all up. I reckon thar's a couple of dozen of 'em--jest bones, you
know--down near the bottom. Yesterday we put seven on top of this 'ere
pile, and by now they are only what you might call baked. To-day we have
been working over there (pointing to other fires a quarter of a mile
distant), where we found a lot of 'em, 'leven under one house. We have
put only two in here to-day. Found 'em just now, right in that puddle.'
"'Could you tell me who they are?' I asked.
"'Lord! No,' was the answer. 'We don't look at 'em any more'n we have
to, else we'd been dead ourselves before to-day. One of these was a
colored man. They are all pretty black, now; but you can tell 'em by the
kinky hair. He had nothin' but an undershirt and one shoe. The other was
a woman; young, I reckon. 'Tenny rate she was tall and slim and had lots
of long brown hair. She wore a blue silk skirt and there was a rope tied
around her waist, as if somebody had tried to save her.'
"Taking a long pole he prodded an air-hole near the center of the
smoldering heap, from which now issued a frightful smell, that caused a
hasty retreat to the windward side. The withdrawal of the pole was
followed by a shower of charred bits of bone and singed hair. I picked
up a curling, yellow lock and wondered, with tears, what mother's hand
had lately caressed it.
"'That's nothin',' remarked the fireman. 'The other day we found part of
a brass chandelier, and wound all around it was a perfect mop of long,
silky hair--with a piece of skin, big as your two hands, at the end of
it. Some woman got tangled up that way in the flood and jest na'cherly
scalped.'
"I mention these incidents merely to show some of the conditions that
had to be met. The most we could do for the grief-stricken survivors was
to mitigate in some degree their bodily distress. The world knows how
generously the whole country responded to the call--how contributions
came pouring in by trainloads and shiploads, consigned to the Red Cross.
To distribute all this bounty judiciously was a herculean task--and our
working force was very small. The ladies and gentlemen of Galveston who
had suffered less than their neighbors, formed themselves into
committees, which opened relief stations in the several wards; and
through these channels the bulk of supplies was issued. If mistakes were
made, it was not from lack of faithful endeavor on the part of the
distributers; and let us hope that the errors, if any, were all on the
side of too liberal giving.
"Merely to sort over one carload of garments, so as to make them
immediately available--to put the infants' clothes in one department,
the shoes in another, grown-up dresses in another, coats and trousers in
another, underwear in another--was a work of time and strength; as the
writer, who for a while was 'Mistress of the Robes,' can testify. From 7
A. M. till dark we toiled; and when at last we dragged ourselves back to
the hotel, too wearied for anything but bed, 'tired Nature's sweet
restorer' was hard to woo, because of aching feet and swollen muscles.
But the experience was well worth it! Besides the joy of administering
to the suffering, what we learned of human nature (mostly good, I am
glad to say) would fill volumes. To be sure, there were shadows, as well
as lights, in the picture. Greed and hypocrisy, jealousy, malice, and
the reverse of Christian charity, came sometimes unpleasantly to the
fore, to be offset by the magnificent generosity of the American nation,
and the knowledge that in most quarters our efforts were appreciated.
Most of us were unused to manual labor, and all had left comfortable
homes--some at considerable financial sacrifice of well-salaried
positions, not for earthly gain or self-aggrandizement, but from pure
love of the splendid cause of the Cross of Geneva.
"In that Rag Fair department of old clothes, the ludicrous and pathetic
called for an equal blending of smiles and tears. It seemed as if every
household, from Maine to California, from the St. Lawrence to the Rio
Grande, had rummaged its attics for the flood sufferers. Merchants
delivered themselves of years' accumulations of shop-worn
goods--streaked, faded, of fashions long gone by--but a great deal
better than nothing for the destitute. There were at least a million
shirtwaists, all thin and summery, though cold winter was at hand, when
frequent 'northers' chill the very marrow in one's bones, and ice and
snow are not unknown on Galveston Island. There was another million of
'Mother Hubbard' wrappers, all of the sleaziest print and scrimpest
pattern, with inch-wide hems at bottom and no fastening to speak
of--wrappers enough to disfigure every female in Southern Texas. Fancy a
whole city full of women masquerading in those shapeless garments--the
poorest of their class; and then remember that, a few years ago, the
great and glorious State of Pennsylvania found it necessary to pass a
law--presumably for the peace of mind of her male citizens--forbidding
the wearing of 'Mother Hubbards' in the street!
