CHAPTER II

THE FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR

While Miss Barton was at Berne, in the villa of a friend, the

Franco-Prussian War broke suddenly upon Europe. Nothing that happens in

France or Germany fails to register influence at once on Switzerland.

While she was there she received a call from Louise, the Grand Duchess

of Baden, who, having learned of the presence there of an American

woman so distinguished in war relief, invited her to go to Strassburg,

which was in a state of siege, and prepare for the relief which already

had become necessary and soon would be urgent. The baths were not so

complete a tonic as this call to service. Yet it did not seem to her

that she was strong enough to undertake this work.

Only a little later she had another invitation from Dr. Louis Appia,

who had been one of the movers in the Geneva Convention. This was her

opportunity to witness the actual work of the organization of which she

had heard:

On the 15th of July, 1870, France declared war against Prussia.

Within three days a band of agents from the International Committee

of Geneva, headed by Dr. Louis Appia (one of the prime movers of

the convention), equipped for work and _en route_ for the seat of

war, stood at the door of my villa inviting me to go with them and

take such part as I had taken in our own war. I had not strength to

trust for that, and declined with thanks, promising to follow in my

own time and way, and I did follow within a week. No shot had been

fired--no man had fallen. Yet this organized, powerful commission

was on its way, with its skilled agents, ready to receive, direct,

and dispense the charities and accumulations which the generous

sympathies of twenty-two nations, if applied to, might place at

its disposal. These men had treaty power to go directly on to any

field, and work unmolested in full cooperation with the military and

commanders-in-chief; their supplies held sacred and their efforts

recognized and seconded in every direction by either belligerent army.

Not a man could lie uncared for nor unfed. I thought of the Peninsula

in McClellan’s campaign, of Pittsburg Landing, Cedar Mountain, and

second Bull Run, Antietam, Old Fredericksburg, with its acres of

snow-covered and gun-covered glacée, and its fourth-day flag of

truce; of its dead, and starving wounded, frozen to the ground, and

our commission and their supplies in Washington, with no effective

organization to get beyond; of the Petersburg mine, with its four

thousand dead and wounded and no flag of truce, the wounded broiling

in a July sun, dying and rotting where they fell. I remembered our

prisons, crowded with starving men whom all the powers and pities

of the world could not reach even with a bit of bread. I thought of

the widows’ weeds still fresh and dark through all the land, north

and south, from the pine to the palm; the shadows on the hearths and

hearts over all my country. Sore, broken hearts, ruined, desolate

homes! Was this a people to decline a humanity in war? Was this a

country to reject a treaty for the help of wounded soldiers? Were

these the women and men to stand aloof and consider? I believed, if

these people knew that the last cloud of war had forever passed from

their horizon, the tender, painful, deathless memories of what had

been would bring them in with a force no power could resist. They

needed only to know.

Soon Clara Barton was on her way to the front. She went, not to

Strassburg, but to Basle, where she witnessed with great satisfaction

the efficiency of the Red Cross system. Basle is in Switzerland, just

at the German border, but there representatives of both belligerent

nations had their headquarters for purposes of relief of suffering.

The Red Cross, protected by international agreement, had its base of

supplies in neutral territory, and the agents of both armies organized

their relief forces without molestation from each other. Wherever

a battle occurred, relief could be and was provided in many cases

before the first drop of blood was shed. Miss Barton’s admiration for

the work of this society grew as she contrasted its efficiency with

the unpreparedness and deadly delay which she had known all too well

through the Civil War:

As I journeyed on and saw the work of these Red Cross societies

in the field, accomplishing in four months under their systematic

organization what we failed to accomplish in four years without

it--no mistakes, no needless suffering, no starving, no lack of care,

no waste, no confusion, but order, plenty, cleanliness, and comfort

wherever that little flag made its way, a whole continent marshaled

under the banner of the Red Cross--as I saw all this, and joined and

worked in it, you will not wonder that I said to myself, “If I live

to return to my country, I will try to make my people understand the

Red Cross and that treaty.” But I did more than resolve, I promised

other nations I would do it, and other reasons pressed me to remember

my promise. The Franco-Prussian War and the war of the Commune were

both enormous in the extent of their operations and in the suffering

of individuals. This great modern international impulse of charity

went out everywhere to meet and alleviate its miseries. The small,

poor countries gave of their poverty and the rich nations poured out

abundantly of their vast resources. The contributions of those under

the Red Cross went quietly, promptly through international responsible

channels, were thoughtfully and carefully distributed through

well-known agents; returns, accurate to a franc, were made and duly

published to the credit of the contributing nations, and the object

aimed at was accomplished.

France, Germany, and Switzerland had been in the international compact

for years past, all organized, every town and city with its Red Cross

Relief Committee, its well-filled workrooms like our relief societies

in our war, but all prepared in times of peace and plenty, awaiting

the emergency.

The Swiss headquarters were at Basle, bordering on both France and

Germany; and there all the supplies were to be sent and held on call

from the hundreds of workers at the fields, for the use of the sick

and wounded of either side indiscriminately wherever the need was

found greatest. The belligerent nations had each its own headquarters;

that of Germany at Berlin, with the Empress Augusta at its head; that

of France, at Paris, under the auspices of its lovely Empress.

But you will understand that the international feature of this

requires that all contributions from other nations be sent through

the international headquarters; hence, no people within the compact,

except the belligerents, could send direct to either France or

Germany, but must correspond with the Central Committee at Geneva, and

learn from it the place of greatest need and the proper agents on the

spot to whom the consignment should be made. This wise provision both

marked and sustained their neutrality.

Up to this moment, no point beyond Basle had been reached. This was,

then, the great central dépôt of the International Red Cross, and it

was worth something to have seen it as I saw it in less than two weeks

after the sudden declaration, a declaration as unexpected as if some

nation should declare war against us to-morrow.

My first steps were to the storehouses, and to my amazement I

found there a larger supply than I had ever seen at any one time

in readiness for the field at our own Sanitary Commission rooms in

Washington, even in the fourth year of the war; and the trains were

loaded with boxes and barrels pouring in from every city, town, and

hamlet in Switzerland, even from Austria and northern Italy, and the

trained, educated nurses stood awaiting their appointments, each with

this badge upon the arm or breast, and every box, package, or barrel

with a broad bright scarlet cross, which rendered it as safe and

sacred from molestation (one might almost say) as the bread and wine

before the altar.

You will conclude that quiet old historic Basle was, by this time,

a busy city. It was frightened out of its senses. Bordering on both

France and Germany, it lay directly on the possible march of either

army on its way to the other; and the moment Switzerland shall allow

this crossing, her neutrality will be declared broken, and not only

Basle, but all Switzerland, will be held in a state of actual war and

become common battleground for both.

I passed a week in that city among this work, to learn it more

thoroughly, to be able to judge it in its practical bearings,

its merits and demerits, so far as I could, before giving my

qualifications and endorsement. You will not wonder that Basle felt

her responsibility and trembled for both her own safety and the safety

of the State!

Not very long did she remain in Basle. Soon a dispatch was received

from Mülhausen, and Clara Barton, no longer an invalid, set out

again for the front. She was not alone; accompanying her was a young

woman who thenceforth became her companion, and who some years later

followed her to America, Miss Antoinette Margot. Accompanied by this

devoted girl, she set forth as she had done nine years before, for

the relief of suffering on the battle-field. She told the story of it

in an address which she gave afterward, which was little more than a

transcript of her diary:

A mile from Basle, we met the pickets, but passed without serious

interruption for the first six miles, when the detentions became

longer, and the road lined with fugitives fleeing to Switzerland,

entire families, carrying such articles as were possible: the better

classes in family and public carriages; the next, in farmer and

peasant wagons, drawn by horses, oxen, cows, and often the animals

of the family accompanying the wagon which contained the most useful

articles for an emergency--kettles, beds, and clothing.

Those who could not afford this style of removal were wearily but

hastily trudging along on foot, carrying in their arms such as their

strength would allow, and the tired children plodding along on behind,

or drawn in little carts, with bundles of clothing and bits of bread.

Sometimes a family was fortunate to have a cow or a goat with them

when they had no wagon. Sometimes, after the Bernese custom, a large

dog drew the wagon of luggage. But in some manner all were making on,

often in tears, and always with grief in their faces. All day we saw

but two carriages going in our direction. But all whom we met looked

at us in astonishment. “The Prussians are coming,” or, “There has been

a terrible battle and everybody is being killed. _Turn back, turn

back!_”

Sometimes one would be so earnest as to come to the heads of our

horses, to urge us to return, and it was not always easy to keep our

driver in heart.

At ---- we were met and stopped by a large body of people, the mayor

at the head, and our destination inquired, and at the same time

informed that it was exceedingly hazardous to proceed, as great

battles were going on at a short distance from Mülhausen, and that

the Prussians were crossing the Rhine in great force. But when to all

this we replied that we were aware of the state of things, and that

was the reason of our going, that we went to care for the wounded

of the battles, they all cried with one voice, “Mon Dieu--God bless

you,” and the old white-haired mayor led the way to the side of our

carriage, to take our hands, exclaiming, “God preserve and be with

you, my children, and He is with you, or you would not be here on this

mission.” And the crowd that jostled in the street, one after another,

followed his example, with the tears falling over their faces, even to

the little children to whom we reached down our hands to reach theirs,

or to touch them as they were held up to us.

No wonder they wept! Their fathers, sons, and brothers would be in the

bloody carnage so soon to follow. Already they had bade to God only

knows how many the last farewell.

At length they let go our bridles and we passed on, and, with such

scenes every moment in some form occurring, we performed the remainder

of our journey to Mülhausen.

We made our way directly to the President of the International

Committee of the Red Cross of Mülhausen, Monsieur August Dolfus.

