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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3a383aa --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #67505 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67505) diff --git a/old/67505-0.txt b/old/67505-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7b806f1..0000000 --- a/old/67505-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11810 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Life of Clara Barton (Vol. 1 of -2), by William E. Barton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Life of Clara Barton (Vol. 1 of 2) - Founder of the American Red Cross - -Author: William E. Barton - -Release Date: February 25, 2022 [eBook #67505] - -Language: English - -Produced by: MWS and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF CLARA BARTON -(VOL. 1 OF 2) *** - - - - - - THE LIFE OF CLARA BARTON - - IN TWO VOLUMES - - VOLUME I - - [Illustration: _Clara Barton_] - - - - - THE LIFE OF - CLARA BARTON - - FOUNDER OF - THE AMERICAN RED CROSS - - BY - - WILLIAM E. BARTON - - AUTHOR OF “THE SOUL OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN” - “THE PATERNITY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN,” ETC. - - _With Illustrations_ - - - VOLUME I - - [Illustration: Decorative Image] - - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - - HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - - The Riverside Press Cambridge - - 1922 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY WILLIAM E. BARTON - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - The Riverside Press - CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS - PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. - - - - - TO - - STEPHEN E. BARTON - - HER TRUSTED NEPHEW; MY KINSMAN AND FRIEND - - - - - CONTENTS - - VOLUME I - - - INTRODUCTION xi - - I. HER FIRST ATTEMPT AT AUTOBIOGRAPHY 1 - - II. THE BIRTH OF CLARA BARTON 6 - - III. HER ANCESTRY 9 - - IV. HER PARENTAGE AND INFANCY 16 - - V. HER SCHOOLS AND TEACHERS 22 - - VI. THE DAYS OF HER YOUTH 36 - - VII. HER FIRST EXPERIENCE AS A TEACHER 50 - - VIII. LEAVES FROM HER UNPUBLISHED AUTOBIOGRAPHY 56 - - IX. THE HEART OF CLARA BARTON 76 - - X. FROM SCHOOLROOM TO PATENT OFFICE 89 - - XI. THE BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM 107 - - XII. HOME AND COUNTRY 131 - - XIII. CLARA BARTON TO THE FRONT 172 - - XIV. HARPER’S FERRY TO ANTIETAM 191 - - XV. CLARA BARTON’S CHANGE OF BASE 225 - - XVI. THE ATTEMPT TO RECAPTURE SUMTER 238 - - XVII. FROM THE WILDERNESS TO THE JAMES 263 - - XVIII. TO THE END OF THE WAR 282 - - XIX. ANDERSONVILLE AND AFTER 304 - - XX. ON THE LECTURE PLATFORM 328 - - - - - ILLUSTRATIONS - - - CLARA BARTON AT THE TIME OF THE CIVIL WAR - - MOTHER AND FATHER OF CLARA BARTON - - BIRTHPLACE OF CLARA BARTON - - STONE SCHOOLHOUSE WHERE SHE FIRST TAUGHT - - CLARA BARTON AT EIGHTEEN - - MISS FANNIE CHILDS (MRS. BERNARD VASSALL) - - THE SCHOOLHOUSE AT BORDENTOWN - - FACSIMILE OF SENATOR HENRY WILSON’S LETTER TO PRESIDENT LINCOLN - - FACSIMILE OF LETTER OF CLARA BARTON TO PRESIDENT JOHNSON WITH - INDORSEMENTS BY THE PRESIDENT, GENERAL GRANT, AND OTHERS - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -The life of Clara Barton is a story of unique and permanent interest; -but it is more than an interesting story. It is an important chapter in -the history of our country, and in that of the progress of philanthropy -in this country and the world. Without that chapter, some events of -large importance can never be adequately understood. - -Hers was a long life. She lived to enter her tenth decade, and when she -died was still so normal in the soundness of her bodily organs and in -the clarity of her mind and memory that it seemed she might easily have -lived to see her hundredth birthday. Hers was a life spent largely in -the Nation’s capital. She knew personally every president from Lincoln -to Roosevelt, and was acquainted with nearly every man of prominence in -our national life. When she went abroad, her associates were people of -high rank and wide influence in their respective countries. No American -woman received more honor while she lived, either at home or abroad, -and how worthily she bore these honors those know best who knew her -best. - -The time has come for the publication of a definitive biography of -Clara Barton. Such a book could not earlier have been prepared. The -“Life of Clara Barton,” by Percy H. Epler, published in 1915, was -issued to meet the demand which rose immediately after her death for a -comprehensive biography, and it was published with the full approval -of Miss Barton’s relatives and of her literary executors, including -the author of the present work. But, by agreement, the two large -vaults containing some tons of manuscripts which Miss Barton left, -were not opened until after the publication of Mr. Epler’s book. It -was the judgment of her literary executors, concurred in by Mr. Epler, -that this mine of information could not be adequately explored within -any period consistent with the publication of a biography such as he -contemplated. For this reason, the two vaults remained unopened until -his book was on the market. The contents of these vaults, containing -more than forty closely packed boxes, is the chief source of the -present volume, and this abundant material has been supplemented by -letters and personal reminiscences from Clara Barton’s relatives and -intimate friends. - -Clara Barton considered often the question of writing her own -biography. A friend urged this duty upon her in the spring of 1876, and -she promised to consider the matter. But the incessant demands made -upon her time by duties that grew more steadily imperative prevented -her doing this. - -In 1906 the request came to her from a number of school-children that -she would tell about her childhood; and she wrote a little volume of -one hundred and twenty-five pages, published in 1907 by Baker and -Taylor, entitled, “The Story of my Childhood.” She was gratified by the -reception of this little book, and seriously considered using it as the -corner stone of her long contemplated autobiography. She wrote a second -section of about fifteen thousand words, covering her girlhood and her -experiences as a teacher at home and in Borden town, New Jersey. This -was never published, and has been utilized in this present biography. - -Beside these two formal and valuable contributions toward her -biography, she left journals covering most of the years from her -girlhood until her death, besides vast quantities of letters received -by her and copies of her replies. Her personal letters to her intimate -friends were not copied, as a rule, but it has been possible to gather -some hundreds of these. Letter-books, scrap-books, newspaper clippings, -magazine articles, records of the American Red Cross, and papers, -official and personal, swell the volume of material for this book to -proportions not simply embarrassing, but almost overwhelming. - -She appears never to have destroyed anything. Her temperament and the -habits of a lifetime impelled her to save every scrap of material -bearing upon her work and the subjects in which she was interested. -She gathered, and with her own hand labeled, and neatly tied up her -documents, and preserved them against the day when she should be able -to sift and classify them and prepare them for such use as might -ultimately be made of them. It troubled her that she was leaving these -in such great bulk, and she hoped vainly for the time when she could go -through them, box by box, and put them into shape. But they accumulated -far more rapidly than she could have assorted them, and so they were -left until her death, and still remained untouched, until December, -1915, when the vaults were opened and the heavy task began of examining -this material, selecting from it the papers that tell the whole story -of her life, and preparing the present volumes. If this book is large, -it is because the material compelled it to be so. It could easily have -been ten times as thick. - -The will of Clara Barton named as her executor her beloved and trusted -nephew, Stephen E. Barton. It also named a committee of literary -executors, to whom she entrusted the use of her manuscripts for such -purpose, biographical or otherwise, as they should deem best. The -author of these volumes was named by her as a member of that committee. -The committee elected him as its chairman, and requested him to -undertake the preparation of the biography. This task was undertaken -gladly, for the writer knew and loved his kinswoman and held her in -honor and affection; but he knew too well the magnitude of the task -ahead of him to be altogether eager to accept it. The burden, however, -has been measurably lightened by the assistance of Miss Saidee F. -Riccius, a grand-niece of Miss Barton, who, under the instruction of -the literary executors, and the immediate direction of Stephen E. -Barton and the author, has rendered invaluable service, without which -the author could not have undertaken this work. - -In her will, written a few days before her death, Miss Barton virtually -apologized to the committee and to her biographer for the heavy task -which she bequeathed to them. She said: - -“I regret exceedingly that such a labor should devolve upon my friends -as the overlooking of the letters of a lifetime, which should properly -be done by me, and shall be, if I am so fortunate as to regain a -sufficient amount of strength to enable me to do it. I have never -destroyed my letters, regarding them as the surest chronological -testimony of my life, whenever I could find the time to attempt to -write it. That time has never come to me, and the letters still wait my -call.” - -They still were there, undisturbed, thousands of them, when the -vaults were opened, and none of them have been destroyed or mutilated. -They are of every sort, personal and official; and they bear their -consistent and cumulative testimony to her indefatigability, her -patience, her heroic resolution, and most of all to her greatness of -heart and integrity of soul. - -Interesting and valuable in their record of every period and almost -every day and hour of her long and eventful life, they are the -indisputable record of the birth and development of the organization -which almost single-handed she created, the American Red Cross. - -Among those who suggested to Miss Barton the desirability of her -writing the story of her own life, was Mr. Houghton, senior partner in -the firm of Houghton, Mifflin and Company. He had one or more personal -conferences with her relating to this matter. Had she been able to -write the story of her own life, she would have expected it to be -published by that firm. It is to the author a gratifying circumstance -that this work, which must take the place of her autobiography, is -published by the firm with whose senior member she first discussed the -preparation of such a work. - -The author of this biography was a relative and friend of Clara Barton, -and knew her intimately. By her request he conducted her funeral -services, and spoke the last words at her grave. His own knowledge -of her has been supplemented and greatly enlarged by the personal -reminiscences of her nearer relatives and of the friends who lived -under her roof, and those who accompanied her on her many missions of -mercy. - -In a work where so much compression was inevitable, some incidents may -well have received scant mention which deserved fuller treatment. The -question of proportion is never an easy one to settle in a work of this -character. If she had given any direction, it would have been that -little be said about her, and much about the work she loved. That work, -the founding of the American Red Cross, must receive marked emphasis -in a Life of Clara Barton: for she was its mother. She conceived the -American Red Cross, carried it under her heart for years before it -could be brought forth, nurtured it in its cradle, and left it to her -country and the world, an organization whose record in the great World -War shines bright against that black cloud of horror, as the emblem of -mercy and of hope. - -Wherever, in America or in lands beyond, the flag of the Red Cross -flies beside the Stars and Stripes, there the soul of Clara Barton -marches on. - - FIRST CHURCH STUDY - OAK PARK, _July 16, 1921_ - - - - -THE LIFE OF CLARA BARTON - - - - -CHAPTER I - -HER FIRST ATTEMPT AT AUTOBIOGRAPHY - - -Though she had often been importuned to furnish to the public some -account of her life and work, Clara Barton’s first autobiographical -outline was not written until September, 1876, when Susan B. Anthony -requested her to prepare a sketch of her life for an encyclopædia of -noted women of America. Miss Barton labored long over her reply. She -knew that the story must be short, and that she must clip conjunctions -and prepositions and omit “all the sweetest and best things.” When she -had finished the sketch, she was appalled at its length, and still was -unwilling that any one else should make it shorter; so she sent it with -stamps for its return in case it should prove too long. “It has not an -adjective in it,” she said. - -Her original draft is still preserved, and reads as follows: - - FOR SUSAN B. ANTHONY - SKETCH FOR CYCLOPÆDIA - - SEPTEMBER, 1876 - - BARTON, CLARA; her father, Capt. Stephen Barton, a - non-commissioned officer under “Mad Anthony Wayne,” was a farmer - in Oxford, Mass. Clara, youngest child, finished her education at - Clinton, N.Y. Teacher, popularized free schools in New Jersey. - - First woman appointed to an independent clerkship by Government at - Washington. - - On outbreak of Civil War, went to aid suffering soldiers. Labored in - advance and independent of commissions. Never in hospitals; selecting - as scene of operations the battle-field from its earliest moment, - ’till the wounded and dead were removed or cared for; carrying her own - supplies by Government transportation. - - At the battles of Cedar Mountain, Second Bull Run, Chantilly, South - Mountain, Falmouth and “Old Fredericksburg,” Siege of Charleston, - Morris Island, Wagner, Wilderness, Fredericksburg, The Mine, Deep - Bottom, through sieges of Petersburg and Richmond under Butler and - Grant. - - At Annapolis on arrival of prisoners. - - Established search for missing soldiers, and, aided by Dorence - Atwater, enclosed cemetery, identified and marked the graves of - Andersonville. - - Lectured on Incidents of the War in 1866-67. In 1869 went to Europe - for health. In Switzerland on outbreak of Franco-Prussian War; - tendered services. Was invited by Grand Duchess of Baden, daughter - of Emperor William, to aid in establishing her hospitals. On fall of - Strassburg entered with German Army, remained eight months, instituted - work for women which held twelve hundred persons from beggary and - clothed thirty thousand. - - Entered Metz on its fall. Entered Paris the day succeeding the fall of - Commune; remained two months, distributing money and clothing which - she carried. Met the poor of every besieged city of France, giving - help. - - Is representative of the “Comité International of the Red Cross” of - Geneva. Honorary and only woman member of Comité de Strasbourgoes. Was - decorated with the Gold Cross of Remembrance by the Grand Duke and - Duchess of Baden and with the “Iron Cross” by the Emperor and Empress - of Germany. - -Miss Anthony regarded the sketch with the horror of offended modesty. - -“For Heaven’s sake, Clara,” she wrote, “put some flesh and clothes on -this skeleton!” - -Thus admonished, Miss Barton set to work to drape the bones of her -first attempt, and was in need of some assistance from Miss Anthony and -others. The work as completed was not wholly her own. The adjectives, -which had been conspicuously absent from the first draft together with -some characterizations of Miss Barton and her work, were supplied by -Miss Anthony and her editors. It need not here be reprinted in its -final form; for it is accessible in Miss Anthony’s book. As it finally -appeared, it is several times as long as when Clara Barton wrote it, -and is more Miss Anthony’s than Miss Barton’s. - -In the foregoing account, mention is made of her being an official -member of the International Committee of the Red Cross. In that -capacity she did not at that time represent any American organization -known as the Red Cross, for there was no such body. Although such an -organization had been in existence in Europe from the time of our Civil -War, and the Reverend Dr. Henry W. Bellows, late of the Christian -Commission, had most earnestly endeavored to organize a branch of it -in this country, and to secure official representation from America -in the international body, the proposal had been met not merely by -indifference, but by hostility. - -Clara Barton wrote her autobiographical sketch from a sanitarium. -She had not yet recovered from the strain of her service in the -Franco-Prussian War. One reason why she did not recover more rapidly -was that she was bearing on her heart the burden of this as yet unborn -organization, and as yet had found no friends of sufficient influence -and faith to afford to America a share in the honor of belonging to the -sisterhood of nations that marched under that banner. - - * * * * * - -The outbreak of the World War found America unprepared save only in -her wealth of material resources, her high moral purpose, and her -ability to adapt her forms of organized life to changed and unwelcome -conditions. The rapidity with which she increased her army and her -navy to a strength that made it possible for her to turn the scale, -where the fate of the world hung trembling in the balance, was not more -remarkable than her skill in adapting her institutions of peace to the -exigencies of war. Most of the agencies, which, under the direction of -civilians, ministered to men in arms had either to be created out of -hand or adapted from institutions formed in time of peace and for other -objects. But the American Red Cross was already organized and in active -service. It was a factor in the fight from the first day of the world’s -agony, through the invasion of Belgium, and the three years of our -professed neutrality; and by the time of America’s own entrance into -the war it had assumed such proportions that everywhere the Red Cross -was seen floating beside the Stars and Stripes. Every one knew what it -stood for. It was the emblem of mercy, even as the flag of our Nation -was the symbol of liberty and the hope of the world. - -The history of the American Red Cross cannot be written apart from the -story of its founder, Clara Barton. For years before it came into -being, her voice almost alone pleaded for it, and to her persistent and -almost sole endeavor it came at length to be established in America. -For other years she was its animating spirit, its voice, its soul. -Had she lived to see its work in the great World War, she would have -been humbly and unselfishly grateful for her part in its beginnings, -and overjoyed that it had outgrown them. The story of the founding and -of the early history of the American Red Cross is the story of Clara -Barton. