CLARA BARTON
1821-1912
Clarissa Harlowe Barton was born on December twenty-fifth, in an old
farmhouse in Worcester County, Massachusetts. Her grandfather had
fought through the Revolution, her father in Mad Anthony Wayne’s
campaigns against the Indians. Clara listened to many a stirring story
of the dangers they had met. As they fought their battles over again,
she learned her country’s history and loved it passionately.
The older Barton children were her teachers and very rapidly indeed she
learned. For she went to school at three, able to spell words of three
syllables, but so shy she could not answer questions. Her athletic
brother David, whom she admired greatly, taught her to ride.
“Learning to ride is just learning a horse!” said he.
“How can I learn a horse?” asked the little sister.
“Just feel the horse a part of yourself, the big half for the time
being. Here, hold fast by the mane,” and David lifted her up to a
colt’s back, sprang on another himself and away they galloped down the
pasture--a mad ride which they repeated often, till she learned to
stick on. In after years when she rode strange horses in a trooper’s
saddle, for all-night gallops to safety, she was grateful to David for
those wild rides among the colts.
Strong in body, alert in mind, Clara Barton grew up, never free from
shyness unless she was busily at work. “The only real fun is doing
things,” she would say. She helped milk and churn, she learned to drive
a nail straight, to deal with a situation efficiently, with quick
decision.
When she was eleven David was seriously injured by a fall from the
roof of a new barn, and was for two years an invalid. At once Clara
took charge, her love and sympathy expressed in untiring service. In a
moment she was changed from a lively child, fond of outdoor sports, to
a nurse calm and cheerful, full of resources, no matter how exacting
the doctors’ orders were, no matter how much David was suffering. The
sickroom was tidy and quiet. Clara was clear-headed, equal to every
emergency, always at her post, nothing too hard for her to do well and
promptly, if it would make her brother more comfortable. For those two
years she had not even one half-holiday, so her apprenticeship was
thoroughly served.
“That child’s a born nurse,” the neighbors would say. And the doctors,
agreeing, praised her tenderness and patience. Years later thousands of
men echoed David’s words when he spoke of her loving care.
But these two years made her more sensitive and self-conscious. Her
shyness and unhappiness made her a real problem to her mother.
“Give her some responsibility,” advised a wise family friend, “give her
a school to teach. For others she will be fearless.”
Far ahead of girls of her age in her studies, at fifteen Clara Barton
put up her hair and lengthened her skirts and went to face her forty
pupils. “It was one of the most awful moments of my life,” she
described it long afterward. “I could not find my voice, my hand
trembled so I was afraid to turn the page. But the end of that first
day proved I could do it.”
Her pluck and strength won the respect of the big rough boys, who tried
her out on the playground and found she was as sturdy as they. That
school was a great success, and for sixteen years she taught, winter
and summer.
In Bordentown, New Jersey, no school was possible, she heard, because
of the lawless children who ran wild on the streets. The town officials
were convinced it was hopeless, no use to make the experiment. Here was
something to be done, it challenged her!
“Give me three months, and I’ll teach for nothing,” she proposed, her
eyes flashing with determination.
In a tumbledown old building she began with six gamins, each of whom
at the end of the day became an enthusiastic advertisement for the new
teacher. At the close of the school year she had an assistant, six
hundred children on the roll, and a fine new building was erected, the
first public school in the state. For Clara Barton had a gift for
teaching, plus a pioneer zeal.
When her voice gave out she went to Washington for a rest and secured
a position in the patent office. So she was at the capital when the
conflict long threatening between North and South developed into civil
war. Sumter was fired on. The time for sacrifice had come.
In response to Lincoln’s call for volunteers Massachusetts sent men
immediately, and on the historic nineteenth of April one regiment was
attacked in the streets of Baltimore by a furious mob. With a good many
wounded their train finally reached Washington and was met by a number
of sympathetic women, Clara Barton among them. In the group of injured
soldiers she recognized some of her old pupils and friends. At the
infirmary she helped dress their wounds. Nothing was ready for such an
emergency. Handkerchiefs gave out. Women rushed to their homes and tore
up sheets for bandages. This was Clara Barton’s first experience in
caring for wounded soldiers.