A dispatch had just been received from the International Committee

of the Red Cross at Mülhausen, France, inviting me to come there.

Dr. Appia and his noble band of pioneers had evidently passed that

way. This would be in a direct line to Strassburg, and the field

of Weissenburg, and I decided to leave by the earliest train next

morning.

As good fortune would have it, there came to me at this moment a

kind-featured, gentle-toned, intelligent Swiss girl, who had left the

_canter de vaud_ to go alone to care for the wounded. The society

introduced her to me.

Perhaps it would be well to anticipate so far as to speak of this

young lady more fully, for all through you will know her as my

faithful Antoinette--Antoinette Margot, Swiss by birth, French by

cultivation, education, and habit. The two national characteristics

met and joined in her. The enthusiasm of the one, the fidelity of the

other, were so perfectly blended and balanced in her, that one could

never determine which prevailed. No matter, as both were unquenchable,

unconquerable. She was raised in the city of Lyons, France, an only

daughter, and at that age an artist of great note, even in the schools

of artistic France. Fair-haired, playful, bright, and confiding,

she spoke English as learned from books, and selected her forms of

expression by inference. One day she made the remark that something

was “unpretty.” Observing a smile on my face, she asked if that were

not correct. I replied that we do not say “unpretty” in English.

“No. But you say unwise, unselfish, unkind, and ungrateful--why not

unpretty?” “I do not know,” I answered. I didn’t either.

There was something in that face to be drawn to “at sight,” and to her

astonishment and delight I told her she might accompany me.

Scarce was this arrangement completed when breathless messengers

rushed to tell us that the French still fled before the troops of

the Prince Royal, that the Prussians were marching direct upon the

Rhine, if indeed it were not already crossed, and that the French had

destroyed their railroad to Strassburg, that the rolling-stock of the

road had been run off to save it, and that even the station was closed.

This was after dark--the news was not of a nature to favor delay.

Instead of five o’clock by train next morning, I would start at

daybreak by private carriage.

At length a _cochère_ was found who would undertake the journey--the

task of driving to Mülhausen for a consideration which, under the

circumstances, it was quite possible for him to obtain. At the

appointed hour, with some small satchels, the requisite supply of

shawls and waterproofs, with my quiet, sensible young companion, I set

off once more, shall I say--for “_the front_”? That expression was

very strange after a lapse of five years, and I had thought never to

hear it again in connection with myself.

Arriving at Mülhausen, Miss Barton found there was no present need

of her services. She determined to set forth for Strassburg. With

great difficulty she made her way thither. Through rain and mud, with

conveyance almost impossible to obtain, she finally arrived, a distance

of seventy-two miles, which journey she completed in a single day.

She was received with honor at Strassburg. The United States Consul and

Vice-Consul were both Germans, but both had fought in the Civil War on

the side of the Union, and they both knew of Clara Barton. The Consul

had been a surgeon and the Vice-Consul a chaplain. Both welcomed her to

the Consulate and to their homes.

But Strassburg was about to undergo bombardment. The city was then

under French rule, but its population was mixed. It contained besides

its own proper inhabitants many German-Americans just then eager

to get out of Alsace. The Consul got an omnibus full of them, with

Clara Barton in the van, and set out to place them inside the German

lines. He took them as far as he was allowed to go, and turned back on

horseback. Clara Barton and her omnibus full of people moved on. They

carried the American flag. Part of the way it served to enable them to

pass the sentries. But when they reached the German outposts, it ceased

to afford them safe passage:

We had the United States flag at our front, and the first sentry

halted us to learn what it was. When informed, he promptly disputed

it. He had been in Mexico, and Guatemala and Australia and the

Sandwich Islands, and it was not the American flag at all. Reference

to a chart of flags convinced him, and we passed. But this made us

aware of a great mistake we had committed.

In our hurry of getting off in the rain and darkness of the early

morning, we had forgotten our International Red Cross Flag, and all

our insignia. There was no return--as well seek to go back through the

gates of death. We must trust to luck.

At the demand for the Red Cross insignia by the keen, acute sentry,

Miss Barton retired, seized the bow of red ribbon, without which color

she was seldom seen, and twisted it into a red cross which, with the

thread and needle taken from her pocket, she sewed upon her arm.

The next sentinel, about a league from Strassburg, recognized our

flag, saluted it, and did not even halt us.

These were the conditions under which, for the first time, Clara

Barton wore the insignia which, in America, was destined to be forever

associated with her name.

The outer German sentinels were now safely passed; but before she was

permitted to enter the lines of the German army she was informed that

if she entered she must remain. She might return if she wished within

the French lines, or she might make her way again into Switzerland,

but if she entered the German lines she must be willing to remain

there until the termination of the war. She had no desire to go back

to Strassburg and submit to the bombardment. She did not now desire

to return to neutral territory. She entered the German lines and made

her way to Carlsruhe, where she was a guest in the home of the Duke

of Baden. She and the Grand Duchess Louise became devoted friends.

The last letter Clara Barton wrote before her death, and with the

knowledge that she had but a few hours to live, was written to the

Grand Duchess Louise. Among the tributes that lay upon the grave of

Clara Barton when the earth closed over her was a beautiful laurel

wreath from the Grand Duchess Louise.

It was an accident that put Clara Barton inside the German lines. She

had planned it otherwise when she went to Strassburg. She had rather

expected that her work would be to the wounded French, but the fortunes

of war put her within the opposing lines, and to her it mattered

little. Her interests were not those of a belligerent. She was ready to

minister to the suffering of either army.

Again Clara Barton was on the battle-field. From Carlsruhe she visited

in succession several of the bloody fields. But when Strassburg fell,

as it did September 28, 1870, she turned her back upon the comforts of

the grand ducal palace, and entered the city where a few weeks before

she had been the honored guest of the United States Consul. Thousands

of its inhabitants were homeless and in danger of starvation. She

organized a workroom where she set two hundred and fifty poor women

to work. For forty days she and Antoinette Margot did their work amid

the ruins of this distressed city. At first there was nothing to do

but to give relief on application. There lie before the writer some of

the original meal tickets which were issued at this time. But before

long she saw that this plan if continued, would pauperize the women.

She devised the plan by which they were to work and be paid for it

whenever they were able to work. She wrote a letter to Count Bismarck,

being introduced to him by the Grand Duchess Louise, and which obtained

official recognition for her type of work:

COUNT BISMARCK

Governor-General of Alsace

HONORED COUNT:

Through the politeness of your adjutant and his amiable lady, I learn

that Your Highness will kindly permit me to communicate with you in

reference to the work I am endeavoring to perform among the destitute

people who are so fortunate as to fall under your protecting care. But

speaking no German, lacking confidence to attempt a conversation in

French, and fearing that English may not be familiar to you, I decide

to write, subject to translation, the little explanation I would make

of my work, its origin, progress, and design.

I entered Strassburg the second day after its fall, and, observing

both the distress of its inhabitants and their bitterness toward their

captors, who must always remain their neighbors, I deemed it wise,

while they should receive the charity so much needed, that something

of it be presented by German hands. In this view I was most cordially

met by that noblest of ladies, the Grand Duchess of Baden, to whom

I am also indebted for this introduction to you, and immediately,

under her generous patronage, I returned with an assistant to do

what we could in the name of Germany. At first, we could only give

indiscriminately to the hundreds who thronged our doors. But,

directly, I perceived that a prolonged continuance of this system

would be productive of greater disaster to the _moral_ condition of

the people than the bombardment had been to their physical; that in a

city, comprising less than eighty thousand inhabitants, there would

shortly be twenty thousand confirmed beggars. Only a small proportion

of these families had been accustomed to receive charity, but one

winter of common beggary would reduce the larger part to a state of

careless degradation from which they would scarcely again emerge. It

seemed morally indispensable that remunerative employment in some form

should be given them. Again I consulted Her Royal Highness, who kindly

approved, generously making the first contribution of materials, and

we opened our present “Work-rooms for Women” in the month of October.

To say that the results have surpassed my most sanguine expectation

is little, the facts are much more; but a stranger both to people and

language, it is not singular that my work, which depends entirely

upon public patronage, has often lacked the necessary means to attain

the full measure of success.

My original design was to aid not only the inhabitants of Strassburg,

but those in other portions of Alsace who are equally destitute. I

thought that to be just to all and produce the best moral influence,

the employment, and the payment, should be given to Strassburg, thus

making of the inhabitants _workers_, instead of _beggars_, but that

the warm garments made by them should be sent to the half-naked

peasants of the villages, and little country homes where the harvest

has been lost, and neither money nor clothing comes within reach.

And to the extent of my means I have done this. The peasants have

heard of the rooms, and often walk two and three leagues to ask for

garments, and the clergymen from around the old battle-fields, and

from Bitch, are making appeals in behalf of their half-naked and

shivering people. Both my sympathy and my judgment would favor the

hearing of these appeals so far as possible. This population must

always be the neighbors, if not a part, of the German people; it

will be most desirable that they should be also friends; they are

in distress--their hearts can never be better reached than now; the

little seed sown to-day may have in it the germs of future peace or

war.

But pardon my boldness, Honored Count; I am neither a diplomatist nor

political counselor; I am only a maker of garments for the poor.

I have objected to the purchasing of materials for my work

from magazines, believing that, if the attention of some large

manufacturers of stuffs were called to the subject, materials could be

supplied in a much better manner.

Other noble societies, I rejoice to say, have sprung up later, all of

which I believe will confine their praiseworthy efforts to the city

of Strassburg, and in every respect but that of affording employment

will, I trust, prove sufficient for the necessities. My little work

has been the pioneer, that ploughed through the earliest and deepest

drifts, and which, though often weary and disheartened, still seeks

to push beyond the beaten track, over the fields, and along the

hillsides, and gather the sufferers out of the storm.

