the impression that they had not been recalled too soon. They had gone
out through the snows and ice of winter, and without change or rest had
come back through the scorching suns of midsummer--five months of rough,
uncivilized life, faring and sharing with their beasts of burden,
well-nigh out of communication with the civilized world, but never out
of danger. It seemed but just to themselves and to others who might need
them, that change and rest be given them.
It would scarcely be permissible to express in words the obligation to
our American Minister, Hon. A. W. Terrell, at Constantinople, without
whose unremitting care and generous aid our work could not have been
accomplished. And, indeed, so many were the duties of that difficult and
delicate field that it seemed the help of no one hand or heart could be
spared. We felt that we had them all; from the palace of the Sultan to
beloved Robert College, from the American Legation to the busy rooms of
the American Board, with its masterly treasurer, Peet, were the same
outstretched hands of protection and care for our little band.
They knew we had taken our lives in our hands to come to them, and with
no thought of ourselves. We had done the best we knew to accomplish the
mission so persistently sought of us in our own country.
That our work had been acceptable to those who received its results, we
knew. They had never failed to _make_ us know. If also acceptable to Him
who gave us the courage, protection, and strength to perform it, we need
care for little more.
Funds to the total amount of $116,326.01 were cabled us by Mr. Spencer
Trask's committee, all of which were placed in the hands of Mr. W. W.
Peet, treasurer of the missionary board at Constantinople. All proper
receipts were given and taken, and feeling that we had faithfully and
successfully accomplished the work we had been asked to perform, we
closed the field, and prepared to return to America.
Some days of physical rest were needful for the men of the expeditions
after reaching Constantinople before commencing their journey of
thousands of miles for home, worn as they were by exposure and incessant
labor--physical and mental. I need not attempt to say with what
gratitude I welcomed back these weary, brown-faced men and officers
from a field so difficult and so perilous; none the less did the
gratitude go out to my faithful and capable secretary, who had toiled
early and late, never leaving for a day, striving with tender heart that
all should go well.
And when the first greetings were over, the full chorus of manly
voices--"Home Again," "Sweet Land of Liberty," "Nearer My God to
Thee"--that rolled out through the open windows of the Red Cross
headquarters in Constantinople fell on the listening ears of Christian
and Moslem alike, and though the tones were new and strange, all felt
that to some one, somewhere, they meant more than the mere notes of
music.
VIII
CUBA
1898
On our return to "civilization" we were rejoiced to find that as a
result of our three months' labors, the former tumult of Armenia had
died away into a peaceful echo, but a new murmur fast growing to clamor
had taken its place. Cuba had entered the ceaseless arena of American,
gladiatorial, humanitarian contest. The cruelties of the reconcentrado
system of warfare had become apparent, and methods of relief were
uppermost in the minds of all persons.
These methods were twofold and might well be classed under two distinct
heads: those who for mere pity's sake sought simple relief; those who
with a further forecast sought the removal of a cause as well as its
effect, and "Cuba Libre" was its muffled cry. They asked money for arms
as well as bread, and the struggle between the two held the country in
a state of perplexed contradiction for months running into years.
Our great-hearted President asked simple aid and was distressed at the
doubtful response. At length he suggested and we proffered the aid of
the Red Cross on a call to the country, and the establishment of the
"Central Cuban Relief Committee" in New York, within three days, was the
result.
The activity and success of that committee are too fresh in the minds of
all our people to require the smallest description from me. Too much
praise can not be given to our Auxiliary Societies from the Atlantic to
the Pacific for the splendid work in the camps at home, in Cuba, Porto
Rico, and in the care of our soldiers in transit to the Philippines.
Their full and complete reports show the great work accomplished. The
memory of the work of the busy men and tireless women who joined heart
and hand in this Heaven-sent task still brings tears to the eyes of a
nation at its recall.
The service assigned me by our anxious President, and gladly accepted,
was the distribution on the pitiful fields of Cuba. These scenes I
would not recall. The starving mothers and motherless babes, the
homelessness and squalor, the hopelessness and despair, are beyond all
words and all conception, save to those who saw and lived among them. It
is past and let it rest.