She wanted them to have the necessities, and all the comforts
possible. So she put an advertisement in a Worcester paper, asking
for supplies and money for the wounded men of the sixth regiment,
and stating that she would receive and give out whatever was sent.
Overwhelming was the response of Massachusetts. The food and clothing
filled her apartment to overflowing and she had to rent space in a
warehouse.
This work made a new person of the shy Clara Barton who had been a
bundle of fears. This was no time to be self-conscious. Here was a
great need, and she knew that she had the ability to meet it.
South of Washington battles were going on. Transports left each day
with provisions for the army of the Potomac, returning with a load of
wounded soldiers. Clara Barton went to the docks to meet them. She
moved about, bandaging here, giving medicine there, feeding those weak
from the long fighting and lack of nourishment, writing letters home,
sick at heart when she saw men who had lain on the damp ground for
hours, whose fever had set in, for whom her restoratives and dressings
and tender care were too late.
If only wounds could be attended to as soon as the soldiers fell in
battle, she knew that hundreds of deaths could be prevented. She must
go to the front, to the very firing line, though it was against all
tradition, against all army regulations, against public sentiment. For
many weeks she met only rebuffs and refusals, always the same reply:
“No, the battle-field is no place for a woman. It is full of danger!”
True--but how great was the need of the men at the front, how great the
need of each soldier’s life for the nation! Help must be brought to
them when they fell. She laid her plan before her father who said, “If
you believe that it is your duty, you must go to the front. You need
not fear harm. Every true soldier will respect and bless you.”
Without a doubt then she determined to persist until she
received permission. At last she was able to put her request to
Assistant-Quartermaster General Rucker and asked him for a pass to the
battle front.
“I have the stores, give me a way to reach the men.”
“But you must think of the dangers this work will bring you. At any
time you may be under the fire of the enemy’s guns.”
“But,” was her answer, “I am the daughter of a soldier, I am not afraid
of the battle-field.” She described to him the condition of many of the
men when they reached Washington and added earnestly, “I must go to the
front, to care for them quickly.”
The passport was given her and through the weary years of the war she
stayed at her post--giving medicine to the sick, stimulants to the
wounded and dying, nourishing food to men faint from loss of blood.
Working under no society or leader she was free to come and go. On
sixteen battle-fields, during the hot, muggy summer days of the long
siege of Charleston, all through the Wilderness campaign, in the
Richmond hospitals, there was no limit to her service. And from her
first day on the firing line she had the confidence of the officers and
their help and encouragement. Wherever there were wounded soldiers who
had been under her care, Clara Barton’s name was spoken with affection
and with tears.
In as far as was possible, word of coming engagements was sent her in
advance, that she might be ready with her supplies. At Antietam while
shot was whizzing thick around the group of workers, she ordered her
wagons driven to an old farmhouse just back of the lines. Between the
tall rows of corn, into the barnyard, the worst cases were carried. For
lack of medical supplies the surgeons were using bandages of cornhusks.
Her supplies quickly unloaded, Clara Barton hurried out to revive the
wounded, giving them bread soaked in wine. The store of bread ran out,
she had left only three cases of wine. “Open them,” she commanded,
“give us that, and God help us all!” for faster and faster soldiers
were coming in. She watched the men open the cases. What was that
around the bottles? Cornmeal! She looked at it closely; yes, finely
ground and sifted. It could not have been worth more if it had been
gold dust. In the farmhouse they found kettles. She mixed the cornmeal
with water and soon was making great quantities of gruel. All night
long they carried this hot food up and down the rows of wounded
soldiers.
On one of these trips, in the twilight, she met a surgeon tired and
disheartened. He had only one short candle left, and if men’s lives
were to be saved, the doctors must work all night. “Heartless neglect
and carelessness,” he stormed. But Miss Barton had four boxes of
candles in her stores, ready for just such an emergency.
