windows, though the men grumble and shiver; but the air is bad enough
to breed a pestilence. Poke up the fire, add blankets, joke, coax,
command; but continue to open doors and windows as if life depended
upon it.
Till noon I trot, trot, giving out rations, cutting up food for
helpless boys, washing faces, teaching my attendants how beds are
made, or floors are swept, dressing wounds, dusting tables, sewing
bandages, keeping my tray tidy, rushing up and down after pillows,
bed-linen, sponges, books, and directions till it seems I would
joyfully pay all I possess for fifteen minutes' rest.
When dinner is over, some sleep, many read, and others want letters
written. This I like to do, for they put in such odd things. The
answering of letters from friends after some one has died is the
saddest and hardest duty a nurse has to do.
After six weeks of nursing Miss Alcott fell seriously ill with
typhoid-pneumonia.
As she refused to leave her duties, a friend sent word of her condition
to her father, who came to the hospital and took her back with him
to Concord. It was months before she recovered sufficiently even to
continue her literary work, and never again was she robust in health.
She writes: "I was never ill before I went to the hospital, and I have
never been well since."
Her letters written home while she was nursing in Georgetown contained
very graphic and accurate descriptions of hospital life. At the
suggestion of her mother and sisters, Miss Alcott revised and added to
these letters, making a book which she called _Hospital Sketches_.
This book met with instant success, and a part of the success was money.
After that, all was easy. There came requests from magazine editors
offering from two to three hundred dollars for serials. Her place in
the literary field being now an assured thing, her natural fondness for
children led her to writing for them.
The series comprising _Little Women_, _Jo's Boys_, and _Little Men_;
together with _An Old Fashioned Girl_, _Eight Cousins_, _Rose in
Bloom_, _Under the Lilacs_, _Jack and Jill_, and many others, are books
dear to the hearts of all children. Editions of all these books were
published in England, and in several other European countries where
translations had been made of them,—all of which brought in large
royalties for the author.
What happiness it must have given her to make her family independent,
and to be able to travel! Twice she visited Europe, the first time as
companion to an invalid woman, and a second time, after she had earned
enough to pay her own expenses.
Miss Alcott never married. When about twenty-five years of age, an
offer of marriage came to her which most young women would have
considered very flattering. But she did not love her suitor, and on
her mother's advice, refused him, thus being saved from that worst of
conditions—a loveless union.
This first offer was not the last Miss Alcott received and declined.
Matrimony, she said, had no charms for her! She loved her family, and
her literary work. Above all, she loved her freedom. Her health was not
benefited by her second trip to Europe; excessive work had been too
great a strain upon her, and her father's failing health demanded her
constant care.
In 1877 Mrs. Alcott died, and in the autumn of 1882 Mr. Alcott had a
stroke of paralysis. From this he never fully recovered. Louisa was his
constant nurse, and it gave her great happiness to be able to gratify
his every wish. About this time Orchard House, which had been the
family home for twenty-five years, was sold, and the family went to
live with Mrs. Pratt, the eldest daughter.
Hoping that an entire change of air and scene might help her father,
Miss Alcott rented a fine house in Louisburg Square, Boston, to which
she had him removed. Here she showed him every attention, until her own
health became so impaired that she was obliged to go to the home of Dr.
Lawrence, at Roxbury, for medical care.
A few days before her death, she was taken to see her dying father.
Shortly after her visit he passed away, and three days later she
followed him. Born on her father's birthday, she died on the day he was
buried, March 6, 1888.
All her life Louisa Alcott labored to make others happy, and she is
still reaping her harvest of love the world over.
[Illustration: FRANCES WILLARD]
FRANCES E. WILLARD
(1839-1898)
"There is a woman at the beginning of all great things."
—_Alphonse de Lamartine_
It was not until 1873 that the vast amount of drunkenness in our
country attracted the attention of the women of America.