Then followed the declaration of hostilities, the blockade, the fleets
of war, and the stately, glistening white ships of relief that dotted
the sea--our navy after forty years of peace again doing service in its
own waters--and among them one inconspicuous, black-hulled sea-going
craft, laden with food for the still famishing reconcentrados, when they
could be reached.
Day after day, in its weary, waiting cruise, it watched out for an
opening to that closed-in suffering island, till at length the thunder
of the guns, Siboney, San Juan, opened the track, and the wounded troops
of our own army, hungering on their own fields, were the reconcentrados
of the hour.
Tampa became the gathering-point of the army. Its camps filled like
magic, first with regulars, then volunteers, as if the fiery torch of
Duncraigen had spread over the hills and prairies of America. The great
ships gathered in the waters, the transports, with decks dark with human
life, passed in and out, and the battleships of the sea held ever their
commanding sway. It seemed a strange thing, this gathering for war.
Thirty years of peace had made it strange to all save the veterans of
the days of the old war, long passed into history. Could it be possible
that we were to learn this anew? Were men again to fall, and women weep?
Were the youth of this generation to gain that experience their fathers
had gained, to live the war-lives they had lived, and die the deaths
they had died?
At length the fleet moved on, and we prepared to move with, or rather
after it. The quest on which it had gone, and the route it had taken,
bordered something on the mystery shrouding the days when Sherman
marched to the sea. Where were the Spanish ships? What would be the
result when found and met? Where were we to break that Cuban wall and
let us in?
Always present in our minds were the food we carried, the willing hands
that waited, and the perishing thousands that needed. We knew the great
hospital ships were fitting for the care of the men of both Army and
Navy. Surely they could have no need of us.
We had taken possession of our ship at Key West on the 29th of April. It
was now the 20th of June and the national records of two countries at
least will always give the history of those days. It is our part to keep
as clearly, truthfully, and kindly as possible, the record of the little
that fell to us to perform in this great drama.
Weighing anchor at Key West the State of Texas steamed for the open
Caribbean, we having first taken the official advice of Commodore Remy
to find Admiral Sampson and report to him.
Sunrise of the twenty-fifth gave us our first view of the water at
Santiago. Our transports and battle-ships were gathered there. The
advice of Admiral Sampson was that we proceed to Guantanamo, where the
marines had made a landing and were camped on the shore. There had been
some fighting at Guantanamo. The naval hospital ship Solace was there.
Whoever has enjoyed this quiet, sheltered harbor, protected on three
sides by beautiful wooded hills, will not require to be reminded of it.
At six o'clock our anchor sunk in the deep, still waters and we had time
to look about and see the beginning of the war. The marines were camped
along the brow of a hill. On our right a camp of Cubans, and all about
us the great war-ships with their guns, which told of forthcoming
trouble. Captain McCalla, who was in command of Guantanamo, had sent his
compliments and a launch, leading us in to our place of anchorage. The
courtesies of the navy so early commenced at Key West were continued
throughout the war.
By invitation of Commander Dunlap our entire company visited the Solace
the following day. If that beautiful ship or its management had left
room on the records of our country's meed of gratitude, for more words
of appreciative praise, I should be glad to speak them. Only those
familiar with the earliest history of the Red Cross in our country, and
the methods by which our navy alone--of all the Red Cross nations--had
gained even an approximately legal place, can judge what the sight of
that first naval relief ship in American waters was to me. It brought
back so vividly the memory of the day in 1881 when President Arthur
called me to him to carefully explain the conditions of the treaty which
he had just signed, and that, Congress having generously included the
navy in its treaty for war, he would provide to hold it carefully until
the probable widening of the original treaty would include the _navies_
of the world, as well as the armies.
Before the day closed news came to us of a serious character. The daring
Rough Riders had been hardly dealt by. Hamilton Fish and Allyn Capron
had been killed, and the wounded needed help. Wherever they might be, it
must be possible to reach them, and it was decided that no time be lost.
Our men commenced work in the hold of the ship to get at medical
supplies and dressings, and the captain took his orders. I find in my
diary at the close of that day the following paragraph: "It is the Rough
Riders we go to, and the relief may be also rough, but it will be
_ready_. A better body of helpers could scarcely be gotten together."