After this, I fear too lengthy, explanation, will Your Highness kindly

permit me, for the sake of perspicuity, to arrange under two or three

distinct heads the prominent features of my work.

1st, I desire to give employment, and payment therefor at the usual

rates, to some portion of the destitute families of Strassburg.

2d, To distribute the garments made by them among the people of the

surrounding districts which have been reduced by the calamities of the

war.

3d, That, beyond this, I design to make no appropriations of

charities, but to refer all such applicants residing within the city

to the various societies and committees of the same.

4th, To attain this object and carry on the work is required,

material, in warm stuffs of both wool and cotton, suitable for

clothing for working-men, women, and children.

5th, Money to pay the workers,--sufficient for the number employed.

STRASSBURG, Dec. 9th, 1870

Miss Barton also sent an appeal to America for assistance in the

purchase of material. Her letter to the New York “Tribune” brought

her prompt response, and she was not without means for the support of

her work. She used the money which was sent to her in such fashion as

to make it do double duty. She bought material and had it made into

garments largely by the women who needed those garments for themselves

or their families. She paid them for their work in vouchers--two francs

a day, which was good pay; and she sold them the products of their work

at low prices. They received good wages for their labor and good value

for their wages, but, wherever they were able, they had to work for the

vouchers they got, and pay for the clothing they obtained.

I have some of the odd little two-franc vouchers which she required

the women to give. She was not held to any system of accounting, and

when there was need she spent money without vouchers; but wherever it

was feasible, she did her business in a business-like way, and she

taught the women to be business-like. In her final accounting, only

a surprisingly small fraction of her money had been expended without

vouchers.

On Christmas Day of 1870, her forty-ninth birthday, she wrote to Mrs.

Frances Childs Vassall a letter in which she gave an account of her own

work and also passed a distinctly unfavorable judgment upon the French

as they appeared to her at that time:

“WOMEN’S WORKROOM”

STRASSBURG, ALSACE, Dec. 25, 1870

MY DEAR FANNIE:

With your usual sagacity you timed your letter _just_ to the moment.

It was Christmas Eve, five o’clock, cold as Greenland. I had sent my

assistants home the day before to enjoy a few days of leisure with

their friends. I sat writing at the farthest end of my large room,

from which only a range of white curtains separated and enclosed me in

my little “counting-room.” The postman’s rap at the door caused me to

look up, and through the curtains I could discern a singular glimmer

of lights like stars, but moving from point to point, as if the

firmament were not satisfied with the arrangement of its luminaries,

and sought the opportunity to rearrange. Startled at first, I rose

from my seat to rush out, but suddenly remembering the evening and

the occasion it occurred to me that my presence at that especial

instant might not be desirable and I reseated. After a minute more of

shifting and fluttering, my little domestic Emily appeared between the

curtains, “Here are two letters, and will you please to walk out.”

The letters were from you and Fannie Atwater, and the walking out

revealed a Christmas tree in full blaze all for myself. It had been

arranged and left by my good ladies before they had departed, with

instructions to the domestics to produce and light it at five o’clock

in the evening. It abounded in fruit and flowers and mosses, and

some little nice things which their good hearts had dictated for my

comfort. And so, in the delicate shadows falling like tracery upon the

snow which spread beneath its branches, I sat me down and read your

dear, welcome letter. Although you did not intend a word of sentiment

in it, nor a touching sentence, I could not truly say that my hand

did not sometimes brush across my eyes as I read; it was so like old

times to receive a whole letter from you, all from you, and all for

me. I knew I did not deserve it. I have been so remiss in writing, and

I don’t know how it happens. I can only account for it on your own

grounds, that when we are occupied and feel that there is something to

say there is no time to say it, and when unoccupied we become listless

and there seems to be nothing to say. I am always disgusted at this

state of things in the human economy, but I can neither reconstruct

nor mend it. It is a little more than a week since I posted a long

letter to Sally all about myself, selfish as could be, and I must not

inflict a similar chapter on you, as you will be compelled to go over

that when it arrives. I am rejoiced to hear from yourself that you are

better than when I left.

The greatest obstacle I meet in the way of a full restoration of

strength is the utter inability to get sleep enough; an average

of five hours is the maximum. If I by chance succeed in getting a

half-hour beyond this one night, I have it “docked off” the next. When

I was stronger this would do me; I could run my machine at full speed

all day upon this power, and did it for years; but now the belts are

slack and the wheels slip and I lose so much power that my pond is all

drawn off. I should be so glad if I could adopt your plan of a nap in

the afternoon, but I cannot get it unless by mere accident once in a

great while. But I, too, am so much better than when we last saw each

other that I feel I should never mention the subject of health and

strength again while they are as good as at present.

I thank you for mentioning to me Mrs. Livermore’s lectures. I know she

was a favorite in Worcester; you know she was always a favorite with

me, although I never met her. Madame de Gasparin’s appeal for peace

has found a warm and strong advocate in Mrs. Howe. I hope some good

may come of it. All that you say upon the subject is true, and it is

no small amount of “picking up” that women have to do in consequence

of these reckless fellows; from boyhood to manhood and from manhood

to age, it is all the same. I can never see a poor mutilated wreck

blown to pieces with powder and lead without wondering if visions of

such an end ever flitted before his mother’s mind when she washed

and dressed her fair-skinned baby. Woman should certainly have some

voice in the matter of war, either affirmative or negative, and the

fact that she has not this should not be made the ground on which to

deprive her of other privileges. She shan’t say there will be no war,

and she shan’t take any part in it when there is one, and because she

doesn’t take part in war she mustn’t vote, and because she can’t vote

she has no voice in her government, and because she has no voice in

her government she isn’t a citizen, and because she isn’t a citizen

she has no rights, and because she has no rights she must submit to

wrongs, and because she submits to wrongs she isn’t anybody. What does

she know about war? Because she doesn’t know anything about it, she

mustn’t say or do anything about it. “Three blind mice--cut off their

heads with a carving knife--three blind mice.”

I pray for peace, and all that may promote it, and if there be a

power on earth which can right the wrongs for which nations go to

war, I pray that it may be made manifest, but when I think I fear.

How supreme an international court must it have been to be able to

induce the Southerners to liberate their slaves or to convince them

that the “mudsills” and “greasy mechanics” and “horned Yankees”

were a people entitled to sufficient respect to be treated on fair

international ground! And how much legislation would it have taken to

convince the world what a worthless bubble of assumption was France,

so utterly unworthy the leadership she assumed, and to have laid her

in all respects so open before the world that it should with one voice

repudiate her leadership and refuse to follow her as heretofore in

frivolity, immorality, folly, fashion, vice, and crime! She seems to

me to have been only one great balloon, and now that the bayonets and

bombs have pierced it full of holes it sends out tens of thousands

of little balloons in its collapse. It is bad for France, but I am

not certain but the lesson will be beneficial to the rest of the

world. I don’t know if we may always trust councils--we had one at

Rome not half a year ago that voted a dogma which turned backward the

progress of enlightened thought two centuries, and how great a power

of legislation would have been required to overthrow that decision!

But I suspect the fear of Victor Emmanuel’s bayonets have seriously

interfered with it. Oh, I don’t know; it is such a mystery, and

mankind the greatest mystery of all! I shall never get it right in

this world, whatever may happen in the one that sets this right. But

how prosy I am--and it all comes of that five hours’ sleep. You know

Beecher says, “If the preacher doesn’t sleep, his hearers will.” I

hope you reserved the reading of this till you were ready for your nap.

Soon after the fall of Paris, Miss Barton determined to make her

way thither, but before leaving Strassburg she placed before the

authorities of that city her views of the kind of organization which

should be permanently established there for the relief of those who

were suffering by reason of the war. That letter shows how thoroughly

she understood the problem of administering relief without pauperizing

the beneficiaries:

MONSIEUR BERGMANN

Membre du Comité de Secours Strasbourgeois

MONSIEUR:

Your very courteous request, that I would present something of my

ideas in reference to the subject of employment for the poor of your

stricken city, demands, perhaps, that I explain, first, the reason

and origin of my own presence here. A long and familiar acquaintance

with the calamities of war led me to direct my steps to the gates of

your besieged city the first day that it was possible to enter, viz.,

September 29th. Not as a matter of curiosity, for bombarded cities had

long ceased to possess any novelty for me, but to ascertain if there

were any _service_ I could render.

My earliest visit was to your civil hospital, and its wards of wounded

women, which were indeed a novelty in the history of the world. Seeing

no better way of serving them, I took a written account of each woman

at her bedside, what she had suffered, and what she had lost, and,

carrying the sad record, placed it personally in the hand of Her Royal

Highness, the Grand Duchess of Baden, which, I trust, contributed

a little toward directing to your afflicted city the immediate and

active sympathy of that Court and Capital.

This accomplished, I returned with my present excellent and efficient

assistant, Miss Zimmermann, to learn what further could be done. A

few days’ observation convinced me that, in the majority of instances,

the actual loss of property which had been sustained by the class of

persons who came to demand charity was of less real importance to them

than the total loss of their customary remunerative occupation; that

while the first merely reduced them to want, the latter would make of

them permanent beggars and vagrants, thus doing for their _moral_, all

that the bombardment had done for their _physical_, condition.

With the somewhat forlorn hope of being able to arrest in a few

individual instances these disastrous consequences, I at once

commenced the system of work-giving, in which occupation you have

found me, and concerning which you have done me the honor to ask some

opinions and recommendations.