Near that battle-field she remained until all her supplies were gone.
“If we had had more wagons,” she reported to General Rucker, “there
would have been enough for all the cases at Antietam.”
“You shall have enough the next time,” he responded. And the
government, recognizing the value of her service, gave her ten wagons
and sixty mules and drivers.
Her work succeeded because she had initiative and practical judgment
and rare executive ability and the power of managing men. When her
drivers were rebellious and sulky, showing little respect for orders
that put them under a woman, she controlled them just as she had the
rough boys in her school. Once she prepared a hot dinner and asked them
to share it. After she had cleared away the dishes and was sitting
alone by the fire, awkward and self-conscious they came up to her.
“Come and get warm,” she welcomed them.
“No’m, we didn’t come for that,” said the leader. “We come to tell you
we’re ashamed. Truth is, lady, we didn’t want to come. We knew there
was fightin’ ahead, an’ we ain’t never seen a train with a woman in
charge. Now we’ve been mean and contrary all day long, and here you’ve
treated us like we was the general and his staff, and it’s the best
meal we’ve had in two years and we shan’t trouble you again.”
The next morning they brought her a steaming hot breakfast and for
six months remained with her, through battles and camps and marches,
through frost and snow and heat, a devoted corps of assistants, always
ready for her orders. They helped her nurse the sick and dress the
wounded and soothe the dying, and day by day they themselves grew
gentler and kinder and more tender.
Once Clara Barton worked for five days and nights with three hours of
sleep. Once she had a narrow escape from capture. Often in danger it
seemed as though she had a special protection that she might save the
lives of others. Stooping to give a wounded soldier a drink of water,
a bullet whizzed between them, tearing a hole in her sleeve and ending
the boy’s life.
She gave her help to men who had fought on either side. They were
suffering, they needed her, that was enough. No man is your enemy
when he is wounded. She leaned over a dying officer in a hospital; a
Confederate looked up into her kind face and whispered:
“You have been so very good to me. Do not cross the river, our men are
leading you into an ambush. You must save yourself.”
But his warning was unheeded when later that day the hero-surgeon who
was opening an emergency dressing-station across the river, asked her
help. She went over to Fredericksburg where every stone wall was a
blazing line of battle. A regiment came marching down the street. She
stepped aside. Thinking she must be a terrified southerner, left behind
in their hurried flight, the general leaned from his saddle to ask:
“You’re alone and in great danger, madam. Do you want protection?”
“Thank you, but I think”--Clara Barton looked up at the ranks of
soldiers marching past--“I think, sir, I’m the best protected woman in
the United States!”
“That’s so, that’s so,” cried out the men and gave her a great cheer
that was taken up by line after line till it sounded like the cheering
after a victory.
“I believe you’re right, madam,” said the general, bowing low, and
galloped away.
Over the battle-field a sharp wind was blowing. The suffering men lay
shivering and half frozen in the bitter cold. Some were found famished
under the snow. Clara Barton had all the wounded brought to one place
and great fires built up. But that was not heat enough to warm them.
What to do? She discovered an old chimney not far away. “Tear it down,”
she ordered, “heat the bricks and place them around the men.” Soon she
had kettles of coffee and gruel steaming over the fires, and many a
life she saved at Fredericksburg.
As the war drew to an end President Lincoln received hundreds and
hundreds of letters from anxious parents asking for news of their
boys. The list of missing totaled sixty thousand. In despair the
president sent for Miss Barton, thinking she had more information than
any one else, and asked her to take up the task. A four years’ task
it proved to be. She copied infirmary and burial lists. She studied
records of prisons and hospitals. At Andersonville she laid out the
national cemetery and identified nearly thirteen thousand graves. She
succeeded in tracing and sending definite word of thirty thousand men.
From Maine to Virginia the soldiers knew her. Through the whole country
her name became a household word.
