THE BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM
The unit of Massachusetts history is eighty-six years. As a
considerable part of American history relates to Massachusetts, or
traces its origin from there, the same unit measures much of the life
of the Nation itself. It begins in the year 1603 when Queen Elizabeth
died, and King James came to the throne, and the season was the spring.
It was King James who determined to make the Puritans conform or to
harry them out of his kingdom. He did not succeed in making them
conform, but he harried the Pilgrims into Holland whence they came to
Plymouth Rock. For eighty-six years Massachusetts was managed under
a colonial government, whose last days were those of a province with
a royal governor in control. It was on the 19th of April, 1689, that
this royal governor, whose name was Andros, looked out through the
port-hole of the ship on which he was a prisoner, and saw the sun rise
over Boston Harbor prior to his enforced return to England. That was
the end of provincial governors in New England, and the beginning of
the assertion of the doctrine of independence. Eighty-six years later
to a day, a little band of Massachusetts soldiers stood in a line on
the green at Lexington, and on the same day a larger company mustered
by the bridge in Concord, and the Revolutionary War began. Eighty-six
years later to a day, the Sixth Massachusetts Regiment, hastening
through Baltimore in response to President Lincoln’s call for troops,
was fired upon, and the first blood was shed in a long and cruel war
which did not end until it was decided that the house which was divided
against itself was no longer to be divided; that this was to be one
nation and that nation a free nation.
If one had been privileged to visit the Senate Chamber of the United
States in three days after the assault upon the Massachusetts
troops, he might have beheld an interesting sight. Behind the desk
of the President of the Senate stood a little woman reading to the
Massachusetts soldiers who were quartered there from their home paper,
the Worcester “Spy.” Washington had need of these troops. Had they
and their comrades in arms arrived a few days later, the capital
would have been in the hands of the Confederates. They came none too
soon; Washington had no place to put them, nor was the War Department
adequately equipped with tents or other supplies. The Capitol building
itself became the domicile of some of the first regiments, and the
Senate Chamber was the habitation of the boys from Worcester County. A
few of the boys Clara Barton knew personally.
Already the war had become a reality to these Yankee lads. Lincoln’s
call for men was issued on April 15, 1861. Massachusetts had four
regiments ready. The first of these reached Baltimore four days after
the President’s Proclamation. Three men were killed by a mob, and
thirty were injured as they marched through Baltimore. The regiment
fought its way to the station, regained possession of their locomotive
and train, and moved on to Washington.
Clara Barton’s first service to the soldiers was only incidentally to
the wounded. There were only thirty of them, and they were adequately
cared for. But she, in company with other women, visited the regiment
at the Capitol, and she performed her first service to the armies of
her country by reading to the homesick boys as they gathered in the
Senate Chamber, and she stood in the place that was ordinarily occupied
by the Vice-President of the United States. Her own account of this
proceeding is contained in a letter to her friend, B. W. Childs:
WASHINGTON, April 25th, 1861
MY DEAR WILL:
As you will perceive, I wrote you on the 19th, but have not found it
_perfectly convenient_ to send it until now, but we trust that
“navigation is open now” for a little. As yet we have had no cause for
alarm, if indeed we were disposed to feel any. The city is filling up
with troops. The Massachusetts regiment is quartered in the Capitol
and the 7th arrived to-day at noon. Almost a week in getting from New
York here; they looked tired and warm, but sturdy and brave. Oh! but
you should hear them praise the Massachusetts troops who were with
them, “Butler’s Brigade.” They say the “Massachusetts Boys” are equal
to anything they undertake--that they have constructed a railroad,
laid the track, and built an engine since they entered Maryland. The
wounded at the Infirmary are all improving--some of them recovered and
joined the regiment. We visited the regiment yesterday at the Capitol;
found some old friends and acquaintances from Worcester; their baggage
was all seized and they have _nothing_ but their heavy woolen
clothes--not a cotton shirt--and many of them not even a pocket
handkerchief. We, of course, emptied our pockets and came home to tear
up old sheets for towels and handkerchiefs, and have filled a large
box with all manner of serving utensils, thread, needles, thimbles,
scissors, pins, buttons, strings, salves, tallow, etc., etc., have
filled the largest market basket in the house and it will go to them
in the next hour.
But don’t tell us they are not determined--just fighting mad; they
had just one Worcester “Spy” of the 22d, and all were so anxious to
know the contents that they begged me to read it aloud to them, which
I did. You would have smiled to see _me_ and my _audience_
in the Senate Chamber of the United States. Oh! but it was better
attention than I have been accustomed to see there in the old time.