If I might be so bold as to make a single recommendation, in

reference to this unhappy population under their present calamitous

circumstances, it would be that of the most immediate promotion of

honest industry; that at the earliest moment labor be made to walk

hand in hand, and step by step with charity, and, wherever it is

possible, to _precede_ the charity that gives without return; to open

every possible avenue of employment to all classes of individuals,

especially the women and children, in view of the peculiar nature

of the calamities of the present hour which have left so large a

proportion of them without the husband and father of the family upon

whose labor they must have been more or less accustomed to depend in

former times.

A first step would certainly be the making of garments with which

to keep themselves comfortable and wholesome, and, if I might be

permitted to make a suggestion, it would be that strong, but cheap,

colored material, either of wool or cotton, suitable for dresses,

skirts, and sacques for women and girls, and pantaloons and blouses

for men and boys, be purchased either from manufacturers or merchants

(all of whom are suffering from the effects of the war) and, carefully

fitted and arranged, be given to women to make up in their homes,

after the manner which we have pursued with the thirty or more who are

at present employed from these rooms.

True, every woman will not sew well at first, but we have found that

nearly every one will learn, and have now no trouble with our workers,

and the garments made by them are good enough to be placed in any

ordinary clothing bazaar for sale.

The immediate disposition to be made of this clothing when finished

is still an important question. For the _moral_ effect upon those who

are to receive it, I would recommend that it be not given outright

and entire, as this course still has the tendency to foster habits of

beggary and vagrancy which it is so desirable to discourage. Receipt

without return is ever demoralizing, and for this, it were better that

the poor, even, pay _something_ for what they receive, if it be only

a small proportion of the original cost, and with this view, I would

recommend the placing of the articles in a kind of bazaar connected

with and forming a part of the present noble establishment of the

“Comité” of which you are a member, and a price, more or less real,

and more or less nominal, be placed upon them, such a price as will

bring them within the reach of all excepting the most abject, who are

forever, perhaps, to be treated after the ordinary modes of wholesale

charity; but the effort should be always to reduce this class as much

as possible, by lifting up out of it every family and individual that

kindly encouragement, paid labor, and reasonable prices can elevate

above it. One would soon find that a small sale room of this kind

would not necessarily be confined to the few varieties which I have

named, but shoes, stockings, and many articles of ordinary apparel,

and perhaps, also, many articles useful in the family household would

find their way into it, and thus, through the generous and protecting

hands of the Comité, substantial aid and a first impetus be given to

many a small but worthy and unfortunate artisan of your city who now

finds no purchasers for his products, or no material to commence his

work, and to the smaller merchants who find now no purchasers for

their goods.

I would not have it supposed that I present this little idea as a

permanent _cure_ for existing ills, but as a momentary help in time of

trouble until the hard season passes, and business has time to resume

a little its ordinary course.

Care would have to be taken to guard against imposition, to see that

persons did not buy to sell again. The same vigilance which is now

exercised in regard to those demanding _charity_ would be necessary

here. One may _beg_ to sell, as well as _buy_ to sell. But it should

not discourage the work that it is liable to abuse. _God’s_ best

gifts to man are hourly abused; shall we expect more for ours?

All articles would not find purchasers, it may be said. True, but

what remains in hand will constitute the supply to be given in direct

charity, and it is presumed that there will always remain a demand

in this quarter equal to the supply, even under the best systems of

distributive and protected labor.

It may be asked if this system will not operate against the merchants

who deal in ready-made clothing. It should not in the least, as these

people could never purchase a garment at full price and consequently

could not become their customers.

In order that my suggestions should not seem merely theoretical,

permit me to turn for a moment to the more practical details. It may

be asked if garments can be made to fit women and girls without actual

measurement? I would reply that, with a graduated scale of five or

six sizes, we have found no more difficulty in fitting women than the

tailor finds in fitting men and boys without actual measurement.

Again, will there not be much waste of material in cutting quantities

of garments? Very little; literally none; in the graduated sizes, one

garment cuts from the form left by the other, down to the smallest

size, and of the pieces too small for these we have the custom of

making caps for boys and mittens for the hands, so that no piece

larger than the size of a child’s hand need be left unused.

It would be proper to mention among materials to be purchased the

small articles necessary in the making-up of garments, such as thread,

laces, buttons, agraffes, tapes, etc., etc., the sale of which would

still benefit another class of small merchants.

I may have dwelt too strongly and too long upon the subject of putting

a price upon charities, but if so, I can only ask to be excused upon

the ground of the moral elevation I so ardently desire for the unhappy

people of your city, and remind you that it is a simple thing to

leave this idea untouched, as the giving of work by no means depends

upon it, and this course alone pursued after the ordinary methods of

charity will of itself place the name of the “Comité of Strassburg”

high upon the roll of the active charitable institutions of the world.

With sentiments of the highest consideration both for yourself and

your Honorable Comité, I remain, dear sir,

Very truly yours

CLARA BARTON

STRASSBURG, January 3d, 1871

By this time there were organized American agencies for the relief

of suffering caused by the war. Clara Barton endeavored to establish

relationships with one of these at Brussels or Antwerp, but without

conspicuous success, as shown by her letter to General Burnside:

GENERAL BURNSIDE

MY ESTEEMED GENERAL:

I am sure that a word will suffice to remind you of our interview at

Geneva, and its object; and perhaps you will recollect that I craved

the privilege of personal introduction from you to the American

Legation at Brussels where it seemed proper to locate the headquarters

of the American organization for the relief of the French peasantry

which I had then traveled half the length of Germany and the width of

Switzerland in the rain and snows to effect. I saw then so clearly all

which has since transpired that I could not repress the conscientious

demand of duty to use every effort within my power to prepare for the

safe receipt and faithful and wise distribution of the forthcoming

gifts of our countrymen, although at that moment no societies assisted

and no monies had been raised in America to my knowledge except by the

French and Germans residing there. I had, like yourself, come fresh

from the scenes of strife, want, and desolation, and was chilled and

bewildered by the cool indifference of the Americans residing here

to whom I referred in such warmth of confidence. Only yourself, of

all I met, gave a word of hearty approval. You will remember as I was

surrounded that I could not tell you this at that moment; neither had

I words to tell you how grateful I was for your commendation of my

plans. Even the names of those who knew me well were withheld from

me, as it seemed to me to be exceedingly moderate and modest, proper,

hesitating and haggling until after you had given yours; then they

came, so much weak men need a leader. Then I hurried back to my post

of duty at Strassburg, and on to Brussels, still in the rain, to be

there on the “fifth day,” hoping to find and through you gain the more

willing aid of the American representation there, and found something

like American headquarters either there or at Antwerp; but to my

excessive regret you had already passed out of town as I came in, and

I stood alone in that strange city with my heavy, unfinished task. I

called upon General Shetland, who very properly recommended me to his

superior. I called upon him. He met me sharply and unkindly; informed

me in a needlessly rude manner that he never heard of me before, and

couldn’t understand what I wanted; that he saw no names on my paper

which justified him in placing his there, and he should not do it. Of

course I left his presence without a word. Genial General Shetland was

hurt and offered his name “if it would do any good,” but I could not

suffer him to place himself in unpleasant relations with his superior

and declined it.

Still in the storm and mud, defeated and discouraged, sore and weak,

I left Brussels and made Metz, which had that day opened its hungry

gates. After a few hard days’ work among its famishing, fevered

population I came once more to my work in Strassburg. I now saw

clearly that I could effect nothing in the way of an organization to

aid the work of our countrymen when they should see fit to commence

it. I was grieved for the loss, through this account, to the suffering

French and the loss of satisfaction to our countrymen eventually when

the wiser ones should come to realize that they had _not_ done their

_own work_ in _their own_ name and manner, and with the best results.

But I was only one woman alone, and had no power to move to action

full-fed, sleek-coated, ease-loving, pleasure-seeking, well-paid, and

well-placed countrymen in this war-trampled, dead, old land, each one

afraid that he should be called upon to do something.

On June 1 Miss Barton left her well-organized work in Strassburg and

hastened to Paris, where she spent about six weeks in the relief

of suffering and distress. From there she went to Lyons, where she

established another workroom such as she had had in Strassburg.

Something of the detail of her work in Paris is afforded us in a brief

letter to a gentleman in London, acknowledging a gift of five hundred

pounds sterling for her work. We see something of the grim situation

which she confronted in that city. A much more cheerful letter is one

which she wrote to Annie Childs just as she was about to leave Lyons

at the end of August. Annie had been her dressmaker for many years.

This letter, informing Annie that she was now the head of a dressmaking

establishment of her own, shows how fully at this time she seemed to

have recovered her old vivacity, and to be, amidst the desolation of a

conquered country, her own wholesome, self-reliant self:

LYONS, FRANCE, August 20, 1871

MY DEAR ANNIE:

If I were to make an apology as long as my offense, I could write

nothing else, but I don’t like apologies; you don’t either, do you?

Then let me hasten to proclaim myself an idle, lazy, procrastinating,

miserable do-nothing and good-for-nothing; if that isn’t enough, I

leave the sentence open for you to finish and I sign it squarely when

you have done and call it “quits.” But really it _has_ been too bad. I

have neglected everybody in general, not you in particular. I thought

I was too busy to write. I don’t suppose I was, only that I did not

employ my time well. _I know_ this is often so and perhaps always. I

wish I had been better educated in this regard as well as every other.

If you are ever married, as you doubtless will be, and have a family

of eight or ten children, I beg you will make it a specialty in their

several educations that they be taught to do things in the proper

time. You will do me a favor to remember this as one of “my efforts

for the good of humanity.”

