might go out under the existing lack of accommodations, it was decided
to erect a building similar to our warehouse. The use of the former site
of the Episcopal Church was generously tendered us by the bishop early
in June, for any purpose we might desire. This house, which was soon
erected, was known as the "Locust Street Red Cross Hotel;" it stood some
fifty yards from our warehouse, and was fifty by one hundred and sixteen
feet in dimensions, two stories in height, with lantern roof, built of
hemlock, single siding, papered inside with heavy building paper, and
heated by natural gas, as all our buildings were. It consisted of
thirty-four rooms, besides kitchen, laundry, bath rooms with hot and
cold water, and one main dining-hall and sitting room through the
centre, sixteen feet in width by one hundred in length with second floor
gallery.
It was fully furnished with excellent beds, bedding, bureaus, tables,
chairs and all needful housekeeping furniture. A competent landlady, who
like the rest, had a few weeks before floated down over that same ground
on the roof of her house in thirty feet of water five miles below the
city, rescued in a tree top, was placed in charge, with instructions to
keep a good house, make what she could, rent free, but charging no
Johnstown person over twenty-five cents for a meal of food.
This was the first attempt at social life after that terrible
separation, and its success was something that I am very glad of. The
house was full of townspeople from the first day, and strangers no
longer looked in vain for accommodations.
The conception of the need of this house, and the method of selecting
its inmates and the manner of inducting them into their new home, were
somewhat unique and may be of interest to the reader. We had noticed
among the brave and true men, who were working in the mud and rain, many
refined looking gentlemen, who were, before this great misfortune
carried away most of their worldly belongings, the wealthiest and most
influential citizens. Never having had to struggle amid such hardships
and deprivations, their sufferings were more acute than those of the
poorer and more hardy people; and it did not require any great foresight
to know that they were physically incapable of such labor if prolonged,
nor to predict their early sickness and death if they were not properly
housed and fed. As the salvation of the town depended in a great measure
upon the efforts of these men, it was vitally necessary that their lives
should be preserved. Realizing all this, it occurred to us that the most
important thing to do, next to feeding the hungry, was to provide proper
shelter for these men and their families. The idea once conceived was
soon put in the way of realization.
[Illustration: RED CROSS FURNITURE ROOM, JOHNSTOWN.]
[Illustration: TYPICAL SCENE AFTER THE FLOOD AT JOHNSTOWN, PA.,
MAY 30, 1889.]
It was decided that we should erect the house as quickly as possible,
furnish it completely, and when ready, invite the citizens to a
reception within its hospitable walls. This arrangement was carried out,
and a printed invitation was issued, of which the following is a
facsimile:
[Illustration:
A Five O'clock Tea
is to be given at the
New Red Cross House, Locust Street,
Johnstown,
Saturday, July 27, 1889.
Your presence will be esteemed a favor.
Clara Barton,
Prest. Nat. Red Cross of America.
J.B. Hubbell,
General Field Agent.]
On the afternoon of July 27, hundreds of citizens called on us and
congratulations and good wishes were the order of the day. As the
members of each family whom we had selected to occupy apartments in the
house arrived, they were quietly taken aside and requested to remain and
have dinner with us. After all the guests were departed except those who
had been requested to remain, dinner was announced, and the party was
seated by the members of the Red Cross. Beside the plate of each head of
the family were laid the keys to an apartment, with a card inviting the
family to take possession at once, and remain as long as they chose.
I cannot describe the scene that followed; there were tears and broken
voices; suffice to say, the members of that household were made happy
and comfortable for many long months; and I venture to assert that those
now living recall those days with the fondest recollections.
This revealed a want so great, that a second house of the same
dimensions and qualities was erected just across the river, known as the
"Kernville Red Cross Hotel." Another competent landlady was installed in
charge, who had not only lost her home, but her beautiful daughter of
twenty years. This house was also filled; and a fourth house of forty by
one hundred feet was next built in the form of a block, the families
living separately, for the accommodation of the working people of
Woodvale, where no house was left. This was known as the "Red Cross
Block," or "Woodvale House."