A crusade was formed against it in the West, and this led in 1874 to
the foundation of the Women's Christian Temperance Union. Frances
Elizabeth Willard was offered the position of president, an honor she
then declined, preferring to work in the ranks; but four years later
she yielded to the universal demand, and accepted the chairmanship of
this great movement.
This able woman was born at Churchville, very near Rochester, N. Y.,
on September 28, 1839. Her father, of English descent, was a man of
intellectual force, brave, God-fearing; her mother, a woman of strong
religious feeling, great courage, and of fine mental equipment. Frances
inherited the best qualities of both parents. When she was two years
of age, the family removed to Oberlin, Ohio, and about five years later
to Janesville, Wisconsin, then almost a wilderness. Here they lived
the simple, hard life of pioneers. Frances was at first taught by her
mother and a governess; afterward, she and her younger sister entered
the Northwestern College at Evanston, from which Frances was graduated.
Mr. Willard removed to Evanston in order to be near his daughters while
they were in college, and in 1858 built a house there. Here the younger
daughter died, and later Mr. Willard, but Frances and her mother
continued to make it their home, even after the death of the only son.
Frances named it Rest Cottage, and here she returned each year of her
busy life to spend two months with the mother whom she had christened
St. Courageous.
Idleness was an impossibility for Frances Willard. After her graduation
she taught in a little district school, and from 1858 until 1868
continued the work of teaching in various schools and colleges. In 1868
she went to Europe and spent two years in travel and study. Upon her
return she was elected President of the Evanston College for Women,
being the first woman in the world to hold such a position. Two years
later, when the college became a part of the Northwestern University,
Miss Willard became Dean of the Women's College, but as some of her
views conflicted with those of the President, she soon resigned the
position.
It was about this time that the women of Ohio began fighting the liquor
traffic. To use Mrs. Livermore's words, "Frances Willard caught the
spirit of the Woman's Crusade and believed herself called of God to
take up the temperance cause as her life work."
Every one, even her mother, opposed her, but feeling herself called to
the work she gave to it all her energies of heart and soul.
When Miss Willard became President of the Women's Christian Temperance
Union in 1879, the yearly income of the Union was only twelve hundred
dollars. The movement was too new and too strange to command much
understanding or sympathy from the public; the work, so far, had been
done without system. Frances Willard at once began to put the machinery
in order: she organized bodies of workers and lecturers; she instituted
relief work and educative centers; and the numbers of these she
constantly increased.
Perhaps Miss Willard's greatest moral asset was the power of winning
followers. Many, many women rallied enthusiastically to her support and
helped her to carry out her plans. To zeal and intelligence she added
charming manners and eloquence. As a leader her ability was marvelous.
Love came to her from all sides because love went out from her to
everybody.
Her own love of the work was so great that for years she labored
without a salary, for the Union had hard struggles to live even after
Miss Willard undertook the leadership of it. But with or without
salary, never did she spare herself.
It is said that during the first two years of her work she delivered
on an average one speech a day on temperance and other reforms.
She visited every town in the United States of over ten thousand
inhabitants and most of those above five thousand.
The next step in Miss Willard's progress was a very great one; no less
a thing than the organization of a World's Women's Christian Temperance
Union! Yes, this courageous and enterprising woman actually planned to
carry her crusade against strong drink into every corner of the globe.
At the Columbian Exposition in Chicago in 1893 she was chosen Chairman
of the World's Temperance Convention.
Meanwhile, Lady Henry Somerset, a charming and brilliant Englishwoman
who had been working in her own country to secure the same reforms Miss
Willard was pushing forward in America, came to this country. It was
her first visit—made, she said, less to see America than to see Miss
Willard, and learn from her the principle upon which she had founded
the marvelous organization.
These two noble women became devoted friends, and when, in the autumn
of 1892, Lady Henry again came to America to attend a National
Convention at Denver, she persuaded Miss Willard to return with her
to England. Our great temperance leader had a fine reception from the
English people, and won all hearts by her gentleness and earnestness,
as well as by her remarkable gift of oratory.