[Illustration: [_Facsimile_]]

[Illustration: PRINCE BISMARCK’S LETTER]

I wanted all last winter to tell you about my “dressmaking” and

describe to you my “shop.” I knew it would interest you if no one

else. Now, wasn’t that the last thing you would have thought of,

that I should come to Europe and set up _dressmaking_, and _French_

dressmaking at that? I knew the fact would be a little surprise to

most of my old friends who knew me best, but to you I imagine it a

matter of bewildering astonishment. Well, you should have seen

the patterns! “Did I have patterns?” Didn’t I? And didn’t I cut them

myself? And didn’t I direct all the making until I had imparted my

wonderful art to others? And _you_ think my garments were fearfully

and wonderfully made! Well, that opinion comes of your being an

_old_ maid and so particular. I assure you, Miss Annie Childs, that

they were nice garments and prettily cut and well made, and I found

them in excellent demand; every one wanted them and never a word of

_complaint of the price_; everybody seemed to be perfectly convinced

that they were cheap enough at my first offer. I had ten young girls

(like yours) dressmakers, and from one to three men “tailors” who

worked twelve hours a day, but only with the shears, never an hour’s

sewing; and no one sewed at my “shop”; only those who must be taught

to take something out and do it over. And we made dresses and sacques

and petticoats and chemises and aprons and hoods and mittens and

pantaloons, vests, blouses, shirts, socks, of all kinds of material

and all sizes that ever the tiniest baby grew to. Oh, yes, and such

lots of things for babies,--little dresses, little bonnets, cloaks,

blankets, two thousand garments every week. I don’t think they

were gored and flounced and frilled as much as yours, Miss Annie

Childs, but they were strong and warm and handsome. It is true all

my seamstresses had not such nimble, delicate fingers as one might

desire for the finest work; they wore very large thimbles sometimes;

but there were plenty of small fingers in the family. They came very

gladly twice a week to see me and showed me with great pride their

successful efforts; always the work came home in the market basket,

and always I knew that that same basket would load the other way

with bread and a little meat if it were possible, but this was not

always. But it was such a comfort to see them, week by week, grow

better clothed themselves and the children, till by and by a woman

and her baby came to look only like a big and a little bundle of the

same clothing she carried in her basket. And all the working-people

of the city came to look like walking bundles of the same clothing.

To be sure, it took away something from the picturesque style of the

city as I first saw it when at least ten thousand human beings were

perfectly arranged for models for the painter and the sculptor. I

admit that it was highly artistic, but I thought it a “_peutrop_” for

the season, considering that the earliest snows had commenced to fall.

Oh, but don’t you wish now that you had come and worked at the head of

my “shop”--didn’t _I_ wish it? More than once I sighed in my inmost

soul for you. How rich I should have been, with you at my side! Just

think of it! I shall write to Fannie sometime when I hain’t told all

the news to you--please hand her this if she looks patient and strong

enough to stand it.

How much I wonder what you are all doing at home! I seem entirely to

have lost the thread, and from the stray little thrums which I get

hold of I cannot pick it up. I am just now in despair about Sally.

Some one writes me that they suppose I know all about her and Vester’s

_sickness_! Imagine the effect of this piece of intelligence. Another

says, it was fortunate they were with Ber and Fannie, as they were

sure of good care!!! This is consoling. What did they have, and how

did they get it, and how was it, and when was it, and how is it now?

Do pray you write and tell me. I am distressed and can’t at all help

myself. I do hope they have not had a serious illness, but I keep

feeling all the time that _somebody_ will be sick. I keep writing

Sally at Washington, but have no idea where she is and where you are

this hot summer, and Fannie, poor, dear, neglected Fannie. She ought

to cross me off her books, and I guess she has before this time. I

know there has never been a day since I left that the entire troop of

you all has not passed in panorama before me, and I have attempted to

place you all as I thought it most likely to be, but I suppose I have

been wide of the mark.

For me, as you must have known a hundred times when I left Strassburg,

I went to Paris, and, after six weeks there distributing clothing

and money, I left and came to Lyons to visit a family of one of the

younger ladies who had aided me twice since the war commenced, and

I have remained here about as long as I was in Paris, but am ready

to leave, and shall again this week go to Paris for a day or two to

meet some parties of Americans who will be there on their way home,

and from there I am to go, as I have been once, into the central

eastern portion of France to see the places and peoples who have been

much destroyed by the war and the sieges. I have no idea how much

time I shall consume here. I must judge this by the condition I find

the people in. I am almost tired of France and long for Germany or

something which is solid and Saxon. There is no truth, no fixedness

of purpose, nothing reliable, nothing sensible in France, and it only

disgusts me that they have always claimed the leadership of the world

and that so stupidly it has been conceded to them. I do hope the

German bayonets have punched a hole in that bubble large enough to

burst it. It is certainly time. If they were even neat, I would not

complain so much of them, but they are such a dirty race of people,

dirty but fashionable. One gets tired of this. Now, you will see from

this that it is a real merit in me to work for the French. I do it out

of pity and charity toward suffering humanity, because they need, and

not because I gratify my love or my taste by it. I do neither. I think

it right to do or I would not touch it, I do assure you.

Now, there are so many people whom you see every day that I would be

so glad to see that it makes me almost homesick to write you. Does

Willis still remain in Oxford, and Uncle John and Nancy; how are they?

And Mrs. Hannah Sanford and Mrs. Sigourney, and all my cousins in

Worcester; do you see them? Cousin Lydia Grout, do you see her ever?

The Bacons and Starrs and Cousin Maria? I am told that Cousin Ned is

to be married, and then my Cousin Jerry, what of him, and the Dennys

and Dr. Snow? If you see him, please remember me most kindly. And the

Towers and Mr. and Mrs. T. W. Hammond. Don’t you see I am homesick to

see all these people even if they have forgotten me? I cannot help

it. I am sure you will write me a long letter full of news, just as

is your specialty, for, Annie Childs, you know, you _do_ know, how to

write a letter, and I shall wait for it now till it comes. You will

address me as usual care of American Legation, Berne, Switzerland.

How does Ber behave? Does he boss his wife any? If he does, you pull

his ears for me, and oblige

Yoors trooly, and believe me, your lovingest Sis

CLARA BARTON

BENJAMIN MORAN, ESQ.

Chargé d’Affaires, London

ESTEEMED SIR:

While I acknowledge the receipt of your favor and enclosed cheque

for five hundred pounds, permit me, in the name of the suffering of

France, to thank you and your Committee most earnestly for the same.

Your generous gift will enable me to send comfort into hundreds of

desolate and more distraught families, whom I have hitherto been

unable to reach. I beg you will permit me to explain that my attempts

to clothe the people of France have not been the result of a desire to

improve the personal appearance, but to aid in ridding them a little,

if possible, from the scourge of pestilence and vermin which the war

has so terribly spread among them.

It is to be hoped that few will die of outright hunger during the next

six months, but thousands must fall pitiful victims to disease lurking

in the only old rags, in which months ago they escaped from fire and

destruction. Disease is spread from one family to another, until

thousands who are well to-day will rot with smallpox and be devoured

by body lice before the end of August. Against the progress of these

two scourges there is, I believe, no check but the destruction of all

infected garments; hence the imperative necessity for something to

take their place. Excuse, sir, I pray you, the plain, ugly terms which

I have employed to express myself; the facts are plain and ugly.

How industrious she was in Paris and how bravely and cheerfully she did

her work is shown by two home letters which she sent out simultaneously

in September, one to her sister Sally and the other to Mrs. Bernard

Vassall, her long-time friend, Fannie Childs Vassall:

PARIS, Sept. 18, 1871

MY DEAR FANNIE:

I have forgotten if I really did send a line in Annie’s letter or

not. I know I wanted to, but since that I have received that precious

“gingerbread” letter from all the family, and I have read and re-read,

and spied into little corners to see some other welcome face peeping

out. It was so good of Willis and Ber to set their hands and seals.

Yes, I know all about receiving letters that call directly upon my

heart, and my desire to answer that hour, and a thousand times I have

said that _those_ were the very letters which were to lie longest

in neglect and likely enough never get answered at all. The fact is

I am over-anxious about them, and wait for a few moments of better

opportunity, feeling that I have much to say, and so I wait and

wait, _and these_ letters are the sore spot, the worrying sin of my

existence, _that_ little package which I cannot put by, but which lies

around, and looks me in the face on the most impossible of occasions,

and reproaches in silence, and comes late at night and early in the

morning to haunt, it may be to taunt, me a little; _that_ little

package is the plague of my life, and yet I prize it most of all and

couldn’t have done without it, but I can never quite dispose of it.

Oh, yes, yes, I do understand all you try so patiently to explain to

me, ONLY that I don’t think my poor scrap could ever have been one

of the class of letter which burden me, for I have no recollection

whatever of it, and seriously suspect it was only a little pile of

trash. It has been brave of you not to get sick in all summer with

all your work, and company and sickness besides, but I am so glad

that Sally was with you, and I suppose Vester was also, but it is not

mentioned where he was during his illness.

I am spending some fine days in Paris, just what I most desired.

I wanted to see some American people; it had been so long since I

had seen them--and indeed there is no lack of them here. All Paris

swarms with them, as I suppose it always does, and all grades. Some

I am proud of, and some I am ashamed of; some speak remarkably well,

and some cannot utter a proper sentence. Generally they are “well

dressed,” as the world goes, but to my eye “over-rigged,” as a sailor

would say, but always much better than the English, who are the most

fearful dressers in all Christendom. English women are solid and

sensible, learned and self-possessed, and all the world respects

them; but the art of selecting and putting clothes onto themselves

is something quite beyond their line of vision. Not that they do not

wear enough,--oh, Heavens, no, not that,--there is always enough and

to spare, but there is no calculation what portion or member of the

body corporate it will be found dangling from, and Joseph’s coat bore

no comparison. Still they are splendid women, and handsome, fifty

per cent more beautiful than the French. The French declare that the

Germans cannot dress in decent manner, but I have seen much good,

comfortable-looking dressing in Germany, and I rather liked it. I

don’t know _what_ has induced me to write so much upon the silly

matter of dress, unless that some of my “sisterin” abroad annoy me a

little with theirs.

