THE RED CROSS OF GENEVA
A week after the runaway, the handsomest collar that could be bought in
town was fastened around Hero's neck. It had taken a long time to get
it, for Mr. Sherman went to many shops before he found material that he
considered good enough for the rescuer of his little daughter. Then the
jeweller had to keep it several days while he engraved an inscription on
the gold name-plate--an inscription that all who read might know what
happened on a certain July day in the old Swiss town of Geneva. On the
under side of the collar was a stout link like the one on his old one,
to which the flask could be fastened when he was harnessed for service,
and on the upper side, finely wrought in enamel, was a red cross on a
white square.
"Papa Jack!" exclaimed Lloyd, examining it with interest, "that is the
same design that is on his blanket and shouldah-bags. Why, it's just
like the Swiss flag!" she cried, looking out at the banner floating from
the pier. "Only the colors are turned around. The flag has a white cross
on a red ground, and this is a red cross on a white ground. Why did you
have it put on the collah, Papa Jack?"
"Because he is a Red Cross dog," answered her father.
"No, Papa Jack. Excuse me for contradictin', but the Majah said he was a
St. Bernard dog."
Mr. Sherman laughed, but before he could explain he was called to the
office to answer a telegram. When he returned Lloyd had disappeared to
find the Major, and ask about the symbol on the collar. She found him in
his favorite seat near the fountain, in the shady courtyard. Perching on
a bench near by with Hero for a foot-stool, she asked, "Majah, is Hero a
St. Bernard or a Red Cross dog?"
"He is both," answered the Major, smiling at her puzzled expression. "He
is the first because he belongs to that family of dogs, and he is the
second because he was adopted by the Red Cross Association, and trained
for its service. You know what that is, of course."
Still Lloyd looked puzzled. She shook her head. "No, I nevah heard of
it. Is it something Swiss or French?"
"Never heard of it!" repeated the Major. He spoke in such a surprised
tone that his voice sounded gruff and loud, and Lloyd almost jumped. The
harshness was so unexpected.
"Think again, child," he said, sternly. "Surely you have been told, at
least, of your brave countrywoman who is at the head of the organization
in America, who nursed not only the wounded of your own land, but
followed the Red Cross of mercy on many foreign battle-fields!"
"Oh, a hospital nurse!" said Lloyd, wrinkling her forehead and trying
to think. "Miss Alcott was one. Everybody knows about her, and her
'Hospital Sketches' are lovely."
"No! no!" exclaimed the Major, impatiently. Lloyd, feeling from his tone
that ignorance on this subject was something he could not excuse, tried
again.
"I've heard of Florence Nightingale. In one of my books at home, a
_Chatterbox_, I think, there is a picture of her going through a
hospital ward. Mothah told me how good she was to the soldiahs, and how
they loved her. They even kissed her shadow on the wall as she passed.
They were so grateful."
"Ah, yes," murmured the old man. "Florence Nightingale will live long in
song and story. An angel of mercy she was, through all the horrors of
the Crimean War; but she was an English woman, my dear. The one I mean
is an American, and her name ought to go down in history with the
bravest of its patriots and the most honored of its benefactors. I
learned to know her first in that long siege at Strasburg. She nursed me
there, and I have followed her career with grateful interest ever since,
noting with admiration all that she has done for her country and
humanity the world over.
"If America ever writes a woman's name in her temple of fame (I say it
with uncovered head), that one should be the name of _Clara Barton_."
The old soldier lifted his hat as he spoke, and replaced it so solemnly
that Lloyd felt very uncomfortable, as if she were in some way to blame
for not knowing and admiring this Red Cross nurse of whom she had never
heard. Her face flushed, and much embarrassed, she drew the toe of her
slipper along Hero's back, answering, in an abused tone:
"But, Majah, how could I be expected to know anything about her? There
is nothing in ou' school-books, and nobody told me, and Papa Jack won't
let me read the newspapahs, they're so full of horrible murdahs and
things. So how could I evah find out? I couldn't learn _everything_ in
twelve yeahs, and that's all the longah I've lived."
The Major laughed. "Forgive me, little one!" he cried, seeing the
distress and embarrassment in her face. "A thousand pardons! The fault
is not yours, but your country's, that it has not taught its children to
honor its benefactor as she deserves. I am glad that it has been given
to me to tell you the story of one of the most beautiful things that
ever happened in Switzerland--the founding of the Red Cross. You will
remember it with greater interest, I am sure, because, while I talk, the
cross of the Swiss flag floats over us, and it was here in this old town
of Geneva the merciful work had its beginning."
Lloyd settled herself to listen, still stroking Hero's back with her
slipper toe.