Four years after this, the World's Women's Christian Temperance Union
held a Convention in London. Every country in the civilized world sent
delegates to this meeting, over which Miss Willard and Lady Somerset
presided. These indefatigable world-workers had secured a petition of
seven million names. It encircled the entire hall of the Convention,
and besides lay in large rolls on the platform. This petition asked
of all governments to have the sale of intoxicating liquors and of
opium restricted. But, in spite of the seven million signatures and an
enormous enthusiasm, the sale of liquors and drugs went on as before.
Yet something was accomplished: a great increase of sympathy in public
opinion.
In addition to all these activities Miss Willard was much engaged in
literary work. She acted as editor on various papers and magazines;
also she wrote several books, _Nineteen Beautiful Years_, _Glimpses of
Fifty Years_, _Woman and Temperance_, being the best known.
When the White Cross and White Shield movements for the promotion of
social purity were formed, Miss Willard, as leader, did a glorious
work. Under the white flag of the Women's Christian Temperance Union
with its famous motto, _For God, for Home and Native Land_, she brought
together, to work as sisters, the women of the South and the North.
Miss Willard was always dignified, earnest, and inspiring, but when
talking on the subject so dear to her heart she grew eloquent. As a
presiding officer, justice, tact, grace, and quick repartee made her
the ideal platform speaker, though, perhaps, courage may be called her
chief characteristic.
In later years, although suffering from ill health, she yet kept
cheerfully at work and actually presided over the Convention of 1897.
This, however, proved too great a strain, and on February 18, 1898, at
the Empire Hotel, New York City, she died. Her body died, but her soul
"goes marching on."
[Illustration: MARTHA WASHINGTON]
WOMEN IN PIONEER LIFE AND ON THE BATTLE-FIELD
"If we wish to know the political and moral condition of a State, we
must ask what rank women hold in it. Their influence embraces the
whole of life."
—_Aimé Martin_
The first foot that pressed Plymouth Rock was that of Mary Chilton, a
fair and delicate maiden, and there followed her eighteen women who
had accompanied their husbands on the Mayflower to the bleak, unknown
shore of Massachusetts. Truly the "spindle side" of the Puritan stock
deserves great admiration and respect.
These women came from a civilized land to a savage one; from homes of
plenty, where they had been carefully guarded and tended, to a place
where their lives could be only danger, toil and privation. Often they
were obliged to pound corn for their bread, and many were the times,
their husbands being away fighting the Indians, when they gathered
their children together, panic-stricken by the war whoops that rang out
from the wilderness near by. Little wonder that four of these eighteen
women died during the first winter, killed by cold, hunger, and mental
anguish!
The early European settlers of America, both men and women, were of
a truly heroic breed. It was spiritual as well as bodily courage
they displayed—suffering as they did for a religious principle. The
women often performed the duties of men, even planting the crops in
their husbands' absence, and frequently using firearms to guard their
children and their homes. Shoulder to shoulder with the men these women
worked, and from the struggle was evolved a new type—the woman of
1776, without whose assistance the Revolutionary War could scarcely
have succeeded.
One of these women, who might have lived in luxury, aloof from
scenes of suffering, had she so wished, stands out prominently. This
was Martha Washington, the wife of the Commander-in-Chief of the
Continental Army, who gathered the wives of the officers around her
at Valley Forge, during the severe winter of 1777-78, and with them
undertook the work of relieving the needs of the soldiers. Under
her leadership the women gave up their embroidery, spinnet playing,
and other light accomplishments, and knitted stockings and mittens,
of which hundreds of pairs were distributed. We may regard her as
the pioneer in a form of work which later developed into Sanitary
Commissions and the great organization of the Red Cross.
A different type of woman was Moll Pitcher. She showed her courage
in quite another way. She was the wife of John Hayes, a gunner. At
that time, a few married women, who found it easier to stand the
fearful strain of battle than to remain at home in suspense, waiting
for news of it, were allowed to accompany their husbands to the
battle-field,—not to fight—oh, no, but to wash, and mend, and cook
for the men. Moll was one of these.