I can see how busy Ber must be with his large family and congratulate

both him and his children upon the relationship. I imagine him to be

the most sensible and paternal of parents. I shall be only too glad

when you can really take your legitimate place in the work. I can see

an equal call for your services. Go and look after the _little girls_.

They may not like to tell all their troubles to their State Papa, but

would rejoice to reveal some things to a mamma. Go with Ber. I think

that is one of your “rights”--it is at least your privilege, and you

know it is very well said that “until women get their _rights_, they

must keep their _privileges_.” I also have something of a family in

Europe, _some_ hundreds of state children, but of my own _immediate_

family I have two delightful girls. They are as fully grown and

developed as my two boys in America were, rather more, and _about as

near alike_, but charming girls, both good as they can be, and be

human, live girls. One is all gentleness, the other all strength, but

both are so loving, so obedient, so true. The elder is Miss Antoinette

Margot. She is a thorough artist, and is with me at present, painting

and visiting the Louvre and the Luxembourg and comparing notes with

the Parisian painters. She is at this moment painting an American

flag, and looking back over her shoulder to ask me, “How many of the

red stripes must commence at the field?” and ends with “Mais il est

très joli.” Miss Anna Zimmermann is at her home in Carlsruhe looking

after the thousand wants of a clergyman’s house, keeping the big

brothers in order for the Universities they are plodding through;

obeying her papa and mamma, who tell her she is too “independent and

ambitious,” writing at odd moments as she can pick them, reading

Carlyle, Dickens, Goethe, Schiller, as she can steal the minutes,

pining that she must be held in just such bondage of body and soul,

praying for the day when she may come and live with me a little more,

and beginning a long, strong, logical letter once in a while with

“To the Devil with the housework! Why must I fritter away all the

best years of my own life and starve my brain to cram my brothers who

already have been taught twenty times more than they can apply?” And

she is right.

But my sheet will be full and I shall have said nothing at all. I

have just written your “Marm” and I think, perhaps, that will find its

way to you, and you must just have had a surfeit through Annie. I am

glad she went for a vacation. I wonder what they do at Falmouth. When

I am home, can’t we go? I am not at all certain where I shall pass the

winter; it may be I shall think I must work in France. I cannot tell

how they will present themselves by winter, or I may think it well to

quarter myself here in Paris and wait; and I have half a mind to go to

Spain. This is perhaps the most sensible use I could make of the time.

I must wait a little the turning of events. I can tell better after a

month more in the east of France. I am glad you have had a visit from

Georgie. It was nice of her to send me a line. Is not Alice with you

now? Has she turned to ashes?--very possible--human nature can as well

as wood or coal. Write me when you have time and don’t let Ber abuse

you.

Yours CLARA

To Ber--

I am first-rate, how are you? CLARA

For particulars see within.

After the terror and bloodshed of the Paris Commune, Miss Barton spent

some time in northern France, laboring as she had labored in Paris and

in Lyons; at Belfort, where she finished her work on October 27, and

went for a little time of rest to Carlsruhe, where she was the guest

of the Reverend Mr. Zimmermann, whose daughter had labored with her at

Strassburg. Antoinette Margot was there also, glad to turn from scenes

of desolation to her work of painting.

The middle of December she went forth again in bitter cold weather,

accompanied by Antoinette Margot, distributing relief to the poor at

Mülhausen, Belfort, and Montbéliard. She spent Christmas at Strassburg,

where she served a great Christmas dinner to some five hundred of her

old acquaintances, and then returned to Carlsruhe.

Activity agreed with Clara Barton. She rose to meet great emergencies.

When the crisis was passed, she felt the effect of so long a strain.

Again and again during her lifetime she carried an enterprise

completely through to the triumphant close, and when it was done

collapsed from nervous overstrain. Twice in America that collapse had

been indicated by the total failure of her voice. At the close of the

Franco-Prussian War she collapsed again. This time it was not her

voice, but her eyesight. Her eyes were inflamed by the strain and smoke

of the battle-fields. The nervous tension aggravated the discomfort of

which the inflamed eyes were, after all, only a symptom. For several

months in the winter and spring of 1872 she was at Carlsruhe in a state

of semi-blindness.

[Illustration: [_Facsimile_]

STRASSBURG DIPLOMA OF HONOR]

We have a little sidelight on Clara Barton’s work among the French

women in an undated letter from Belfort, almost certainly by Antoinette

Margot. An American woman in Paris had evidently asked her for some

account of the work of Clara Barton, and she had promised to write it.

The letter gives some intimate glimpses into the character of her work:

[October, 1871]

DEAR MADAM:

Faithful to the promise made to you one bright day in Paris more

than two months ago, I write. You remember that it was a kind of

clandestine pledge, made in low tones, that I would one time tell you

something of the doings of your compatriot, who has the “singular

habit, _for a woman_,” as the world would say, of doing something and

saying nothing.

From much observation, I am convinced that Clara Barton never makes

the least report of what she does, unless, for some cause, she

considers it to be absolutely indispensable, and then, in a form so

plain and business-like that one would read, and turn the paper,

little dreaming of all the sentiment, strength, heart, poetry, and

labor that lay hidden beneath that unpretending exterior.

It were too long to tell you of the few weeks in Paris, following

your departure. What, between the sympathies for the families of the

wretched prisoners of Versailles, and the outpouring Alsatians who

refuse to remain German, there was little rest for body or soul. Some

entire families had even followed from Strassburg, knowing that Miss

Barton went from there to Paris, and certain of relief if they should

find her there. They did find her, and now occupy good positions. One

is even placed for life in the civil service of the French Government

(if the Government shall last so long). But these things, done through

rain and storm, cost strength, and I was near to report to you a sick

list.

Happily, that is past, and my present hour must be applied to telling

you of Miss Barton’s work in a third general point of desolate France,

viz., the brave little town of Belfort, which has rendered its name

illustrious by the heroism of its defense. Here we are, facing the

high citadel and the famous cannon “Catharine” that twenty-five

thousand German bombs could not silence, and here day after day works

your countrywoman trying to overcome the greatest amount of misery

possible among so many.

The room in which she received her people has been tendered by

Monsieur l’Administrateur of the town, and is in his own mansion, and

himself and family are proving at every moment to your noble sister

how proud they are of having obtained this favor.

It is in this room that she stands from morning till night, smiling

and graceful as always, receiving family after family, and endeavoring

to learn by herself what are their circumstances, how deeply they have

suffered, to express to them her sympathy, and assist them with some

money. It is probable that many of these poor people in this land of

aristocracies have never listened to words so respectfully spoken,

and are often so overcome by this added kindness of manner extended

to them that the first answer which comes is a sob,--often no words

can come,--and trembling, blessing hands held out to her are all that

_can_ speak. But oh! how eloquently they speak!

They are very poor, these relics of an eight months’ siege. Some,

of course, have lost nothing in material by the war, having nothing

to lose but time and labor, but the larger portion have lost all or

nearly all they possessed, the fruit of forty or fifty years of hard

work, and remain homeless, hopeless, old, broken, dispirited, sick

since they have lived in cellars, and without the smallest prospect of

regaining their lost property. Do wars in Republics leave the people

as badly off, I wonder?

It is not a rare thing to see a poor woman come in with her garland

of six, seven, or eight handsome young children which she presents

with both pride and distress. One had even thirteen, and when asked

if all of them were still in her charge, she exclaimed, with the most

charming simplicity, “Oh! _no_, madame, _two_ are abroad; I have only

_eleven_ to work for.”

To-day, a tall, thinly clad woman entered, and presented her billet,

bearing the stamp of the mayor. “Have you children?” asked Miss Barton

kindly, as she took it. “Have I children?” exclaimed the woman in a

tone at once proud and pitiful. “_Dear_ child, if I haven’t. I have

ten.” Miss Barton turned away to her table, but a stolen glance at

her face a moment after detected something there glistening brighter

than the gold she dropped into that hard, dark hand. “Ah,” thought I,

as I hastened down the name as rapidly as possible,--“Ah, if only all

the world’s work were done with a little of the heart in it how much

nearer Heaven would seem!”

When it was decided that Miss Barton would accept the labor of herself

receiving the crowd of victims of the bombardment, the authorities of

the town, fearing for her, from the roughness of these people, who,

they said, would rush in all together, by all the doors and windows,

placed four policemen around the house to protect her against the

crowd. Two of them in turn have for their mission to open the only

door by which the solicitors are admitted. But never was I so amused

as to see Miss Barton _protecting her policemen_, and preventing these

rough men and shrill-toned women from crowding them against the wall.

When sometimes they are all in a quarrel, the policemen swearing like

two thunders according to the approved French manner of preserving

respect, she appears at the door, and in the most charming manner

prays them to wait a little and be quiet. Then the most piercing

voices become silent, the wildest men are ashamed of their noise. The

only visible motions are those nearest trying to hide themselves

behind others, and those in the distance raising themselves on tiptoe

to see “la bonne dame américaine.” As for the policemen, they are

perfectly puzzled, and could never have supposed that so gentle a

lady, who never scolds or swears, could hold in order so undisciplined

a crowd.

Often the work is interrupted for more agreeable reasons. Once it is

a deputation of the sisters of the civil hospital, in their snowy

bonnets, or some other charitable institutions of the town who want to

thank her for the gifts sent to their establishment. Another day it

is the mayor of the town, who desires to pay respects; another time

all the council, mercifully asking to be allowed to express to her

their gratitude in the name of Belfort and the county. All this as a

personal matter I hear always steadily repelled, and they are politely

requested to bear in mind that it is America and the goodly city of

Boston to whom, if to any, all thanks are due. But no one is so mad as

to expect to outdo a Frenchman in official politeness, and I observed

the president of the council, half bent, hat in hand, replying that

their three names would be always so united in their hearts that they

should never be able to hear the one without thinking of the others.