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE BIRTH OF CLARA BARTON - - -Clara Barton was a Christmas gift to the world. She was born December -25, 1821. Her parents named her Clarissa Harlowe. It was a name with -interesting literary associations. - -Novels now grow overnight and are forgotten in a day. The paper mills -are glutted with the waste of yesterday’s popular works of fiction; and -the perishability of paper is all that prevents the stopping of all the -wheels of progress with the accumulation of obsolete “best-sellers.” -But it was not so in 1821. The novels of Samuel Richardson, issued -in the middle of the previous century, were still popular. He wrote -“Pamela; or, Virtue Rewarded,” a novel named for its heroine, a pure -and simple-minded country girl, who repelled the dishonorable proposals -of her employer until he came to respect her, and married her, and -they lived happily ever after. The plot of this story lives again in -a thousand moving-picture dramas, in which the heroine is a shop girl -or an art student; but Richardson required two volumes to tell the -story, and it ran through five editions in a year. He also wrote “Sir -Charles Grandison,” and it required six volumes to portray that hero’s -smug priggishness; but the Reverend Dr. Finney, president of Oberlin -College, who was also the foremost evangelist of his time, and whose -system of theology wrought in its day a revolution, was not the only -distinguished man who bore the name of Charles Grandison. - -But Richardson’s greatest literary triumph was “Clarissa Harlowe.” -Lady Mary Wortley Montagu was not far wrong when she declared that -the chambermaids of all nations wept over Pamela, and that all the -ladies of quality were on their knees to Richardson imploring him to -spare Clarissa. Clarissa was not a servant like Pamela: she was a lady -of quality, and she had a lover socially her equal, but morally on a -par with a considerable number of the gentry of his day. His name, -Lovelace, became the popular designation of the gentleman profligate. -Clarissa’s sorrows at his hands ran through eight volumes, and, as the -lachrymose sentiment ran out to volume after volume, the gentlewomen -of the English-reading world wept tears that might have made another -flood. Samuel Richardson wrote the story of “Clarissa Harlowe” in 1748, -but the story still was read, and the name of the heroine was loved, in -1821. - -But Clarissa Harlowe Barton did not permanently bear the incubus of so -long a name. Among her friends she was always Clara, and though for -years she signed her name “Clara H. Barton,” the convenience and rhythm -of the shorter name won over the time-honored sentiment attached to the -title of the novel, and the world knows her simply as Clara Barton. - -He who rides on the electric cars from Worcester to Webster will pass -Bartlett’s Upper Mills, where a weather-beaten sign at the crossroads -points the way “TO CLARA BARTON’S BIRTHPLACE.” About a mile -from the main street, on the summit of a rounded hill, the visitor -will find the house where she was born. It stands with its side to the -road, a hall dividing it through the middle. It is an unpretentious -home, but comfortable, one story high at the eaves, but rising with -the rafters to afford elevation for chambers upstairs. In the rear -room, on the left side, on the ground floor, the children of the Barton -family were born. Clara was the fifth and youngest child, ten years -younger than her sister next older. The eldest child, Dorothy, was born -October 2, 1804, and died April 19, 1846. The next two children were -sons, Stephen, the third to bear the name, born March 29, 1806, and -David, born August 15, 1808. Then came another daughter, Sarah, born -March 20, 1811. These four children followed each other at intervals of -a little more than two years; but Clara had between her and the other -children the wide gap of more than a decade. Her brothers were fifteen -and thirteen, respectively, and her sister was “going on eleven” when -she arrived. She came into a world that was already well grown up and -fully occupied with concerns of its own. Had there been between her and -the other children an ascending series of four or five graduated steps -of heads, the first a little taller than her own, and the others rising -in orderly sequence, the rest of the universe would not have been -quite so formidable; but she was the sole representative of babyhood -in the home at the time of her arrival. So she began her somewhat -solitary pilgrimage, from a cradle fringed about with interested and -affectionate observers, all of whom had been babies a good while -before, but had forgotten about it, into that vast and vague domain -inhabited by the adult portion of the human race; and while she was not -unattended, her journey had its elements of solitude. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -HER ANCESTRY - - -The Bartons of America are descended from a number of immigrant -ancestors, who have come to this country from England, Scotland, and -Ireland. The name, however, is neither Scotch nor Irish, but English. -While the several families in Great Britain have not as yet traced -their ancestry to a single source, there appears to have been such -a source. The ancestral home of the Barton family is Lancashire. -The family is of Norman stock, and came to England with William -the Conqueror, deriving their English surname from Barton Manor in -Lancashire. From 1086, when the name was recorded in the Doomsday Book, -it is found in the records of Lancashire. - -The derivation of the name is disputed. It is said that originally -it was derived from the Saxon _bere_, barley, and _tun_, a -field, and to mean the enclosed lands immediately adjacent to a manor; -but most English names that end with “ton” are derived from “town” -with a prefix, and it is claimed that _bar_, or defense, and -_ton_, or town, once meant a defended or enclosed town, or one who -protects a town. The name is held to mean “defender of the town.” - -In the time of Henry I, Sir Leysing de Barton, Knight, was mentioned -as a feudal vassal of lands between the rivers Ribbe and Mersey, -under Stephen, Count of Mortagne, grandson of William the Conqueror, -who later became King Stephen of England. Sir Leysing de Barton -was the father of Matthew de Barton, and the grandfather of several -granddaughters, one of whom was Editha de Barton, Lady of Barton Manor. -She inherited the great estate, and was a woman of note in her day. She -married Augustine de Barton, possibly a cousin, by whom she had two -children, John de Barton, who died before his mother, and a daughter -Cecilly. - -After the death of Augustine de Barton, his widow, Lady Editha, married -Gilbert de Notton, a landed proprietor of Lincolnshire, who also -had possessions in Yorkshire and Lancashire. He had three sons by a -previous marriage, one of whom, William, married Cecilly de Barton, -daughter of Editha and her first husband Augustine. Their son, named -for his uncle, Gilbert de Notton, inherited the Barton Manor and -assumed the surname Barton. - -The Barton estate was large, containing several villages and -settlements. The homestead was at Barton-on-Irwell, now in the -municipality of Eccles, near the city of Manchester. - -Other Barton families in England are quite possibly descended from -younger sons of the original Barton line. - -The arms of the Bartons of Barton were, _Argent_, _three boars’ -heads_, _armed_, _or_. - -In the Wars of the Roses the Bartons were with the house of Lancaster, -and the Red Rose is the traditional flower of the Barton family. Clara -Barton, when she wore flowers, habitually wore red roses; and whatever -her attire there was almost invariably about it somewhere a touch -of red, “her color,” she called it, as it had been the color of her -ancestors for many generations. - -In the seventeenth century there were several families of Bartons -in the American colonies. The name is found early in Virginia, in -Pennsylvania, in Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Jersey, and other -colonies. - -Salem had two families of Bartons, probably related,--those of Dr. -John Barton, physician and chirurgeon, who came from Huntingdonshire, -England, in 1672, and was prominent in the early life of Salem, and -Edward Barton, who arrived thirty-two years earlier, but, receiving a -grant of land on the Piscataqua, removed to Portsmouth, and about 1666 -to Cape Porpoise, Maine. On account of Indian troubles, the homestead -was deserted for some years, but Cape Porpoise continued to be the -traditional home of this branch of the Barton family. - -Edward’s eldest son, Matthew, returned to Salem, and lived there, at -Portsmouth, and at Cape Porpoise. His eldest son, born probably at -Salem in or about 1664, was Samuel Barton, founder of the Barton family -of Oxford. - -Not long after the pathetic witchcraft delusion of Salem, a number of -enterprising families migrated from Salem to Framingham, among them the -family of Samuel Barton. On July 19, 1716, as recorded in the Suffolk -County Registry of Deeds in Boston, Jonathan Provender, husbandman, of -Oxford, sold to Samuel Barton, Sr., husbandman, of Framingham, a tract -of land including about one-thirtieth of the village of Oxford, as well -as a fourth interest in two mills, a sawmill and a gristmill. - -In 1720, Samuel Barton and a few of his neighbors met at the home -of John Towne, where, after prayer, “they mutually considered their -obligations to promote the kingdom of their Lord and Saviour, Jesus -Christ,” and covenanted together to seek to establish and build a -church of Christ in Oxford. On January 3, 1721, the church was formally -constituted, Samuel Barton and his wife bringing their letters of -dismission from the church in Framingham of which both were members, -and uniting as charter members of the new church in Oxford. The -Reverend John Campbell was their first pastor. For over forty years he -led his people, and his name lives in the history of that town as a man -of learning, piety, and rare capacity for spiritual leadership. Long -after his death, it was discovered that he was Colonel John Campbell, -of Scotland, heir to the earldom of Loudon, who had fled from Scotland -for political reasons, and who became a soldier of Christ in the new -world. - -Samuel Barton, son of Edward and Martha Barton, and grandson of Edward -and Elizabeth Barton, died in Oxford September 12, 1732. His wife, -Hannah Bridges, died there March 13, 1737. From them sprang the family -of the Oxford Bartons, whose most illustrious representative was Clara -Barton. - -The maternal side of this line, that of Bridges, began in America -with Edmund Bridges, who came to Massachusetts from England in 1635, -and lived successively at Lynn, Rowley, and Ipswich. His eldest son, -Edmund, Jr., was born about 1637, married Sarah Towne in 1659, lived -in Topsfield and Salem, and died in 1682. The fourth of their five -children was a daughter, Hannah, who, probably at Salem about 1690, -married Samuel Barton, progenitor of the Bartons of Oxford, to which -town he removed from Framingham in 1716. - -Edmund, youngest son of Samuel and Hannah Barton, was born in -Framingham, August 15, 1715. He married, April 9, 1739, Anna Flint, -of Salem. She was born June 9, 1718, eldest daughter of Stephen Flint -and his wife, Hannah Moulton. Anna Flint was the granddaughter of John -Flint, of Salem Village (Danvers), and great-granddaughter of Thomas -Flint, who came to Salem before 1650. - -Edmund settled in Sutton, and owned lands there and in Oxford. He -and his wife became members of the First Church in Sutton, and later -transferred their membership to the Second Church in Sutton, which -subsequently became the First Church in Millbury. He served in the -French War, and was at Fort Edward in 1753. He died December 13, 1799, -and Anna, his wife, died March 20, 1795. - -The eldest son of Edmund and Anna Barton was Stephen Barton, born June -10, 1740, at Sutton. He studied medicine with Dr. Green, of Leicester, -and practiced his profession in Oxford and in Maine. He had unusual -professional skill, as well as great sympathy and charity. He married -at Oxford, May 28, 1765, Dorothy Moore, who was born at Oxford, April -12, 1747, daughter of Elijah Moore and Dorothy Learned. On her father’s -side she was the granddaughter of Richard, great-granddaughter of -Jacob, and great-great-granddaughter of John Moore. John Moore and his -wife, Elizabeth, daughter of Philemon Whale, bought a home in Sudbury -in 1642. Their son, Jacob, married Elizabeth Looker, daughter of Henry -Looker, of Sudbury, and lived in Sudbury. Their son Richard, born in -Sudbury in 1670, married Mary Collins, daughter of Samuel Collins, -of Middletown, Connecticut, and granddaughter of Edward Collins, of -Cambridge. Richard Moore was one of the most capable and trusted -men in early Oxford. Dorothy Learned, wife of Elijah Moore, was the -daughter of Colonel Ebenezer Learned, the largest landowner in Oxford, -one of the original thirty proprietors. He was a man of superior -personality, for thirty-two years one of the selectmen, for many years -chairman of that body, and moderator of town meetings, a justice of the -peace, a representative in the Great and General Court, and an officer -in the militia from 1718 to 1750, beginning as Ensign and reaching the -rank of Colonel. He was active in the affairs of the town, the church, -and the military organization during his long and useful life. His -wife was Deborah Haynes, daughter of John Haynes, of Sudbury. He was -the son of Isaac Learned, Jr., of Framingham, who had been a soldier -in the Narraganset War, and his wife, Sarah Bigelow, daughter of John -Bigelow, of Watertown. Isaac Learned was the son of Isaac Learned, Sr., -of Woburn and Chelmsford, and his wife, Mary Stearns, daughter of Isaac -Stearns, of Watertown. The parents of Isaac Learned, Sr., were William -and Goditha Learned, members of the Charlestown Church in 1632, and of -Woburn Church in 1642. - -The Learned family shared with the Barton family in the formation -of the English settlement in Oxford, and were intimately related by -intermarriage and many mutual interests. Brigadier-General Ebenezer -Learned, a distinguished officer in the Revolution, was a brother of -Dorothy Learned Moore, the great-grandmother of Clara Barton. - -Dr. Stephen Barton and his wife, Dorothy Moore, had thirteen children. -Their sons were Elijah Moore, born October 12, 1765, and died June 13, -1769; Gideon, born March 29, 1767, and died October 27, 1770; Stephen, -born August 18, 1774; Elijah Moore, born August 10, 1784; Gideon, born -June 18, 1786; and Luke, born September 3, 1791. The first two sons -died at an early age; the four remaining sons lived to marry, and -three of them lived in Maine. The daughters of Dr. Stephen Barton and -Dorothy, his wife, were Pamela, Clarissa Harlowe, Hannah, Parthena, -Polly, and Dolly. - -It is interesting to note in the names of these daughters a departure -from the common New England custom of seeking Bible names, and the -naming of the first two daughters after the two principal heroines of -Samuel Richardson. - -Of this family, the third son, and the eldest to survive, was Stephen -Barton, Jr., known as Captain Stephen Barton, father of Clara Barton. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -HER PARENTAGE AND INFANCY - - -Captain Stephen Barton won his military title by that system of -_post-bellum_ promotion familiar in all American communities. He -was a non-commissioned officer in the wars against the Indians. He was -nineteen when he enlisted, and marched on foot with his troop from -Boston to Philadelphia, which at that time was the Nation’s capital. -The main army was then at Detroit under command of General Wayne, whom -the soldiers lovingly knew as “Mad Anthony.” William Henry Harrison -and Richard M. Johnson, later President and Vice-President of the -United States, were then lieutenants, and Stephen Barton fought side -by side with them. He was present when Tecumseh was slain, and at the -signing of the treaty of peace which followed. His military service -extended over three years. At the close of the war he marched home -on foot through northern Ohio and central New York. He and the other -officers were greatly charmed by the Genesee and Mohawk valleys, and -he purchased land somewhere in the vicinity of Rochester. He had some -thought of establishing a home in that remote region, but it was so far -distant from civilization that he sold his New York land and made his -home in Oxford. - -In 1796, Stephen Barton returned from the Indian War. He was then -twenty-two years of age. Eight years later he married Sarah Stone, who -was only seventeen. They established their home west of Oxford, near -Charlton, and later removed to the farm where Clara Barton was born. - -[Illustration: MOTHER AND FATHER OF CLARA BARTON] - -It was a modest home, and Stephen Barton was a hardworking man, though -a man of influence in the community. He served often as moderator of -town meetings and as selectman for the town. He served also as a member -of the Legislature. But he wrought with his own hands in the tillage of -his farm, and in the construction of most of the articles of furniture -in his home, including the cradle in which his children were rocked. - -[Illustration: BIRTHPLACE OF CLARA BARTON] - -Stephen Barton combined a military spirit with a gentle disposition -and a broad spirit of philanthropy. Sarah Stone was a woman of great -decision of character, and a quick temper. She was a housewife of -the good old New England sort, looking well to the ways of her -household and eating not the bread of idleness. From her father Clara -Barton inherited those humanitarian tendencies which became notably -characteristic, and from her mother she derived a strong will which -achieved results almost regardless of opposition. Her mother’s hot -temper found its restraint in her through the inherited influence of -her father’s poise and benignity. Of him she wrote: - - His military habits and tastes never left him. Those were also strong - political days--Andrew Jackson Days--and very naturally my father - became my instructor in military and political lore. I listened - breathlessly to his war stories. Illustrations were called for and - we made battles and fought them. Every shade of military etiquette - was regarded. Colonels, captains, and sergeants were given their - proper place and rank. So with the political world; the President, - Cabinet, and leading officers of the government were learned by - heart, and nothing gratified the keen humor of my father more than - the parrot-like readiness with which I lisped these difficult names. - I thought the President might be as large as the meeting-house, and - the Vice-President perhaps the size of the schoolhouse. And yet, when - later I, like all the rest of our country’s people, was suddenly - thrust into the mysteries of war, and had to find and take my place - and part in it, I found myself far less a stranger to the conditions - than most women, or even ordinary men for that matter. I never - addressed a colonel as captain, got my cavalry on foot, or mounted my - infantry! - - When a little child upon his knee he told me that, as he lay helpless - in the tangled marshes of Michigan the muddy water oozed up from the - track of an officer’s horse and saved him from death by thirst. And - that a mouthful of a lean dog that had followed the march saved him - from starvation. When he told me how the feathered arrow quivered in - the flesh and the tomahawk swung over the white man’s head, he told me - also, with tears of honest pride, of the great and beautiful country - that had sprung up from those wild scenes of suffering and danger. How - he loved these new States for which he gave the strength of his youth! - -Two sons and two daughters were born to Stephen and Sarah Barton in -their early married life. Then for ten years no other children were -born to them. On Christmas, 1821, their eldest daughter, Dorothy, was -as old as her mother had been at the time of their marriage. Their -eldest son, Stephen, was fifteen, the younger son, David, was thirteen, -and the daughter, Sally, was ten. The family had long considered itself -complete, when the household received Clara as a Christmas present. -Her brothers and sisters were too old to be her playmates. They were -her protectors, but not her companions. She was a little child in the -midst of a household of grown-up people, as they seemed to her. In her -little book entitled “The Story of my Childhood,” she thus describes -her brothers and sisters: - - I became the seventh member of a household consisting of the father - and mother, two sisters and two brothers, each of whom for his and her - intrinsic merits and special characteristics deserves an individual - history, which it shall be my conscientious duty to portray as far - as possible as these pages progress. For the present it is enough - to say that each one manifested an increasing personal interest in - the newcomer, and, as soon as developments permitted, set about - instructing her in the various directions most in accord with the - tastes and pursuits of each. - - Of the two sisters, the elder was already a teacher. The younger - followed soon, and naturally my book education became their first - care, and under these conditions it is little to say, that I have no - knowledge of ever learning to read, or of a time that I did not do my - own story reading. The other studies followed very early. - - My elder brother, Stephen, was a noted mathematician. He inducted me - into the mystery of figures. Multiplication, division, subtraction, - halves, quarters, and wholes, soon ceased to be a mystery, and no toy - equaled my little slate. But the younger brother had entirely other - tastes, and would have none of these things. My father was a lover - of horses, and one of the first in the vicinity to introduce blooded - stock. He had large lands, for New England. He raised his own colts; - and Highlanders, Virginians, and Morgans pranced the fields in idle - contempt of the solid old farm-horses. - - Of my brother, David, to say that he was fond of horses describes - nothing; one could almost add that he was fond of nothing else. He was - the Buffalo Bill of the surrounding country, and here commences his - part of my education. It was his delight to take me, a little girl - of five years old, to the field, seize a couple of those beautiful - young creatures, broken only to the halter and bit, and gathering the - reins of both bridles firmly in hand, throw me upon the back of one - colt, spring upon the other himself, and catching me by one foot, and - bidding me “cling fast to the mane,” gallop away over field and fen, - in and out among the other colts in wild glee like ourselves. They - were merry rides we took. This was my riding-school. I never had any - other, but it served me well. To this day my seat on a saddle or on - the back of a horse is as secure and tireless as in a rocking-chair, - and far more pleasurable. Sometimes, in later years, when I found - myself suddenly on a strange horse in a trooper’s saddle, flying for - life or liberty in front of pursuit, I blessed the baby lessons of the - wild gallops among the beautiful colts. - -One of the bravest of women, Clara Barton was a child of unusual -timidity. Looking back upon her earliest recollections she said, “I -remember nothing but fear.” Her earliest memory was of her grief in -failing to catch “a pretty bird” when she was two and a half years old. -She cried in disappointment, and her mother ran to learn what was the -trouble. On hearing her complaint, that “Baby” had lost a pretty bird -which she had almost caught, her mother asked, “Where did it go, Baby?” -“Baby” indicated a small round hole under the doorstep, and her mother -gave a terrified scream. That scream awoke terror in the mind of the -little girl, and she never quite recovered from it. The “bird” she had -almost caught was a snake. - -Her next memory also was one of fear. The family had gone to a funeral, -leaving her in the care of her brother David. She told of it afterward -as follows: - - I can picture the large family sitting-room with its four open - windows, which room I was not to leave, and my guardian was to remain - near me. Some outside duty called him from the house and I was left to - my own observations. A sudden thunder-shower came up; massive rifts - of clouds rolled up in the east, and the lightning darted among them - like blazing fires. The thunder gave them language and my terrified - imagination endowed them with life. - - Among the animals of the farm was a huge old ram, that doubtless - upon some occasion had taught me to respect him, and of which I had - a mortal fear. My terrors transformed those rising, rolling clouds - into a whole heaven full of angry rams, marching down upon me. Again - my screams alarmed, and the poor brother, conscience-stricken that he - had left his charge, rushed breathless in, to find me on the floor in - hysterics, a condition of things he had never seen; and neither memory - nor history relates how either of us got out of it. - - In these later years I have observed that writers of sketches, in - a friendly desire to compliment me, have been wont to dwell upon - my courage, representing me as personally devoid of fear, not even - knowing the feeling. However correct that may have become, it is - evident I was not constructed that way, as in the earlier years of my - life I remember nothing but fear. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -HER SCHOOLS AND TEACHERS - - -Clara Barton’s education began at her cradle. She was not able to -remember when she learned to read. When three years old she had -acquired the art of reading, and her lessons in spelling, arithmetic, -and geography began in her infancy. Both of her sisters and her eldest -brother were school-teachers. Recalling their efforts, she said: “I -had no playmates, but in effect six fathers and mothers. They were a -family of school-teachers. All took charge of me, all educated me, each -according to personal taste. My two sisters were scholars and artistic, -and strove in that direction. My brothers were strong, ruddy, daring -young men, full of life and business.” - -Before she was four years old she entered school. By that time she was -able to read easily, and could spell words of three syllables. She -told the story of her first schooling in an account which must not be -abridged: - - My home instruction was by no means permitted to stand in the way - of the “regular school,” which consisted of two terms each year, - of three months each. The winter term included not only the large - boys and girls, but in reality the young men and young women of the - neighborhood. An exceptionally fine teacher often drew the daily - attendance of advanced scholars for several miles. Our district had - this good fortune. I introduce with pleasure and with reverence the - name of Richard Stone; a firmly set, handsome young man of twenty-six - or seven, of commanding figure and presence, combining all the - elements of a teacher with a discipline never questioned. His - glance of disapproval was a reprimand, his frown something he never - needed to go beyond. The love and respect of his pupils exceeded even - their fear. It was no uncommon thing for summer teachers to come - twenty miles to avail themselves of the winter term of “Colonel” - Stone, for he was a high militia officer, and at that young age was a - settled man with a family of four little children. He had married at - eighteen. - - I am thus particular in my description of him, both because of my - childish worship of him, and because I shall have occasion to refer to - him later. The opening of his first term was a signal for the Barton - family, and seated on the strong shoulders of my stalwart brother - Stephen, I was taken a mile through the tall drifts to school. I have - often questioned if in this movement there might not have been a - touch of mischievous curiosity on the part of these not at all dull - youngsters, to see what my performance at school might be. - - I was, of course, the baby of the school. I recall no introduction - to the teacher, but was set down among the many pupils in the by no - means spacious room, with my spelling book and the traditional slate, - from which nothing could separate me. I was seated on one of the low - benches and sat very still. At length the majestic school-master - seated himself, and taking a primer, called the class of little ones - to him. He pointed the letters to each. I named them all, and was - asked to spell some little words, “dog,” “cat,” etc., whereupon I - hesitatingly informed him that I did “not spell there.” “Where do you - spell?” “I spell in ‘Artichoke,’” that being the leading word in the - three syllable column in my speller. He good naturedly conformed to - my suggestion, and I was put into the “artichoke” class to bear my - part for the winter, and read and “spell for the head.” When, after a - few weeks, my brother Stephen was declared by the committee to be too - advanced for a common school, and was placed in charge of an important - school himself, my unique transportation devolved upon the other - brother, David. - - No colts now, but solid wading through the high New England drifts. - - The Reverend Mr. Menseur of the Episcopal church of Leicester, - Massachusetts, if I recollect aright, wisely comprehending the - grievous inadaptability of the schoolbooks of that time, had compiled - a small geography and atlas suited to young children, known as - Menseur’s Geography. It was a novelty, as well as a beneficence; - nothing of its kind having occurred to makers of the schoolbooks of - that day. They seemed not to have recognized the existence of a state - of childhood in the intellectual creation. During the winter I had - become the happy possessor of a Menseur’s Geography and Atlas. It is - questionable if my satisfaction was fully shared by others of the - household. I required a great deal of assistance in the study of my - maps, and became so interested that I could not sleep, and was not - willing that others should, but persisted in waking my poor drowsy - sister in the cold winter mornings to sit up in bed and by the light - of a tallow candle, help me to find mountains, rivers, counties, - oceans, lakes, islands, isthmuses, channels, cities, towns, and - capitals. - - The next May the summer school opened, taught by Miss Susan Torrey. - Again, I write the name reverently, as gracing one of the most perfect - of personalities. I was not alone in my childish admiration, for her - memory remained a living reality in the town long years after the - gentle spirit fled. My sisters were both teaching other schools, - and I must make my own way, which I did, walking a mile with my one - precious little schoolmate, Nancy Fitts. Nancy Fitts! The playmate of - my childhood; the “chum” of laughing girlhood; the faithful, trusted - companion of young womanhood, and the beloved life friend that the - relentless grasp of time has neither changed, nor taken from me. - - On entering the wide-open door of the inviting schoolhouse, armed - with some most unsuitable reader, a spelling book, geography, atlas, - and slate, I was seized with an intense fear at finding myself with - no member of the family near, and my trepidation became so visible - that the gentle teacher, relieving me of my burden of books, took - me tenderly on her lap and did her best to reassure and calm me. At - length I was given my seat, with a desk in front for my atlas and - slate, my toes at least a foot from the floor, and that became my - daily, happy home for the next three months. - -All the members of Clara Barton’s household became her teachers, except -her mother, who looked with interest, and not always with approval, -on the methods of instruction practiced by the others. Captain Barton -was teaching her military tactics, David was teaching her to ride -horseback, Sally, and later Dorothy, established a kind of school at -home and practiced on their younger sister, and Stephen contributed his -share in characteristic fashion. Sarah Stone alone attempted nothing -until the little daughter should be old enough to learn to do housework. - -“My mother, like the sensible woman that she was, seemed to conclude -that there were plenty of instructors without her,” said Miss Barton. -“She attempted very little, but rather regarded the whole thing as a -sort of mental conglomeration, and looked on with a kind of amused -curiosity to see what they would make of it. Indeed, I heard her remark -many years after that I came out of it with a more level head than she -would have thought possible.” - -Clara Barton’s first piece of personal property was a sprightly, -medium-sized white dog, with silky ears and a short tail. His name was -Button. Her affection for Button continued throughout her life. Of him -she said: - - My first individual ownership was “Button.” In personality (if the - term be admissible), Button represented a sprightly, medium-sized, - very white dog, with silky ears, sparkling black eyes and a very - short tail. His bark spoke for itself. Button belonged to me. No - other claim was instituted, or ever had been. It was said that on my - entrance into the family, Button constituted himself my guardian. He - watched my first steps and tried to pick me up when I fell down. One - was never seen without the other. He proved an apt and obedient pupil, - obeying me precept upon precept, if not line upon line. He stood on - two feet to ask for his food, and made a bow on receiving it, walked - on three legs when very lame, and so on, after the manner of his crude - instruction; went everywhere with me through the day, waited patiently - while I said my prayers and continued his guard on the foot of the bed - at night. Button shared my board as well as my bed. - -After her first year’s instruction at the hands of Colonel Stone, -that gentleman ceased his connection with the common schools, and -established what was known as the Oxford High School, an institution of -great repute in its day. This left the district school to be taught by -the members of the Barton household. For the next three years Clara’s -sisters were her public school-teachers in the autumn and spring, and -her brother Stephen had charge of the school in the winter terms. Two -things she remembered about those years. One was her preternatural -shyness. She was sensitive and retiring to a degree that seemed to -forbid all hope of her making much progress in study with other -children. The other was that she had a fondness for writing verses, -some of which her brothers and sisters preserved and used to tease her -with in later years. One thing she learned outside the schoolroom, and -she never forgot it. That was how to handle a horse. She inherited her -mother’s sidesaddle, and though she protested against having to use -it, she learned at an early age to lift and buckle it, and to ride her -father’s horses. - -Meantime her brothers grew to be men and bought out her father’s -two large farms. Her father purchased another farm of three hundred -acres nearer the center of the town, a farm having upon it one of the -forts used for security against the Indians by the original Huguenot -settlers. She now became interested in history, and added that to her -previous accomplishments. - -At the age of eight, Clara Barton entered what was called high school, -which involved boarding away from home. The arrangement met with only -partial success on account of her extreme timidity: - - During the preceding winter I began to hear talk of my going away - to school, and it was decided that I be sent to Colonel Stone’s - High School, to board in his family and go home occasionally. This - arrangement, I learned in later years, had a double object. I was what - is known as a bashful child, timid in the presence of other persons, a - condition of things found impossible to correct at home. In the hope - of overcoming this undesirable _mauvais honte_, it was decided to - throw me among strangers. - - How well I remember my advent. My father took me in his carriage with - a little dressing-case which I dignified with the appellation of - “trunk”--something I had never owned. It was April--cold and bare. - The house and schoolrooms adjoined, and seemed enormously large. The - household was also large. The long family table with the dignified - preceptor, my loved and feared teacher of three years, at its head, - seemed to me something formidable. There were probably one hundred and - fifty pupils daily in the ample schoolrooms, of which I was perhaps - the youngest, except the colonel’s own children. - - My studies were chosen with great care. I remember among them, - ancient history with charts. The lessons were learned, to repeat by - rote. I found difficulty both in learning the proper names and in - pronouncing them, as I had not quite outgrown my lisp. One day I - had studied very hard on the Ancient Kings of Egypt, and thought I - had everything perfect, and when the pupil above me failed to give - the name of a reigning king, I answered very promptly that it was - “Potlomy.” The colonel checked with a glance the rising laugh of the - older members of the class, and told me, very gently, that the P was - silent in that word. I had, however, seen it all, and was so overcome - by mortification for my mistake, and gratitude for the kindness of my - teacher, that I burst into tears and was permitted to leave the room. - - I am not sure that I was really homesick, but the days seemed very - long, especially Sundays. I was in constant dread of doing something - wrong, and one Sunday afternoon I was sure I had found my occasion. - It was early spring. The tender leaves had put out and with them - the buds and half-open blossoms of the little cinnamon roses, an - unfailing ornamentation of a well-kept New England home of that day. - The children of the family had gathered in the front yard, admiring - the roses and daring to pick each a little bouquet. As I stood holding - mine, the heavy door at my back swung open, and there was the colonel, - in his long, light dressing-gown and slippers, direct from his study. - A kindly spoken, “Come with me, Clara,” nearly took my last breath. - I followed his strides through all the house, up the long flights - of stairs, through the halls of the schoolrooms, silently wondering - what I had done more than the others. I knew he was by no means wont - to spare his own children. I had my handful of roses--so had they. - I knew it was very wrong to have picked them, but why more wrong for - me than for the others? At length, and it seemed to me an hour, we - reached the colonel’s study, and there, advancing to meet us, was the - Reverend Mr. Chandler, the pastor of our Universalist Church, whom - I knew well. He greeted me very politely and kindly, and handed the - large, open school reader which he held, to the colonel, who put it - into my hands, placed me a little in front of them, and pointing to - a column of blank verse, very gently directed me to read it. It was - an extract from Campbell’s “Pleasures of Hope,” commencing, “Unfading - hope, when life’s last embers burn.” I read it to the end, a page or - two. When finished, the good pastor came quickly and relieved me of - the heavy book, and I wondered why there were tears in his eyes. The - colonel drew me to him, gently stroked my short cropped hair, went - with me down the long steps, and told me I could “go back to the - children and play.” I went, much more easy in mind than I came, but it - was years before I comprehended anything about it. - - My studies gave me no trouble, but I grew very tired, felt hungry - all the time, but dared not eat, grew thin and pale. The colonel - noticed it, and watching me at table found that I was eating little - or nothing, refusing everything that was offered me. Mistrusting that - it was from timidity, he had food laid on my plate, but I dared not - eat it, and finally at the end of the term a consultation was held - between the colonel, my father, and our beloved family physician, Dr. - Delano Pierce, who lived within a few doors of the school, and it was - decided to take me home until a little older, and wiser, I could hope. - My timid sensitiveness must have given great annoyance to my friends. - If I ever could have gotten entirely over it, it would have given far - less annoyance and trouble to myself all through life. - - To this day, I would rather stand behind the lines of artillery at - Antietam, or cross the pontoon bridge under fire at Fredericksburg, - than to be expected to preside at a public meeting. - -Again Clara’s instruction fell to her brothers and sisters. Stephen -taught her mathematics, her sisters increased her knowledge of -the common branches, and David continued to give her lessons in -horsemanship. Stephen Barton, her father, was the owner of a fine black -stallion, whose race of colts improved the blooded stock of Oxford and -vicinity. When she was ten years old she received a present of a Morgan -horse named Billy. Mounted on the back of this fine animal, she ranged -the hills of Oxford completely free from that fear with which she was -possessed in the schoolroom. - -When she was thirteen years of age, her education took a new start -under the instruction of Lucian Burleigh, who taught her grammar, -composition, English literature, and history. A year later Jonathan -Dana became her instructor, and taught her philosophy, chemistry, and -writing. These two teachers she remembered with unfaltering affection. - -While Clara Barton’s brother Stephen taught school, his younger -brother, David, gave himself to business. He, no less than Stephen, -was remembered affectionately as having had an important share in -her education. He had taught her to ride, and she had become his -nurse. When he grew well and strong, he took the little girl under -his instruction, and taught her how to do things directly and with -expedition. If she started anywhere impulsively, and turned back, he -reproved her. She was not to start until she knew where she was going, -and why, and having started, she was to go ahead and accomplish what -she had undertaken. She was to learn the effective way of attaining -results, and having learned it was to follow the method which promoted -efficiency. He taught her to despise false motions, and to avoid -awkward and ineffective attempts to accomplish results. He showed her -how to drive a nail without splitting a board, and she never forgot how -to handle the hammer and the saw. He taught her how to start a screw so -it would drive straight. He taught her not to throw like a girl, but -to hurl a ball or a stone with an under swing like a boy, and to hit -what she threw at. He taught her to avoid “granny-knots” and how to tie -square knots. All this practical instruction she learned to value as -among the best features of her education. - -One of her earliest experiences, in accomplishing a memorable piece of -work with her own hands, came to her after her father had sold the two -hill farms to his sons and removed to the farm on the highway nearer -the village. It gave her her opportunity to learn the art of painting. -This was more than the ability to dip a brush in a prepared mixture -and spread the liquid evenly over a plane surface; it involved some -knowledge of the art of preparing and mixing paints. She found joy in -it at the time, and it quickened within her an aspiration to be an -artist. In later years and as part of her education, she learned to -draw and paint, and was able to give instruction in water-color and -oil painting. It is interesting to read her own account of her first -adventure into the field of art: - - The hill farms--for there were two--were sold to my brothers, who, - entering into partnership, constituted the well-known firm of S. & - D. Barton, continuing mainly through their lives. Thus I became the - occupant of two homes, my sisters remaining with my brothers, none of - whom were married. - - The removal to the second home was a great novelty to me. I became - observant of all changes made. One of the first things found - necessary, on entering a house of such ancient date, was a rather - extensive renovation, for those days, of painting and papering. The - leading artisan in that line in the town was Mr. Sylvanus Harris, a - courteous man of fine manners, good scholarly acquirements, and who, - for nearly half a lifetime, filled the office of town clerk. The - records of Oxford will bear his name and his beautiful handwriting as - long as its records exist. - - Mr. Harris was engaged to make the necessary improvements. Painting - included more then than in these later days of prepared material. The - painter brought his massive white marble slab, ground his own paints, - mixed his colors, boiled his oil, calcined his plaster, made his - putty, and did scores of things that a painter of to-day would not - only never think of doing, but would often scarcely know how to do. - - Coming from the newly built house where I was born, I had seen nothing - of this kind done, and was intensely interested. I must have persisted - in making myself very numerous, for I was constantly reminded not - to “get in the gentleman’s way.” But I was not to be set aside. My - combined interest and curiosity for once overcame my timidity, and, - encouraged by the mild, genial face of Mr. Harris, I gathered the - courage to walk up in front and address him: “Will you teach me to - paint, sir?” “With pleasure, little lady; if mamma is willing, I - should very much like your assistance.” The consent was forthcoming, - and so was a gown suited to my new work, and I reported for duty. - I question if any ordinary apprentice was ever more faithfully and - intelligently instructed in his first month’s apprenticeship. I was - taught how to hold my brushes, to take care of them, allowed to help - grind my paints, shown how to mix and blend them, how to make putty - and use it, to prepare oils and dryings, and learned from experience - that boiling oil was a great deal hotter than boiling water, was - taught to trim paper neatly, to match and help to hang it, to make - the most approved paste, and even varnished the kitchen chairs to the - entire satisfaction of my mother, which was triumph enough for one - little girl. So interested was I, that I never wearied of my work for - a day, and at the end of a month looked on sadly as the utensils, - brushes, buckets and great marble slabs were taken away. There was - not a room that I had not helped to make better; there were no longer - mysteries in paint and paper. I knew them all, and that work would - bring calluses even on little hands. - - When the work was finished and everything gone, I went to my room, - lonesome in spite of myself. I found on my candle stand a box - containing a pretty little locket, neatly inscribed, “To a faithful - worker.” No one seemed to have any knowledge of it, and I never gained - any. - -One other memory of these early days must be recorded as having an -immediate effect upon her, and a permanent influence upon her life. -While she was still a little girl, she witnessed the killing of an -ox, and it seemed so terrible a thing to her that it had much to do -with her lifelong temperance in the matter of eating meat. She never -became an absolute vegetarian. When she sat at a table where meat was -served, and where a refusal to eat would have called for explanation, -and perhaps would have embarrassed the family, she ate what was set -before her as the Apostle Paul commanded, but she ate very sparingly of -all animal food, and, when she was able to control her own diet, lived -almost entirely on vegetables. Things that grew out of the ground, she -said, were good enough for her: - - A small herd of twenty-five fine milch cows came faithfully home each - day with the lowering of the sun, for the milking and extra supper - which they knew awaited them. With the customary greed of childhood, I - had laid claim to three or four of the handsomest and tamest of them, - and believing myself to be their real owner, I went faithfully every - evening to the yards to receive and look after them. My little milk - pail went as well, and I became proficient in an art never forgotten. - - One afternoon, on going to the barn as usual, I found no cows there; - all had been driven somewhere else. As I stood in the corner of the - great yard alone, I saw three or four men--the farm hands--with one - stranger among them wearing a long, loose shirt or gown. They were all - trying to get a large red ox onto the barn floor, to which he went - very reluctantly. At length they succeeded. One of the men carried - an axe, and, stepping a little to the side and back, raised it high - in the air and brought it down with a terrible blow. The ox fell, I - fell too; and the next I knew I was in the house on a bed, and all the - family about me, with the traditional camphor bottle, bathing my head - to my great discomfort. As I regained consciousness, they asked me - what made me fall? I said, “Some one struck me.” “Oh, no,” they said, - “no one struck you.” But I was not to be convinced, and proceeded to - argue the case with an impatient putting away of the hurting hands, - “Then what makes my head so sore?” Happy ignorance! I had not then - learned the mystery of nerves. - - I have, however, a very clear recollection of the indignation of my - father (my mother had already expressed herself on the subject), on - his return from town and hearing what had taken place. The hired men - were lined up and arraigned for “cruel carelessness.” They had “the - consideration to keep the cattle away,” he said, “but allowed that - little girl to stand in full view.” Of course, each protested he - had not seen me. I was altogether too friendly with the farm hands - to hear them blamed, especially on my account, and came promptly to - their side, assuring my father that they had not seen me, and that it - was “no matter,” I was “all well now.” But, singularly, I lost all - desire for meat, if I had ever had it--and all through life, to the - present, have only eaten it when I must for the sake of appearance, or - as circumstances seemed to make it the more proper thing to do. The - bountiful ground has always yielded enough for all my needs and wants. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE DAYS OF HER YOUTH - - -So large a part of the schooling of Clara Barton was passed under the -instruction of her own sisters and her brother Stephen that she ceased -to feel in school the diffidence which elsewhere characterized her, and -which she never fully overcame. Not all of her education, however, was -accomplished in the schoolroom. While her mother refrained from giving -to her actual instruction as she received from her father and brothers -and sisters, her knowledge of domestic arts was not wholly neglected. -When the family removed to the new home, her two brothers remained upon -the more distant farm, and the older sisters kept house for them. Into -the new home came the widow of her father’s nephew, Jeremiah Larned, -with her four children, whose ages varied from six to thirteen years. -She now had playmates in her own household, with frequent visits to the -old home where her two brothers and two sisters, none of them married, -kept house together. Although her mother still had older kitchen -help, she taught Clara some of the mysteries of cooking. Her mother -complained somewhat that she never really had a fair chance at Clara’s -instruction as a housekeeper, but Clara believed that no instruction -of her youth was more lasting or valuable than that which enabled her, -on the battle-field or elsewhere, to make a pie, “crinkly around the -edges, with marks of finger-prints,” to remind a soldier of home. - -Two notable interruptions of her schooling occurred. The first was -caused by an alarming illness when she was five years of age. Dysentery -and convulsions came very near to robbing Captain and Mrs. Barton of -their baby. Of this almost mortal illness, she preserved only one -memory, that of the first meal which she ate when her convalescence -set in. She was propped up in a huge cradle that had been constructed -for an adult invalid, with a little low table at the side. The meal -consisted of a piece of brown bread crust about two inches square, -a tiny glass of homemade blackberry cordial, and a wee bit of her -mother’s well-cured cheese. She dropped asleep from exhaustion as she -finished this first meal, and the memory of it made her mouth water as -long as she lived. - -The other interruption occurred when she was eleven. Her brother -David, who was a dare-devil rider and fearless climber, ascended to -the ridge-pole on the occasion of a barn-raising. A board broke under -his feet, and he fell to the ground. He fell upon solid timbers and -sustained a serious injury, especially by a blow on the head. For two -years he was an invalid. For a time he hung between life and death, and -then was “a sleepless, nervous, cold dyspeptic, and a mere wreck of his -former self.” After two years of suffering, he completely recovered -under a new system of steam baths; but those two years did not find -Clara in the schoolroom. She nursed her brother with such assiduity as -almost permanently to injure her own health. In his nervous condition -he clung to her, and she acquired something of that skill in the care -of the sick which remained with her through life. - -Clara Barton was growing normally in her twelfth year when she became -her brother’s nurse. Not until that long vigil was completed was it -discovered that she had ceased to grow. Her height in her shoes, with -moderately high heels, was five feet and three inches, and was never -increased. In later life people who met her gave widely divergent -reports of her stature. She was described as “of medium height,” and -now and then she was declared to be tall. She had a remarkable way of -appearing taller than she was. As a matter of fact in her later years, -her height shrank a little, and she measured in her stocking-feet -exactly sixty inches. - -Clara was an ambitious child. Her two brothers owned a cloth-mill where -they wove satinet. She was ambitious to learn the art of weaving. Her -mother at first objected, but her brother Stephen pleaded for her, -and she was permitted to enter the mill. She was not tall enough to -tend the loom, so a raised platform was arranged for her between a -pair of looms and she learned to manage the shuttle. To her great -disappointment, the mill burned down when she had been at work only -two weeks; but this brief vocational experience served as a basis of a -pretty piece of fiction at which she always smiled, but which annoyed -her somewhat--that she had entered a factory and earned money to pay -off a mortgage on her father’s farm. The length of her service in the -mill would not have paid a very large mortgage, but fortunately there -was no mortgage to pay off. Her father was a prosperous man for his -time, and the family was well to do, possessing not only broad acres, -but adding to the family income by manufacture and trade. They were -among the most enterprising, prosperous, and respected families in a -thrifty and self-respecting community. - -One of the enterprises on the Barton farm afforded her great joy. -The narrow French River ran through her father’s farm. In places it -could be crossed by a foot-log, and there were few days when she did -not cross and recross it for the sheer joy of finding herself on a -trembling log suspended over a deep stream. This river ran the only -sawmill in the neighborhood. Here she delighted to ride the carriage -which conveyed the logs to the old-fashioned up-and-down saw. The -carriage moved very slowly when it was going forward and the saw was -eating its laborious way through the log, but it came back with violent -rapidity, and the little girl, who remembered nothing but fear of her -earliest childhood, was happy when she flaunted her courage in the face -of her natural timidity and rode the sawmill carriage as she rode her -high-stepping blooded Billy. - -She went to church every Sunday, and churches in that day had no -fires. Her people had been brought up in the orthodox church, but, -revolting at the harsh dogmatism of the orthodox theology of that day, -they withdrew and became founders of the first Universalist Church -in America. The meeting-house at Oxford, built for the Universalist -Society, is the oldest building in existence erected for this -communion. Hosea Ballou was the first minister--a brave, strong, -resolute man. Though the family liberalized their creed, they did not -greatly modify the austerity of their Puritan living. They kept the -Sabbath about as strictly as they had been accustomed to do before -their break with the Puritan church. - -Once in her childhood Clara broke the Sabbath, and it brought a painful -memory: - - One clear, cold, starlight Sunday morning, I heard a low whistle - under my open chamber window. I realized that the boys were out for - a skate and wanted to communicate with me. On going to the window, - they informed me that they had an extra pair of skates and if I could - come out they would put them on me and “learn” me how to skate. It - was Sunday morning; no one would be up till late, and the ice was so - smooth and “glare.” The stars were bright; the temptation was too - great. I was in my dress in a moment and out. The skates were fastened - on firmly, one of the boy’s wool neck “comforters” tied about my - waist, to be held by the boy in front. The other two were to stand - on either side, and at a signal the cavalcade started. Swifter and - swifter we went, until at length we reached a spot where the ice had - been cracked and was full of sharp edges. These threw me, and the - speed with which we were progressing, and the distance before we could - quite come to a stop, gave terrific opportunity for cuts and wounded - knees. The opportunity was not lost. There was more blood flowing than - any of us had ever seen. Something must be done. Now all of the wool - neck comforters came into requisition; my wounds were bound up, and I - was helped into the house, with one knee of ordinary respectable cuts - and bruises; the other frightful. Then the enormity of the transaction - and its attendant difficulties began to present themselves, and how - to surround (for there was no possibility of overcoming) them was the - question. - - The most feasible way seemed to be to say nothing about it, and we - decided to all keep silent; but how to conceal the limp? I must have - no limp, but walk well. I managed breakfast without notice. Dinner not - quite so well, and I had to acknowledge that I had slipped down and - hurt my knee a little. This gave my limp more latitude, but the next - day it was so decided, that I was held up and searched. It happened - that the best knee was inspected; the stiff wool comforter soaked off, - and a suitable dressing given it. This was a great relief, as it - afforded pretext for my limp, no one observing that I limped with the - wrong knee. - - But the other knee was not a wound to heal by first intention, - especially under its peculiar dressing, and finally had to be - revealed. The result was a surgical dressing and my foot held up - in a chair for three weeks, during which time I read the Arabian - Nights from end to end. As the first dressing was finished, I heard - the surgeon say to my father: “That was a hard case, Captain, but - she stood it like a soldier.” But when I saw how genuinely they all - pitied, and how tenderly they nursed me, even walking lightly about - the house not to jar my swollen and fevered limbs, in spite of my - disobedience and detestable deception (and persevered in at that), my - Sabbath-breaking and unbecoming conduct, and all the trouble I had - caused, conscience revived, and my mental suffering far exceeded my - physical. The Arabian Nights were none too powerful a soporific to - hold me in reasonable bounds. I despised myself, and failed to sleep - or eat. - - My mother, perceiving my remorseful condition, came to the rescue, - telling me soothingly, that she did not think it the worst thing that - could have been done, that other little girls had probably done as - badly, and strengthened her conclusions by telling me how she once - persisted in riding a high-mettled, unbroken horse in opposition to - her father’s commands, and was thrown. My supposition is that she had - been a worthy mother of her equestrian son. - - The lesson was not lost on any of the group. It is very certain - that none of us, boys or girls, indulged in further smart tricks. - Twenty-five years later, when on a visit to the old home, long left, - I saw my father, then a gray-haired grandsire, out on the same little - pond, fitting the skates carefully to the feet of his little twin - granddaughters, holding them up to make their first start in safety, - I remembered my wounded knees, and blessed the great Father that - progress and change were among the possibilities of His people. - - I never learned to skate. When it became fashionable I had neither - time nor opportunity. - -Another disappointment of her childhood remained with her. She wanted -to learn to dance, and was not permitted to do so. It was not because -her parents were wholly opposed to dancing, but chiefly because the -dancing-school was organized while a revival of religion was in -progress in the village, and her parents felt that her attendance at -dancing-school at such a time would be unseemly. Of this she wrote: - - I recall another disappointment which, though not vital, was still - indicative of the times. During the following winter a dancing-school - was opened in the hall of the one hotel on Oxford Plain, some three - miles from us. It was taught by a personal friend of my father, a - polished gentleman, resident of a neighboring town, and teacher of - English schools. By some chance I got a glimpse of the dancing-school - at the opening, and was seized with a most intense desire to go and - learn to dance. With my peculiar characteristics it was necessary for - me to want a thing very much before mentioning it; but this overcame - me, especially as the cordial teacher took tea with us one evening - before going to his school, and spoke very interestingly of his - classes. I even went so far as to beg permission to go. The dance was - in my very feet. The violin haunted me. “Ladies change” and “All hands - round” sounded in my ears and woke me from my sleep at night. - - The matter was taken up in family council. I was thought to be very - young to be allowed to go to a dancing-school in a hotel. Dancing at - that time was at a very low ebb in good New England society, and, - besides, there was an active revival taking place in both of the - orthodox churches (or, rather, one a church and the other a society - without a church), and it might not be a wise, nor even a courteous, - thing to allow. Not that our family, with its well-known liberal - proclivities, could have the slightest objection on that score; still, - like Saint Paul, if meat were harmful to their brethren, they would - not eat it, and thus it was decided that I could not go. The decision - was perfectly conscientious, kindness itself, and probably wise; but I - have wondered, if they could have known (as they never did) how severe - the disappointment was, the tears it cost me in my little bed in the - dark, the music and the master’s voice still sounding in my ears, if - this knowledge would have weighed in the decision. - - I have listened to a great deal of music since then, interspersed - with very positive orders, and which generally called for “All hands - round,” but the dulcet notes of the violin and the “Ladies change” - were missing. Neither did I ever learn to dance. - -As she looked back over her childhood, she was unable to recall many -social events which could have been characterized as thrilling. By -invitation she once wrote out for a gathering of women her recollection -of a party which she attended on election day just after she was ten -years old. It is worth reading, and may well remind us that happy -childhood memories do not always gather about events which seem to be -intrinsically great: - - -A CHILD’S PARTY - - It is the “reminiscence of a happy moment” which my beloved friends of - the Legion of Loyal Women ask of me--some moment or event so happy as - to be worth the telling. That may not be an easy thing in a life like - mine, but there are few things the “Legion” could ask of me that I - would not at least try to do. But, dear sisters, I fear I must ask of - you patiently to travel far back with me to the little childhood days - which knew no care. Patiently, I say, for that was long ago. - - I lived in the country, a mile or more from the village. Olivia Bruce, - my favorite friend, lived in the village. - - Olivia had “made a party,” and invited twelve little girls, - schoolmates and playmates, herself making the thirteenth (we had never - learned that there could be bad luck in numbers). - - It was May, and the party was to be held on “Old Election Day.” Care - and thought