"One day there came to our warehouse a large case of beautiful, buttoned
shoes, of the kind called 'Sorosis.' 'What a bonanza!' we thought, when
that box was opened--and through our minds went trooping a procession of
the shoeless feet we had longed to comfort. But behold! every blessed
shoe of the one hundred and forty-four was for the left foot!
"There was an enormous box from a city laundry, containing the unclaimed
'washings' of many years--hundreds of waiters' aprons and cooks' caps,
worn hotel towels and napkins, ragged shirts and collars--not a thing
worth the lumber in the box, except as old linen for the hospitals.
There was a great deal of bedraggled finery, than which nothing could
have been less appropriate, when nine out of every ten women who applied
for clothes, wanted plain black in which to mourn for their dead. And
the hats and bonnets were of every shape and style within the memory of
man! They were mostly so crushed in careless packing that to have
worshiped them would have been no sin, according to Scripture, as they
were no longer in the 'likeness of anything in the heavens above, or the
earth beneath, or the waters under the earth.' There were workmen's
blouses and overalls, evidently shed in haste, under a sudden impulse of
generosity--plastered with grease, paint, and mortar, and odoriferous of
that by which honest bread is said to be earned.
"Occasionally a box or barrel was found to contain garments
disgracefully dirty and ragged, or dropping in pieces from the ravages
of moths. Possibly the sending of such worthless trash produced in the
hearts of the donors that comfortable feeling of lending to the
Lord--but it was no use at our end of the line. What to do with it was a
problem. The lowest plantation darky would regard the gift as an insult,
and to burn even the filthiest rags would give rise to stories of wanton
waste. So we hit upon an expedient which had been successfully employed
in other fields--that of putting worthless articles in nice, clean
barrels, rolling them out on the doorstep, and forgetting to bring them
in at night; and every morning the barrels were found empty.
"In striking contrast to these few 'shadows' were such gifts as that of
the New England girl, who sent a large, carefully packed satchel,
accompanied by a letter, explaining that she was seventeen years of age,
and had taken from her own wardrobe an outfit, intended for a
flood-sufferer of about her own age, whom the clothes would fit. The
satchel contained three good suits complete, from hat to hose--all that
a girl would need--even veil, handkerchiefs and fan; and it is needless
to add that they soon found their way to a most grateful young
'sufferer.' Here a poor widow divided her well-worn 'mourning' with some
stranger sister-in-grief; there the bereaved mother brought out the
treasured garments her little one had worn, for some happier mother who
had lost only earthly possessions.
"Letters by hundreds were found in the packages, pertinent and
impertinent, but all demanding answers. They were stuffed into old shoes
and the linings of hats, cracked tea-pots and boxes of soap, combs and
matches. Every small boys' knickerbockers contained a note--generally
of original spelling and laboriously written in large capitals, from
'Tommy' or 'Johnnie' or 'Charley,' asking a reply, telling all about the
storm, from the boy who should receive the gift. Sentimental epistles
from ladies were hidden in the pockets of coats and trousers, inviting
correspondence with the future wearers; and billet-doux from
disconsolate widowers, presumably beginning to 'take notice,' were
pinned to the raiment of deceased wives. Such manifold phases have our
poor human nature! Happily there was another and far more numerous class
of letters, from charitable men and women, offering to adopt children,
or to assist in any way in their power; from Sunday-school classes and
sewing societies and day-schools, enclosing small sums of money, or
telling of gifts to come. There was even a letter from an almshouse,
enclosing a check for eighty dollars, raised by thirty aged pensioners,
who gave up their only luxuries--coffee, sugar, and tobacco--to swell
the fund for Galveston's relief. Another came from the poor, forgotten
negroes of the Carolina sea islands, to whose assistance the Red Cross
went, after their disastrous floods a few years ago. Impelled by
gratitude for the benefits then received, those simple-minded people
contributed a surprising amount, considering their poverty. Truly, in
heaven's reckoning those unselfish 'mites' of the poor and lowly will
count for as much as the millions given by the great cities.
