A STORY OF THE RED CROSS
[Illustration: CLARA BARTON
From a photograph taken in St. Petersburg in July, 1902, showing the
decorations conferred upon her by the Czar and the Empress Dowager]
A STORY OF THE RED CROSS
GLIMPSES OF FIELD WORK
BY
CLARA BARTON
FOUNDER OF THE AMERICAN NATIONAL RED CROSS AND PRESIDENT, 1881-1904
[Illustration: Logo]
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
MCMIV
COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
_Published, June, 1904_
PREFACE
Since the foundation of the Red Cross in America, many direful
calamities have afflicted the country. In each of these visitations the
Red Cross has acted in some degree as the Almoner--the distributer and
organizer--of the bountiful measures of relief that have been poured out
by the American people.
Its work has been accomplished quietly and without ostentation. All the
relief has been administered--not as charity--but as God-sent succor to
our brothers and sisters who have been overwhelmed by some mighty
convulsion of the forces of nature.
The wreckage has been cleared away, the stricken people have been
wisely, tenderly, and calmly guided out of panic and despair on to the
road of self-help and cooperative effort to restore their shattered
homes and broken fortunes; and then the Red Cross has retired as quietly
as it came, and few, outside of the people immediately concerned, have
realized the beneficent powers of help and healing that have fallen like
a benediction upon the stricken wherever that sacred symbol of humanity
has made its way.
It is my thought that a brief account of the work of the Red Cross
during the past twenty-five years will be of interest to the American
people. In a volume of this size it must of necessity be but a brief
outline, sufficient, however, to convey a clear impression of what the
Red Cross really means to every individual in this great country of
ours.
To the thousands of American men and women whose generous bounty has
made the work of the Red Cross possible, to the stricken and distressed
who because of it have been helped back to life and hope, and to all the
friends of the great, universal humanity which it typifies, this small
book is lovingly dedicated.
CLARA BARTON.
GLEN ECHO, MARYLAND,
_May 15, 1904._
CONTENTS
I
PAGE
EARLY HISTORY. 1880-1884 1
II
THE TEXAS FAMINE AND THE MOUNT VERNON CYCLONE. 1885-1888 30
III
YELLOW FEVER IN FLORIDA. 1887 38
IV
THE JOHNSTOWN FLOOD. 1889 54
V
THE RUSSIAN FAMINE. 1891 70
VI
THE SEA ISLAND RELIEF. 1893 77
VII
ARMENIAN RELIEF. 1896 94
VIII
CUBA. 1898 115
IX
GALVESTON. 1900 164
A STORY OF THE RED CROSS
I
EARLY HISTORY
1880-1884
"I have lived much that I have not written, but I have written
nothing that I have not lived."
It was a little blue-eyed girl of ten who sat on a low hassock at my
feet, slowly drawing the soft auburn curls between her fingers, when,
suddenly lifting her head and looking me earnestly in the face, she
exclaimed: "What is the Red Cross? Please tell me about it; I can not
understand it."
There was a pleading earnestness in the tone not to be resisted, and
laying down my pen I commenced to explain to her the principles,
history, and uses of the Red Cross. She listened anxiously, the pretty
brow knitted; she seemed more and more perplexed, until, as if a light
had broken over her, she exclaimed, half impatiently:
"Not that--not that, tell me something it _does_--it and you, I can
understand it better then."
A light had broken over me. It was a story the child wanted to
illustrate the principle and bring it home to her. A story she must
have.
In a half hour she felt that she knew it all and was an ardent devotee
even of its principles. But she had given me more than I had given her.
Here was food for thought.
For twenty-five years I had labored to explain the principles and uses
of the Red Cross; had written enough for a modest library of what it was
and what it meant, but, lest I seem egotistical, not a page of what it
did. The child had given me an idea that I would for once put into
practice, and write a few pages of what the Red Cross had done, leaving
principles to present themselves.
I will commence even back of itself.
Forty years ago, before most of you were born, a great war had been
fought in America, in which thousands died from battle and hardship, and
thousands more still left alive were worn out in the untried and
unsystematized efforts at relief that had been made through nearly five
years of continuous war. Of these latter, many were women who dragged
out weary lives in their own homes, some went to hospitals and retreats
for rest and care, and some were sent abroad. One of these latter I knew
personally, for, as Patrick would say, "It was me-self."
To me it seemed a hard sentence that our physicians imposed. I had grown
to love the country we had so toiled for, and did not want to leave it.
Its very woes had made it dear to me. It had quiet once more, and a
peace that was not all a peace. It had its early soldier homes, its
fast-filling cemeteries, and the tender memory of a martyred President
resting over us like a pall. These had come to seem like a heritage to
me, and in my weakness I clung to them. Still, the order was obeyed and
I went.
Then followed travels in strange and foreign lands, other wars, illness
and suffering of my own, until eleven years later I came almost a
stranger again to our Government with another work, which I believed to
be for its good and the good of our people.