were given to the occasion. - - Each guest was to learn a little poem to recite for the first time, as - a surprise to the others. - - There was some effort at costume. We were all to wear aprons alike, - from the village store--white, with a pretty vine, and cozy, little, - brown birds in the corners. Embroidered? Oh, no! just stamped; but - what embroidery has since ever borne comparison with that? - - Our ages must conform--no one under ten, or over twelve. How glad I - was that I had been ten the Christmas before! - - At length arrangements were completed, and nothing to be wished for - but a pleasant day. - - The morning came, heavy and dark. The thunder rolled, the clouds - gathered and broke, and the lightning as if in cruel mockery darted in - and out among them, lighting up their ragged edges, or enveloping the - whole mass in quivering flame. The rain came down in torrents, and I - fear there were torrents of tears as well. Who could give comfort in a - disappointment and grief like that? Who, but old Morgan, the gardener, - with his poetic prophecy-- - - “Rain before seven, be clear before ’leven.” - - I watched the clouds, I watched the clock, but most of all I watched - the hopeful face of old Morgan. How long and how dark the morning was! - At length, as the clock pointed half-past ten, the clouds broke again, - but this time with the bright, clear sun behind them, and the high - arching rainbow resting on the tree-tops of the western woods. - - It was long to wait, even for dinner, and the proper time to go. - Finally, all traces of tears were washed away, the toilet made even - to the apron and hat, the mother’s kiss given upon the cheek of her - restless child with the gentle admonition “Be a good girl!” and, as I - sprang from the doorstep striving hard to keep at least one foot on - the ground, who shall say that the happiness and joy of that little - bit of humanity was not as complete as ever falls to the lot of - humanity to be? - - The party was a success. The thirteen little girls were there; each - wore her pretty apron and the knot of ribbon in her hair; each recited - her little poem unknown to the others. - - We danced--played ring plays. - - “The needle’s eye that can supply - The thread that runs so truly.” - - “For no man knows - Where oats, peas, beans, or barley grows.” - - We “chased the squirrel,” “hunted the slipper,” trimmed our hats with - wild flowers and stood in awe before the great waterwheel of the busy - mill. - - At five o’clock a pretty tea was served for us, and dark-eyed Olivia - presided with the grace and gravity of a matron; and, as the sun was - sinking behind the western hills, we bade good-bye, and each sped away - to the home awaiting her, I to be met by a mother’s approving kiss, - for I had been “a good girl,” and gladly sought the little bed, and - the long night of unbroken sleep that only a child may know. - - Long, long years ago the watchful mother went to that other world; - one after another the guests of the little party followed her--some - in girlhood, some in young womanhood, some in weary widowhood. One by - one, I believe, she has met and welcomed them--welcomed each of the - twelve, and waits - - CLARA BARTON - - -Another formative influence which must not be overlooked was that of -phrenology. This now discredited science had great influence in the -early part of the nineteenth century. Certain men, among whom the -Fowler brothers were most conspicuous, professed to be able to read -character and to portray mental aptitude by a tactual examination of -the head. The perceptive faculties, according to this theory, were -located in the front part of the brain, the moral faculties in the -top of it, and the faculties that governed the animal nature in the -back. They professed to be able by feeling over the “bumps” or “organs -of the brain,” to discover what vocation a person was good for and -what undesirable tendencies he ought to guard against. The mother of -Clara Barton was greatly troubled by the abnormal sensitiveness of -this little child. She asked L. W. Fowler, who was then staying at the -Barton home, what this little girl ought to do in life. Mr. Fowler -answered: “The sensitive nature will always remain. She will never -assert herself for herself; she will suffer wrong first. But for others -she will be perfectly fearless. Throw responsibility upon her.” - -He advised that she should become a school-teacher. School-teaching -scarcely seemed a suitable vocation for a child of so shrinking a -nature. Clara was fifteen at the time, and still diffident. She was -lying in bed with the mumps, and overheard her mother’s question and -the answer. Her mother was impressed by it, and so was Clara. Years -afterward she looked back upon that experience as the turning-point -in her life. Long after she had ceased to have very much faith in -phrenology, she blessed the day that sent a phrenologist into her home. -When asked in later years what book had influenced her most, she wrote -the following reply: - - -THE BOOK WHICH HAS MOST INFLUENCED ME - - Superlatives are difficult to deal with, the comparative is always so - near. - - That which interests most, may influence little. Most books interest - in a greater or less degree, and possibly have a temporary influence. - The yellow-covered literature which the boy from twelve to sixteen - reads, surely interests him, and only too often creates an involuntary - influence, the results of which mark his entire life. He adopts - methods and follows courses which he otherwise would not have done, - and reaps misfortune for a harvest. - - And so with the girl of like age who pores and weeps over some tender, - unwholesome, love-lorn picture of impossible personages, until they - become real to her, and, while she can never personate them, they - stand in the way of so much which she really does need, it may well be - said that the results influence her entire life. - - Not alone the character of what is read, but the period in life of the - reader, may and will have much to do with the potency of results. The - little girl who is so fortunate as to clasp her child fingers around a - copy of “Little Women,” or “Little Men” (Bless the memory of my friend - and co-worker Louisa M. Alcott!), is in small danger from the effects - of the literature she may afterwards meet. Her tastes are formed for - wholesome food. - - And the boy! Ah, well; it will require a great deal of prodding to - curb and root the wild grass out of his nature! But what a splendid - growth he makes, once it is done! - - All of these conditions of character, circumstances, and time may - be said to have found place in the solution of the little problem - now before me; viz: “What book most influenced me?” If it had read - “interested” rather than “influenced,” I should have made a wide - range--“The Fables of Æsop,” “Pilgrim’s Progress,” “Arabian Nights,” - “The Ballads of Scott,” “The Benign Old Vicar,” “The Citizens of the - World,” and mainly the mass of choice old English classics--for who - can select?--The glorious “Idylls of the King.” In fancy I should have - sat at the round table with Arthur’s knights, searched for the Holy - Grail with Sir Galahad, roamed Africa with Livingstone and Stanley, - breakfasted with the Autocrat, and dropped the gathering tear for the - loved Quaker poet, so dear to us all. - - How grateful I am for all this; and to these writers immortal! How - they have sweetened life! But they really changed no course, formed no - character, opened no doors, “influenced” nothing. - - In a little children’s booklet I have explained my own nature--timid, - sensitive, bashful to awkwardness--and that at this period of a dozen - years or so I chanced to make the acquaintance of L. W. Fowler, of - the “Fowler Brothers,” the earliest, and then only, exponents of - Phrenology in the country. - - I had at that time read much of the literatures above cited which then - existed. Mr. Fowler placed in my hands their well-written book and - brochures on Phrenology, “The Science of the Mind.” This carried me - to another class of writers, Spurzheim, and Combe--“The Constitution - of Man.” These became my exemplars and “Know thyself” became my text - and my study. A long life has passed, and so have they, but their - influence has remained. In every walk of life it has gone with me. - It has enabled me to better comprehend the seeming mysteries about - me; the course of those with whom I had to deal, or come in contact; - not by the studying of their thoughts, or intentions, for I abhor the - practice of reading one’s friends; but to enable me to excuse, without - offense, many acts which I could in no other way have accounted - for. It has enabled me to see, not only that, but why it was their - nature, and could not be changed. They “could no other, so help them - God.” It has enriched my field of charitable judgment; enlarged my - powers of forgiveness, made those things plain that would have been - obscure to me, easy, that would have been hard, and sometimes made - possible to endure, without complaint, that which might otherwise - have proved unendurable. “Know thyself” has taught me in any great - crisis to put myself under my own feet; bury enmity, cast ambition to - the winds, ignore complaint, despise retaliation, and stand erect in - the consciousness of those higher qualities that made for the good of - human kind, even though we may not clearly see the way. - - “I know not where His Islands lift - Their fronded palms in air; - I only know I cannot drift - Beyond His love and care.” - - -Even though phrenology be now regarded as a scientific error, it must -not be supposed that all the men who practiced it were conscious -charlatans, or that all who believed in it were ignorant dupes. It -was in its day what popularized psychology has become in the present -day. Apart from the exploded idea that the brain contains separate -“organs” which act more or less independently in the development and -manifestation of character, it dealt with the study of the human mind -in more nearly practical fashion than anything which up to that time -had become popularly available. The phrenologist would now be called -a psychologist, and would make no pretense of reading character by -manipulating the skull. But some of those men taught people to consider -their own mental possibilities, and to determine to realize all that -was potentially best within them. This was the effect of phrenology -upon Clara Barton. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -HER FIRST EXPERIENCE AS A TEACHER - - -The avenues which open into life are many now, and the feet of young -people who leave home or school are set at the intersection of many -highways. But it was not so in the early part of the nineteenth -century. For those who had aspirations for something else than the farm -or shop, the most common and convenient path to larger knowledge and a -professional career lay through the teaching of the district school. -When Mr. Fowler advised that responsibility be laid upon Clara to -develop her self-reliance and overcome her shyness, there were not many -kinds of work which could easily have been recommended. School-teaching -followed almost inevitably, and as something foreordained. She belonged -to a generation of teachers, and to a family which was quite at -home in the schoolroom. Her elder sister Dorothy developed symptoms -of invalidism, never married, and in time had to give up teaching, -and her younger sister Sally married and became Mrs. Vassall. Her -brother Stephen had graduated from the work of teaching, and he and -David were associated in farm, gristmill, sawmill, cloth-mill, and -other enterprises. There was no difficulty in securing for Clara -the opportunity to teach in the district where her married sister -lived. Bearing in mind the advice of Mr. Fowler, she did up her hair, -lengthened her skirts, and prepared for her first work as a teacher. - -[Illustration: STONE SCHOOLHOUSE WHERE SHE FIRST TAUGHT] - - At the close of the second term of school, the advice was acted - upon, and it was arranged that I teach the school in District No. - 9. My sister resided within the district. How well I remember the - preparations--the efforts to look larger and older, the examination by - the learned committee of one clergyman, one lawyer, and one justice - of the peace; the certificate with “excellent” added at the close; - the bright May morning over the dewy, grassy road to the schoolhouse, - neither large nor new, and not a pupil in sight. - - On entering, I found my little school of forty pupils all seated - according to their own selection, quietly waiting with folded hands. - Bright, rosy-cheeked boys and girls from four to thirteen, with the - exception of four lads, as tall and nearly as old as myself. These - four boys naturally looked a little curiously at me, as if forming - an opinion of how best to dispose of me, as rumor had it that on the - preceding summer, not being _en rapport_ with the young lady - teacher, they had excluded her from the building and taken possession - themselves. All arose as I entered, and remained standing until - requested to sit. Never having observed how schools were opened, I was - compelled, as one would say, to “blaze my own way.” I was too timid - to address them, but holding my Bible, I said they might take their - Testaments and turn to the Sermon on the Mount. All who could read, - read a verse each, I reading with them in turn. This opened the way - for remarks upon the meaning of what they had read. I found them more - ready to express themselves than I had expected, which was helpful - to me as well. I asked them what they supposed the Saviour meant by - saying that they must love their enemies and do good to them that - hated and misused them? This was a hard question, and they hesitated, - until at length a little bright-eyed girl with great earnestness - replied: “I think He meant that you must be good to everybody, and - mustn’t quarrel or make nobody feel bad, and I’m going to try.” An - ominous smile crept over the rather hard faces of my four lads, - but my response was so prompt, and my approval so hearty, that it - disappeared and they listened attentively, but ventured no remarks. - With this moderate beginning the day progressed, and night found us - social, friendly, and classed for a school. Country schools did not - admit of home dinners. I also remained. On the second or third day an - accident on their outside field of rough play called me to them. They - had been playing unfairly and dangerously and needed teaching, even - to play well. I must have thought they required object lessons, for - almost imperceptibly, either to them or to myself, I joined in the - game and was playing with them. - - My four lads soon perceived that I was no stranger to their sports or - their tricks; that my early education had not been neglected, and that - they were not the first boys I had seen. When they found that I was - as agile and as strong as themselves, that my throw was as sure and - as straight as theirs, and that if they won a game it was because I - permitted it, their respect knew no bounds. No courtesy within their - knowledge was neglected. Their example was sufficient for the entire - school. I have seen no finer type of boys. They were faithful to me in - their boyhood, and in their manhood faithful to their country. Their - blood crimsoned its hardest fields, and the little bright-eyed girl - with the good resolve has made her whole life a blessing to others, - and still lives to follow the teaching given her. Little Emily has - “made nobody feel bad.” - - My school was continued beyond the customary length of time, and its - only hard feature was our parting. In memory I see that pitiful group - of children sobbing their way down the hill after the last good-bye - was said, and I was little better. We had all been children together, - and when, in accordance with the then custom at town meetings, the - grades of the schools were named and No. 9 stood first for discipline, - I thought it the greatest injustice, and remonstrated, affirming that - there had been no discipline, that not one scholar had ever been - disciplined. Child that I was, I did not know that the surest test - of discipline is its absence. - -Clara Barton was now embarked upon what seemed likely to be a life -vocation. Her success in teaching was marked, and her reputation -increased year by year. For twenty years the schoolroom was her home. -She taught in district schools near Oxford, and established a school of -her own, which she conducted for ten years. Then she stopped teaching -for a time, in order to complete her own education, as completion then -was accepted and understood. She did a memorable piece of school work -in Bordentown, New Jersey, and, but for the failure of her voice, might -have continued a teacher to the end of her