There was no rent to pay for accommodations in this house, the only cost
to the tenant being for fire, lights and living.
Johnstown had neither a hospital nor an almshouse--never had, its poor
being taken to Ebensville, twenty miles distant. Under ordinary
circumstances this might do, but with the scant, poor homes of this
winter we felt it to be unsafe, and saw that better provision should be
made. Accordingly the use of some half-dozen unset portable houses,
known as the "Oklahomas," was asked of the Flood Commission, and erected
adjoining our warehouse, as separate wards connected by a covered way,
and provided with an adjoining house of eighteen by thirty feet, two
stories high, for kitchen, dining, store, sleeping and living rooms for
the use of the wards and attendants. These were all fully equipped and
warmed for the accommodation of thirty patients, with the best of new
outfit, and the hospital was known as the "Johnstown Infirmary."
These things accomplished, there remained but one more danger to be
guarded against. The citizens still had no organization of their own for
the relief of their needy people through the coming winter, and no
protection against any alarming report which might be sprung upon them.
Any sensational writer could still, if he chose to, report two hundred
cases of typhoid fever in Johnstown, alarming the whole country, with
not a case of genuine typhoid there, and there were none to say him nay;
or that its people were freezing or starving, with nowhere the authority
to correct the misstatement. This protection was needed, not alone for
Johnstown, but the people at large as well.
A few well-timed suggestions were sufficient. The meetings were held in
our house and some of the leading men and women of the city effected a
permanent organization to be incorporated under the name of the
"Benevolent Union of Conemaugh Valley."
This completed, we had only to turn over to their hands, as the leaders
of the town, our warehouse with its entire remaining stock, amounting to
some thousands of dollars; the care of the infirmary; one of our trained
clerks, with all papers and accounts of our relief work from the day of
its inception; one of our experienced working men to handle
transportation--to fit up for them large, warm rooms for winter use;
give them our blessing; accept theirs in fullest measure; say good bye
to them and to our faithful helpers, with heavy hearts and choking
voices, and return to our home, bearing the record of a few months of
faithful endeavor among a people as patient and brave as people are
made, as noble and grateful as falls to the lot of human nature to be.
Enterprising, industrious, and hopeful, the new Johnstown, phoenix-like,
rose from its ruins more beautiful than the old, with a ceaseless throb
of grateful memory for every kind act rendered, and every thought of
sympathy given her in her great hour of desolation and woe. God bless
her, and God bless all who helped save her!
We had employed during our sojourn in Johnstown a working force of fifty
men and women, whom we had housed, fed and paid, with the exception of
the volunteers who worked for the good they could do and would accept
nothing. The means which we so largely handled came from everywhere;
accounts were rendered for everything, and no word of business
complication ever came to us. There never has in all our work.
There was much to do in Johnstown after we left; buildings to remove and
property to care for when it had served its purpose and the ground
became needed. But there is always a right time for any benevolent work
to cease; a time when the community is ready to resume its own burdens,
and when an offered charity is an insult to the honest and independent,
and a degradation to the careless and improvident, tending to pauperize
and make them an added burden on their better-minded fellow citizens.
And then, the moment the tradesman is able to re-establish himself, he
looks with jealous eyes on any agency that diverts possible business
from his channels. Thus it is not only wise but just to all concerned to
withdraw all gratuities from a people the instant they are able to gain
even a meagre self-support.
A rather curious circumstance, somewhat on the line of this reflection,
fell to our lot after leaving Johnstown. The houses that we had built
and furnished were indispensable to the tenants during the winter, when
there were no other houses to be had; but in the spring the city,
rejuvenated, began to build up again, and we were notified that the land
on which our large houses were standing was needed by the owners, who
wished to use it for their own purposes, and they requested the Red
Cross to remove its buildings. We promptly sent an agent to attend to
the matter, and he began the work of vacating the premises. There was no
hardship involved in this, as all the tenants were by this time in
condition to pay rent, the relief fund of $1,600,000 having been
distributed among them in proportion to their losses, and there were
houses that they could get; in a few days our houses were empty. Then a
new factor entered into the situation. When it became generally known
that the Red Cross must remove these immense houses, and that a large
quantity of lumber and house furnishings were to be disposed of, the
self-interests of the dealers in those commodities were at once aroused,
and they strongly protested against the gratuitous distribution of those
articles among the people of Johnstown, asserting that the inhabitants
were now prospering and had the means to buy everything they needed, and
that a gift from us of any of these things would be an injustice to the
honest traders who were trying to re-establish themselves.