This time I brought the idea of the treaty of Geneva, asking our
Government, at the request of other Governments, to examine and to unite
with it, if found desirable. This effort with the Government covers five
years of hard, continuous labor, during which was sought the aid of
friends known in other years. At the end of this time, by advice of our
second martyred President and three members of his historic
cabinet--James G. Blaine, William Windom, and Robert T. Lincoln--a
national society was formed, known as the Association of the American
Red Cross, and, by desire and nomination of President Garfield, I was
made its president, and requested to name my officers.
The association was formed during the winter of 1880-'81, with the view
on the part of President Garfield of facilitating the adoption of the
treaty which he would name in his next message, which message was never
written.
Before the message, he, too, had joined the martyred ranks, and his
gentle successor, Arthur, filled his chair and kept his promise, and
through action of his own executive department the treaty was adopted;
indorsed by action of the Senate; proclaimed by the President to our
people; later ratified by the International Powers in the Congress of
Berne, with the pledge to render relief to unfortunate victims of war,
and the privilege, by my request, of rendering similar relief to the
victims of great national calamities or disasters.
All this had been accomplished by the kindly help of a few personal
friends, tireless and unrewarded, and while the news of the accession of
the Government of the United States, to the treaty of Geneva, lit
bonfires that night (for I cabled it by their request) in the streets of
Switzerland, France, Germany, and Spain, a little four-line paragraph in
the congressional doings of the day in the _Evening Star_, of
Washington, alone announced to the people of America that an
international treaty had been added to their rolls.
No personal distinction had been bestowed, no one honored, no one
politically advanced, no money of the Government expended, and, like
other things of like nature and history, it was left in obscurity to
make its own way and live its own hard life.
Thus the spring of 1882 found us--a few people, tired and weak, with
five years of costly service, a treaty gained, with no fund, no war nor
prospect of any, and no helpful connection with or acknowledgment by the
Government.
Soon the news of "Half the State of Michigan on Fire" called us to
action on our own laws of civil relief. A little draft on the purse of
the new, inexperienced president of the association paved the way for an
agent to go to the field. Others generously joined, all reported to our
friend and advocate, Senator Omar D. Conger, of Michigan. Some supplies
were sent, a society or two formed to provide and forward them. The
agents remained until the suffering was relieved, and thus the first
field relief work of which we have any record in the United States was
commenced.
Meanwhile, I had been asked by the Senate to write the history of the
Red Cross, and show the official action taken by our Government on the
acceptance of the treaty, which history the Senate would have printed at
the Government printing-office. This volume I prepared as requested. A
thousand copies were printed for information to the public, to be
circulated by the society; but with no frank or other means provided,
and with a postage of some ten cents a volume, we were compelled to
limit the circulation to the means.
The following year, 1883, a disastrous rise in the Ohio River called for
our aid. Dr. J. B. Hubbell, who had been our agent the year before, was
called from Michigan University, where he was completing a course, to
examine the needs of the inhabitants and take such relief as we could
provide. There was little loss of life, and the destruction of property
lay largely in the loss of stock, and washing away of the soil,
vegetation, and the means of reproduction.
A remarkable provision for this latter loss was made by the gift of Mr.
Hiram Sibley, the noted seed dealer of Rochester--who had become
associated with the Red Cross, being an old-time friend of the family of
its president--of ten thousand dollars' worth of seed, to replant the
washed-out lands adown the Mississippi. As the waters ran off the mud
immediately baked in the sunshine, making planting impossible after a
few days. Accordingly, Mr. Sibley's gift was sent with all haste to our
agent at Memphis, and in forty-eight hours, by train and boat, it was
distributed in the four States--Tennessee, Arkansas, Louisiana, and
Mississippi--and planted for the crops of the coming season.
Besides this generous gift of material, a little money had been raised
and sent by the three societies of the Red Cross which had been formed,
viz.: Dansville and Syracuse, a few hundreds--something more from the
Red Cross at Rochester--always thoughtful and generous, which served to
help in the distribution of clothing and supplies promiscuously sent.
And at the finish of the work, when every donation had been carefully
acknowledged, one thousand dollars and some cents were left in the
treasury unexpended.
A cyclone occurring within a few months in Louisiana and southern
Alabama, cutting a swath from New Orleans to Mobile, decided us to send
eight hundred dollars of this reserve to the secretary of the Red Cross
Society of New Orleans, which sum was forwarded by our vice-president,
Mr. A. S. Solomons. This left a sum of two hundred dollars and some
cents in the treasury with which to commence another field.
This was the commencement of 1883. In May, at the solicitation of
General Butler, then Governor of Massachusetts, I took the
superintendence of the Massachusetts Woman's State Prison at Sherborn,
at the customary salary of fifteen hundred dollars a year. To this duty
the Legislature added, after my arrival, those of secretary and
treasurer, without increase of salary, discharging the former incumbent,
a man, at three thousand dollars a year. I accepted the new duties,
became my own bondsman for ten thousand dollars, by transfer of that
amount of bonds from my bankers, Brown Brothers, New York, to the
Massachusetts State Treasury at Boston--remaining in charge of the
prison until the close of the year, and the retirement of General Butler
as Governor.