Nine o'clock of the same night found us at Siboney, which can scarcely
be called a harbor, for it has no anchorage. The next morning at
daybreak we stood on deck to see the soldiers filing up over the hill,
in heavy marching order, forming in lines by ones and twos, winding up,
in and out among the hills, higher and higher. As we watched them they
were a moving line trailing on toward the clouds, till lost in the mist,
and we could only think, as we looked at them, on how many and on which,
is set the mark of death? He knew no more than we--poor fellow--and
with his swinging, steady gait, toils up and up and waits for--he knows
not what.
The hospitals, both American and Cuban, located on the shore just to the
right of us, were visited by our men that same evening. Some of their
surgeons called on us. All seemed interested in the Red Cross, but none
thought that a woman nurse would be in place in a soldiers'
hospital--indeed, very much out of place. I suggested that that decision
was hard for me, for I had spent a great deal of time in soldiers'
hospitals myself. They appeared to understand that perfectly, but there
seemed to be a _later_ line which could not be crossed.
The Cubans who had just come into camp expressed a desire for any
assistance we could give them. They would be glad to have the Red Cross
Sisters in their little hospital, but begged us to wait just a day until
it could be put in better order. The Sisters were not the persons to
grant that day of preparation.
On the contrary they at once went to work, thoroughly cleaned the little
three-room building--Garcia's abandoned headquarters, to be used as a
hospital--and when the day closed the transformation showed clean rooms,
clean cots, and the grateful occupants wondering whether Heaven itself
could be more comfortable, or anything more desirable than the palatable
food prepared for them by the Sisters.
Three days later the following letter was received:
"To MISS CLARA BARTON, President,
"American National Red Cross:
"I have the honor to request your assistance in caring for the patients
in a so-called hospital near the landing at this point.
"The orders are to the effect that all patients now under treatment on
the shore shall be transferred to the Iroquois and Olivette, but the
facilities for carrying out this order are apparently inadequate. In
order that the division hospital may remain unhampered for the care of
the wounded in the engagement about to take place, it is necessary for
me to request this favor of you, and I trust that you may find it
possible to comply with said request.
"Your obedient servant,
"LOUIS A. LE GARDE,
"Major and Surgeon, U. S. A., Commanding
Hospital."
To this the following reply was immediately returned:
"Steamship State of Texas,
"SIBONEY, SANTIAGO DE CUBA, _June 30, 1898_.
"DR. LOUIS A. LE GARDE,
"Major and Surgeon, U. S. A., Commanding Hospital.
"Major: Permit me to express the pleasure given me by your letter
inviting the assistance of the persons here under my direction in the
care of the sick and wounded of the engagement about to take place.
Although not here as a hospital ship by any means--not legitimately
fitted for the work--still we have some hospital supplies, a few
intelligent workers, skill, experience, the willingness to serve, the
readiness to obey, and I believe the true spirit of the Red Cross, that
seeks to help humanity wherever its needs exist. I send them to you in
the hope that they may be of service.
"Cordially yours,
"CLARA BARTON,
"President, American National Red Cross."
Our surgeons and assistants went on shore, where Dr. Le Garde and Dr.
Lesser secured a small house, and in a few hours this had undergone the
same transformation and by the same hands as the Cuban hospital. The Red
Cross flag was hoisted, Dr. Lesser placed in charge, and scores of our
soldiers who had been lying on the filthy floors of an adjacent
building, with no food but army rations, were carried over, placed in
clean cots, and given proper food. From that on, no distinction was
made, the Red Cross flag floating over both the American and Cuban
hospitals.
A few feet away, all the available army tents were put up as additional
accommodation for the "wounded in the engagement about to take place."
It did take place the following day, and, as will be well remembered, in
those two days, Friday and Saturday, the first and second of July, the
tents were more than filled with wounded in the battle of San Juan Hill.
Three of the five Sisters went into the operating tent, and with the
surgeons worked for thirty hours with only a few moments' rest now and
then for a cup of coffee and a cracker or piece of bread. We heard
nothing more about a woman nurse being out of place in a soldiers'
hospital.