We saw the justice of their objection and gave assurances that no injury
should be done them, still to have fully conformed to their idea and
transported the entire material to some other point, would have put the
Red Cross to an amount of trouble and cost unjust to itself.
I am not prepared to say that our quiet field agent in charge of the
work did not find resting places for very much of this material in still
needy homes, where it did no harm to any one and for which no one but
the pitiful recipients were the wiser.
Notwithstanding the fact that we took away from Johnstown as little
material and furniture as was possible, after quietly disposing of the
greater part of it, and this at an expense and inconvenience to
ourselves which we could ill afford, there were those, who could not
understand why we should take _anything_ away; and their unkind
misconstruction and criticisms have scarcely ceased echoing even to this
late day.
The paths of charity are over roadways of ashes; and he who would tread
them must be prepared to meet opposition, misconstruction, jealousy and
calumny. Let his work be that of angels, still it will not satisfy all.
There is always an aftermath of attempted relief where none is needed;
and more or less criticism of any work, for it is always so much easier
to say how a thing ought to be done than it is to do it.
These little unpleasantnesses, however, cannot deprive us of the
thousand memories of gratitude, appreciation, and kindnesses exchanged,
which were mutually needful and helpful; nor of the many lifelong
friendships formed that will bless us all our days.
I may perhaps be pardoned for quoting a few lines from the official
report of the Johnstown Flood Finance Committee, appointed by Governor
Beaver, as showing how these gentlemen, the foremost men in the
community, regarded our efforts to give them a helping hand:
In this matter of sheltering the people, as in others of like
importance, Miss Clara Barton, president of the Red Cross
Association, was most helpful. At a time when there was a doubt if
the Flood Commission could furnish houses of suitable character and
with the requisite promptness, she offered to assume charge, and she
erected with the funds of the association three large apartment
houses which afforded comfortable lodgings for many houseless
people. She was among the first to arrive on the scene of calamity,
bringing with her Dr. Hubbell, the field officer of the Red Cross
Association, and a staff of skilled assistants. She made her own
organization for relief work in every form disposing of the large
resources under her control with such wisdom and tenderness that the
charity of the Red Cross had no sting, and its recipients are not
Miss Barton's dependents, but her friends. She was also the last of
the ministering spirits to leave the scene of her labors, and she
left her apartment houses for use during the winter, and turned over
her warehouse, with its store of furniture, bedding and clothing and
a well-equipped infirmary, to the Union Benevolent Association of
the Conemaugh Valley, the organization of which she advised and
helped to form; and its lady visitors have so well performed their
work that the dreaded winter has no terrors, mendicancy has been
repressed, and not a single case of unrelieved suffering is known to
have occurred in all the flooded district.
The Johnstown _Daily Tribune_ was one of the enterprising and reliable
papers of the unfortunate city, which, though drowned out, would not
stay dead, and insisted on "pulling itself together," and cheering the
people along in their efforts to re-establish their homes and their
fortunes. On the eve of our departure the _Tribune_ published an
editorial which we are fain to believe reflected the feelings of the
people, and which was as follows:
FAREWELL TO MISS BARTON.
How shall we thank Miss Clara Barton and the Red Cross for the help
they have given us? It cannot be done; and if it could, Miss Barton
does not want our thanks. She has simply done her duty as she saw it
and received her pay--the consciousness of a duty performed to the
best of her ability. To see us upon our feet, struggling forward,
helping ourselves, caring for the sick and infirm and
impoverished--that is enough for Miss Barton. Her idea has been
fully worked out, all her plans accomplished. What more could such a
woman wish?
