
the present time, which few of us do.
LA BRUYERE.
Women are only children of a larger growth.
CHESTERFIELD—_Letter to his son_.
The only fun is to do things. CLARA BARTON.
I pledged myself to strive only for the courage of the right and for
the blessedness of true womanhood. CLARA BARTON.
SCHOOL—CHILDISH MEMORIES—MILITARY
What woman has not said “I remember when I was a girl....” Clara Barton
at eighty-six years said, in the story of her childhood, I remember ...,
I remember riding wild colts when I was five years of age. I remember
how frightened I was, but acquired assurance when my brother used to
tell me to “cling fast to the mane.” To this day (at eighty-six years of
age) my seat in the saddle, or on the bare back of a horse, is as secure
and tireless as in a rocking chair. I remember I thought the President
might be as large as the meeting house and the Vice President perhaps
the size of the school house. I remember telling my teacher that I did
not spell such little words as “cat” and “dog,” but I spell in
artichoke, artichoke being the first word in the column of three
syllables.
I remember writing verses, many of which for years were preserved—some
of these verses by others recited to amuse people—some verses to tease
me. I remember, in school, making a mistake in pronouncing ‘Ptolmy,’
when the children laughed at me, and I burst out crying and left the
room.
I remember that my father taught me politics; and that, as an old
soldier,[1] he amused the other children and myself by giving us
practical lessons in military life. We used improvised material, such as
children are accustomed to use in “playing soldier,”—paper caps, plumes,
banners, kettle for the kettle drum, tin swords, sticks for guns and
bayonets—all of which were perfectly satisfactory to us.
Footnote 1:
A Clara Barton paternal ancestor immigrated to America from
Lancashire, England, about twelve years after the landing of _The
Mayflower_. Since that date a direct descendant of his has
participated in every war, by this country.
Our muskets were of cedar wood
With ramrods bright and new;
With bayonets forever set,
And painted barrels, too.
We shouldered arms, we carried arms,
We charged the bayonet;
And woe unto the mullen stalk
That in our course we met!
The armies played havoc with each other, had fearful encounters and,
what seemed to our young minds then, suffered disastrous results. Camps,
regiments, brigades, military terms, she said, thus became familiar to
her as the most ordinary matters of home.
Is it warm in that green valley,
Vale of childhood, where you dwell?
Is it calm in that green valley,
Round whose bowers such great hills swell?
Are there giants in the valley—
Giants leaving footprints yet?
Are there angels in the valley?
Tell me—I forget.
III
In my home here at Oxford, we would listen with intense interest to
the story of her early years, to childhood and girlhood, and to scenes
and events in her old home on the hillside. Clara Barton, by her
shining example to our children and our children’s children, has left
a rare legacy to the town of her birth.
MRS. A. L. JOSLYN—In _Clara Barton In Memoriam_.
Bucephalus was calmed, and subdued, by the presence of Alexander and
became his favorite war-horse.
ABBOTT.
My arms, my arms. My horse; come quick, my horse——.
JOAN OF ARC.
My brother David was the “Buffalo Bill” of all that surrounding
country.
CLARA BARTON.
My father was a lover of horses, one of the first in the vicinity to
introduce blooded stock.
CLARA BARTON.
The first horses imported into the United States were brought to New
England in 1629. Surviving the ocean voyage were one horse and seven
mares. Oxen being used for all farm work, horses did not come into
general use until one hundred years afterwards.
THE AUTHOR.
Joan of Arc, Clara Barton and Florence Nightingale was each an expert
horsewoman and each made use of her skill in horsemanship, in war.
THE AUTHOR.
ON HER FAVORITE BLACK HORSE
Like many other country girls, Clara Barton was fond of horseback
riding. When twelve years of age, on one occasion, she ran away from
home to go for a ride. She came down stairs quietly and slipped out for
a ride on her favorite black horse.
What a wild triumph, that this “girlish hand”
Such a steed in the might of his strength may command!