"He was my friend, Henri Durant, and in the old days of chivalry they
would have made him knight for the noble thought that sprang to flower
in his heart and to fruitage in so worthy a deed. He was travelling in
Italy years ago, and happening to be near the place where the battle of
Solferino was fought, he was so touched by the sufferings of the wounded
that he stopped to help care for them in the hospitals. The sights he
saw there were horrible. The wounded men could not be cared for
properly. They died by the hundreds, because there were not enough
nurses and surgeons and food.
"It moved him to write a book which was translated into several
languages. People of many countries became interested and were aroused
to a desire to do something to relieve the deadly consequences of war.
Then he called a meeting of all the nations of Europe. That was over
thirty years ago. Sixteen of the great powers sent men to represent
them. They met here in Geneva and signed a treaty. One by one other
countries followed their example, until now forty governments are
pledged to keep the promises of the Red Cross.
"They chose that as their flag in compliment to Switzerland, where the
movement was started. You see they are the same except that the colors
are reversed.
"Now, according to that treaty, wherever the Red Cross goes, on sea or
on land, it means peace and safety for the wounded soldiers. In the
midst of the bloodiest battle, no matter who is hurt, Turk or Russian,
Japanese or Spaniard, Armenian or Arab, he is bound to be protected and
cared for. No nurse, surgeon, or ambulance bearing that Red Cross can be
fired upon. They are allowed to pass wherever they are needed.
"Before the nations joined in that treaty, the worst horror of war was
the fate of a wounded soldier, falling into the hands of the enemy.
Better a thousand times to be killed in battle, than to be taken
prisoner. Think of being left, bleeding and faint, on an enemy's field
till your clothes _froze to the ground_, and no one merciful enough to
give you a crust of bread or a drop of water. Think of the dying piled
with the dead and left to the pitiless rays of a scorching, tropic sun.
That can never happen again, thank Heaven!
"In time of peace, money and supplies are gathered and stored by each
country, ready for use at the first signal of war. The empress became
the head of the branch in Germany. Soon after, the Franco-Prussian war
began, and then her only daughter, the Grand Duchess Louise of Baden,
turned all her beautiful castles into military hospitals, and went
herself to superintend the work of relief.
"Your country did not join with us at first. You were having your
terrible Civil War at home; the one in which your grandfather fought.
All this time Clara Barton was with the soldiers on their bloodiest
battle-fields. When you go home, ask your grandfather about the battles
of Bull Run and Antietam, Fredericksburg, and the Wilderness. She was
there. She stood the strain of nursing in sixteen such awful places,
going from cot to cot among the thousands of wounded, comforting the
dying, and dragging many a man back from the very grave by her untiring,
unselfish devotion.
"When the war was over, she spent four years searching for the soldiers
reported missing. Hundreds and hundreds of pitiful letters came to her,
giving name, regiment, and company of some son or husband or brother,
who had marched away to the wars and never returned. These names could
not be found among the lists of the killed. They were simply reported as
'missing'; whether dead or a deserter, no one could tell. She had spent
weeks at Andersonville the summer after the war, identifying and marking
the graves there. She marked over twelve thousand. So when these
letters came imploring her aid, she began the search, visiting the old
prisons, and trenches and hospitals, until she removed from twenty
thousand names the possible suspicion that the men who bore them had
been deserters.
"No wonder that she came to Europe completely broken down in health, so
exhausted by her long, severe labors that her physician told her she
must rest several years. But hardly was she settled here in Switzerland
when the Franco-Prussian war broke out, and the Red Cross sought her
aid, knowing how valuable her long experience in nursing would be to
them. She could not refuse their appeals, and once more started in the
wake of powder smoke, and cannon's roar.
"But I'll not start on that chapter of her life. I would not know where
to stop. It was there I met her, there she nursed me back to life; then
I learned to appreciate her devotion to the cause of humankind. This
second long siege against suffering made her an invalid for many years.
"The other nations wondered why America refused to join them in their
humane work. All other civilized countries were willing to lend a hand.
But Clara Barton knew that it was because the people were ignorant of
its real purpose that they did not join the alliance, and she promised
that she would devote the remainder of her life, if need be, to showing
America that as long as she refused to sign that treaty, she was
standing on a level with barbarous and heathen countries.
"For years she was too ill to push the work she had set for herself.
When her strength at last returned, she had to learn to walk. At last,
however, she succeeded. America signed the treaty. Then, through her
efforts, the American National Red Cross was organized. She was made
president of it. While no war, until lately, has called for its
services, the Red Cross has found plenty to do in times of great
national calamities. You have had terrible fires and floods, cyclones,
and scourges of yellow fever. Then too, it has taken relief to Turkey
and lately has found work in Cuba.