During the Battle of Monmouth, _Moll o' the Pitcher_, as she was
called, because of the stone pitcher she used in carrying water to the
soldiers, was engaged in her usual work when she saw her husband fall
by the side of his gun. Running to him, she helped him to a place of
safety; then, at his request, she returned to his gun. The commander
was just about to have it taken from the field, but as Moll offered
her services, he allowed it to remain. She managed it so well that the
report of her prowess spread, even to the ears of General Washington.
The General called upon her to thank her, and the Continental Congress
gave her a sergeant's commission and half-pay for life. "Captain
Mollie," done with military service, took her wounded husband home and
nursed him, but he died of his wounds before the war closed.
[Illustration: MOLLY PITCHER]
Lydia Darrah, a Quakeress of Philadelphia, by her quick wit and courage
saved General Washington's army from capture at Whitemarsh after the
defeat at Germantown. During the winter of 1777 the British commander,
General Howe, had his headquarters in Second Street. Directly opposite
dwelt William and Lydia Darrah, strict Quakers whose religion debarred
them from taking sides in the war. Because of this, perhaps, the
British officers considered their home a safe place for private
meetings, a large, rear room in the house being frequently used for
conferences with the staff-officers.
One evening, the Adjutant General told Lydia that they would be there
until late, but that he wished the family to retire early, adding that,
when the conference was over he would call her to let them out and put
out the lights. Lydia obeyed, but could not sleep. Her intuition told
her that something of importance to Washington was being discussed. Try
as she might to be neutral, as a Quaker should, her sympathies were
with the great General.
At last she slipped from her bed, crept to the door of the
meeting-room, and listened at the keyhole. She heard an order read
for all British troops to march out on the evening of December fourth
to capture Washington's army, which was then encamped at Whitemarsh.
Frightened and excited, she returned to her room.
Not long after, the officer knocked at her door, but she pretended to
be asleep and did not answer. As the knocking continued, she finally
opened the door and sleepily returned the officer's good night. Then
she locked up the house and put out the lights, but spent the remainder
of the night in thinking over what she should do. Early next morning
she told her husband that their flour was all gone and she would have
to go to the mill at Franklin, five miles away, to get more.
She presented herself at the British headquarters bright and early,
asking permission to pass through the lines on a domestic errand.
Permission was granted, and she started for Franklin. She did not stop
there, however, but leaving her bag to be filled ready for her upon her
return, she continued walking until she reached the American outposts.
Asking that she might speak to an officer, she told what she had
heard, begging that she might not be betrayed. Then she hastened back
to the mill, secured her bag of flour and returned home as if nothing
had happened.
And so it came about that, when the British reached Whitemarsh, they
found the American Army, which they had planned to surprise, drawn up
in line awaiting battle. No battle took place; but the British returned
to Philadelphia, and there tried to find out who had betrayed their
plans. Lydia Darrah was called up and questioned. She said that the
members of her family were all in bed at eight o'clock on the night of
the conference.
"It is strange," said the officer; "I know that you were sound asleep,
for I had to knock several times to awaken you."
So the matter was dropped, and nobody knows to this day whether the
British ever learned the truth or not.
The story of Emily Geiger's bravery has been told in prose and poetry
many times. It became necessary for General Green to get reinforcements
from General Sumter. The latter was about fifty miles away, and the
country between them was overrun with British soldiers. When Emily
heard that General Green needed a messenger for the dangerous journey,
she immediately offered her services. Well she knew that discovery
would mean being hanged for a spy, but the risk did not appal her.
Rather unwillingly the General consented to her entreaties, and
entrusted the letter to her, telling her its contents in case it should
by any chance get lost. A woman, he said, _might_ run a chance of
getting past the British soldiers when a man would surely fail.
"I have a fleet horse," said Emily, "which I broke and trained myself;
I know the country and I am sure I can get through." She dashed away,
but was captured on the second day and imprisoned in a room of an old
farm-house.