In the short and interrupted existence of our association--scarce two
years--our few official advisers had formed some general regulations,
relating to our course of procedure. Realizing that to be of any real
service as a body of relief for sudden disasters, we must not only be
independent of the slow, ordinary methods of soliciting relief, but in
its means of application as well, it was decided:
_First._ To never solicit relief or ask for contributions.
_Second._ Not to pay salaries to officers--paying out money only to
those whom we must employ for manual labor--and as our officers served
without compensation they should not be taxed for dues.
_Third._ To keep ourselves always in possession of a stated sum of money
to commence a field of disaster--this sum to be independent even of the
closed doors of a bank which might prevent leaving for a field on a
Sunday or holiday.
_Fourth._ To take this sum of our own, going directly to a field with
such help as needed, giving no notice until there, overlooking the
field, and learning the extent of the trouble and conditions of the
people, making immediate and reliable report to the country through the
Associated Press, some of whose officers were our own Red Cross officers
as well. These reports would be truthful, unexaggerated, and
non-sensational statements that could be relied upon.
_Fifth._ That if, under these conditions, the people chose to make use
of us as distributers of the relief which they desired to contribute to
the sufferers, we would do our best to serve them while at the
field--make report directly to each and all contributors, so far as in
our power, and proceed to carry out any directions and apply the relief
at hand, in the wisest manner possible, among a dazed and afflicted
community.
To inaugurate this method, I, as president, placed a sum of three
thousand dollars, free of bank or interest, upon momentary call, at the
service of the association. On more than one occasion it has been taken
on Sunday, when every bank in the country was closed and charitable
bodies were at their prayers. Even the relief of Johnstown was thus
commenced. This provision has never for a day been broken. It is as good
at this moment as it was in 1883, and from the same source. It may not
have been a "business-like" method nor one to be approved by stated
boards of directors nor squared by bank regulations. But the foes we had
to meet were not thus regulated, and had to be met as they came; and so
they always must be if any good is to be accomplished.
Until the Government and society can control the elements, and regulate
a spring freshet, a whirlwind or a cyclone, they will find that red
tape is not strong enough to hold their ravages in check.
It was well that these regulations had been formulated and their
provisions acted upon, as the state of our treasury and the conditions
immediately following will show.
I returned to Washington upon my retirement from the superintendence of
the State Prison at Sherborn, accompanied by Dr. Hubbell, who, having
completed his university course, had come to the Red Cross for permanent
service. Before we had even time to unpack our trunks, the news of the
fearful rise of the Ohio River, of 1884, began to shock the country with
its loss of life and property.
I had never been present at a disaster in civil life. It had never
occurred to me that they recurred so frequently. But if by virtue of my
office as president I was liable to be called every year to preside over
and provide for them, it was essential that I learn my duties
experimentally. I accordingly joined Dr. Hubbell, who had been appointed
general field agent, and proceeded to Pittsburg, the headwaters of the
rise.
Telegraphing from there to our agents of the Associated Press, we
proceeded to Cincinnati, to find the city afloat. Its inhabitants were
being fed from boats, through the second-story windows. These conditions
were telegraphed. Supplies commenced to flow in, not only from our own
societies but from the people of the country. Warehouses were filled, in
spite of all we dispensed--but there were four hundred miles of this
distress--even to Cairo, where the Ohio, sometimes thirty miles in
width, discharged its swollen waters into the Mississippi.
Recognizing this condition lower down the river as the greater need, we
transferred our supplies and distribution to Evansville, Ind. Scarcely
had we reached there when a cyclone struck the river below, and
traveling up its entire length, leveled every standing object upon its
banks, swept the houses along like cockle-shells, uprooted the greatest
trees and whirled them down its mighty current--catching here and there
its human victims, or leaving them with life only, houseless, homeless,
wringing their hands on a frozen, fireless shore--with every coal-pit
filled with water, and death from freezing more imminent than from
hunger.
There were four hundred miles more of this, and no way of reaching them
by land. With all our tons of clothing, these people and their homeless
little children were freezing. There was but one way--the Government
boats had come with rations of food--we too must take to the water.
At eight o'clock in the morning I chartered my first boat, with captain
and crew, at sixty dollars per day, to be at once laden to the water's
edge with coal--our own supplies to be stored on the upper deck--and at
four o'clock in the afternoon, as the murky sun was hiding its clouded
face, the bell of the "John V. Troop," in charge of her owner, announced
the departure of the first Red Cross relief-boat ever seen on American
waters.
I found myself that night with a stanch crew of thirty men and a skilled
captain, and a boat under my command. I had never until then held such a
command. We wove the river diagonally from side to side--from village to
village--where the homeless, shivering people were gathered--called for
the most responsible person--a clergyman if one could be found, threw
off boxes of clothing, and hove off coal for a two weeks' supply, and
steamed away to the opposite side, leaving only gratitude, wonder at who
we were, where we came from, and what that strange flag meant? We
improved every opportunity to replenish our supply of coal, and reached
Cairo in five days.