Her strong will had held her body to its work during the long war and
for this tracing service afterward. Then the doctors insisted she must
rest and sent her to Switzerland for change of scene. After a month
when she was beginning to feel some improvement, she had callers one
day representing the International Red Cross Society.
“What is that?” asked Clara Barton.
And they explained--how a Swiss, visiting the battle-field of
Solferino and seeing thousands of French and Austrians wounded,
inadequately cared for, had planned a society for the relief of
soldiers. Its badge, a red cross on a white ground, would give its
workers protection from both armies, and they would help all persons
without regard to their race or religion or uniform--exactly the
principle on which she had been working, and to-day the very heart of
the Red Cross plan. Already, they said, the society was formed and
twenty-two nations had joined it. But the United States, though invited
twice, had done nothing. They asked her help.
Three days afterward the Franco-Prussian War began and soon Clara
Barton was again at the front. With the German army she entered
Strasburg after the siege. On every hand were sick and wounded
soldiers, women and children homeless and ragged and starving. Relief
work started, she went to Paris on the outbreak of the revolution
there. And this work made her enthusiastic about the Red Cross. For at
once she felt the difference--she saw the new society accomplish in
four months, with system and trained workers, what our country had
failed to do in four years. What a contrast--supplies in plenty, wounds
dressed at once, cleanliness, comfort, wherever the white flag with the
red cross was flying, instead of mistakes, delays, needless suffering,
lives sacrificed. She said to herself, “If I live to return to America,
I will try to make them understand what the Red Cross and the Geneva
Treaty mean.”
She succeeded, though it was a task of years. She found officials
indifferent, hard to convince, clinging to the tradition and prejudice
that forbade any alliance with foreign countries, and saying, “Why make
plans for another war? We’ll never have it!”
But in March, 1882, the treaty was signed. Clara Barton became the
first president of the American Red Cross Society, an office she held
for twenty-two years. It was her suggestion that they be prepared to
meet any emergency and give relief in time of peace as well as war.
It was her influence that carried this American amendment in the
International Red Cross Congress.
Many have been the calamities where the Red Cross has given aid--two
wars, floods in the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers, the Texas famine, the
Charleston earthquake, the disaster at San Francisco, Florida’s yellow
fever, the Johnstown flood, forest fires--these are a few of the urgent
calls in our own land; and abroad the sufferers in the Russian and
Chinese famines, in Armenia and South Africa, bear witness to her care.
Eighty years old, she went herself to Galveston. At seventy-seven
McKinley sent her to carry relief to the starving Cubans. And during
the Spanish War she nursed American and Cuban and Spanish soldiers,
once in a storm repeating her Antietam experience with hot gruel!
Vast sums of money, poured out by the generous American people, were
placed at her disposal for relief to the suffering and destitute.
A sufficient sum in ready cash she always kept on hand, in case a
telegram came when the banks were closed; for there must be no delay in
the Red Cross’s starting on its mission of mercy.
The world over Clara Barton was known and loved and honored. The German
emperor gave her the order of the iron cross, which at that time had
been awarded only for heroism on the battle-field. Queen Victoria
herself pinned an English decoration on her dress. The Duke of Baden,
Serbia, the Prince of Jerusalem all gave her honors; and her home was
decorated with the flags of all the nations.
Dying at ninety, Clara Barton, retiring and bashful, had given fifty
years of service to suffering humanity, working always on the firing
line. David’s born nurse became head nurse to all the nation. The angel
of the battle-field, as the soldiers loved to call her, became the
country’s angel of mercy.
And in the Red Cross Society, building perhaps better than she knew,
Clara Barton gave the opportunity for every American citizen, man or
woman or little child, to share in her work of love and mercy.
EPILOGUE
Thus ends the story of these women who helped to make the history of
our country. It is a record of courage and of service, of splendid
achievement. And these fifteen women by no means tell the whole story.
The contribution of each could be duplicated, in less degree, many
times. They are but typical of countless women who have been true
American patriots.