"Notwithstanding the vast amount of old clothes that came to us, we were
always particularly short of the most important articles of an outfit,
such as underwear, respectable skirts and dresses, and shoes--except of
extraordinary sizes, sent because unsalable. It frequently happened
that, for days together, there was hardly a thing in stock fit for
people of the better class. It must be remembered that we were not
supplying tramps and beggars, nor the ordinary applicants for charity,
but ladies and gentlemen, accustomed to the luxuries of life, whose
possessions had been suddenly swept away. How could we offer those
dreadful wrappers, or bedraggled finery, or soiled and ragged garments
which our servants would despise, to ladies of taste, culture, and
refinement, whom we had come to assist in their misfortune, not to
insult? Therefore, in many cases, the only decent thing to do was to go
out and buy what was needed, with some of those blessed contributions
which bore the message, 'to be used at your own discretion.' That was
Christian charity, pure and simple, in its most practical form. For
example: A widow, of highest social standing and former wealth, lived
with her three daughters in one of those ill-fated cottages near the
beach, which was swept away with all its contents. Thus the four
helpless women were left entirely destitute, even the clothes on their
backs borrowed from neighbors a little less unfortunate. Friends in a
Northern city wrote, offering them a home. Transportation could be
easily provided, but the four must be fitted out for the journey. We
searched the Rag Fair over, but found few suitable articles. Perhaps
something better might come in by and by, next week, some other time;
but for every hoped-for article were a hundred waiting applicants--and
meanwhile those ladies must be supported until sent to their friends. To
say nothing of their own feelings, and ours, we could not disgrace the
Red Cross by sending that stately gray-haired mother and the three
delicate young ladies out into the world equipped by our alleged bounty
in scanty calico 'Mother Hubbards,' men's cow-hide brogans, and
scare-crow headgear. So we picked out what would answer--here and there
a garment which might be altered, the only pair of shoes in the place
that came near to fitting one of the ladies, a bolt of unbleached muslin
which they, themselves, could fashion into underclothes, and four
disreputable old hats. The latter we gave to a local milliner to remodel
and trim, simply but respectably. Then we went to the store and
purchased shoes and other necessary articles, including enough
inexpensive but serviceable cloth for four gowns and jackets, and
employed a woman to make them.
"This was not extravagance, but good use of the money, all around:--for
the poor little milliner whose shop had been destroyed and business
ruined, whose children were then eating the bread of charity; and for
the customless dressmaker, who was also a grievous sufferer by the
flood, with younger sisters to support. We gave her the first work she
had had for weeks, and her gratitude was good to see.
"As for merchants, who were all on the verge of failure, but making
heroic efforts to keep afloat--Heaven knows we did them injury enough
every day of our stay in Galveston, to be thankful for the privilege of
occasionally becoming their patrons. Not only had they suffered immense
losses by the storm, their stocks being practically ruined and customers
gone--but who would buy, so long as the Red Cross had food and clothes
to give away, without money and without price? Though ours is a noble
and necessary work, it is never to the advantage of the local merchants,
as a little reflection will show.