“Ber” writes his mother that Oxford is raising a company. God bless
her, and the noble fellows who may leave their quiet, happy homes to
come at the call of their country! So far as our poor efforts can
reach, they shall never lack a kindly hand or a sister’s sympathy if
they come. In my opinion this city will be attacked within the next
sixty days. If it must be, let it come; and when there is no longer a
soldier’s arm to raise the Stars and Stripes above our Capitol, may
God give strength to mine.
Write us and tell our friends to write and I will answer when I can.
Love to all.
C. H. BARTON
Several things are of interest in this letter. One is the place where
her work for the soldiers began. It was the Government’s poverty in the
matter of tents and barracks which caused the soldiers to be quartered
in the Capitol, but it was certainly an interesting and significant
thing that her great work had its beginning there. Washington was
still expecting to be attacked; she believed that the attack would
occur shortly. It was rather a fine sentence with which her letter
closed,--“If it must be, let it come; and when there is no longer a
soldier’s arm to raise the Stars and Stripes above our Capitol, may God
give strength to mine.”
She was still signing her formal letters Clara H. Barton She was no
longer Clarissa, and before very long she dropped the middle name and
letter entirely, and, from the Civil War on, was simply Clara Barton.
This letter which deals entirely with her military experiences is the
first of many of this general character. To a large extent personal
matters from this time on dropped out of sight. It will be of interest
to go back a few weeks and quote one of her letters to her brother
David, in which there is no mention of political or military matters.
It is a letter of no great importance in itself, but shows her concern
for her father, who had partially recovered from his serious illness,
for her niece Ida, her nephew Bub, as she still called Stephen E.,
though he was now a lad of some size, and for home affairs generally.
For her father she had adopted the name given him by her nephews and
nieces, and called him “Grandpa”:
Feb. 2nd, 1861
DEAR BROTHER:
I enclose in this a draft for twelve dollars, and will send you
another for the remaining fifteen on the first of next month, i.e.,
provided Uncle Sam is not bankrupt, which he nearly is now and his
payments have been very irregular. I have only received a _part_
of my salary for this month--_but all right in the end_. I have
been very sorry that I took the money of you lest you might have
wanted it when I might just as well have drawn upon _myself_,
only for the trouble of getting at the Colonel. Another time I should
do so, however, for I believe I am the poorest hand in all the
world to owe anything. I never rest a moment until all is square.
And now, if you have the _least_ need of the remaining fifteen
dollars just say so to the Colonel and he will honor your draft _so
quick_ you will never know you made it. You may want it for
something about the house, or to make out a payment, and if so don’t
wait, I pray you, but just call over when you get your draft changed
and get the remainder of the Colonel, and tell him in that case he
will hear from me very soon. Perhaps Julia or the children have wanted
something, and if I have been keeping them out of any comfort I am
_very sorry_.
As it is my intention to keep a strict account with myself of all my
expenditures and profits from this time henceforth, you may, if you
please, sign the receipt at the top of this sheet, and hand it to
Sally to bring to me.
I had thought I should get a line, or some kind of word from you,
perhaps, but I suppose you are too busy. Well, this is a very busy
world. You will be glad to know that I am very happily situated here;
the winter is certainly passing very pleasantly. I find all my old
friends so numerous, and so kind, and, unless they falsify grossly, so
glad to have me back among them again; I could not have believed that
there was half so much kind feeling stored away for me here in this
big city of comers and goers. The office and my business relations
are all right, and they say I am all right too. The remainder of the
winter will be very gay, and I must confess that I fear I am getting
a little dissipated, not that I drink champagne and play cards,--oh,
no,--but I do go to levees and theaters. I don’t know that I should
own up so frankly, only that I am afraid “Mr. Grover” will show me
up if I try to keep still and dark. Now, if he does, just tell him
that it gets no better, but rather worse if anything, and that he
ought to have stayed to attend Mr. Buchanan’s _big party_. It
was splendid--General Scott and the military; in fact, we are getting
decidedly military in this region. But we have no winter. Mr. J. S.
Brown, of Worcester, came to us in the theater last night at eleven
and said a dispatch from Worcester declared the snow to be six feet
deep in Massachusetts. We decided to put it down at a foot and a half,
and didn’t know but that was big! We couldn’t realize even that, for
we have only now and then a little spot of snow, and this morning a
monster fog has come and settled down on that, and in two hours we
shall forget how snow looks, and in two days, if it doesn’t rain, the
dust will blow; but no fears but that it will rain, though.