The exploring and settling of our country lasted for three centuries,
the building of the nation is not yet finished. There is work for the
women of to-day, if they would be worthy inheritors of these fifteen,
to shape the present true, for the generations to come after. Making
history offers a wide range of service, for heroism wears many forms,
as these brief stories show. But it is of the greatest importance to
the nation that its ideals of heroism shall be high and true.
Every woman can be a soldier faithful, brave and loyal. We of to-day
and of to-morrow must stand shoulder to shoulder with the inspired
women of the past, to express the best in womanhood, to work for the
highest ideals.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
CHAPTER I
Eggleston--_A First Book in American History_, 23-41.
Holland--_Historic Girlhoods_, 92-106.
Jenks--_Captain John Smith_.
Seelye and Eggleston--_Pocahontas_.
Smith--_The Story of Pocahontas and Captain John Smith_.
Sweetser--_Ten American Girls from History_, 1-35.
CHAPTER II
Bouvé--_American Heroes and Heroines_, 13-31.
Brooks--_Dames and Daughters of Colonial Days_, 1-29.
Eggleston--_The Beginners of a Nation_, 326-341.
Foster, ed.--_Heroines of Modern Religion_, 1-22.
Hart--_American History Told by Contemporaries_, I, 382-387.
CHAPTER III
Harrison--_The Stars and Stripes_, 60-64.
Horner--_The American Flag_.
Schauffler--_Flag Day_, 50-58 and 61-66.
Tappan--_The Little Book of the Flag_.
CHAPTER IV
Brooks--_Century Book of the American Revolution_, 87-89.
Hemstreet--_The Story of Manhattan_.
Ullmann--_Landmark History of New York_.
Wilson--_New York Old and New_.
CHAPTER V
Bouvé--_American Heroes and Heroines_, 120-128.
Brooks--_Century Book of the American Revolution_, 130-135.
_Journal of American History_, 5:84 (1911).
Stockton--_Stories of New Jersey_.
Sweetser--_Ten American Girls from History_, 71-85.
CHAPTER VI
Brooks--_Dames and Daughters of Colonial Days_, 133-167.
Herbert--_The First American--His Homes and His Households_.
Lossing--_Mary and Martha Washington_.
Wharton--_Martha Washington_.
CHAPTER VII
Brady--_Border Fights and Fighters_, 151-163.
Purcell--_Stories of Old Kentucky_.
CHAPTER VIII
Brooks--_First across the Continent_.
Dye--_The Conquest_.
Holland--_Historic Adventures_, 21-58.
_Journal of American History_, I:468 (1907).
Laut--_Pathfinders of the West_.
Lewis and Clark--_Journals_.
Schultz--_Bird Woman_ (written by a man adopted by the Blackfeet
Indians, from accounts given him by friends of Sacajawea).
CHAPTER IX
Bolton--_Famous Leaders among Women_, 123-158.
Bouvé--_American Heroes and Heroines_, 171-180.
Brooks--_Dames and Daughters of the Young Republic_, 1-42.
Holland--_Historic Girlhoods_, 203-216.
Madison--_Memoirs and Letters_.
Tappan--_American Hero Stories_, 224-230.
Todd--_The Story of Washington_.
CHAPTER X
Bolton--_Girls Who Became Famous_, 33-49.
Foster, ed.--_Heroines of Modern Religion_, 88-114.
Hallowell--_James and Lucretia Mott--Life and Letters_.
Morris--_Heroes of Progress in America_, 219-225.
CHAPTER XI
Adams and Foster--_Heroines of Modern Progress_, 89-119.
Bolton--_Girls Who Became Famous_, 1-17.
Crowe--_Harriet Beecher Stowe: Biography for Girls_.
Fields--_Life and Letters of Harriet Beecher Stowe_.
Stowe--_Life of Harriet Beecher Stowe_ (by her son).
Wright--_Children’s Stories in American Literature_, 188-202.
CHAPTER XII
Adams and Foster--_Heroines of Modern Progress_, 178-214.
Bolton--_Famous Leaders among Women_, 272-303.