Falling from the horse, she injured her knee. Determined to keep the
injury a secret she joined her brothers in the field as though nothing
had happened. But she limped, and her brothers noticed it. She merely
told her brothers she had injured her knee, but would say no more. They
sent for a doctor. By plying many questions as to how it happened, the
doctor drew from her a confession. In later life—in the Civil War, in
the Franco-Prussian War, in the Spanish American War, her skill as a
horseback rider was of great service to her. On several occasions she
had to “ride for her life.” In speaking of this accomplishment, she used
to say “When I was a little girl I could ride like a Mexican.”
IV
Clara Barton—the pitying sweetness which fills her eyes and the
sympathetic lines which have been drawn about her mouth bear witness
to a long intimacy with suffering and death.
Central (Mo.) _Christian Advocate_. (1912)
Physiognomy is the language of the face. JEREMY COLLIER.
Physiognomy is reading the handwriting of nature upon the human
countenance. CHATFIELD.
Palmistry is a science as old as the history of the human race. The
mind deceives; the hand tells the truth; the thumb in particular, the
tell-tale of character.
DOLORES CORTEZ, _Queen of the Spanish Gypsies_.
Show me an outspread hand and I’ll show you whether or not its master
is honest, is kind, is affectionate.
ARTHUR DELROY, _Author_.
* * * * *
Human nature, as unfolded by phrenology, is being universally accepted
by all classes of people. CRANIUM.
Phrenology can be used in every phase of life. C. S. HARDISON.
Phrenology is very fruitful in its capacity to paint mental images.
MISS JESSIE ALLEN FOWLER.
Phrenology,—a science that has been of great help to us in the
progress of life. DOCTOR CHARLES H. SHEPARD.
The shape of the brain may generally be ascertained by the form of the
skull. O. S. AND L. N. FOWLER.
Phrenology professes to point out a connection between certain
_manifestations of the mental and peculiar conditions and developments
of the brain_. O. S. AND L. N. FOWLER.
Of all the people in England, I was most glad to meet Doctor L. N.
Fowler, the same gentle, kind man he used to be so many years ago, and
who has done so much for the middle classes of England, giving them
helpful advice they could not get from other sources. CLARA BARTON.
Remembering that fully one-fifth of my life (1856) has been passed as
a teacher in schools, it is not strange that I should feel some
interest in the cause of education. CLARA BARTON.
’Tis education forms the common mind; just as the twig is bent the
tree is inclined. ALEXANDER POPE.
PHRENOLOGY—READ HER CHARACTERISTICS—BASIS OF FRIENDSHIP
The physiognomist reads character in the face; the palmist in the hand;
the phrenologist in the skull. Physiognomy since the origin of man has
been nature’s open book. The science of palmistry is at least five
thousand years old; but the science of phrenology is of comparatively
recent origin. When Clara Barton was a little girl phrenology received
its really first great impulse in this country, through the lectures and
writings of the Doctors Fowler of England. In England, as in this
country, phrenology was then the subject of much ridicule. Of this
strange science Thomas Hood sarcastically writes:
’Tis strange how like a very dunce,
Man, with his bumps upon his sconce,
Had lived so long; and yet no knowledge he
Has had, till lately, of phrenology—
A science that by simple dint of
Head-combining he should find a hint of,
When scratching o’er those little pole-hills
The faculties threw up like mole hills.
Little Clara was bashful, afraid of strangers, too timid to sit at the
family table when guests were present; would not so much as tell her
name when asked to do so. When spoken to by a stranger she would burst
out crying—sometimes leaving the room. Now and then she would go hungry
rather than ask a favor even of a member of the family. Doctor L. N.
Fowler visited Oxford. While there he was a guest at the Barton home.
Doctor, what shall we do with this girl, asked the mother; she annoys us
almost to death. We can hardly speak to her without her crying, from
fear. The doctor examined her head. He replied, she is timid, that’s
all. The “bump” of fear is over-developed. Nothing will change a child’s
innate fear; that is a characteristic of her nature. She may outgrow it
to some extent but her sensitive nature will remain as long as she
lives. The doctor advised the parents to give her something to do; to
keep her at work, and thus to let her forget herself. Don’t scold her;
encourage her. When she does anything well, give her full
credit—compliment her. Throw responsibility on her; when she is old
enough give her a school to teach.