But I haven’t said a word about Grandpa. I am so _glad_ to know
that he is better and even gets _into the kitchen_; that is
splendid, and besides he has had _company_ as well as you all.
Ah, ha, I found it out, if none of you told me! Ben Porter came at
last!! Please give my congratulations to Grandpa, and _you_ too
Julia, for I am writing to you just as much as to Dave, only I don’t
know as I said so before. I _forgot_ to tell you--and now if you
don’t write me how Adeline and Viola are, I will do some awful thing
to come up to you. I don’t justly know what, for if Frank wrote a week
he never would tell me. Oh, I had a letter from him last night; said
he was over his boots in snow, was going “down east” to Bangor, Dr.
Porter’s, etc.
I am afraid my trunk and other things are in your way, and I would ask
Sally to take the trunk, only that it seems to me that I had best wait
until I see what the 4th of March brings about, and find where I am in
the new administration, or at least if we have one. If we are to have
a war, I have plenty of traps and trunks in this region, and if all
comes right and I remain, it may be that some one will be coming South
pretty soon without much baggage who would take something for me.
How are all the children? I must write to _somebody_ soon; I
guess it will be Bub, but Ida isn’t forgotten. She was a faithful
little correspondent to tell me how Grandpa was. I shall not forget
it of Ida. Can she skate yet? Now, aren’t you going to write me and
tell me all the news? And you must remember me to Mrs. Waddington,
Mrs. Aborn, and family, and, Jule, you must give my regards to Silas
and Mr. Smith, for I don’t wish to be lost sight of by my old-time
friends, among all the new ones here. And don’t forget to give my love
to Mrs. Kidder and tell me how she is. You had best clap your hands
for joy that I have no more room, only to say I am
Your affectionate sister
CLARA
I forgot to cut my draft loose until I had written on the back of it,
and then I cut it loose without thinking that I had written; so much
for doing things in a hurry, and I can’t stop to rewrite a single word
to anybody, so patch up and read if you can.
The Sixth Massachusetts left Washington and moved farther south. She
tells of her feelings with regard to these men in a letter written May
19, 1861, to Annie Childs. The letter to which she referred as having
been written on the same day to Frances Childs, and containing war
news, has not been found:
WASHINGTON, D.C., May 19, 1861
MY DEAR ANNIE:
I am very sorry that it will be in my power to write you so little and
no more, but these are the busy days which know no rest, and there are
at this moment thirty unanswered letters lying by my side--besides a
perfect rush of ordinary _business_, and liable to be interrupted
by soldier calls any moment. I wish I could tell you something of the
appearance of our city, grand, noble, true, and brave. I wish you
could see it just as it is, and if it were not that at this season
of the year I had no thought that you could leave your business, I
would say to you come,--and indeed I will say this much, hopeless as I
deem it, aye, _know_ it to be,--but this,--if you have the least
curiosity to witness the events of our city as they are transpiring
or enough so that you could come, you shall be doubly welcome, have a
quiet nook to stay in, and I will find you all you want to do while
you will stay, longer or shorter, and pay you all you ask for your
services. If it were winter I should _hope_ you would think well
enough of it to come, but at this season of the year, I dare not,
but rest assured nothing would please me as much, and Sally too. We
often wish you would come, and I am in a most destitute condition.
I cannot get a moment to sew in and can trust no one here. I know I
must not urge you, but only add that I mean just what I say. If you
care to come, you shall not lose your time, although I feel it to be
preposterous in me to say such a thing at this time of the year, but
I have said it at a venture and cannot retract. I saw your friend Mr.
Parker before he left the city for the Relay House, and we had a long
talk about you. I had never met him before, but was much pleased with
his easy, pleasant manners and cordial ways. Allow me to congratulate
you upon the possession of such friends.
For war news I must refer you to a letter I have written _your
sister_ to-day; she will show it to you.
I was sorry when the Sixth Regiment left us, but nothing could have
delighted them more than the thought of nearing Baltimore again, and
how successfully they have done it. I wept for joy when I heard of
it all, and they so richly deserved the honor which is meted out to
them--_noble old regiment they_; every one admires, and no one
envies; there seems to be no jealousy towards them, all yield the
precedence without a word, and _their governor_! I have no words
_good enough to talk about him with_. Will this little scrap be
better than nothing from your
Loving Coz
CLARA
I have not forgotten my debt, but have nothing small enough to
enclose. I will pay it.