Waiting only to reload, we returned up the river, resupplied the revived
villages of people, too grateful for words, reaching Evansville at the
end of three weeks, where more supplies than we had taken awaited us.
St. Louis and Chicago had caught the fever of relief, had arranged
societies, and had asked permission to join our aid. Up to this time the
Mississippi had given no indication of trouble, but now its great June
rise commenced.
The Government boats, by another appropriation, were sent to the
Mississippi, and we prepared to supplement them. Discharging our Ohio
River boat we went to St. Louis by rail and chartered the "Mattie Bell."
The Red Cross Societies of St. Louis and Chicago, under their respective
presidents and officers in charge of them and their funds, joined us,
and together we prepared to feed and rescue the perishing stock--as
well as people adown the Mississippi. The animals had never been saved
in an overflow; and besides the cruelty of letting them starve by
thousands, the loss to the people was irreparable, as the following year
must inevitably be replete with idleness and poverty till more stock
could be obtained to work with.
We found as commissary at St. Louis, General Beckwith, the historic
commissary-general of the old civil war, who had personally
superintended the loading of my wagons in Washington, year after year,
for the battle-fields of Virginia. He came on board the "Mattie Bell"
and personally superintended the lading--clothing, corn, oats, salt, and
hay--besides putting upon the Government boats large quantities of
supplies which we could not take on at first, and giving us his
blessing, watched us steam out on our joint mission; they putting off
rations of meat and meal--we supplementing with clothing for the people
and feed for the stock. We purchased all we could at cities as we
passed, picked our course among the broken levees and roaring crevasses,
all the way to New Orleans. The hungry were fed, the naked clothed, and
the stock saved. The negro had his mule, and the planter his horses and
cattle to carry on his work when the flood should disappear. We had
lighter boats, still lighter purses, but lightest of all were the
grateful hearts that a kind Providence and a generous people had given
to us the privilege of serving.
We discharged the "Mattie Bell" at St. Louis, bidding adieu to the
officers of the Red Cross Society, who had rendered most acceptable
service to the cause. They had brought their own funds and material--had
personally administered them from the decks of the "Mattie Bell," made
their own reports, and modestly retired to their home duties, there to
await the next call.
Chicago, which had a new Red Cross Society, formed almost for the
occasion, through its most worthy and notable representative, Rev. E. I.
Galvin, did the same, performing the long journey with us,
superintending the distribution of his own relief and making his own
report with such convincing power, that societies of no less excellence
than the Lend-a-Hand were its outgrowth.
I am thus particular to mention this from the loving gratitude
fervently cherished for strong, tender help in the day of small things.
Their contributions largely served to run our boat and keep our crew,
and with heads, hearts, and hands we struggled as one, to avert the
destruction so rife around us.
From St. Louis we crossed over to Evansville, rechartered the "John V.
Troop," and put on accumulated supplies. The waters of the Ohio had
subsided and the people were returning to the old spots of earth that
once had been their home, but there was neither house to live in nor
tool to work the land with. We reloaded with pine lumber, ready-made
doors, windows, household utensils, stores and groceries, farming
utensils, and with a good force of carpenters proceeded up the Ohio once
more. The sight of the disconsolate, half-clad farmer waiting on the
bank told us where his home had been--and was not.
Three hours' work of our carpenters would put up a one-room house,
meanwhile our efficient men and women helpers, among them the best
ladies of Evansville, would furnish it with beds, bedding, clothing,
provisions for the family, and farming tools ready to go on with the
season's work.
Picture, if possible, this scene. A strange ship with a strange flag
steaming up the river. It halts, turns from its course, and draws up to
the nearest landing. Some persons disembark and speak a few minutes with
the family. Then, a half dozen strong mechanics man a small boat laden
with all material for constructing a one-room house--floor, roof, doors,
windows. The boat returns for furniture. Within three hours the strange
ship sails away, leaving a bewildered family in a new and clean house
with bed, bedding, clothing, table, chairs, dishes, candles, a little
cooking-stove with a blazing fire, all the common quota of cooking
utensils, and meat, meal, and groceries; a plow, rake, axe, hoe, shovel,
spade, hammer, and nails. We ask few questions. They ask none. The
whistle of the "Troop" is as welcome to their ears as the flag to their
eyes.
At one of these wrecked villages the entire little hamlet of people
stood on our decks. Only four, they said, were left at home, and these
were sick. They had selected their lawyer to speak their thanks. No
words will ever do justice to the volume of native eloquence which
seemed to roll unbidden from his lips. He finished with these sentences:
"At noon on that day we were in the blackness of despair--the whole
village in the power of the demon of waters--hemmed in by sleet and ice,
without fire enough to cook its little food. When the bell struck nine
that night, there were seventy-five families on their knees before their
blazing grates, thanking God for fire and light, and praying blessings
on the phantom ship with the unknown device that had come as silently as
the snow, they knew not whence, and gone, they knew not whither."