Bristol--_Life of Chaplain McCabe_, 192-203.
Howe--_Reminiscences_.
Parkman--_Heroines of Service_, 117-147.
Richards and Elliott--_Julia Ward Howe_ (by her daughters).
Wade--_The Light Bringers_, 142-171.
Wright--_Children’s Stories in American Literature_, book 2, 212-221.
CHAPTER XIII
Bolton--_Girls Who Became Famous_, 50-67.
Livermore--_My Story of the War_.
Livermore--_The Story of My Life_, chapter 28.
_Our Famous Women_, 386-414.
Whiting--_Women Who Have Ennobled Life_, 53-85.
CHAPTER XIV
_Bookman_, 13:418 (1901).
_Pennsylvania German_, 1906.
_Southern Historical Society Papers_, vol. 27.
CHAPTER XV
Adams and Foster--_Heroines of Modern Progress_, 149-177.
Barton--_The Red Cross in Peace and War_.
Bolton--_Successful Women_, 198-223.
Epler--_Life of Clara Barton_.
Parkman--_Heroines of Service_, 59-85.
Sweetser--_Ten American Girls from History_, 143-173.
Wade--_The Light Bringers_, 64-111.
INDEX
Barton, Clara:
nurse at eleven, 190-1;
success as teacher, 191-3;
cares for first wounded soldiers in Civil War, 193;
distributes supplies, 194;
receives permission to go to front, 195-6;
war record, 196-201;
appointed to search for missing, 201-2;
serves under Red Cross in Franco-Prussian War, 203-4;
starts Red Cross in America, 204;
its president for twenty-two years, 204;
service in disasters, 205;
honors paid her, 205-6.
_Battle Hymn of the Republic_, 159-63.
Beecher, Henry Ward, 132, 136, 144.
Bishop (Washington’s body-servant), 56-8, 67.
Burr, Aaron, 45, 104-5.
Chaboneau, Toussaint, 81-7, 91, 96-8.
Dale, Governor, 11, 12.
Declaration of Independence, 111, 120, 170.
Fritchie, Barbara:
saw four wars, 179-82;
marriage, 181;
her loyalty and faith when Civil War broke out, 182;
troops in Fredericksburg, 182-3;
different versions of flag story, 183-5;
Whittier’s poem, 186-8.
Fugitive slave law, 128-9, 138-40, 146.
Garrison, William Lloyd, 118, 122, 125, 131.
Hamilton, Alexander, 45, 63.
Harlem, battle of, 45-6.
Howe, General, 41, 43-6.
Howe, Julia Ward:
ancestry, 155;
carefully educated, 154;
a social favorite, 155;
marriage, 156-7;
longed to help in Civil War, 158;
how the _Battle Hymn of the Republic_ was written, 159-60;
how Chaplain McCabe popularized it, 161-2.
Hutchinson, Anne:
voyage to America, 18-9;
popularity, 20-1;
her meetings for women, 21-3;
church and state, 22-4;
trial and banishment, 24-8;
massacred by Indians, 28.
Jackson, Stonewall, 183, 187.
Jamestown colony, 7-11, 16-7.
Johnson, Jemima:
Indians attack frontier settlement, 72-3;
imperative need of water, 74-5;
volunteers to bring it, 75-6;
scheme succeeds, 76-7;
attack repulsed, 77-8.
Jones, Paul, 36.
Lafayette, 53.
Lewis and Clark Expedition, 81-5, 89-96, 99.
Libby Prison, 161.
Lincoln, Abraham, 149, 162, 201-2.
Livermore, Mary A.:
first-hand experience with slavery, 165;
helped husband in church and editorial work, 165-6;
organized and systematized relief work of Northwest, 167-72;
Sanitary fairs, 172-4;
first public speech, 175-7.
McCabe, Chaplain, 161-2.