To be understood is the basis of friendship. The Doctor understood
Clara; little Clara understood the Doctor. They became friends. That
friendship lasted through life. Many years after the Doctor visited
Oxford Clara Barton visited the Doctor, in London. They spent evenings
together. The Doctor renewed his interest in the people of those early
days in New England. He especially recalled the characteristics of Miss
Barton’s father;—they became mutually reminiscent of the days of her
childhood. The Doctor had then become old and decrepit but was still
giving lectures on phrenology. The happiest hours Clara Barton spent in
England were in the home of the Fowlers; with the Doctor, his charming
wife and three beautiful daughters.
V
The earth can never have enough women like Clara Barton.
Detroit (Mich.) _Free Press._
Clara Barton belonged not only to the United States but to the entire
civilized world. Boston (Mass.) _Globe._
A merry heart doeth good like a medicine. PROVERBS.
Laugh and the world laughs with you. ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.
SHAKESPEARE.
A little nonsense now and then
Is relished by the best of men. ANONYMOUS.
The next best thing to a very good joke is a very bad one.
J. C. HARE.
Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he. GOLDSMITH.
If ever there were lost, or omitted, a well-turned joke or a bit of
humor by the various members of the Barton family it was clearly an
accident. CLARA BARTON.
Joking decides great things stronger and better of’t than earnest can.
MILTON-HORACE.
[Illustration:
THE UNIVERSALIST CHURCH, MAIN STREET, OXFORD, MASSACHUSETTS
Where Clara Barton attended church. Oldest Universalist Church in the
world, built 1792. Society second oldest. Organized April 27, 1785.
Denomination organized here, September 14, 1785.
]
[Illustration:
SUMMER HOME OF CLARA BARTON, OXFORD, MASSACHUSETTS
Arrow points towards the window of the room where Clara Barton was
bed-ridden for several months, through her last fatal illness, in
the latter part of 1911.
]
“SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION” LAID TO CLARA BARTON
A timid child is invariably the butt of jokes. Clara Barton, in her
youth, was not an exception. As a little girl she had learned to weave,
working in a North Oxford satinet mill. She had not been it work there
very long when the mill took fire and burned down. Then, as no
satisfactory explanation of the cause could be given by the members of
the Barton family, the fire was attributed to spontaneous combustion,
brought on because Clara had worked so fast as to set the mill on fire.
Clara Barton did not object to, but rather enjoyed, a joke on herself.
She used to tell her friends of this joke and said that in her own town
and among her playmates that joke was “told on me for many years.”
VI
Forget not Christmas. HENRY _IV._ of England.
At Christmas be merry, and thankful withal,
And feast thy poor neighbors, the great with the small. TUSSER.
Those who at Christmas do repine,
And would fain hence despatch him,
May they with old Duke Humphry dine,
Or else may ‘Squire Ketch catch him.’
POOR ROBIN’S ALMANAC, 1684.
Without the door let sorrow lie,
And if, for cold, it hap to die,
Wee ’le bury ’t in a Christmas pye,
And evermore be merry.
WITHER’S JUVENILIA.
Now Christmas is come,
Let us beat up the drum,
And call all our neighbors together.
And when they appear,
Let us make them such cheer,
As will keep out the wind and the weather. OLD SONG.
A Christmas baby! Now, isn’t that the best kind of a Christmas gift
for us all? FATHER STEPHEN BARTON (1821).
Clara Barton was a Christmas present, given to the world.
Bridgeport (Conn.) _Standard_ (—In 1912).
The sweet love-planted Christmas tree. WILL CARLETON.
A good conscience is a continual Christmas.
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
This day shall change all griefs and quarrels into love.
SHAKESPEARE.
I will honor Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year.
CHARLES DICKENS.
On Christmas Day we will shut out from our fireside nothing.
CHARLES DICKENS.
’Tis the season for kindling the fire of hospitality in the hall, the
genial fire of charity in the heart. WASHINGTON IRVING.
I was born on one bright Christmas day, and I am told that there was a
great family jubilation upon the occasion. CLARA BARTON.
For which the shepherds at their festivals
Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays. JOHN MILTON.
The winds ever chant on the bright Christmas morn,
The sweetest of carols for “Two” that were born.
E. MAY GLENN TOON.
CHRISTMAS
A CHRISTMAS CAROL
(1894)
For my 30,000 Sea Island Friends
A Loving Greeting and Merry Christmas. CLARA BARTON.