When we finished the voyage of relief, we had covered the Ohio River
from Cincinnati to Cairo and back twice, and the Mississippi from St.
Louis to New Orleans, and return--four months on the rivers--traveled
over eight thousand miles, distributed in relief of money and estimated
material, one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars--gathered as we
used it.
We left at one point on the Ohio River a well-lettered cross-board,
"Little Six Red Cross Landing"--probably there to this day. The story of
The Little Six might be given in their own little letter:
WATERFORD, PA., _March_ 24, 1884.
DEAR MISS BARTON:
We read your nice letter in the Dispatch and we would like very much to
see that house called "The Little Six," and we little six are so glad
that we helped six other little children, and we thank you for going to
so much trouble in putting our money just where we would have put it
ourselves. Some time again when you want money to help you in your good
work call on "The Little Six."
JOE FARRAR, twelve years old.
FLORENCE HOWE, eleven years old.
MARY BARTON, eleven years old.
REED WHITE, eleven years old.
BERTIE AINSWORTH, ten years old.
LOYD BARTON, seven years old.
These children had given a public entertainment for the benefit of the
flood sufferers. They themselves suggested it, planned and carried it
out, and raised fifty-one dollars and twenty-five cents, which they
sent to the editor of the Eric Dispatch, asking him to send it "where it
would do the most good." The Dispatch forwarded it to the president of
the Red Cross, with an account of the entertainment given by "The Little
Six."
The entire matter was too beautiful and withal unique, to meet only a
common fate in its results. I could not, for a moment, think to mingle
the gift of the little dramatists with the common fund for general
distribution, and sought through all these weeks for a fitting
disposition to make of it, where it would all go in some special manner
to relieve some special necessity. I wanted it to benefit some children
who had "wept on the banks" of the river, which in its madness had
devoured their home.
As we neared that picturesque spot on the Illinois side of the Ohio,
known as "Cave-in Rock," we were hailed by a woman and her young
daughter. The boat "rounded to" and made the landing and they came on
board--a tall, thin, worn woman in tattered clothes, with a good but
inexpressibly sad face, who wished to tell us that a package which we
had left for her at the town on our way down had never reached her. She
was a widow--Mrs. Plew--whose husband, a good river pilot, had died from
overwork on a hard trip to New Orleans in the floods of the Mississippi
two years before, leaving her with six children dependent upon her, the
eldest a lad in his "teens," the youngest a little baby girl. They owned
their home, just on the brink of the river, a little "farm" of two or
three acres, two horses, three cows, thirty hogs, and a half hundred
fowls, and in spite of the bereavement, they had gone on bravely,
winning the esteem and commendation of all who knew them for thrift and
honest endeavor. Last year the floods came heavily upon them, driving
them from their home, and the two horses were lost. Next the cholera
came among the hogs and all but three died. Still they worked on; and
held the home. This spring came the third flood. The water climbed up
the bank, crept in at the door, and filled the lower story of the house.
They had nowhere to remove their household goods, and stored them in the
garret carefully packed, and went out to find a shelter in an old log
house near by, used for a corn-crib. Day by day they watched the house,
hailed passing boats for news of the rise and fall of the water above,
always trusting the house would stand--"and it would," the mother said,
"for it was a good, strong house, but for the storm." The winds came,
and the terrible gale that swept the valley like a tornado, with the
water at its height, leveling whole towns, descended and beat upon that
house, and it fell. In the morning there was no house there, and the
waves in their fury rushed madly on. Then these little children "stood
and wept on the banks of the river," and the desolation and fear in the
careful mother's heart, none but herself and her God can know.
They lived on in the corn-crib, and it was from it they came to hail us
as we passed to-day. Something had been told us of them on our downward
trip, and a package had been left them at "Cave-in Rock," which they had
not received. We went over shoe-tops in mud to their rude home, to find
it one room of logs, an old stone chimney, with a cheerful fire of
drift-wood and a _clean_ hearth, two wrecks of beds, a table, and two
chairs which some kind neighbor had loaned. The Government boats had
left them rations. There was an air of thrift, even in their desolation,
a plank walk was laid about the door, the floor was cleanly swept, and
the twenty-five surviving hens, for an equal number were lost in the
storm, clucked and craiked comfortably about the door, and there were
two-and-a-half dozen fresh eggs to sell us at a higher rate than paid in
town. We stood, as we had done so many scores of times during the last
few weeks, and looked this pitiful scene in the face. There were
misfortune, poverty, sorrow, want, loneliness, dread of the future, but
fortitude, courage, integrity, and honest thrift.
"Would she like to return to the childhood home in Indiana?" we asked
the mother, for we would help them go.
"No," she said tenderly. "My husband lived and died here. He is buried
here, and I would not like to go away and leave him alone. It won't be
very long, and it is a comfort to the children to be able to visit his
grave. No, I reckon we will stay here, and out of the wreck of the old
house which sticks up out of the mud, we will put up another little
hut, higher up on the bank out of the way of the floods, and if it is
only a hut, it will be a home for us and we will get into it, and make
our crop this year."