life. - -Her experiences during the years when she was teaching and pursuing -further studies were recorded by her in 1908, in a manuscript which -has never been published. She had already written and printed a little -book entitled “The Story of my Childhood,” which was well received and -brought her many expressions of pleasure from its readers. She thought -of continuing her autobiography in sections, and publishing these -separately. She hoped then to revise and unify them, supplement them -with adequate references to her record, and make a complete biography. -But she got no farther than the second installment, which must appear -as a chapter in this present work. - -Before turning to this narrative which marks the beginning of her life -away from the parental roof, we may listen to the story of her first -journey away from home. It occurred at the end of her first term of -school, when her brother David set out on a journey to the State of -Maine to bring home his bride, and asked her to accompany him. - - One day, early in September, my brother David, now one of the active, - popular business men of the town, nearly took my breath away by - inviting me to accompany him on a journey to the State of Maine, to - be present at his wedding and with him bring back the wife who was to - grace his home and share his future life. - - There was now more lengthening of skirts, and a rush of dressmaking - such as I had never known before; and when, two weeks later, I found - myself with my brother and a rather gay party of ladies and gentlemen, - friends of his, at one of the most elegant hotels in Boston (where I - had never been), waiting the arrival of a delayed steamer, I was so - overcome by the dread of committing some impropriety or indiscretion - which might embarrass my brother that I begged him to permit me to - go back home. I was not distressed about what might be thought of - _me_. I did not seem to care much about that; but how it might - reflect upon my brother, and the mortification that my awkwardness - could not fail to inflict on him. - - I had never set foot on a vessel or seagoing craft of any kind, - and when, in the glitter of that finely equipped steamer, I really - crossed over a corner of the great Atlantic Ocean, the very waves - of which touched other continents as well, I felt that my world was - miraculously widening. - - It was another merry party, and magnificent spans of horses that met - and galloped away with us over the country to our destination. - - But the crowning astonishment came when I was informed that it was the - desire and decision of all parties, that I act as bridesmaid; that I - assist in introducing the younger of the guests, and stand beside the - tall, handsome young bride who was to be my sister, while she pledged - her troth to the brother dearer to me than my own life. - - This responsibility seemed to throw the whole world wide open to me. - How well I remember the tearful resolution with which I pledged myself - to try to overcome my troublesome propensities and to strive only for - the courage of the right, and for the fearlessness of true womanhood - so much needed and earnestly desired, and so painfully lacking. - - November found us home again. Under the circumstances, there must - naturally be a share of social gayeties during the winter, and some - preparations for my new school duties; and I waited with more or less - apprehension for what would be my first life among strangers, and the - coming of my anticipated “First of May.” With slight variation I could - have joined truthfully in the dear old child refrain: - - “Then wake and call me early, - Call me early, mother dear,” - For that will be the veriest day - “Of all the glad New Year.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -LEAVES FROM HER UNPUBLISHED AUTOBIOGRAPHY - - -When Clara Barton began to teach school, she was only a little girl. -To her family, she seemed even younger and more tiny than she was. But -she had taken the words of Dr. Fowler to heart, and she determined to -teach and to teach successfully. Mrs. Stafford, formerly Mamie Barton, -remembers hearing her mother tell how seriously Clara took the edict of -the phrenologist. To her it was nothing less than predestination and -prophecy. In her own mind she was already a teacher, but she realized -that in the mind of her household she was still a child. She stood -beside the large stone fireplace, looking very slender and very small, -and with dignity asked, “But what am I to do with only two little old -waifish dresses?” - -[Illustration: CLARA BARTON AT EIGHTEEN] - -Julia, David Barton’s young bride, was first to discern the pertinence -of the question. If Clara was to teach school, she must have apparel -suitable for her vocation. The “two little old waifish dresses,” which -had been deemed adequate for her home and school life, were replaced by -new frocks that fell below her shoe-tops, and Clara Barton began her -work. - -She was a quick-tempered little teacher, dignified and self-possessed. -Little and young though she was, she was not to be trifled with. She -flogged, and on occasion expelled, but she won respect at the outset -and very soon affection. Then floggings ceased almost altogether. - -At first she was teacher only of the spring and autumn school nearest -her home; then she taught in districts in Oxford farther away; then -came the incontrovertible certificate of success in her invitation to -teach the winter school, which according to precedent must be managed -by a man capable of whipping the entire group of big boys. And in all -this experience of teaching she succeeded. - -In 1908 she wrote the second installment of her autobiography, and in -that she related how she finished her teaching in Oxford and went for -further education to Clinton Institute: - - Hard, tiresome years were these, with no advancement for me. Some, I - hoped, for others. Little children grew to be large, and mainly “well - behaved.” Boys grew to manhood, and continued faithfully in their - work, or went out and entered into business, seeking other vocations. - A few girls became teachers, but more continued at their looms or set - up housekeeping for themselves, but whatever sphere opened to them, - they were all mine, second only to the claims and interests of the - real mother. And so they have remained. Scattered over the world, - some near, some far, I have been their confidant, standing at their - nuptials if possible, lent my name to their babies, followed their - fortunes to war’s gory fields, staunched their blood, dressed their - wounds, and closed their Northern eyes on the hard-fought fields of - the Southland; and yet, all this I count as little in comparison with - the faithful, grateful love I hold to-day of the few survivors of my - Oxford schools. - - I shall have neglected a great, I could almost say a holy, duty, - if I fail to mention the name, and connect the presence, of the - Reverend Horatio Bardwell with this school. Reverend Dr. Bardwell, - an early India missionary, and for over twenty years pastor of the - Congregational Church of Oxford, where his memory lovingly lingers - to-day, as if he had passed from them but yesterday, or indeed had not - passed at all. - - Dr. Bardwell was continuously on the School Board of the town, and his - custom was to drop in upon a school, familiarly, at a most unexpected - moment. I recall the amusing scenes, when, by some unusual sound - behind me, my attention would be called from the class I had before - me, to see my entire school, which had risen unbidden, standing with - hands resting on the desk before them, heads reverently bent, and Dr. - Bardwell midway of the open door, with hands upraised in mute wonder - and admiration. At length he would find voice, with, “What a sight, - what a multitude!” The school reseated itself when bidden and prepared - for the visit of a half-hour of pleasant conversation, anecdotes, and - advice that even the smallest would not willingly have missed. It - was the self-reliant, self-possessed, and unbidden courtesy of these - promiscuous children that won the Doctor’s admiration. He saw in these - something for a future to build upon. - - It is to be remembered that I am not writing romance, nor yet ancient - history, where I can create or vary my models to suit myself. It is, - in fact, semi-present history, with most notable characters still - existing, who can, at any moment, rise up and call me to order. To - avoid such a contingency, I may sometimes be more explicit than I - otherwise would be at the risk of prolixity. This possibility leads me - to state that a few times in the years I was borrowed, for a part of - a winter term, by some neighboring town, where it would be said there - was trouble, and some school was “not getting on well.” I usually - found that report to have been largely illusive, for they got on very - well with me. Probably it was the old adage of a “new broom,” for - I did nothing but teach them. I recall one of these experiences as - transpiring in Millbury, the grand old town where the lamented and - honored mother of our President-elect Judge Taft has just passed to - a better land. That early and undeserved reputation for “discipline” - always clung to me. - - Most of this transpired during years in which I should have been in - school myself, using time and opportunities for my own advancement - which could not be replaced. This thought grew irresistibly upon me, - until I decided that I must withdraw and find a school, the object - of which should be to teach _me_ something. The number of - educational institutions for women was one to a thousand as compared - with to-day. I knew I must place myself so far away that a “run of bad - luck” in the home school could not persuade me to return--it would be - sure to have one. - - Religiously, I had been educated in the liberal thought of my family, - and preferring to remain in that atmosphere, I decided upon the - “Liberal Institute,” of Clinton, New York. - - I recall with pain even now the regret with which my family, - especially my brothers, heard my announcement. I had become literally - a part, if not a partner, of them in school and office. My brother - Stephen was school superintendent, thus there was no necessity for - making my intentions public, and I would spare both my school and - myself the pain of parting. I closed my autumn term, as usual, on - Friday night. On Monday night the jingling cutter of my brothers (for - it was early sleighing), took me to the station for New York. This was - in reality going away from home. I had left the smothered sighs, the - blessings, and the memories of a little life behind me. My journey - was made in silence and safety, and the third day found me installed - as a guest in the “Clinton House” of Clinton, Oneida County, New - York--a typical old-time tavern. My hosts were Mr. and Mrs. Samuel - Bertram--and again the hand rests, and memory pauses, to pay its - tribute of grateful, loving respect to such as I shall never know - again this side the Gates Eternal. - - It was holiday season. The Institute was undergoing a transfer from - old to new buildings. These changes caused a delay of some weeks, - while I became a part and parcel of the family I had so incidentally - and fortunately fallen among. - - Clinton was also the seat of Hamilton College. The sisters and - relatives of the students of Hamilton contributed largely to the - personnel of the Institute. Reverend Dr. Sawyer presided over - Hamilton, and Miss Louise Barker with a competent corps of assistants - presided over the Institute. - - It was a cold, blustering winter day that assembled us in the almost - as cold schoolrooms of the newly finished and sparsely furnished - building. Even its clean new brick walls on its stately eminence - looked cold, and the two-plank walk with a two-foot space between, - leading up from town, was not suggestive of the warmest degree - of sociability, to say the least of it. My introduction to our - Preceptress, or President, Miss Barker, was both a pleasure and a - surprise to me. I found an unlooked-for activity, a cordiality, and an - irresistible charm of manner that none could have foreseen--a winning, - indescribable grace which I have met in only a few persons in a whole - lifetime. Those who remember the eminent Dr. Lucy Hall Brown, of - Brooklyn, who only a year ago passed out through California’s “Golden - Gate,” will be able to catch something of what I mean, but cannot - describe. Neither could they. To no one had I mentioned anything of - myself, or my past. No “certificate of character” had been mentioned, - and no recommendation from my “last place” been required of me. There - was no reason why I should volunteer my history, or step in among that - crowd of eager pupils as a “school-marm,” expected to know everything. - - The easiest way for me was to keep silent, as I did, and so well kept - that I left that Institute at the close without a mistrust on the part - of any one that I had ever taught school a day. - - The difficulty to be met lay mainly in the assignment of studies. The - prescribed number was a cruel limit. I was there for study. I required - no rudiments, and wanted no allowance for waste time; I would use - it all; and diffidently I made this fact known at the head, asking - one more and one more study until the limit was stretched out of all - reasonable proportions. I recall, with amusement, the last evening - when I entered with my request. The teachers were assembled in the - parlor and, divining my errand, as I had never any other, Miss Barker - broke into a merry laugh--with “Miss Barton, we have a few studies - left; you had better take what there are, and we will say nothing - about it.” This broke the ice, and the line. I could only join in the - laugh, and after this studied what I would, and “nothing was said.” - - I would by no means be understood as crediting myself with superior - scholarship. There were doubtless far more advanced scholars there - than I, but I had a drilled rudimentary knowledge which they had never - had, and I had the habit of study, with a burning anxiety to make the - most of lost time. So true it is that we value our privileges only - when we have lost them. - -Miss Barton spent her vacations at the Institute. A few teachers were -there, and a small group of students; and she pursued her studies and -gave her reading wider range. She wanted to go home, but the distance -seemed great, and she was there to learn. - -Her mother died while she was at Clinton. Her death occurred in July, -but before the term had ended. Clara could not reach home in time for -the funeral and her family knew it and sent her word not to undertake -the journey. - -She finished her school year and her course, made a visit to her home, -and then journeyed to Bordentown, New Jersey, to visit her friends, -the Norton family. There the opportunity came to her of teaching the -winter term of the Bordentown school. - -“Public schools of that day,” she wrote, “ceased with the southern -boundary of New England and New York. Each pupil was assessed a certain -fee, the aggregate of which formed the teacher’s salary.” - -[Illustration: THE SCHOOLHOUSE AT BORDENTOWN] - -She undertook the school on the fee basis, but in a short time changed -it to a public school, open to all the children of school age in -Bordentown. It was that town’s first free school. The School Board -agreed to give her the opportunity to try the experiment. She tells -how it came about. She looked over the little group who attended her -subscription school, and then saw the much larger number outside, and -she was not happy: - - But the boys! I found them on all sides of me. Every street corner - had little knots of them idle, listless, as if to say, what shall - one do, when one has nothing to do? I sought every inconspicuous - occasion to stop and talk with them. I saw nothing unusual in them. - Much like other boys I had known, unusually courteous, showing special - instruction in that line, and frequently of unusual intelligence. - They spoke of their banishment or absence from school with far less - of bravado or boasting than would have been expected, under the - circumstances, and often with regret. “Lady, there is no school for - us,” answered a bright-faced lad of fourteen, as he rested his foot on - the edge of a little park fountain where I had accosted him. “We would - be glad to go if there was one.” I had listened to such as this long - enough, and, without returning to my hotel, I sought Mr. Suydam, as - chairman of the School Committee, and asked for an interview. - - By this time, in his capacity of postmaster, we had formed a tolerable - acquaintance. Now, for the first time, I made known my desire to open - a public school in Bordentown, teaching it myself. - - Surprise, discouragement, resistance, and sympathy were all pictured - on