Lo! The Christmas morn is breaking,
Bring the angels bright array,
For the Christian world is waking,
And the Lord is born to-day.
Shout then, brothers; shout and pray,
For the blessed Lord is born to-day.
No more tears and pain and sorrow,
Hark! I hear the angels say
Blessed be the bright to-morrow,
For the Lord is born to-day.
Shout then, sisters; shout and pray,
For the blessed Lord is born to-day.
Forget your night of sad disaster,
Cast your burdens all away,
Wait the coming of the Master,
For the Lord is born to-day.
Shout then, children; shout and pray,
For the blessed Lord is born to-day.
In the sunlight, soft and golden,
Round the babe the angels play;
List, their notes so grand and olden,
Lo! The Lord is born to-day.
Shout, all people; shout and pray,
For the blessed Lord is born to-day.
VII
The life of Clara Barton should be familiarized to every child.
Woonsocket (R. I.) _Call._
Learning to ride, Clara, is just learning a horse.
BROTHER DAVID (“Buffalo Bill”) in 1826.
How can I learn a horse, David? SISTER CLARA.
Catch hold of his mane, baby, and just feel the horse a part of
yourself—the big half of the task being.
BROTHER DAVID. _Heroines of Service._
Love me, love my dog. HEYWARD’S PROVERBS.
The one absolutely unselfish friend that a man can have in this
selfish world, the one that never deserts him, and the one that never
proves ungrateful, or traitorous, is his dog. SENATOR VEST.
We are two travellers, Roger and I—Roger’s my dog—so fond, so
unselfish, so forgiving. JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE.
I have seen many friends in my travels,
Some friends whom the world would call game,
But the friendship of my old dog Roger
Would put all the others to shame.
WILLIAM DEVERE.
I would rather be a dog and bay at the moon
Than such a Roman. JULIUS CAESAR.
Every dog has his day, why not I?
Dogs are very much like people—
I am Preacher Smith’s dog, whose dog are you?
ABBIE N. SMITH, “_Bobtail Dixie_.”
A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! SHAKESPEARE.
O for a horse with wings. CYMBELINE.
Champing his foam, and bounding o’er the plain,
Arch his high neck and graceful spread his mane.
SIR R. BLACKMORE.
A good rider on a good horse is as much above himself and others as
the world can make him. LORD HERBERT.
I die,—but first have possessed
And come what may, I _have been blessed_. BYRON.
Aspiration sees only one side of every question; possession, many.
LOWELL.
How senseless is the love of wealth and treasure. GUARINI.
Remember not one penny can we take with us into the unknown land.
SENECA.
“BUTTON”—“BILLY”—CLARA BARTON OWNERSHIP
A dog is a real philanthropist, his whole existence is living for
others. The best “war-scout” known is the Red Cross dog, wearing the
insignia. In a dog Miss Barton found a congenial spirit. Her first
ownership was a dog, and known by the name of “Button.” He was
medium-sized, very white, with silky ears, sparkling black eyes, and a
very short tail. “Button” was Clara Barton’s guardian in the cradle, her
playmate in childhood.
Some little dogs are very good,
And very useful too:—
“Button” would try to pick her up when she fell down, sympathize with
her in her troubles,—ever unselfish, helpful, loyal.
Clara Barton’s second individual ownership was “Billy.” “Billy” was a
horse. She said he was high stepping; in color, brown; of Morgan
ancestry, with glossy coat, slim legs, pointed ears, long black mane and
tail, and weighing nearly nine hundred pounds.
Ownership endowed “Billy” with wonderful characteristics. He could trot,
rack, pace, single-foot,—a Bucephalus worthy of world fame. “Like beads
upon a rosary” she would count and recount the joys of memory, memory of
her saddle horse, and she on his back, riding like mad, at ten years of
age. He had many characteristics, doubtless, that she didn’t recount. As
a horse is known to be “a vain thing for safety” “Billy” could probably
run away, get frightened at a shadow, senselessly “kick up” and
“smash-up,” as do other horses. But fun is in the danger; the greater
the danger to life and limb the greater the fun. “Billy” would not stand
over her to guard her, nor help her up when she fell down, but was
useful and gave her pleasure. “The true, living love is love of soul for
soul,” hence mankind loves, in return for love, only what gives love;
but mankind also pretends to love what it can force to serve man’s
purpose. The dog spirit and the horse spirit satisfy the longings of
human nature—all the world loves a dog and assumes to love a horse.