We cannot thank Miss Barton in words. Hunt the dictionaries of all
languages through and you will not find the signs to express our
appreciation of her and her work. Try to describe the sunshine. Try
to describe the starlight. Words fail, and in dumbness and silence
we bow to the idea which brought her here. God and humanity! Never
were they more closely linked than in stricken Johnstown.
Men are brothers! Yes, and sisters, too, if Miss Barton pleases. The
first to come, the last to go, she has indeed been an elder sister
to us--nursing, soothing, tending, caring for the stricken ones
through a season of distress such as no other people ever knew--such
as, God grant, no other people may ever know. The idea crystallized,
put into practice. "Do unto others as you would have others do unto
you." "Even as ye have done it unto the least of these, so also have
ye done it unto Me!" Christianity applied, Nature appeased and
satisfied. This has been Miss Barton's work, and nobly has she done
it.
Picture the sunlight or the starlight, and then try to say good-bye
to Miss Barton. As well try to escape from yourself by running to
the mountains. "I go, but I return" is as true of her as of Him who
said it. There is really no parting. She is with us, she will be
with us always--the spirit of her work even after she has passed
away.
But we can say God bless you, and we do say it, Miss Barton, from
the bottom of our hearts, one and all.
Some bard, whose name I do not know, but whose sad, lovely words
frequently recur to me, has commemorated the disaster of the Conemaugh
in the following beautiful poem, which, I think, is worthy of
preservation:
"THE DREAD CONEMAUGH."
I tarried in Conemaugh Valley
One beautiful morning in spring,
And loveliness mantled the mountains,
The meadows and everything.
The breezes were laden with odor
Akin to the blossoming rose,
And happiness brightened the faces
Of people refreshed by repose.
But death, the remorseless destroyer,
Looked down on the valley, so green,
Beheld the quaint homes on the hillsides,
The towns nestled snugly between,
And, hungry for awful disaster,
For grief, lamentation and tears,
Death paused where a lake in the mountains
Had shimmered untroubled for years.
The water grew dark in his presence,
Grew dark in the presence of death,
And shrank from the terrible visage,
Away from his poisonous breath.
A tempest came forth in its fury
And soon with an ominous flow
The overcharged lake in the mountains
Plunged into the valley below.
A rumble, a roar, and destruction
Came down with the pitiless flood
To stifle the cry of the wicked
To silence the prayer of the good;
Like straws in a bubbling cauldron
These homes in the valley were tossed
Away on the hurrying waters,
Along with the dying and lost.
There brother was taken from brother,
The false were destroyed with the true.
There lovers were torn from each other
With never a parting adieu.
Confusion wrought havoc so wanton
That mercy grew deaf for a while,
And beings, half demon, made merry
On Conemaugh's funeral pile.
But Heaven will surely remember
The names of the noble who died
To rescue their perishing brothers
From death in that horrible tide.
For some of the noblest heroes
That ever calamity saw,
Repose uninterred in the valley
Where wanders the dread Conemaugh.
The incidents attending a field of relief--some pathetic and sorrowful,
others laughable and ludicrous--so loom up in the memory when the
subject is opened, as almost to encumber the pen as one writes.
Referring to our landlady at Locust Street Hotel, Mrs. Henrie, one
recalls her wonderful experience during the night of the flood. By some
means, entirely alone, she floated down the stream, not only through
Johnstown, but miles below in the darkness of the night, until some time
next day perhaps she managed to stay herself in a tree-top, where she
clung among the branches, her clothing torn from her in shreds during
her struggle for life, until discovered and taken away.
The family of Mr. John Tittle, one of the oldest, most respected and
beloved in the town, floated clinging to the top of their house, without
knowing that they were moving, but thought others were moving as they
passed them; until at length, fearing that Mrs. Tittle's strength and
courage would fail, her husband joined hands with her firmly over the
ridge-pole, and thus they hung on opposite sides of the roof through the
long night. The courage and strength did often fail, and her pleading
went out to her husband: "Oh, let us let go and end it, John! We cannot
escape! I cannot endure it longer!" to be answered by his words of hope
and cheer and a tightened grasp on the aching wrists. At length, near
morning, having reached the vicinity of Kernville, the house struck the
bridge and remained stationary. One by one the inmates slid onto the
bridge and gained the land on the Kernville side.