On Saturday evening, the second day of the San Juan battle, a slip of
paper with these penciled words was brought to the door of the hospital:
"Send food, medicines, anything. Seize wagons from the front for
transportation.
"SHAFTER."
The call for help was at once sent over to the State of Texas, and we
worked all night getting out supplies and sending them ashore with a
force of Cubans, only too glad to work for food.
I wish I could make apparent how difficult a thing it was to get
supplies from our ship to the shore in a surf which, after ten o'clock
in the morning, allowed no small boats to touch even the bit of a pier
that was run out without breaking either the one or the other, and
nothing in the form of a lighter save two dilapidated flat-boat
pontoons. These had been broken and cast away by the engineer corps,
picked up by ourselves, mended by the Cubans, and put in condition to
float alongside of our ship, and receive perhaps three or four tons of
material. This must then be rowed or floated out to the shore, run onto
the sand as far as possible, the men jumping into the water from knee to
waist deep, pulling the boat up from the surf, and getting the material
on land. And this was what was meant by loading the "seized wagons from
the front" and getting food to the wounded. After ten o'clock in the day
even this was impossible, and we must wait until the calm of three
o'clock next morning to commence work again and go through the same
struggle to get something to load the wagons for that day. Our supplies
had been gotten ashore, and among the last, rocking and tossing in our
little boat, went ourselves, landing on the pier, which by that time was
breaking in two, escaping a surf which every other moment threatened to
envelop one from feet to head, we reached the land.
Our "seized" wagons had already gone on, loaded with our best hospital
supplies--meal, flour, condensed milk, malted milk, tea, coffee, sugar,
dried fruits, canned fruits, canned meats, and such other things as we
had been able to get out in the haste of packing--entirely filling the
two wagons already in advance.
An ambulance had been spoken of. We waited a little while by the
roadside, but the ambulance did not appear. Then, halting a wagon loaded
with bales of hay, we begged a ride of the driver, and our little party,
Dr. and Mrs. Gardner, James McDowell, and myself, took our seats on the
hay and made our way to the front, Dr. Hubbell following afoot. Four
hours' ride brought us to the First Division Hospital of the Fifth Army
Corps--General Shafter's headquarters.
The sight that met us on going into the so-called hospital grounds was
something indescribable. The land was perfectly level; no drainage
whatever; covered with long, tangled grass; skirted by trees, brush,
and shrubbery; a few little dog-tents not much larger than could have
been made of an ordinary table-cloth thrown over a short rail, and under
these lay huddled together the men fresh from the field or from the
operating-tables, with no covering over them save such as had clung to
them through their troubles, and in the majority of cases no blanket
under them.
Those who had come from the tables, having been compelled to leave all
the clothing they had, as too wet, muddy, and bloody to be retained,
were entirely nude, lying on the stubble grass, the sun fitfully dealing
with them, sometimes clouding over and again streaming out in a blaze
above them. Fortunately, among our supplies were some bolts of
unbleached cotton, and this we cut in sheet lengths, and the men of our
party went about and covered the poor fellows, who lay there with no
shelter either from the elements or the eyes of the passers-by.
A half dozen bricks laid about a yard apart, a couple of pieces of
wagon-tire laid across these, so low and so near the ground that no fire
of any strength or benefit could be made--the bits of wet wood put
under crosswise, with the smoke streaming a foot out on either side, two
kettles of coffee or soup, and a small frying-pan with some meat in
it--appeared to be the cook-house for these men. They told us there were
about eight hundred men under the tents and lying in the grass, and more
constantly coming in.
After a few moments' consultation as to the best methods to be pursued,
we too gathered stones and bricks and constructed a longer, higher
fireplace, got more wagon-tires, found the water, and soon our great
agate kettles of seven and ten gallons were filled.
The rain, that had been drizzling more or less all day, increased. Our
supplies were taken from the wagons, a piece of tarpaulin found to
protect them, and as the fire began to blaze and the water to heat, Mrs.