How deeply stirred Clara Barton was by the events, which now were
happening thick and fast, is shown by a portion of a letter in which
she describes the funeral of Colonel Elmer Ellsworth. The death of this
young man affected the Nation as that of no other who perished in the
early days of the war. When Alexandria, which was practically a suburb
of Washington, was occupied by the Federal troops, this young soldier
was in command. After the troops had taken possession of the town, the
Confederate flag was still flying from the roof of the hotel. Ellsworth
ascended the stairs, tore down the flag, and was descending with it
when he was shot by the proprietor of the hotel. Elmer Ellsworth was
a fine and lovable man, and had been an intimate friend of President
Lincoln in whose house he lived for a time. His theory of military
organization was that a small body of men thoroughly disciplined was
more effective than a large body without discipline. The Zouaves were
largely recruited from volunteer fire companies. They were soldiers
expert in climbing ladders and in performing hazardous deeds. Their
picturesque uniform and their relatively high degree of discipline, as
well as the death of their first commander, attracted great attention
to them. Just after the funeral of Colonel Ellsworth, whose death
Lincoln mourned as he would have mourned for a son, Clara Barton wrote
a letter containing this description of his funeral:
Our sympathies are more enlisted for the poor bereaved _Zouaves_
than aught else. They who of all men in the land most _needed_ a
leader and _had_ the best--to lose him now in the very beginning;
if they commit excesses upon their enemies, only their enemies are to
blame, for they have killed the only man who ever _thought_ to
govern them, and now, when I read of one of them breaking over and
committing some trespass and is called to account and punished for
it, my blood rises in an instant. I would not have them punished. I
know I am wrong in my conclusions, and do not desire to be justified,
but I am not accountable for my feelings. The funeral of the lamented
Ellsworth was one of the most imposing and touching sights I ever
witnessed or perhaps ever shall. First those broad sidewalks from the
President’s to the Capitol, two impossible lines of living beings,
then company after company and whole regiments of sturdy soldiers with
arms reversed, drums muffled, banners furled and draped, following
each other in slow, solemn procession, the four white horses and the
gallant dead, with his Country’s flag for a pall; the six bearers
beside the hearse, and then the little band of Zouaves (for only a
part could be spared from duty even to bury their leader), clad in
their plain loose uniform, entirely weaponless, heads bowed in grief,
eyes fixed on the coffin before them, and the great tears rolling down
their swarthy cheeks, told us only too plainly of the smothered grief
that would one day burst into rage and wreak itself in vengeance on
every seeming foe; the riderless horse, and the rent and blood-stained
Secession flag brought up the rear of the little band of personal
mourners; then followed an official “train” led by the President and
Cabinet--all of whom looked small to us that day; they were no longer
dignitaries, but mourners with the throng. I stood at the Treasury,
and with my eye glanced down the Avenue to the Capitol gate, and
not one inch of earth or space could I see, only one dense living,
swaying, moving mass of humanity. Surely it was great love and respect
to be meted out to the memory of one so young and from the common
ranks of life. I thought of it long that day and wondered if he had
not sold himself at his highest price for his Country’s good--if the
inspiration of “_Ellsworth dead_” were not worth more to our
cause than the life of _any_ man could be. _I_ could not
tell, but He who knows all things and ruleth all in wisdom hath done
all things well.
How deeply she felt the sorrow of the soldier, and the anxiety of his
loved ones at home, is shown in a letter which she wrote in June before
there had been a decisive battle, but while the boys were rallying to
the flag, “Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom.” The most of her letters
of this period are descriptive of events which she witnessed, but this
one is a meditation on a Sunday afternoon while the Nation was waiting
for a great battle which every one felt was impending:
_Washington_, June 9th, 1861
Sunday afternoon
MY DEAR COUSIN VIRA:
We have one more peaceful Sabbath, one more of God’s chosen days, with
the sun shining calmly and brightly over the green, quiet earth as it
has always looked to us, the same green fields, and limpid waters;
and but that the long lines of snow-white tents flashed back the
rays I might forget, on such an hour as this, the strange confusion
and unrest that heaves us like a mighty billow, and the broad, dark,
sweeping wing of war hovering over our heads, whose flap and crash
is so soon to blacken our fair land, desolate our hearths, crush our
mothers’ sacrificing hearts, drape our sisters in black, still the
gleesome laugh of childhood, and bring down the doting father’s gray
hair with sorrow to the grave. For however cheerfully and bravely
he has given up his sons and sent them out to die on the altar of
Liberty, however nobly and martyr-like he may have responded, they are
no longer “_mine_” when their Country calls. Still has he given
them up in hope,--and somewhat of trust,--that one day his dim eyes
shall again rest on that loved form, his trembling voice be raised
and his hand rest in blessing on the head of his darling soldier boy
returned from the wars; and when he shall have sat and waited day by
day, and trained his time-worn ear to catch the faintest, earliest
lisp of tidings, and strained his failing eye, and cleared away the
mist to read over day by day “the last letter,” until its successor
shall have been placed in his trembling hands to be read and blotted
in its turn; and finally there shall come a long silence, and then
another letter in a strange handwriting--then, and not till then,
shall the old patriot know how much of the great soul strength, that
enabled him to bear his cherished offering to the altar, was loyalty,
patriotism, and principle, and how much of it was hope.