This is a region almost exclusively Catholic, and the ignorance of

the people is something deplorable. Each recipient is asked for a

signature, and the proportion who are able to make something beyond an

X is less than one in fifteen. Writing is an accomplishment generally

not to be thought of, especially by the women, but when one who has

attained so far is asked if she can give her signature, she replies,

with the assuming grace of a noble of the blood, “Certainement,

pourquoi pas?” But the common response is a burst of astonishment at

the bare supposition. “I write! Mon Dieu, how should I.” A difficulty,

by no means the smallest, is to find the kind of money to which these

poor people have been accustomed. The immense payments of France to

Germany all in silver and gold are fast making _coin_ among the things

that were. The bank-notes of France never having been small in value,

and used rather as a convenience for business than as a currency for

the people, the poor are mostly strangers to it, and when a note was

placed in their hands they waited, holding it a long time, and then

ventured to inquire timidly, if that was something that they could

get some money for, and where they should go to get it changed, and

how they should do it? It was useless to tell them its value; they

would have preferred ten francs in silver to twenty in paper. And,

indeed, as they could not read, it were perhaps better for them, as

one saw at once that they would be at the mercy of every swindler they

met. This would not do. All notes which had been given were recalled

and redeemed in coin, and it is certainly the occupation of one man

from morning till night to change paper into coin as fast as it is

required for distribution.

But it is impossible; the night is not long enough to tell all that

transpires during the day, and one must not attempt it. I only wish,

as I always do, that her own people could see their countrywoman at

work among European poor, as not one European has done. If they are

proud of her for what she has done at home, they would be prouder of

her in a tenfold greater degree for what she is doing abroad, never at

the best strength, in a strange country of foreign customs and divers

tongues.

_Pardon, s’il vous plaît_, my miserable English; you knew what it was

when you gave me leave to write you, and I can only thank you for the

kind indulgence.

Yours in sincerity

A.

Antoinette was not quite correct, however, concerning Clara Barton’s

reports. She made rather full reports to the organizations that

supplied her with funds. To Mr. Edmund Dwight, chairman of the Boston

Committee, under whose auspices she labored during the latter part of

her time in France, she wrote an extended letter, outlining in full her

method of work, and shows how sensibly and wisely she did all her work:

CHÂTEAU DE BELFORT

BELFORT, Oct. 28, 1871

DEAR MR. DWIGHT:

Sitting down to write you after one of the hardest day’s work one

might ever hope to find, you will not wonder if I am not dazzlingly

brilliant.

I should not select so inauspicious a moment but that I find your

letter has been waiting so long without getting to me, and that I

cannot rest until I have at least commenced a reply, even if I am not

able to finish it to-night. It had been stayed by my own orders. My

letters in France for a time went wrongly and some were lost, both for

and from me, for which the postal authorities are now busy searching,

and as the losing of letters is one of the things I cannot endure, I

ordered mine to be held at all points where they would arrive, until

I could arrange some safe place of reception. They have come to me at

Belfort, and I find yours which has waited a month.

I should have written upon leaving Paris in July if I had not thought

every day that I might get a line from either you or Mr. Moran,

telling me of the delivery or receipt of my large package of accounts,

from which I might draw some inference if my manner of doing things

were an acceptable one. After this, I grew so busy that I think I

forgot all but my work, or rather did not realize the length of time,

as it passed so quickly.

You ask for my views. They have been so many and so varied that it

would be impossible to tell them at one sitting, but I may say that my

sympathy and judgment have pointed, and my efforts been directed, to

three classes of sufferers, with two of which I have nearly finished,

and the third I am at this moment among with heart and hand.

1. These were, the families of the prisoners of Versailles, and the

ships of the Manche.

2. The families of Alsace and Lorraine, who, refusing to become

German, are passing over the lines into France by hundreds, even

thousands.

3. And thirdly, the region of Belfort.

The first-named of these are no longer confined to Paris, but are

scattered now, for some distance around, poor, suffering, frightened,

and trebly desolate.

First, they have often lost the family support in the person of the

prisoner; next, they wait in suspense worse than actual death for the

result of the impending trial, and fearing often to reveal to those

about them who they are, and why they are so destitute; and lastly,

poor as they are, they know that the Government allows but fifty

centimes a day for the use of each prisoner, and provides nothing

else, not even a bed, only straw, and whatever more he has (and many

are very ill) must be provided by the friends from outside. You will

see how the hungry mouths and wretched homes would be robbed by pity

and anxiety to supply this necessity.

I have made it a portion of my care to find and supply some of these

families; it can only be _some_, for there cannot be less than twenty

thousand of them. There are forty thousand prisoners.

The next in order, and a still more wretched class, if possible,

so far as extreme _homelessness_ and _nothingness_ can go, are

the outcoming Alsatians. The time has arrived for each to decide

individually which to become, and remaining to take the oath of

allegiance to Germany. In their ignorance and infatuation, they still

believe France to be the greatest nation of the earth, and, in spite

of her recent reverses, watch with unflinching faith to see her, at no

distant day, rise in all her old-time power and glory, and advance in

majesty to take back her lost possessions; and to them the thought is

death, that, in that proud day, second only to the Resurrection, they

and their sons must bend their necks to the Prussian helmet, and point

their guns against the Eagles of France. Impudent expressions touching

these points bring them into unpleasant relations with the German

soldiery still stationed among them, who probably do not hesitate to

mention unwelcome and unpalatable facts. This “last feather” is too

much, and, finding the burden too heavy to be borne, the incensed

father, or, too often, the widowed mother, gathers up the family of

growing children, and, turning the back upon the blackened walls and

trampled fields of the old home, makes the nearest point of the French

lines and comes out defiant, with never a penny or a morsel. The

French are glad to receive them, feel complimented by their loyalty,

but are burdened and embarrassed by them. Societies for their relief

are formed at many points, but it is only the merest trifle they can

do for them, excepting to aid in finding employment. This often takes

a long time, and the interim of waiting is something fearful. I found

them largely at Lyons, which is one of the points they make on their

way to the South of France, and Algiers. Again I found them at Paris,

where several thousands have come in, every train bringing them,

especially the night trains.

I have put in practice a lesson here which I learned in Germany

fourteen months ago, when infuriated France drove all her German

families over her lines; viz., to meet and provide for them at

the trains. No one can suppose for a moment that leaving Alsace

and Lorraine and coming into France is not the most unwise and

deplorable step these poor people could take; that they would not be a

hundred-fold better off to remain. But I did not understand that your

mission was to the _wise_, but to the _unhappy_, and I have taken the

liberty to give them something.

But while occupied with those and these, I had by no means forgotten

Belfort, or the fact that _this_ was to be the great point when

the right time should come. After leaving Paris, I met some very

intelligent and practical gentlemen from that vicinity and learned

of them many facts which have been of use to me, and always a

confirmation of what we had both thought, viz., that help would be

really more serviceable at the commencement of the cold weather than

in midsummer. Their crops were abundant, especially grass. This set

me to confer in Switzerland in reference to _cows_, and from these

inquiries I learned something of a plan most gratifying if it could be

realized, and I waited a little to see. This was in August, at which

time, as you know, nearly all the cattle are on the mountains. On the

9th of October (“Le jour de la Saint Denis”) they are returned to the

farms! There are then often too many for the winter and they can be

purchased at lower rates. This, then, would be the time to purchase.

But the good idea had entered into the minds of the Swiss to make a

collection of cattle at that time for all the vicinity of Belfort and

Montbéliard, or where the stock had been lost. They could do this

without sending money out of Switzerland, which they desired to avoid,

having already done so much of it. They carried out their plan, and

when the time arrived commenced sending, and are _still_ sending,

to this region nearly as much stock as it is thought they can keep

through the winter.

When I saw these things likely to succeed, I held a conference with

the authorities of Belfort, and asked them to tell me plainly what

their people most needed. They replied, “Small sums of money to

commence the winter with,” and gave this reason: There is just now

commencing a money panic in France. The large payments she must make

to Germany in gold and silver make these commodities exceedingly

scarce, and all who have a little bury it in their pockets and

bureaus, and hold it against the time when there will be no more and

paper worth little or nothing. The smallest note, as you know, is

twenty francs, a sum beyond the reach of a poor family, and thus there

is nothing for them in _money_. This state of things, they assured

me, would grow worse and worse, and, as France is only at her second

payment (I believe), there was no room to doubt the correctness of

their judgment. I asked how they would have it, in a sum to give to

the people _themselves_, or should _I_ give it? Apologizing for the

labor they were suggesting to me, they begged that I would do it if I

could, not that they were too indolent to do the work (for they are

splendid men, and have the welfare of their people at heart), but they

explained, that, living among and exercising jurisdiction over these

people, who looked to them for impossible things, it was embarrassing

to them to make distributions among them personally. The people were

ignorant, and all had suffered _so much_ that each one believed his

or her case to be the _worst in the world_. And they would be much

better satisfied with something from a stranger, which they would

receive as a _gift_, than with ten times the sum from the municipal

authorities, to whom they looked for “_indemnity_.” They seemed almost

ashamed to ask of me the labor of distribution, and offered all

possible assistance. For the town of Belfort and the nearest villages,

the Administrateur has made the same kind of arrangement as the Mayor

of Villette, and I am at this writing receiving at this house from

fifty to a hundred a day, hearing their story and giving to them the

proportion which seems best suited to their condition.