In hearing of the cannon’s roar one afternoon, an officer galloped up
asking, “Miss Barton, can you ride?” “Yes sir.” “But you have no
saddle—could you ride mine?” “Yes sir, or without it, if you have
blanket and surcingle.” “Then you can risk an hour.” An hour later the
officer returned at breakneck speed—and leaping from his horse said:
“Now is your time Miss Barton; the enemy is already breaking over the
hills.”
Oh! not all the pleasures that poets may praise,—
Not the wildering waltz in the ballrooms blaze,
Nor the chivalrous joust, nor the daring race,
Nor the swift regatta, nor the merry chase,
Nor the sail heaving waters o’er,
Nor the rural dance on the moonlight shore,—
Can the wild and fearless joy exceed
Of a fearless leap on a fiery steed.
Romance enters into ownership of pet animals. Probably “Button” was
_just_ a dog and “Billy” _only_ a horse. But one has said that the right
of ownership is the cornerstone of civilization. Ownership of what is
worthy of love at least enriches character—contributes to the happiness
of human existence. If the Father of his Country was right, that the
object of all government is the happiness of the people, then the love
of animals serves a very high purpose.
With the first “gold dust” suddenly acquired, an illiterate Western
miner built on the desert a stone mansion. He ornamented it with gold
door knobs door hinges of silver—the doors opening but to golden keys.
Yet some there be that by due steps aspire
To lay their just hands on that golden key,
That opes the palace to eternity,—
To such my errand is:—
Where human beings throng, and men and women suffer, Clara Barton built
a structure and ornamented it with a RED CROSS on a white ground—the
emblem of service to the suffering. With unusual earning capacity for
seventy-five years, and at all times practicing greatest economy, Clara
Barton’s ownership at her passing was but $21,000. The Glen Echo Red
Cross home that had been used, free of cost to the RED CROSS, was valued
at $5,000. While the owner lived she continued to keep it as a charity
center—a home for the homeless and indigent—ex-soldiers, civilians,
children.
In her closing years she had, therefore, for her own personal and
exclusive use in money and realty, not to exceed $21,000. This was nine
thousand dollars less than the value of her property when she first
became interested in Red Cross work. “Mere money,” she said, “never
separates me from my friends. I don’t care for money; I wish only not to
become an object of charity, and to be a burden to my friends when I am
unable to work for others.”
[Illustration:
BIRTHPLACE OF CLARA BARTON, NEAR OXFORD, MASSACHUSETTS
On March 14, 1921, the title to the Barton Homestead was transferred
by Carl O. Carlson to The Woman’s National Missionary Society of the
Universalist Church. It is now known as The Clara Barton Memorial
Home. Mementoes, Red Cross literature and all else possible to
obtain that appertain to Clara Barton’s life work will be assembled
here and become a part of the Memorial. The homestead consists of
the house where Clara Barton was born, and eighty-five acres of
land. It was dedicated as a shrine for the public, October 12, 1921.
Arrow points to the room where Clara Barton was born. Size of the room
8 × 10 feet. Ceiling 8 feet high. Clothes closet 5 feet 2 inches × 2
feet 5 inches. Two windows each 4 feet 5 inches high × 2 feet 3
inches wide. Two sashes in each window; six panes of glass in each
sash.
]
[Illustration:
OFFICERS OF THE W. N. M. A. PRESENT AT THE DEDICATION OF THE CLARA
BARTON MEMORIAL ON OCTOBER 12, 1921.
Left to Right: Mrs. Bertram O. Blaisdell, Trustee; Mrs. Ethel M.
Allen, Rec. Sec’y (now President); Mrs. Marietta B. Wilkins,
President; Mrs. Fred A. Moore, Literature Secretary; Miss Susan M.
Andrew, Trustee (Chairman Clara Barton Guild).
]
VIII
Every child in the country has known of Clara Barton.
Oakland (Calif.) _Tribune_.