They had left within the house, unable to be gotten out, the old,
decrepit black mammy of a lifetime, the great silky-haired setter,
"Rob," and the poll-parrot hanging in her cage. All had been
transferred, as the water rose, to the topmost peak of the attic, where
they were left to their fate. The great bread-wagons of Pittsburg, with
their sturdy policemen, were already there; the dead and the living were
being picked up together as they floated down. Some consciousness began
to return to the dazed survivors, and at length it was thought safe to
attempt an entrance to the Tittle mansion, still floating at the bridge.
On gaining the attic, this picture as described at the time, presented
itself: the water had never quite reached it; Poor, old mammy sat in the
highest corner, with hands clasped, her chin resting on her knees, and
her lips muttering her woes and her prayers; long-eared, silky-haired
"Rob," no longer a "setter" at least, bounding and roaring a welcome
that required physical strength to resist; and "poll," her cage
topsy-turvy, striding about the floor, with an air of offended dignity,
hungry and cross, said "she had had a devil of a time."
During one of the early days Mr. K., a citizen of the town, came into my
tent, bringing with him another man--tall, firmly knit, dark visaged,
with hair tangled and matted, and still the bearing of a man if not a
gentleman. On introducing his companion, Mr. K. said that he had been
exceedingly unfortunate, and he had brought him to me to see if anything
could be done for him. "I hoped so," and turned to inquire what was most
needed. "Had he a family; did they want food, or clothing? Had he little
children?" His face grew darker still and his frown deeper, as at
length, in a tone approaching contempt, he replied: "No; I don't want
anything _you_ can give; you have nothing for me." I had still the
courage to persevere, and added, "What would you have me do, if I could
do it?" Again a silence and a mental struggle that shook his whole
frame, as he half hissed between clenched teeth, "Let me look on the
face of one dead child;" and rushing from the tent, he disappeared from
me forever.
He had had five motherless children, for whom he toiled early and late
in the great Cambria Iron Mills. The flood swept his little home before
he could reach it, and every child was lost. He had wandered about the
river banks, watched the receding waters, dug in the sands for the
little bodies hidden beneath, until reason had given way--till even God
seemed cruel and mankind weak idiots.
[Illustration: _Executed and presented to Clara Barton by one of the
Johnstown sufferers._
A PEN MEMORIAL TO CLARA BARTON BY ONE OF THE JOHNSTOWN
FLOOD SUFFERERS, MR. J.F. DRURY.]
THE RUSSIAN FAMINE,
1891-1892.
To properly understand the Russian Famine of 1891-92, and the relief
work of the Red Cross connected therewith, one needs to keep in mind the
ordinary moral and economic condition of the Russian peasantry. They
were, many of them, not long ago serfs attached to the land in a
condition but little better than American slaves. Though the liberation
of the serfs made their legal condition better, it left them in
condition scarcely less discouraging than before. They were subject to
all the disabilities of hard bargains on every side, from the exactions
of taxes levied in one way or another, and payable in services or goods,
all of which called for an ever increasing sacrifice. They were subject
to onerous military service, and penal exactions for violations of the
law. These conditions surrounded them with an atmosphere of depressing
poverty, fear and hopeless endurance, if not of despair. They have not
felt the stimulating habitual influence of hope, of courage, of
enterprise. They are not educated to surmount discouragements by
overcoming them. Difficulties do not down easily before them; they go
down before difficulties and disasters in something like apathetic
despondency, or live in an amazing light-hearted, careless recklessness
that easily turns to drink, to idleness, weakness, disease and early
death. Fear is with them always, as if fate was over and against them.
The climate of Russia is cold in winter, and the means of cooking and
artificial warmth are scanty, and not easily procured at any time; thus,
when the famine really came upon them, observers were divided in opinion
whether the famine, or fear of famine, or of something worse, destroyed
or paralyzed these people the more.