"Another case was that of a young woman, who, with an aged relative, was
keeping a hotel in a near-by village, when the floods lifted their house
from its foundations and ruined everything in it. Its four walls stood,
however, and furnished shelter for all the houseless neighbors, who
flocked in, naked and hungry, and with whom the generous girl divided
her last garment and bit of food. Death also entered the family, twice
within a few weeks--the last time leaving a sister's four half-grown
children for this young woman to maintain. Take them she must, because
they had nowhere else to go. Finding her in terrible straits, without
even clothes to wear to her sister's funeral, were we not justified in
buying the heroic young woman a decent suit of black, besides sending
her a box of food supplies? Why were we there, if not to exercise
judgment in the matter of relief? If merely to distribute second-hand
articles, without discrimination, we might have saved ourselves much
peril and hardship by remaining at home, and sending the boxes down to
take care of themselves.
"None of us will ever forget the grandniece of an ex-President of the
United States--a handsome and imposing woman of middle age, traveled,
educated, and evidently accustomed to the best society. She called one
day at headquarters, and although she did not ask for aid, the truth
came out in a heart-to-heart talk with Miss Barton that she had lost all
in the storm and had not where to lay her head, nor food for the morrow;
even the clothes she wore were not her own. Nobody living could put this
lady on the pauper list, and none with a spark of human feeling could
wish to wound her pride. Our honored President, who reads hearts as
others do open books, clasped this unfortunate sister's hand--and left
in it a bank-note--I do not know of what denomination, but let us hope
it was not a small one. The look of surprise and gratitude that flashed
over that woman's face was worth going far to see, as, speechless with
emotion, the tears streaming down her cheeks, she turned away.
"One might go on multiplying incidents by the hour, did time permit.
There were teachers to be fitted out with suitable clothes before the
opening of the schools; boys and girls needing school-books and shoes,
caps, and jackets; new-born babes to be provided, whose wardrobes,
prepared in advance, had been swept away; mothers of families, destitute
of the commonest conveniences of life, to whom the gift of a pan or
kettle was a godsend; aged people, whose declining years must be
comforted; invalids to be cheered with little luxuries. My greatest
regret is that we had not hundreds of dollars to use for every one that
was expended in these directions."
My stenographer, Miss Agnes Coombs, found her post by me, and sixty to
eighty letters a day, taken from dictation, made up the clerical round
of the office of the president. This duty fell in between attending the
daily meetings of the relief committee and receiving constant calls both
in and out of the city.
Our men made up their living-room at the warehouse. The few women
remained at the hotel, the only suitable place in the town.
Later on arrived a shipload of supplies from the business people of New
York, which were stored with the Galveston committee, and we were asked
to aid in the distribution of these supplies, and to a certain extent we
did, but succeeded in organizing a committee of citizens, ladies and
gentlemen, to carry out and complete this distribution.
From lack of knowledge of the real conditions of the disaster and its
geographical extent, this munificent donation had been assigned to the
"Relief of Galveston," and thus, technically, Galveston had no authority
to administer a pound or a dollar to any communities or persons outside
of the precincts of the city proper. This left at least twenty counties
on the mainland on the other side of the Gulf, some of which were as
badly wrecked and ruined as Galveston itself, without a possibility of
the slightest benefit from this great, generous gift.
Seeing this pitiful and innocently unjust condition of affairs, the
result of ignorance of relief work, undertaken with much zeal but scant
knowledge and no experience, we sought a way to atone for the mistake,
so far as we might be able.
Immediately closing our relief rooms in Galveston I had all Red Cross
supplies shipped to Houston, and relief for the mainland opened there.
These were farming districts, and I directed intelligent inquiry to be
made as to what was most needed by the devastated farm lands and their
owners. All was swept away--sometimes as far as forty miles back into
the level country; often the soil itself was washed away, the home and
all smaller animals destroyed, and no feed for the larger ones to
subsist on. The poor farmers walked their desolated fields and wrung
their hands.