The battle of Bull Run was fought on Sunday, July 21, 1861. Clara
Barton witnessed the preparations for it, and saw its results. The
boys marched so bravely, so confidently, and they came back in terror
leaving 481 killed, 1011 wounded, and 1460 missing. The next night
she began a letter to her father, but stopped at the end of the first
page, and waited until near the end of the week before resuming.
Unfortunately, the latter part of this letter is lost. She undertook to
give somewhat in detail a description of the battle, and what she saw
before it and after. That part of the letter which has been preserved
is as follows:
WASHINGTON, D.C., July 22nd, 1861
Monday evening, 6 o’clock, P.M.
MY DEAR FATHER:
It becomes my painful duty to write you of the disaster of yesterday.
Our army has been unfortunate. That the results amount to a
_defeat_ we are not willing to admit, but we have been severely
repulsed, and our troops returned in part to their former quarters
in and around the city. This has been a hard day to witness, sad,
painful, and mortifying, but whether in the aggregate it shall sum up
a defeat, or a victory, depends (in my poor judgment) entirely upon
circumstances; viz. the tone and spirit in which it leaves our men;
if sad and disheartened, we are defeated, the worst and sorest of
defeats; _if roused to madness, and revenge_, it will yet prove
VICTORY. But _no mortal_ could look in upon this scene
to-night and judge of effects. How gladly would I close my eyes to it
if I could. I am not fit to write you now, I shall do you more harm
than good.
July 26th, Friday noon
You will think it strange that I _commenced_ so timely a letter
to you and stopped so suddenly. But I did so upon more mature
reflection. You could not fail to know all that I could have told you
so soon as I could have got letters through to you, and everything
was _so_ unreliable, vague, uncertain, and I confidently hoped
exaggerated, that I deemed it the part of prudence to wait, and
even now, after all this interval of time, I cannot tell you with
certainty and accuracy the things I would like to. It is certain that
we have at length had the “_Forward Movement_” which has been
so loudly clamored for, and I am a living witness of a corresponding
_Backward_ one. I know that our troops continued to go over into
Virginia from Wednesday until Saturday, noble, gallant, handsome
fellows, armed to the teeth, apparently lacking nothing. Waving
banners and plumes and bristling bayonets, gallant steeds and stately
riders, the roll of the drum, and the notes of the bugle, the farewell
shout and martial tread of armed men, filled our streets, and saluted
our ears through all those days. These were all noble sights, but to
_me_ never pleasant; where I fain would have given them a smile
and cheer, _the bitter tears would come_; for well I knew that,
though the proudest of victories perch upon our banner, many a brave
boy marched down to die; that, reach it when, and as they would, the
Valley of Manassas was the Valley of Death.
Friday brought the particulars of Thursday’s encounter. We deplored
it, but hoped for more care, and shrewder judgment next time. Saturday
brought rumors of _intended_ battle, and most conflicting
accounts of the enemy’s strength; the evening and Sunday morning
papers told us reliably that he had eighty thousand men, and
constantly reënforced. My blood ran cold as I read it, lest our army
be deceived; but then they _knew_ it, the news came from them;
surely they would never have the madness to attack, from open field,
an enemy of three times their number behind entrenchments fortified by
batteries, and masked at that. No, this _could not be_; then we
breathed freer, and thought of all the humane consideration and wisdom
of our time-honored, brave commanding general, that he had never
needlessly sacrificed a man.
Clara Barton went immediately to the Washington hospitals to render
assistance after the battle of Bull Run. But it did not require all
the women in Washington to minister to a thousand wounded men. Those
of the wounded who got to Washington were fairly well cared for; but
two things appalled her, the stories she heard of suffering on the part
of the wounded before they could be conveyed to the hospitals, and
the almost total lack of facilities for the care of the wounded. She
thought of the good clean cloth in New England homes that might be used
for bandages; of the fruits and jellies in Northern farm homes which
the soldiers would enjoy. She began advertising in the Worcester “Spy”
for provisions for the wounded. She had immediate responses, and soon
had established a distributing agency.