"I know that you would like to look into Miss Barton's jewel-box. Old
Emperor William himself gave her the Iron Cross of Prussia. The Grand
Duke and Duchess of Baden sent her the Gold Cross of Remembrance. Medals
and decorations from many sovereigns are there--the Queen of Servia, the
Sultan of Turkey, the Prince of Armenia. Never has any American woman
been so loved and honored abroad, and never has an American woman been
more worthy of respect at home. It must be a great joy to her now, as
she sits in the evening of life, to count her jewels of remembrance, and
feel that she has done so much to win the gratitude of her fellow
creatures.
"You came to visit Switzerland because it is the home of many heroes;
but let me tell you, my child, this little republic has more to show
the world than its William Tell chapels and its Lion of Lucerne. As long
as the old town of Geneva stands, the world will not forget that here
was given a universal banner of peace, and here was signed its greatest
treaty--the treaty of the Red Cross."
As the Major stopped, the Little Colonel looked up at the white cross
floating above the pier, and then down at the red one on Hero's collar,
and drew a long breath.
"I wish I could do something like that!" she exclaimed, earnestly. "I
used to wish that I could go out like Joan of Arc to do some great thing
that would make people write books about me, and carve me on statues,
and paint pictures and sing songs in my honah, but I believe that now
I'd rathah do something bettah than ride off to battle on a prancin'
white chargah. Thank you, Majah, for tellin' me the story. I'm goin' for
a walk now. May I take Hero?"
A few minutes later the two were wandering along beside the water
together, the Little Colonel dreaming day-dreams of valiant deeds that
she might do some day, so that kings would send _her_ a Gold Cross of
Remembrance, and men would say with uncovered heads, as the old Major
had done, "If America ever writes a woman's name in her temple of fame,
that one should be the name of Lloyd Sherman--_The Little Colonel_!"
* * * * *
[Illustration: "THE TWO WERE WANDERING ALONG BESIDE THE WATER
TOGETHER"]
When the time came for the Shermans to move on, the Major was their
travelling companion. But at Zug, several weeks later, it was necessary
for him to stop and send for his niece to accompany him to a hospital at
Zürich. He had been caught in a sudden storm on the mountainside and
struck by a limb of a falling tree. If Hero had not led a party of
rescuers to him from the hotel he would have died before morning, but
they were in time to save him.
Several lonely days followed for the Little Colonel. Either her father
or mother was constantly with the Major, sometimes both.
It greatly worried the old man that he should be the cause of
disarranging their plans and delaying their journey. He urged them to
go on and leave him, but they would not consent. Sometimes the Little
Colonel slipped into the room with a bunch of Alpine roses or a cluster
of edelweiss that she had bought from some peasant. Sometimes she sat
beside him for a few minutes, but most of her time was spent with Hero,
wandering up and down beside the lake, feeding the swans or watching the
little steamboats come and go.
One evening, just at sunset, the Major sent for her. "I go to Zürich in
the morning," he said, holding out his hand as she came into the room.
"I wanted to say good-bye while I have the time and strength. We expect
to leave very early to-morrow, probably before you are awake."
His couch was drawn up by the window through which the shimmering lake
shone in the sunset like rosy mother-of-pearl. Far up the mountain
sounded the faint tinkling of goat-bells, and the clear, sweet yodelling
of a peasant, on his homeward way. At intervals, the deep tolling of the
bell of St. Oswald floated out across the water.
"When the snow falls," he said, after a long pause, "I shall be far away
from here. They tell me that at the hospital where I am going, I shall
find a cure. But I know." He pointed to an hour-glass on the table
beside him. "See! the sand has nearly run its course. The hour will soon
be done. It is so with me. I have felt it for a long time."
Lloyd looked up, startled. He went on slowly.
"I cannot take Hero with me to the hospital, so I shall leave him behind
with some one who will care for him and love him, perhaps even better
than I have done." He held out his hand to the dog.
"Come, Hero, my dear old comrade, come bid thy master farewell."
Fumbling under his pillow as he spoke, he took out a small leather case,
and, opening it, held up a medal. It was the medal that had been given
him for bravery on the field of battle.
[Illustration: "HE FASTENED THE MEDAL TO HERO'S COLLAR"]
"It is my one treasure!" murmured the old soldier, turning it fondly, as
it lay in his palm. "I have no family to whom I can leave it as an
heirloom, but thou hast twice earned the right to wear it. I have no
fear but that thou wilt always be true to the Red Cross and thy name of
Hero, so thou shalt wear thy country's medal to thy grave."
He fastened the medal to Hero's collar, then, with the dog's great head
pressed fondly against him, he began talking to him in the speech Lloyd
could not understand, but the sight of the gray-haired old soldier
taking his last leave of his faithful friend brought the tears to her
eyes.
Then he called her to him and said that because she was like his little
Christine, he knew that she would be good to Hero, and he asked her to
take him back to America with her. She promised that she would. Then he
put Hero's paw in her hand, and said, "Hero, I give thee to thy little
mistress. Protect and guard her always, as she will love and care for
thee."
* * * * *