I shall go from point to point seeing and aiding _personally_ all

I can or until I am too tired to go farther, and after this, if

something remain unfinished, find the proper persons to do what I have

not done. Montbéliard, Haute Savoie, and Gex will be remembered as

you desired. Indeed, _is_ it necessary for me to say that I shall try

by all means in my power to carry out all suggestions which you have

made? Time and observation have shown them to have been _wise_ and

_good_. I have found nothing better, and only dare hope I may be able

to execute something nearly as well as you designed.

The money from Baring Bros. I have drawn through Paris, as far as I

thought well in the present state of things, and indeed more of it

than I have found convenient for the manner in which I was desired

to distribute it, and some I must take through Switzerland or Germany

to get the coin which will be useful to these people. The authorities

will aid me in all these things. I have so far rather gained than lost

in all exchanges.

I believe I have forgotten to speak of my visit to the Prefect of

Doubs, which was one of the most pleasant that could have been. I

found him to be an excellent man (who desired to be remembered to

you with great regard, regretting your illness). He seemed glad and

touched that I had found and regarded the families of Alsace and

Lorraine, and a little surprised that I should have “comprehended

their condition so quickly,” as he expressed it, as they are a rather

new feature in the chapter of French suffering, and he asked that, in

anything I might leave with Besançon, he be allowed to draw one half

of it from the “Comité de Secours” from time to time to aid these

families on their distressing arrivals and passages through the town.

I thank you very much for this pleasant and useful introduction.

I am unable, my dear friend, at the present moment to report further,

as I am just in the midst of my work; when it is a little over, I will

write again, and as soon as possible I will send you all explanations

and certificates and signatures which have come into my possession,

and tell you as well as I am able what I have done, and how it was

done.

With the highest esteem

I am very truly yours

CLARA BARTON

I cannot describe how painful and tiresome I find it to work _here_,

abroad, among these strangers, with _every thought and sympathy and

energy_ turning and rushing four thousand miles across the ocean to

our _own beautiful and ill-fated city_,[1] with its hundred thousand

homeless heads. At night I can realize this a little; in the morning

I think I have dreamed a bad dream. The facts will not remain _fixed_

with me.

A message has been sent from the _Court_ of _Baden_ to say that I am

desired there. This is the third time I have been asked in the last

two months, but was always too busy to go immediately, but now that I

am so near and the message made so direct, I must go. If I can finish

my work first I will; if not, I must leave it a little and return. I

have no idea what is wanted of me. I will send this enclosed to Baring

Bros.

Hastily

C. B.

This work continued for some time and there came no definite date which

could be accounted its termination. For this reason and because of the

condition of her health, the final report was not presented until after

her return to America. Then in a letter to Mr. Dwight, the chairman,

and Mr. Jackson, the secretary, Miss Barton sent her final accounting,

asking for its approval, on receipt of which she proposed to return the

balance in her hands. Her letter is as follows:

MESSRS. EDMUND DWIGHT and P. T. JACKSON

Boston

ESTEEMED FRIENDS:

It has long been a subject of deep regret to me that I have been

unable to make my report of the expenditure of certain sums of money

placed in my hands by you, as agents for the distribution of the

“French Relief Fund” sent by the city of Boston to the people of

France who had been rendered destitute by the war of 1870-71. My

apology for this long delay is physical illness, which overtook me

before the work of distribution was completed in 1872, and has, with

the exception of a few months, held me prostrate from that time until

the present, more than two thirds of the time unable to leave my bed,

and one year unable to transact the smallest item of my own business,

or even hear of it as done by others.

But all this time it has been a source of pain and unrest to me that

I could not close the account and make the proper returns to you;

and all the more so, as there is still a portion of the money which

I did not expend, and which I desire to return to you; and only He

who knows and comprehends all can know with what gratitude I welcome

the past few weeks of returning strength, which have enabled me to go

over the long undisturbed packages of letters, receipts, and vouchers

which have traveled with and remained by me all these weak and weary

years, and arrange them to be at last given up to you, who have waited

upon my silence with a gentlemanly kindness seldom met in the rough

business of life.

Although allowed the largest liberty in regard to the place and manner

of the distribution, I knew from you both that your preference lay

in the direction of the _east_ of France, and accordingly Belfort,

Montbéliard, Besançon, Savoie, and Strassburg became the scenes of

my labors: and, as you both know my manner was to give in small sums

to the needy in person, it only remains for me to repeat that I met

the poor of these districts by call, through the civil authorities

presiding over them, listened to each story of want and suffering,

and gave such a sum as assured by the authorities would be most

serviceable to them, and such as they themselves should have given if

left in their hands. I was always cautioned from this quarter against

making the sum too large, as the people had only the habit of small

sums, and were demoralized by too much at once. This, of course, both

increased and prolonged the labor of distribution.

I remember to have written you that among the most necessitous I

met were the outcoming Alsatians. An extract from a letter of mine,

written at Belfort, October, 1871, and kindly embodied in your report,

renders a further description of this class of sufferers unnecessary

in mine.

As these self-constituted exiles made their way largely into or

through the districts I was serving, the people were keenly alive to

the distress they witnessed, and humanely devised plans for relief.

The one most practicable to their minds was to form a colony of

Alsatians in the South of France and help them on to it. The climate

was genial and productive, the country not over-populated, and the

mayors and prefects besought me to withhold something for this

enterprise and aid them personally in the establishment of their

colony. I accordingly held back the money I had not expended, and went

to Paris to learn what aid would be rendered by influential persons

and the Government. But Paris was not so unsophisticated as the good

people of the desolated outskirts. She was wise, polite, and had other

aims. She immediately foresaw that these people, once broken up in

their homes and family ties, placed on the borders of the sea studded

with ships, would not withstand a pressure of poverty; but at the

first approach of want would emigrate a second time and to some other

country. Thus France would lose her soldiers, and she counted largely

on the exasperated Alsatians some day to fight for their homes, take

back their lost possessions, and the Rhine. Hence they not only

discouraged but forbade the step, and I had my appropriation left on

my hands. I went to Carlsruhe to deliberate and rest, was worn out,

and became ill, and from that time have never been able either to

apply the funds or (until now) arrange the papers showing how I had

disposed of what I had applied.

At the end of a year and a half of illness, I was able to figure up

what still is due you, which sum, if satisfactory to you, I shall be

happy to send you in a draft on my bankers.

Praying that, if upon examination all is not found to be satisfactory,

you will not hesitate to inform me, and thanking you for your kindness

and patience, I remain,

With the highest respect

Most truly yours

CLARA BARTON

NEW ENGLAND VILLAGE, MASS.

April 24, 1876

Accompanying this letter was a detailed statement of all moneys

received and expended, with vouchers for the disbursements. This

account was duly audited, and the committee discovered that Miss Barton

had deducted nothing for her own expenses, nor for any disbursements

excepting those for which she had sent vouchers. They therefore sent to

her the following letter:

MY DEAR MISS BARTON:

Mr. Dwight informed me sometime since that you have about eleven

hundred and thirty dollars, still on hand, of the money sent to you by

the Committee of the French Fair of which I was treasurer.

Your account shows that you have made no charge for your expenses, and

that you have charged us only with items for which you have vouchers,

taking no notice of the sums given where you were unable to take

receipts. If the account had been made up with all of these items

included, the balance would have been nearly or quite absorbed.

The Committee have, therefore, directed me to say that they consider

the account balanced, and request that you will accept this letter as

a receipt in full settlement of your account with them.

Thanking you for your services in this work of charity and hoping that

your health may soon be restored, I remain with great respect,

Yours very truly

(Signed) P. T. JACKSON

Treasurer French Fair

There still remained in the hands of the Boston committee a sum of

something more than three thousand dollars. The committee desired

to present this to Miss Barton, who had accepted no salary during

her period of work, and whose broken health they regarded as in a

large measure the result of her arduous efforts for the relief of the

stricken people of France. This was not acceptable to Miss Barton; she

did not want the money; she wrote that she was almost the last of her

family, with no dependents, and had neither use nor desire for money a

day beyond her life nor beyond the simple needs for which her present

income was sufficient. The committee, therefore, decided to give the

money remaining in their hands to the Massachusetts General Hospital

in Boston, with a provision that the interest should be paid to Clara

Barton during the term of her natural life. The hospital concurred in

this arrangement and faithfully carried out the trust. Clara Barton

received an annuity semi-annually on $3251, the amount which finally

was paid over to that institution. With this action the committee

placed upon record their high appreciation of her service in France.

60 STATE STREET, BOSTON

July 1st, 1876

DEAR MISS BARTON:

You will wonder at my long silence, but, owing to the absence of

gentlemen of the committee under whom I act, I have only been able to

obtain their signatures to-day.

The money in the hands of Messrs. Brown Brothers, including interest

on bonds to May first, is $4521, of which one quarter (or $1130)

belongs to Mr. Jackson’s fund. Of this I am directed to pay $150 to a

distressed family from Massachusetts, now in Boston. The balance (or

$3240) to pay to the Massachusetts General Hospital in trust, to pay

income arising from this money to you during your life; afterwards to

become the property of the Hospital.

In making this arrangement the committee desire to express to you

their high appreciation of your intelligence and self-sacrifice in

distributing the funds placed in your hands, and their great sympathy

with you in your long and painful illness, caused partly by the work

which you did in their behalf. They recognize the great accuracy

of your accounts, the large numbers of vouchers obtained by much

labor, and the scrupulous care with which you have guarded the money

entrusted to you. They wish you good health and a long life.

I need not tell you, dear Miss Barton, how cordially I join in all

good wishes for your health and happiness. May the Hospital pay your

annuity until the next Centennial.

Sincerely yours

(Signed) EDMUND DWIGHT

FOOTNOTES:

[1] This was written shortly after the disastrous Chicago fire.