There were no dry eyes, but very still hearts, while we listened to this
sorrowful but brave little speech, made with a voice full of tears.
Our thoughtful field agent, Dr. Hubbell, was the first to speak.
"Here are six children," he said with an inquiring glance at me.
No response was needed. The thing was done. We told the mother the story
of "The Little Six" of Waterford, and asked her if that money with
enough more to make up one hundred dollars would help her to get up her
house? It was _her_ turn to be speechless. At length with a struggling,
choking voice she managed to say--"God knows how much it would be to me.
Yes, with my good boys I can do it, and do it well."
We put in her hands a check for this sum, and directed from the boat
clean boxes of clothing and bedding, to help restore the household, when
the house should have been completed.
Before we left her, we asked if she would name her house when it should
be done? She thought a second, and caught the idea.
"Yes," she replied quickly, with a really winsome smile on that worn and
weary face, "yes, I shall name it 'The Little Six.'"
We came to Pittsburg, discharged our empty boat, bade a heart-breaking
good-by to our veteran volunteers from Evansville, who had shared our
toil and pain and who would return on the boat, we taking train once
more for Washington. We had been four months on the rivers, among fogs,
rain, damp, and malaria--run all manner of risks and dangers, but had
lost no life nor property, sunk no boat, and only that I was by this
time too weak to walk without help--all were well.
Through the thoughtfulness of our new societies--St. Louis and
Chicago--we had been able to meet our share of the expenses, and to keep
good the little personal provision we started with, and were thus ready
to commence another field when it should come.
On arriving home I found that I was notified by the International
Committee of Geneva, that the Fourth International Conference would be
held in that city in September, and I was requested to inform the
United States Government, and ask it to send delegates. With the aid of
a borrowed arm, I made my way up the steps of the Department of State
(that was before the luxury of elevators) and made my errand known to
Secretary Frelinghuysen, who had heard of it and was ready with his
reply:
"Yes, Miss Barton, we will make the needful appointment of delegates to
the International Conference, and I appoint you as our delegate."
"No, Mr. Frelinghuysen," I said, "I can not go. I have just returned
from field work. I am tired and ill. Furthermore, I have not had time to
make a report of our work."
"There is no one else who sufficiently understands the Red Cross, and
the provisions of the treaty, that our Government can send, and we can
not afford to make a mistake in the matter of delegates to this first
conference in which our Government shall participate," answered the
Secretary. "As to the report, have you not acknowledged the
contributions to all those who have sent?"
"Oh, yes; every dollar and every box of goods where the donor was
known," I replied.
"Has any one complained?" he asked.
"No; not a single person so far as is known. We have had only thanks."
"Then to whom would you report?"
"To you, Mr. Secretary, or to such person or in such manner as you shall
designate."
"I don't want any report; no report is necessary," answered the
Secretary. "Our Government relief-boats have reported you officially,
and all the country knows what you have done and is more than satisfied.
Regarding your illness--you have had too much fresh water, Miss Barton,
I recommend salt--and shall appoint you."
This was done, and the appropriation for expenses was made, and at my
request Judge Joseph Sheldon, and by invitation Mr. A. S. Solomon, our
vice-president, were also appointed to accompany me. The appropriation
sufficed for all.
The conference was held at Geneva, September 17, 1884, and thus was had
the first official representation of the United States Government at an
International Conference of the Treaty of Geneva. There have since been
five. I have attended all but one.
II
THE TEXAS FAMINE AND THE MT. VERNON CYCLONE
Before the close of the following year, 1885, came what was known as the
"Texas Famine." Thousands of miles of wild land, forming the Pan Handle,
had been suddenly opened by the building of a Southern Railroad. In the
speculative anxiety of the Road to people its newly acquired territory,
unwarranted inducements of climatic advantages had been unscrupulously
held out to the poor farmers of Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia.
Lured by the pictures presented them, some thousands of families had
been induced to leave their old, worn-out farms, and with the little
they could carry or drive, reach the new Eldorado, to find a new farm
that needed only the planting to make them rich, prosperous, and happy,
without labor. They planted. The first year brought some returns--the
second was a drought with no returns--the third the same. Hunger for
themselves and starvation for their stock stared them in the face. They
could not pick up and go back--the rivers were dry from the Rio Grande
to the Brazos--the earth was iron, and the heavens brass; cattle
wandered at will for water and feed, and their bones whitened the
plains.
These were poor little peoples. They tried to make the great State know
of their distress, but the rich railroad proprietors held the _press_,
and no one knew their condition or could get correct information. At
length a faithful clergyman came to Washington, to President Cleveland,
and the Red Cross.
We consulted with the President, who gave encouragement for us to go to
Texas and learn the facts.