Madison, Dolly:
girlhood in Virginia and Philadelphia, 101-2;
marries John Todd, 103;
death of husband and baby, 103-4;
popularity, 104, 107;
marries Madison, 105-6;
mistress of White House for sixteen years, 107, 113;
British attack Washington, 108-11;
saves Stuart portrait of Washington and Declaration of
Independence, 110-1;
adventures in flight from city, 111-3;
homage paid her, 114.
Madison, James, 104-8, 112-4.
Martineau, Harriet, 121.
Mataoka, 1, 2, 6.
Monmouth, battle of, 50-2.
Morris, Robert, 33, 35.
Mott, Lucretia:
childhood at Nantucket, 115;
early interest in slavery, 117;
preaches in Quaker meeting-houses, 117-20, 126-7, 165;
member of anti-slavery societies, 120-1;
delegate to London convention, 121;
excluded from its meetings, 121-2;
abused and attacked, 123-7;
her part in Dangerfield trial, 128-9;
pioneer work for abolition, 130-1.
Mount Vernon, 59, 63, 66-8, 70, 71.
Murray, Mary Lindley:
delays Howe’s march across Manhattan Island, 43-5;
saves patriot army, 45-6.
Phillips, Wendell, 118, 121, 131.
Pitcher, Molly (Mary Ludwig Hays):
childhood on farm, 47;
accompanies husband to war, 48-50;
carries water for soldiers, 51;
takes husband’s place at cannon, 51-2;
honors given her, 52-4;
monument, 54.
Pocahontas:
saves John Smith, 4-6;
how she got her name, 1, 2, 6;
befriends Jamestown colony, 7;
taken prisoner, 8-10;
marries Rolfe, 11;
visits England, 12-5;
descendants, 16.
Powhatan, 2-6, 8-13.
Putnam, Israel, 41-6.
Red Cross, 202-6.
Rolfe, John, 11, 12, 15.
Ross, Betsy:
apprenticed, 30;
marriage, 30;
reputation as needlewoman, 31, 33;
widowed, 32;
five-pointed star, 35;
her flag adopted by Congress, 35-7.
Ross, Colonel George, 33.
Sacajawea (Bird-woman):
taken prisoner, 80-1;
marries Chaboneau, 81;
meets Lewis and Clark, 81-2;
engaged as interpreter, 82;
birth of son, 82;
heroine of expedition, 83-4;
saves papers and instruments, 84-5;
illness, 85-6;
escape from cloudburst, 86-7;
guides expedition, 88, 92-3;
meets friend and brother, 89-90;
persuades tribe to help white men, 90, 92;
bargaining with Indians, 91;
resourcefulness, 94;
rapid return trip, 95-6;
bids farewell to leaders, 96;
later years and death on Indian reservation, 98-9;
memorials, 99-100.
Sanitary Commission, 168-72.
Smith, John, 2-8, 14.
Stanton, Elizabeth Cady, 122.
Stars and Stripes, 34-7.
Stowe, Harriet Beecher:
early interest in compositions, 133-4;
moves to Cincinnati, 134;
marries Professor Stowe, 135;
discussions over slavery, 135-7;
her own experiences with negroes, 136-7, 141-2;
writing, 135, 138;
excitement over fugitive slave bill, 138-9;
how _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_ was written, 139-43;
its reception and results, 144-9;
translations, 145;
trip to England, 149-50;
helps change public sentiment in England during Civil War, 152.
_Uncle Tom’s Cabin_, 139-50.
Valley Forge, 62, 64-6.
Washington, George, 32-5, 39, 41, 42, 46, 49-54, 56-71, 110-1, 180.
Washington, Martha:
education, 55;
first meeting with Washington, 56-7;
marriage, 57-8;
life at Mt. Vernon, 59, 67;
interest in public affairs, 60, 69-70;
patriotic sacrifices, 59, 63-4;
winters spent at headquarters, 61-6;
work for soldiers, 63-6;
at Valley Forge, 62, 64-6;
first lady of the land, 68-71.
Whittier, John G., 148, 186-8.
Williams, Roger, 23, 28.
Winthrop, John, 20, 24-7, 29.