It proved that this was the strawberry section of Southern Texas, and
these were the strawberry growers that supplied the early berries to our
Northern market. For miles not a plant was left and no means to
replant. This was reported to me on the first day's investigation, and
also that if plants could be obtained and set within two weeks a half
crop could be grown this year and the industry restored. That seemed a
better occupation for these poor fellows than walking the ground and
wringing their hands. The messenger was sent back at daybreak to
ascertain how many plants would be needed to replant these lands, where
they were accustomed to procure them, and what varieties were best
adapted to their use.
That night brought again the messenger to say that a million and a half
of plants would reset the lands and that their supply came from the
nurseries in North Carolina, Illinois, Arkansas, and Louisiana.
Directions were sent back to Mr. Ward to order the plants to be there in
two weeks. This was done. Only thirty-eight thousand plants were injured
in transit, and those were generously resupplied by the shippers. Within
the two weeks this million and a half of strawberry plants were set. It
was estimated that fully a third of a crop was realized that year, and
it is safe to predict that one-half the readers of this little sketch
will partake of the fruits of these Red Cross relief strawberry fields
this very springtime.
Other needs to a large amount were supplied by Mr. Ward, and we left no
idle, wringing hands on the mainlands of Texas.
I had never left Galveston. Some other thoughtful reader may pitifully
ask, what became of these miles of wreckage and the dead on the
Galveston seashore?
At this distant day it may be safe to tell. I recall that at the time
much criticism was indulged in.
All were burned.
The heat grew greater and the stench stronger every day. They tried to
remove the _débris_ and get the bodies out for burial. No human being
could work in that putrefying mass. Previously had come the glorious
thought of getting them into boats and shipping them a mile out to sea.
With hopeful hearts this experiment was tried for one day. Alas! the
night tide brought them all back to shore. The elements of earth and
water had refused--what remained but fire? Openings in the long
continuous lines were cut through at given spaces, the fire engines set
to play on the open, and the torch applied to the end of sections; thus
a general conflagration of the city was prevented, and from day to day
the pile diminished.
The stench of burning flesh permeated every foot of the city. Who could
long withstand this? Before the end of three months there was scarcely a
well person in Galveston. My helpers grew pale and ill, and even I, who
have resisted the effect of so many climates, needed the help of a
steadying hand as I walked to the waiting Pullman on the track,
courteously tendered free of charge to take us away.
This is a tedious story; but if gone through, one has a little insight
into the labor of a Red Cross field of relief. There are twenty in my
recollection, and this was by no means the hardest or the most useful.
They have been lived, but never told.
I beg my readers to bear in mind that this is not romance that I am
writing, where I can place my characters in the best light and shape
results at will, but history, with my personages still alive, ready to
attest the reality of this statement. That grand committee of Galveston
relief--than whom no nobler body of men I have ever met--are, I hope,
all yet alive to testify to the conditions and statements made.
I have dedicated this little volume to the people with whom, and for
whom, have gone the willing labors of twenty-five years--initial labors,
untried methods, and object lessons. Well or ill, they have carried with
them the best intentions and the best judgment given for the purpose.
Whatever may betide or the future have in store for the little work so
simply commenced, so humbly carried on, merely a helper with no thought
of leadership, it bears along with it the memories of pain assuaged,
hope revived, endeavor strengthened, and lives saved.
To the noble sympathies of generous hearts these results are due, and
yet it is not in its past that the glories or the benefits of the Red
Cross lie, but in the possibilities it has created for the future; in
the lessons it has taught; in the avenues to humane effort it has
opened, and in the union of beneficent action between people and
Government, when once comprehended and effected, that shall constitute
a bulwark against the mighty woes sure to come sooner or later to all
peoples and all nations.
To you--the people of America--this sacred trust is committed, in your
hands the charge is laid. To none will your help ever be so precious as
it has been to me, for in its proud growth and strength none will ever
so need you.
End of Project Gutenberg's A Story of the Red Cross, by Clara Barton