In mid-winter, 1886, accompanied by Dr. Hubbell, the journey was
undertaken. We proceeded to Albany, Texas, made headquarters--traveled
over the stricken counties, found wretchedness, hunger, thirst, cold,
heart-breaking discouragement. The third year of drought was upon them,
and the good people of that great State, misled by its press, its press
in turn misled by the speculators, innocently discredited every report
of distress, and amused themselves by little sly innuendoes and witty
jokes on the "Texas Famine."
The condition was pitiful. To them it was hopeless. And yet not a dollar
or a pound was needed outside of Texas. They only required to know the
truth. This then was our task. We ceased to journey over arid fields of
suffering, and turned our steps resolutely to the editorial rooms of the
Dallas and Galveston News, at Dallas. Both editors were present; both
sat half-breathless while the flood of information rolled over them in
no uncertain terms.
I shall never forget the tears in the mild blue eyes of General Belo, as
he learned what he had done, and was still doing. Twelve hours brought
another issue of the two papers. A column of editorial told the true
situation. A modest contribution of the Red Cross headed a subscription
list, General Belo following with his, and almost immediately the
legislature made an appropriation of one hundred thousand dollars for
food and supplies.
The tender-hearted and conscience-smitten people sent their donations.
Our task was done. We had seen and conquered.
In the midst of a cold rain in February we reached Washington. A concise
and full report was made to President Cleveland, saying in conclusion:
"I thank you with all my heart, Mr. President, for the encouragement at
the commencement, and for the privilege of writing you. We have done
this little bit of work faithfully and hope it may meet your approval."
President Cleveland's letter of thanks still bears testimony of his care
for the people of the country, and his faith in its institutions.
Not a dollar of outside help passed through our hands, but the little
permanent provision was equal to the occasion and we had still a half
left of our three thousand dollars. That was our first acquaintance with
Texas. Galveston followed many years later with the same firm accord and
good results. The bonds of affection had grown deep and strong between
the great thousand-mile State and the little Red Cross that loved to
serve her.
In the following year, 1887, we were notified by the International
Committee of Geneva of the conference to be held at Carlsruhe, by
invitation of the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess of Baden. We were
directed to inform the Department of State of this fact. We did so, and
an appropriation was made by Congress to defray the expenses of three
delegates.
It may be well to explain that in these appointments the Government does
not place the appropriation in the hands of the appointees, but simply
becomes a guaranty. The appointee provides his own funds. If, after
return, vouchers can be shown that the sum guaranteed has been spent
according to regulations, he is reimbursed in due course.
Here was at least a contrast from a rough Mississippi River boat and the
crude homes of an unsettled Western State, to the royal carriage waiting
to convey one to the apartments reserved in a palace, the elegance and
culture of a court, the precision of a congress of representatives of
the nations of the world. The questions of humanity discussed by them,
the meeting of friends of other days, the regal bearing of the royal
host and hostess, the last parting from the dear old Emperor of
ninety-two, and his tenderly spoken, "It is the last time, good-by"; the
loving and last farewell of the beloved Empress Augusta, the patron
saint of the Red Cross; Bismarck and Moltke, in review, each with his
Red Cross insignia; the cordial hand grasp and the farewell never
repeated--and all of this attention to and interest in a subject that
the country I had gone to represent scarcely realized had an existence
beyond the receiving of some second-hand clothing, misfit shoes, and a
little money sent by some one to some place, where something bad had
happened.
No one dreamed that it meant anything more, or that it needed anything
after this, and nothing more was done.
It is only now, after almost two decades and within the last three
months, that we commence to awaken and wonder, with a mingled national
and personal sense of indignation, why our American Red Cross is not as
rich and great as in other nations?
In February, 1888, occurred the Mt. Vernon, Ill., cyclone, cutting a
broad swath through one-half of the beautiful county-seat, tearing down
all heavy buildings, picking up the lighter ones and sweeping them
along like cardboard.
In three minutes the work of destruction was over. Ten minutes later the
sun shone out brightly over the ruins of the town, the wails of the
maimed and dying, and the lifeless bodies of the dead.
Fires broke out on every hand, and the victims pinned down under the
wreckage were subjects for the flames. Appeals for assistance went out,
but by unfortunate press representation failed to arouse the public,
till after several days, when we were reached, through their
representative in Congress, begging that in mercy we go to them. We
arrived in the night, found homes destroyed, hospitals full, scant
medical care, few nurses, food scarce and no money, a relief committee
of excellent men, but little to distribute.
At daylight we looked over the situation and sent this simple message to
the Associated Press:
"The pitiless snow is falling on the heads of three thousand people, who
are without homes, without food or clothing, and without money.
"AMERICAN NATIONAL RED CROSS,
"Clara Barton, President."
This was all. We assisted their relief committee to arrange for the
receipt and distribution of funds, sent for experienced helpers to take
charge of supplies, to distribute clothing, and aid the hospital
service. We remained two weeks, and left them with more supplies than
they knew how to distribute, and the Citizens' Committee, with
accumulating cash in its treasury of ninety thousand dollars, full of
hope, life, and a gratitude they could not speak.