I am very glad to have first-hand testimony as to the establishment
which she now set up. Mrs. Vassall, who, as Miss Frances Maria Childs,
had been her assistant teacher in Bordentown, has described the home of
Clara Barton during the Civil War. She said:
The rooms she took were in a business block. It was not an ideal
place for a home-loving woman. Originally there had been one large
room, but she had a wooden partition put through, and she made it
convenient and serviceable. She occupied one room and had her stores
in the other. It was a kind of tent life, but she was happy in it and
made it a center from which she brought cheer to others.
Before the end of 1861 the Worcester women had begun to inquire whether
there was any further need of their sending supplies to her. They had
sent so much, they thought the whole army was provided for, and for the
period of the war. We have her letter in reply:
WASHINGTON, D.C., December 16, 1861
MRS. MILLER, Sec.,
Ladies’ Relief Committee,
Worcester, Mass.
DEAR MADAM:
Your letter, mailed to me on the 11th, came duly to hand at a moment
when I was _more_ than busy, and, as I had just written Mrs.
Dickensen (of whom I received the articles) a detailed account of
their history and final destination, I have ventured with much regret
to allow your letter to remain unanswered for a day, that I might find
time to write you at greater length. You must before this have learned
from my letter to Mrs. D. the occasion of the delay (viz., uncertain
orders, rainy weather, and Maryland roads), and decided with me that
the (anxious) package has long before this accomplished its mission
of charity and love. The bundles were all packed together in a stout
box, securely nailed, and given to the sutler of the 15th Regiment,
who promised to deliver them safely at Headquarters. I have no doubt
but it has all been properly done. A box for the 25th I had delivered
to Captain Atwood’s Company, and heard with much satisfaction the
gratification it afforded the various recipients. The men were
looking splendidly, and I need not tell you that the 25th is a
“_live_” regiment from its _Colonel_ and _Chaplain_
down. Worcester County has just cause for pride.
I come now to the expressions in your excellent letter which I had all
along feared,--“Are our labors needed, are we doing any good, shall
we work, or shall we forbear?” From the first I have dreaded lest a
sense of vague uncertainty in regard to matters here should discourage
the efforts of our patriotic ladies at home; it was this fear and
only this which even gave me courage to assemble the worthy ladies of
your Committee (so vastly my superiors) to confer upon a matter with
which they seemed perfectly familiar, while I knew so little. And
even now I scarce know how to reply. It is _said_, upon proper
authority, that “our army is supplied.” Well, this may be so, it is
not for me to gainsay, and so far as our _New England_ troops
are concerned, it may be that in these days of quiet idleness they
have really no pressing wants, but in the event of a battle who can
tell what their necessities might grow to in a single day? They would
want _then_ faster than you could make. But only a _small_
portion of our army, comparatively speaking, are _New England
troops_,--New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, and Missouri have
sent their hundreds of thousands, and I greatly fear that those States
lack somewhat the active, industrious, intelligent organizations at
home which are so characteristic of our New England circles. I think
I discern traces of this in this camp. I feel, while passing through
them, that they could be better supplied without danger of enervation
from luxuries. Still it is said that “our army is supplied.” It is
said also, upon the same authority, that we “need no nurses,” either
male or female, and none are admitted.
I wished an hour ago that you had been with me. In compliance with
a request of my sister in this city I went to her house and found
there a young Englishman, a brother of one of their domestics who
had enlisted during the summer in a regiment of Pennsylvania Cavalry.
They are stationed at Camp Pierpont; the sister heard that her brother
was sick, and with the energetic habit of a true Englishwoman crossed
the country on foot nine miles out to his camp and back the same day,
found him in an almost dying condition and begged that he be sent to
her. He was taken shortly after in an ambulance, and upon his arrival
his condition was found to be most deplorable; he had been attacked
with ordinary fever six weeks before, and had lain unmoved until the
flesh upon all parts of the body which rested hard upon whatever was
under him had decayed, grown perfectly black, and was falling out;
his heels had assumed the same appearance; his stockings had never
been removed during all his illness and his toes were matted and grown
together and are now _dropping off at the joint_; the cavities in
his back are absolutely frightful. When intelligent medical attendance
was summoned from the city, the verdict rendered upon examination was
that his extremities were _perishing for want of nourishment_.