Gardner and I found the way into the bags and boxes of flour, salt,
milk, and meal, and got material for the first gallons of gruel. I had
not thought to ever make gruel again over a camp-fire. I can not say how
far it carried me back in the lapse of time, or really where, or who I
felt that I was.
It did not seem to be me, and still I seemed to know how to do it.
When the bubbling contents of our kettle thickened and grew white with
the condensed milk, and we began to give it out--putting it into the
hands of men detailed as nurses, and our own men, to take around to the
poor sufferers, shivering and naked in the rain--I felt that perhaps it
was not in vain that history had repeated itself. When the nurses came
back and told us of the surprise with which it was received, and the
tears that rolled down the sun-burned, often bloody face, into the cup
as the poor fellow drank his hot gruel, and asked where it came from,
who sent it, and said it was the first food he had tasted in three days
(for they had gone into the fight hungry), I felt that it was again the
same old story and wondered what gain there had been in the last thirty
years.
The fires burned, the gruel steamed and boiled--bucket after bucket went
out--until those eight hundred men had each a cup of gruel and knew that
he could have another and as many as he wanted. The day waned, the
darkness came, and still the men were unsheltered, uncovered, naked,
and wet--scarcely a groan, no word of complaint--no man said he was not
well treated.
The operating-tables were full of the wounded. Man after man was taken
off, brought on his litter and laid beside other men, and something
given him to keep the little life in his body that seemed fast oozing
out. All night it went on. It grew cold--for naked men bitter
cold--before morning. We had no blankets, nothing to cover them, only
the strips of cotton cloth.
Early in the morning ambulances started, and such of the wounded as
could be loaded in were taken to be carried back over that rough,
pitiless road, down to Siboney, to the hospitals there--that we had done
the best we could toward fitting up--where our hundred cots, hundred and
fifty blankets had gone, cups, spoons, and delicacies, that would help
to strengthen these poor, fainting men, if they could get there, and
where also the Sisters would care for them.
They brought man after man, stretcher after stretcher, to the waiting
ambulances, and they took out seventeen who had died in the night,
unattended, save by the nurse.
More supplies arrived, and this time came large tarpaulins, more
utensils, more food, and more things to make it a little comfortable. We
removed our first kitchens across the road, up alongside the headquarter
tent of Major Wood, in charge of the camp. Words can not do justice to
his kind-hearted generosity. He strove in every way to do all that could
be done, and the night before had given us a small tent in which we had
huddled from the pouring rain, for a couple of hours, in the middle of
the night, the water rushing through like a rivulet.
The tarpaulins were put over supplies, a new fireplace made near
us--magnificent in its dimensions--shelter given for boxes and barrels
that by this time had accumulated about us, and there was even something
that looked like a table, on which Mrs. Gardner prepared her delicacies.
Early in the day there came to our improvised headquarters an officer in
khaki uniform showing hard service, and a bandanna handkerchief hanging
from his hat, to protect the back of his head and neck from the fierce
rays of the sun.
It was Colonel Roosevelt, and we were very glad to meet the gallant
leader of the "Rough Riders." After a few moments conversation he said:
"I have some sick men with the regiment who refuse to leave it. They
need such delicacies as you have here, which I am ready to pay for out
of my own pocket. Can I buy them from the Red Cross?"
"Not for a million dollars," Dr. Gardner replied.
"But my men need these things," he said, his tone and face expressing
anxiety. "I think a great deal of my men. I am proud of them."
"And we know they are proud of you, Colonel. But we can't sell Red Cross
supplies," answered Dr. Gardner.
"Then, how can I get them? I must have proper food for my sick men," he
said.
"Just ask for them, Colonel," replied Dr. Gardner.
"Oh," he said, his face suddenly lighting up with a bright smile; "then
I do ask for them."
"All right, Colonel; what is your list?"
The list included malted milk, condensed milk, oatmeal, cornmeal, canned
fruits, dried fruits, rice, tea, chocolate, and even prepared beefsteak
and vegetables, and other things good for men who could not eat army
rations.
"Now, Colonel, when will you send for these supplies?" asked Dr.
Gardner. "They will be ready any time."
"Lend me a sack and I'll take them right along," he answered with
characteristic decision.