As soon as she was alone, she tore the letter up, and chewed and
swallowed the pieces. This was done none too soon, for immediately
afterward, a woman entered and Emily had to submit to being searched.
Nothing of a suspicious nature being found upon her, the British
allowed her to go on. Before sundown Emily reached General Sumter's
camp and delivered the message. As a result, after a hard fought battle
at Eutaw Springs, the British were defeated by General Green. Emily
Geiger married happily and lived to a good old age. Long should she be
remembered for her courage and patriotism.
It is certain that at least one woman enlisted in the Continental
Army and fought as a soldier in the Revolutionary War. This woman
was Deborah Samson, the daughter of poor parents of Plymouth County,
Massachusetts. She was but twenty-two years of age when she left home,
adopted male attire, and enlisted under the name of Robert Shirtliffe.
A flaxen-haired girl was Deborah, with blue eyes and rosy cheeks; she
was not pretty, although as a man she might have passed for handsome.
Accustomed from childhood to do farm work, she had acquired the vigor
and strength that enabled her to perform the trying duties of military
life. Deborah saw something of real war. At White Plains she received
two bullet holes in her coat and one in her cap; at Yorktown she went
through a severe fight but came out unhurt. Once she was shot in the
thigh, but fear of discovery exceeded the pain of the wound, and she
refused to go to the hospital. Later she fell ill of brain fever, and
in the hospital her sex was discovered by the doctor. He did not betray
her, but as soon as her health permitted he had her removed to his own
house, where he gave her every care.
When her health was restored, the physician had a conference with the
Commander of the Regiment to which "Robert" belonged. Soon there
followed an order to the young man to carry a letter to Washington.
Our young soldier felt very uneasy, but a soldier must obey. In due
time, she appeared before General Washington. With great delicacy the
General said not a word to her regarding the letter she had brought,
but handed one, Robert Shirtliffe, a discharge from the army, and a
note containing a few words of advice, with sufficient money to pay her
expenses until she could find a home.
Deborah then resumed woman's attire and returned to her family. At
the close of the war she married Benjamin Gannet of Sharon. While
Washington was President, he invited Deborah to visit the capital. She
accepted, and during her stay there Congress passed a bill granting her
a pension for the services she had rendered the country.
It has been stated, and is doubtless true, that many women, disguised
as men, enlisted during the Civil War and served as soldiers. Others
followed the army as nurses, fighting when it became necessary. Many
of these women went because they could not bear the separation from
their husbands. A notable example of this class was Madame Turchin,
wife of the Colonel of the Nineteenth Illinois. She was the daughter
of a Russian officer and had always lived in foreign camps with her
father. During the War of the Rebellion, she accompanied her husband to
the battle-field and became a great favorite with the soldiers under
his command. To her the men went when they were ill or in any trouble,
knowing they would always meet with sympathy, and when necessary would
be given careful nursing.
Upon one occasion, when the regiment was actively engaged in Tennessee,
Col. Turchin fell ill, having to be carried for several days in an
ambulance. His wife took the most tender care of him, and also assumed
his place at the head of the regiment, even leading the troops into
action. Officers and men in the ranks alike obeyed her, for her courage
and skill equaled those of her husband. Without faltering she faced
the hottest fire. When her husband recovered and again took command,
she retired to the rear and resumed the work of nursing the sick and
wounded.
Like Madame Turchin, Mrs. Kady Brownell had been accustomed to camp
life, her father having been a soldier in the British Army. She married
an officer of the Fifth Rhode Island Infantry and accompanied him to
the front. She bore the regimental colors and marched with the men,
asking no favors and standing the brunt of battle fearlessly. A fine
shot was Mrs. Kady Brownell, also an expert in the use of the sword.
She was in General Burnside's expedition to Roanoke Island and Newburn.
There her husband was so seriously wounded that he was judged unfit
for further service and given his discharge. Mrs. Brownell asked for a
discharge likewise, and together they retired to private life.