As in the Texas famine, we paid our own expenses and no dollar but our
own had passed our hands. We were only glad to do this, in the hope that
we were building up an institution of self-help of the people, that
would one day win its way to their favor and aid.
III
YELLOW FEVER IN FLORIDA
During the same year the yellow fever broke out in Jacksonville, Fla.,
and was declared epidemic in September.
An arrangement had been made between the National Association and the
Auxiliary Society of the Red Cross of New Orleans, which society
embraced the famous old "Howard Association," that, in case of an
outbreak of yellow fever, they would send their immune nurses from the
South, and we of the North would supply the money to support and pay
them.
This arrangement was carried out so far as could be, under the very
natural differences of a medical department of active, professional men,
taking up the treatment of an epidemic of which they knew very little
experimentally, but filled with the enthusiasm of science and hope, and
the unprofessional, fearless, easy-going gait of the old Southern
nurses, white and black, whose whole lives had been spent in just that
work.
The Red Cross sent no Northern nurses. But eighteen or twenty "Howard
nurses," mainly colored, went out from New Orleans under charge of Col.
Fred. F. Southmayd, their leader of twenty years in epidemics. A part of
his nurses were stationed at Macclenny, and a part went on to
Jacksonville. Under medical direction of their noted "yellow fever
doctor"--a tall Norwegian--Dr. Gill, they did their faithful work and
won their meed of grateful praise.
Our place was in Washington, to receive, deal carefully with, and hold
back the tide of offered service from the hundreds of enthusiastic,
excited untrained volunteers, rushing on to danger and death. Their
fearless ignorance was a pitiful lesson. In all the hundreds there was
scarcely one who had ever seen a case of yellow fever, but all were sure
they were proof against it. Only three passed us, and two of these had
the fever in Jacksonville.
When the scourge was ended we met our nurses personally at Camp Perry,
paid and sent them back to New Orleans. All that are living are at our
service still, faithful and true.
During the fourth week in November a dispatch to national headquarters
announced that the last band of Red Cross nurses, known as the
"Macclenny Nurses," had finished their work at Enterprise, and would
come into Camp Perry to wait their ten days' quarantine and go home to
New Orleans for Thanksgiving.
That would mean that seventy-nine days ago their little company of
eighteen, mainly women, steaming on to Jacksonville, under guidance of
their old-time trusted leader, Southmayd, of New Orleans, listened to
his announcement that the town of Macclenny, thirty-eight miles from
Jacksonville, Fla., and through which they would soon pass, was in a
fearful state of distress; a comparatively new town, of a few thousand,
largely Northern and Western people, suddenly-stricken down in scores;
poor, helpless, physicians all ill, and no nurses; quarantined on all
sides, no food, medicine, nor comforts for sick or well.
"Nurses, shall I leave a part of you there; the train can not stop in,
nor near the town, but if I can manage to get it slowed up somewhere,
will you jump?"
"We will do anything you say, colonel; we are here in God's name and
service to help His people; for Him, for you, and for the Red Cross, we
will do our best and our all."
"Conductor, you had a hot box a few miles back; don't you think it
should be looked to after passing Macclenny?"
"I will slow up and have it seen to, colonel, although it may cost me my
official head." And it did.
One mile beyond town, the rain pouring in torrents, the ground soaked,
slippery, and caving, out into pitchy darkness, leaped three men and
seven women from a puffing, unsteady train, no physician with them, and
no instructions save the charge of their leader as the last leap was
made, and the train pushed on: "Nurses, you know what to do; go and do
your best, and God help you." Hand to hand, that none go astray in the
darkness, they hobbled back over a mile of slippery cross-ties to the
stricken town. Shelter was found, the wet clothes dried, and at midnight
the sick had been parceled out, each nurse had his or her quota of
patients, and were in for the issue, be it life or death. Those past
all help must be seen through, and lost, all that could be must be
saved. The next day a dispatch from Southmayd went back to New Orleans
for Dr. Gill to come and take charge of the sick and the nurses at
Macclenny. It was done, and under his wise direction they found again a
leader. Their labors and successes are matters for later and more
extended record.
It is to be borne in mind that these nurses found no general table, no
table at all but such as they could provide, find the food for, and cook
for themselves, for the sick, the children, and the old and helpless who
had escaped the fever and must be cared for. No patient could be left
till the crisis was passed, and many are their records of seventy-two
hours without change or sleep or scarcely sitting down. As the disease
gradually succumbed to their watchful care, experience, and skill, they
reached out to other freshly attacked towns and hamlets. Sanderson and
Glen St. Mary's became their charge, and return their blessings for
lives preserved.
On November 1st it was thought they could safely leave and go into camp
for quarantine; but no regular train would be permitted to take them.
The Red Cross secured and paid a special train for them, and, as if in
bold relief against the manner of their entry seven weeks before, the
entire town, saving its invalids, was assembled at the station at seven
o'clock in the morning to bid them good-by and God speed.