He had been neglected until he was literally starving; too little
nourishment had been taken into the system during his illness to
preserve life in the extremities. This conclusion seems all the
more reliable from the famished appearance which he presents. I am
accustomed to see people _hungry_ when recovering from a fever,
but I find that hunger and starvation are two distinct conditions.
He can lie only on his face with his insteps propped up with hair
pillows to prevent his toes from touching the bed (for with the life
engendered by food and care, sensation is returning to them), and asks
only for “something to eat.” Food is placed by him at night, and with
the earliest dawn of day commence his bowls of broths and soups and
a little meat, and he eats and begs for “more,” and sleeps and eats
and begs. Three of his toes are to be amputated to-day. The surgeon
of the regiment comes to see him, but had no idea of his condition;
said that their assistant surgeon was killed and that it “was true
that the men had not received proper care; he was very sorry.” With
the attention which this young man is now receiving, he will probably
recover, but had it been otherwise? Only thus, that not far from this
time the city papers under caption of “Death of Soldiers” would have
contained the paragraph--“Benjamin (or Berry) Pollard, _private_,
Camp Pierpont,” and this would have been the end. Whoever could have
mistrusted that this soldier had _starved to death_ through lack
of proper attendance? Ah, me, all of our poor boys have not a sister
within nine miles of them. And still it is said, upon authority,
“_we have no need of nurses_” and “_our army is supplied_.”
How this can be so I fail to see; still again it is not for me to
gainsay. We are _loyal_ and our authority must be respected,
though our men perish. I only mention such facts as come under my
own observation, and only a fraction of those. This is not by any
means in accordance with our home style of judging. If we New England
people saw men lying in camp uncared for until their toes rotted from
their feet, with not persons enough about them to take care of them,
we should think they needed _more_ nurses; if with plenty of
persons about who failed to care for them we should think they needed
_better_. I can only repeat that I fail to see clear. I greatly
fear that the few privileged, elegantly dressed ladies who ride over
and sit in their carriages to witness “splendid services” and “inspect
the Army of the Potomac” and come away “delighted,” learn very little
of what lies there under canvas.
Since receiving your letter I have taken occasion to converse with a
number of the most intelligent and competent ladies who are or have
been connected with the hospitals in this city, and all agree upon one
point, viz., that _our army cannot afford_ that our ladies lay
down their needles and fold their hands; if their contributions are
not needed just to-day, they may be to-morrow, and _somewhere_
they are needed to-day. And again all agree in advising that whatever
be sent be gotten as nearly direct as possible from the hands of the
donors to the very spot for which it is designed, not to pass through
too general distribution, strengthening their advice by many reasons
and circumstances which I do not feel at liberty to lay before you.
No one can fail to perceive that a house of general receipts and
distribution of stores of all descriptions from the whole United
States must be a mammoth concern, abounding in confusion which always
involves loss and destruction of property. I am confident that this
idea cannot be incorrect, and therefore I will not hesitate to
advance it upon my own responsibility, viz., that every State should
have, in the vicinity of her greatest body of troops, a dépôt of her
own where all her contributions should be sent and dispersed; if
her own soldiers need it all, to them; if not, then let her share
generously and intelligently with those who do need; but know what
she has and what she gives. We shall never have any other precise
method of discovering the real _wants_ of our soldiers. When the
_storehouse_ of _any_ State should be found empty, it would
be safe to conclude that her troops are in need; then let the full
garners render the required assistance. This would systematize the
whole matter, and do away with all necessary confusion, doubt, and
uncertainty; it would preclude all possibility of loss, as it would be
the business of each house to look to its own property. There is some
truth in the old maxim that “what is everybody’s business is nobody’s
business.” I believe that as long ago as the early settlement of our
country it was found that the plan, general labor, general storehouse,
and general distribution, proved ineffective and reduced our own
little colony to a state of confusion and almost ruin; there were one
hundred persons then, one hundred thousand now. If, pecuniarily I were
able, Massachusetts should have her dépôt in this city and I should
have no fear of unreliability; this to me would be no experiment, for
however dimly and slowly I discern _other_ points, _this_
has been clear to me from the first, strengthened by eight months’
daily observation.
While I write another idea occurs to me,--has it been thought of
to provide each of our regiments that are to accompany the next
expedition with some strong, well-filled boxes of useful articles and
stores, which are not to be opened until some battle, or other strong
necessity renders supplies necessary. These necessities are sure to
follow, and, unless anticipated and guarded against, no activity on
the part of friends at home can prevent the suffering which their
absence will create. With regard to our 23d, 25th, and 27th Regiments,
I cannot speak, but our 21st I _know_ have no such provisions,
and will not have unless thought of at home, and the consequence
of neglect will be that by and by our very hearts will be wrung by
accounts of our best officers and dearest friends having their limbs
amputated by the light of two inches of tallow candle in the midst of
a battle, and pitchy darkness close down upon men bleeding to death,
or since essaying to stanch their wounds with husks and straw.
A note just now informs me that our four companies of surgeons from
Fort Independence, now stationed at the arsenal in this city (some
two miles from me), in waiting for their supplies from Boston, were
compelled to sleep in low, damp places with a single blanket and are
taking severe colds and coughing fearfully. My ingenuity points no
way of relief but to buy sacking, run up many ticks to be filled with
hay to raise them from the drafts a little, and to this the remainder
of my day must be devoted; they are far more exposed than they would
be on the ground under a good tent. I almost envy you ladies where so
many of you can work together and accomplish so much, while my poor
labors are so single-handed. The future often looks dark to me, and it
seems sometimes that the smiles of Heaven are almost withdrawn from
our poor, rent, and distracted country; and yet there is everything
to be grateful for, and by no means the least is this strangely mild
winter.
But I must desist and crave pardon for my (perhaps unpardonably)
long letter, for if you have followed me thus far, and especially at
comparatively as rapid a rate as I have written, you must be weary. I
did not intend to say so much, but let my interest be my apology. And
with one more final word in answer to your rational question I have
done. Ladies, remember that the call for your organized efforts in
behalf of our army was _not_ from any commission or committee,
but from Abraham Lincoln and Simon Cameron, and when they no longer
need your labors they will tell you.
But all this preliminary work bore in upon the mind of Clara Barton
two important truths. The first was a necessity for organization.
People were ready to give if they knew where to give and how their
gifts would be made effective. The problem was one of publicity, and
then of effective organization for distribution. But the other matter
troubled her yet more. Supplies distributed from Washington and relief
given to men there reached the wounded many hours or even days after
the beginning of their needs. What was required was not simply good
nurses in hospitals and adequate food and medicine for the soldiers who
were conveyed thither, but some sort of provision on the battle-field
itself. In later years she described her own misgivings as she
considered the kind of service that ought to be rendered, and of the
difficulties, including those of social duties, which might stand in
the way:
I was strong and thought I might go to the rescue of the men who fell.
The first regiment of troops, the old 6th Massachusetts that fought
its way through Baltimore brought my playmates and neighbors, the
partakers of my childhood; the brigades of New Jersey brought scores
of my brave boys, the same solid phalanx; and the strongest legions
from old Herkimer, brought the associates of my seminary days. They
formed and crowded around me. What could I do but go with them, or
work for them and my country? The patriot blood of my father was
warm in my veins. The country which he had fought for, I might at
least work for, and I had offered my service to the Government in the
capacity of a double clerkship at twice $1600 a year, upon discharge
of two disloyal clerks from its employ--the salary never to be given
to me, but to be turned back into the United States Treasury, then
poor to beggary, with no currency, no credit. But there was no law for
this, and it could not be done, and I would not draw salary from our
Government in such peril, so I resigned and went into direct service
of the sick and wounded troops wherever found.
But I struggled long and hard with my sense of propriety--with the
appalling fact that I was only a woman whispering in one ear, and
thundering in the other, the groans of suffering men dying like dogs,
unfed and unsheltered, for the life of every institution which had
protected and educated me!
I said that I struggled with my sense of propriety and I say it with
humiliation and shame. I am ashamed that I thought of such a thing.
The thing that became increasingly plain to Clara Barton was that every
hour that elapsed after a man was wounded before relief reached him
was an hour on which might easily hang the issues of life and death.
Somehow she must get relief to men on the battle-field itself.
In later years people used sometimes to address her in terms which
implied that she had nursed with her own hands more soldiers than
any other American woman who labored in military hospitals; that
her hands had bound up more wounds than those of other nurses and
sanitary leaders. She always tried to make it plain that she put
forth no such claim for herself. Her distinctive contribution to the
problem was one of organization and distribution, and especially of
the prompt conveyance of relief to the places of greatest need and
of greatest danger. In this she was soon to organize a system, and,
indeed, had already effected the beginning of an organization which
was to constitute her distinctive work in the Civil War and to lay the
foundation for her great contribution to humanity, the American Red
Cross.