his manly face. He was troubled for terms in which to express the - mental conflict, but in snatches something like this. - - These boys were renegades, many of them more fit for the penitentiary - than school--a woman could do nothing with them. They wouldn’t go to - school if they had the chance, and the parents would never send them - to a “pauper school.” I would have the respectable sentiment of the - entire community against me; I could never endure the obloquy, not to - call it disgrace that I should meet; and to crown all, I should have - the bitter opposition of all the present teachers, many of whom were - ladies of influence in society and would contend vigorously for their - rights. A strong man would quail and give way under what he would - be compelled to meet, and what could a woman--a young woman, and a - stranger--do? - - He spoke very kindly and appreciatingly of the intention, - acknowledging the necessity, and commending the nature of the - effort, but it was ill-timed, and had best be at once abandoned as - impracticable. - - With this honest effort, and, wiping the perspiration from his - forehead, he rested. After a moment’s quiet and seeing that he did not - resume, I said with a respect, which I most sincerely felt, “Thank - you, Mr. Suydam, shall I speak?” “Certainly, Miss Barton,” and with a - little appreciative laugh, “I will try to be as good a listener as you - have been.” - - I thanked him again for the evident sincerity of his objections, - assuring him that I believed them drawn entirely in my interest, and - his earnest desire to save me from what seemed to him an impossible - undertaking, with only failure and humiliation as sure and logical - results. A few of these I would like to answer, and throwing off - the mask I had worn since Clinton, told him plainly that I was, and - had been for years, a teacher of the public schools of New England. - That was my profession, and that, if entered in the long and honored - competitive list of such, I did not suppose that in either capacity, - experience, or success I should stand at the foot. I had studied the - character of these boys, and had intense pity for, but no fear of, - them. As for exclusion from society, I had not sought society, and - could easily dispense with it, if they so willed; I was not here for - that. As for reputation, I had brought with me all I needed, and that - of a character that a bit of village gossip could not affect. With all - respect for the prejudices of the people, I should try not to increase - them. My only desire was to open and teach a school in Bordentown, - to which its outcast children could go and be taught; and I would - emphasize that desire by adding that I wished no salary. I would open - and teach such a school without remuneration, but my effort must have - the majesty of the law, and the power vested in its offices behind it - or it could not stand. If I secured a building and proceeded to open - a school, it would be only one more private school like the score - they already had; that the School Board, as officers of the law, with - accepted rights and duties, must so far connect themselves with the - effort as to provide quarters, the necessary furnishings, and to give - due and respectable notice of the same among the people. In fact, it - must stand as by their order, leaving the work and results to me. - - I was not there for necessity. Fortunately I needed nothing of - them--neither as an adventuress. I had no personal ambitions to - serve, but as an observer of unwelcome conditions, and, as I thought, - harmful as well, to try, so far as possible, the power of a good, - wise, beneficent, and established state law, as against the force of - ignorance, blind prejudice, and the tyranny of an obsolete, outlived - public opinion. I desired to see them both fairly placed upon their - merits before an intelligent community, leaving the results to the - winner. If the law, after trial, were not acceptable, or of use to the - people serving their best interest, abolish or change it--if it were, - enforce and sustain it. - - My reply was much longer than the remarks that had called for it, but - the pledge of good listening was faithfully kept. - - When he spoke again, it was to ask if I desired my proposition to - be laid before the School Board? I surely did. He would speak with - the gentlemen this evening, and call a meeting for to-morrow. Our - interview had consumed two hours, and we parted better friends than we - commenced. - - The following afternoon, to my surprise, I was most courteously - invited to sit with the School Board in its deliberations, and I made - the acquaintance of two more, plain, honest-minded gentlemen. The - subject was fairly discussed, but with great misgivings, a kind of - tender sympathy running through it all. At length Mr. Suydam arose, - and, addressing his colleagues, said, “Gentlemen, we feel alike, I - am sure, regarding the hazardous nature of this experiment and its - probable results, but situated as we are, officers of a law which we - are sworn to obey and enforce, can we legally decline to accede to - this proposition, which is in every respect within the law. From your - expressed opinions of last evening I believe we agree on this point, - and I put the vote.” - - It was a unanimous yea, with the decision that the old closed - schoolhouse be refitted, and a school commenced. - -The school speedily outgrew its quarters, and Clara sent word to Oxford -that she must have an assistant. Her brother Stephen secured the -services of Miss Frances Childs, who subsequently became Mrs. Bernard -Barton Vassall. Frances had just finished her first term as teacher of -a school in Oxford, and she proved a very capable assistant. Letters -from, and personal interviews with, her have brought vividly before me -the conditions of Clara’s work in Bordentown. - -[Illustration: - - MISS FANNIE CHILDS - (MRS. BERNARD VASSALL) - - At the time she taught school - with Miss Barton at Bordentown, N.J. -] - - -She thus writes me of her happy memories: - - When Clara’s school in Bordentown had become so pronounced a success - that she could not manage it alone, she sent for me. I had a separate - schoolroom, the upstairs room over a tailor shop. I had about sixty - pupils. Clara and I boarded and roomed together. The editor of the - Bordentown “Gazette” roomed at the same place. He frequently commented - on the fact that when Clara and I were in our room together, we were - always talking and laughing. It was a constant wonder to him. He could - not understand how we found so much to laugh at. - - Clara was so sensitive, she felt it keenly when any pupil had to be - punished, or any parent was disappointed, but she did not indulge very - long in mourning or self-reproach, she knew she had done her best and - she laughed and made the best of it. Clara had an unfailing sense of - humor. She said to me once that of all the qualities she possessed, - that for which she felt most thankful was her sense of humor. She said - it helped her over many hard places. - - Clara had quick wit, and was very ready with repartee and apt reply. - I remember an evening when she brought to a close a rather lengthy - discussion by a quick reply that set us all to laughing. We spent - an evening at the home of the Episcopalian minister, who was one of - the School Committee. The discussion turned to phrenology. Clara - had great faith in it. The minister did not believe in it at all. - They had quite an argument about it. He told Clara of a man who had - suffered an injury to the brain which had resulted in the removal of - a considerable part of it. He argued that if there was anything in - phrenology, that man would have been deprived of a certain group of - mental capabilities, but that he got on very well with only a part of - a brain. Clara replied quickly, “Then there’s hope for me.” So the - discussion ended in a hearty laugh. - -As a school-teacher, Clara Barton was a pronounced success. We are not -dependent wholly upon her own account of her years as a teacher. From -many and distant places her pupils rose up and called her blessed. -Nothing pleased her more than the letters which she received from time -to time, in after years, from men and women who had been pupils of hers -and who wrote to tell her with what satisfaction and gratitude they -remembered her instruction. Some of these letters were received by -her as early as 1851, when she was at Clinton Institute. Her answers -were long, appreciative, and painstaking. In those days Clara Barton -was something of an artist, and had taught drawing and painting. One -or two of her letters of this period have ornamented letterheads with -birds and other scroll work. Her letters always abounded in good cheer, -and often contained wholesome advice, though she did not preach to her -pupils. Some of these letters from former pupils continued to reach -her after she had become well known. Men in business and in political -life wrote reminding her that they had been bad boys in her school, and -telling of her patience, her tact, and the inspiration of her ideals. - -Her home letters in the years before the war are the letters of a -dutiful daughter and affectionate sister. She wrote to her father, her -brothers, and especially to Julia, the wife of David Barton, who was -perhaps the best correspondent in the family. She bore on her heart -all the family anxieties. If any member of the family was sick, the -matter was constantly on her mind. She wanted to know every detail, -in what room were they keeping him? Was the parlor chimney drawing -well? And was every possible provision made for comfort? She made many -suggestions as to simple remedies, and more as to nursing, hygiene, -and general comfort. Always when there was sickness she wished that -she were there. She wanted to assist in the nursing. She sent frequent -messages to her brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews. The messages -were always considerate, affectionate, and unselfish. She was not often -homesick; in general she made the best of her absences from home, and -busied herself with the day’s task. But whenever there was anything -at home which suggested an occasion for anxiety or an opportunity for -service, then she wished herself home. She visualized the home at such -times, and carried a mental picture of the house, the room, the bedside -of the patient. One of these letters, written from Washington to Julia -Barton, when her father was dangerously ill, may here be inserted as an -illustration of her devotion to her parents and to all members of her -family: - - WASHINGTON, D.C., 29th Dec., 1860 - - DEAR SISTER: - - I don’t know what to say or how to write you, I am so uncertain of the - scenes you may be passing through. In thought and spirit I am in the - room with you every moment--that it is sad and _painful_, or sad - and _desolate_ I know. I can _almost_ see, and _almost_ - hear, and _almost_ know, how it all is--between us seems to be - only the “veil so thin so strong,” there are moments when I think I - can brush it away with my hand and look upon that dear treasured - form and face, the earliest loved and latest mourned of all my life. - Sometimes I am certain I hear the patient’s feeble moan, and at others - above me the _clouds_ seem to divide, and, in the opening up - among the blue and golden, that loved face, smiling and pleasant, - looks calmly down upon me; then I think it is all past, and my poor - father is at rest. Aye! more that he has learned the password to the - Mystic Lodge of God and entered in: that the Providences and mysteries - he has loved so much to contemplate are being made plain to him; that - the inquiries of his intelligent soul are to be satisfied and that the - God he has always worshiped he may now adore. - - And in spite of all the grief, the agony of parting, there is pleasure - in these reflections, and consolation in the thought that while we may - have one the less tie upon earth, we shall have one more treasure in - Heaven. - - And yet again, when I look into my own heart, there is underlying the - whole a little of the old-time hope--hope that he may yet be spared to - us a little longer; that a few more months or years may be given us in - which to prove the love and devotion of our hearts; that we may again - listen to his wise counsels and kind admonitions, and hourly I pray - Heaven that, if it be consistent with Divine arrangement, the cup may - pass from him. But God’s will, not mine, be done. - - If my father still lives and realizes, will you tell him how much I - love him and regret his sufferings, and how _much_ rather I would - endure them myself if _he_ could be saved from them? - - With love and sympathy to all, - - I am, your affectionate sister - - CLARA - - -Her letters to members of her family are seldom of great importance. -They concern themselves with the trivial details of her and their daily -life; thoughtful answers to all their inquiries, and expressions of -affection and interest in all their concerns. In some respects the -letters are more interesting which she wrote when she was temporarily -in Oxford. One of these was addressed to her brother David, who had -gone South to visit Stephen, then a resident of North Carolina. It was -written at the time when she had been removed from her position in the -Patent Office, and for a while was at home. David had written Julia -in some concern lest he should not have provided in advance for her -every possible want before his leaving her to go South. Clara replied -to this letter, making merry over the “destitute” condition in which -David had left his wife, and giving details about business affairs and -home life. It is a thoroughly characteristic letter, full of fun and -detail and neighborhood gossip and sisterly good-will. If her brothers -were to stay in the South in hot weather, she wanted to be with them. -She had already proposed to Stephen that he let her go South and look -after him, and Stephen had sought to dissuade her, telling her that the -conditions of life were uncomfortable, and that she would be shocked by -seeing the almost nude condition of the negro laborers. None of these -things frightened her. The only things she was afraid of were things -about which she had told David, and we cannot help wishing we knew what -they were. It is good to know that by this time the objects of her -fear made rather a short list, for she was by nature timid and easily -terrified, but had become self-reliant and strong. - - NORTH OXFORD, June 17th, 1858 - - DEAR BROTHER: - - This is an excessively warm day, and Julia scarcely thinks she can get - her courage up to the sticking point to sit down to letter-writing, - but I will try it, for the weather is all alike to me, only just - comfortably warm, and I can as well scribble letters as anything. - We are rejoiced to hear such good reports from Stephen. It cannot - be, however, that he was ready to return with you? For his sake I - hope he could, but should be frightened if I knew he attempted it. - We are all well; received your short letter in due time. Julia has - discoursed considerably upon the propriety of that word “destitute” - which you made use of. She says you left her with a barrel and a half - of flour, a barrel and a half of crackers, a good new milch cow, - fish, ham, dried beef, a barrel of pork, four good hogs in the pen, - a field of early potatoes just coming on, a good garden, plenty of - fowls, a good grain crop in and a man to take care of them, a good - team, thirty cords of wood at the door and a horse and chaise to ride - where she pleased. This she thinks is one of the last specimens of - destitution. Can scarcely sleep at night through fear of immediate - want--and beside we have not mentioned the crab apples. I shouldn’t - wonder if we have fifty bushels of them; this only depends upon the - size they attain, there are certainly enough in number. The hoeing is - all done once, and the piece out by Mr. Baker’s gone over the second - time. Uncle Joe helped. The taxes are paid, yours, Colonel Davis’s, - and Brine’s. The two latter I have charged to them and pasted the - receipts in the books. I have put down Brine’s[1] time for last week - and made out a new time page for July. Brine has gone to Worcester - with old Eb to-day, and I have put that down and carried his account - to a new page. Whitlock has not paid yet, but the 2´-40´´ man on - the hill has paid .75. Old Mrs. Collier is going to pay before she - gets herself a new pair of shoes, and Sam avers that she is not - only in need of shoes, but stockings, to which fact he is a living - eye-witness. Johnson “hasn’t a cent--will pay next week--” This, I - believe, finishes up the schedule of money matters until we report - next time. Mr. Samuel Smith is dead. Was buried Thursday, I think. I - have just written to the Colonel at Boston and to Cousin Ira[2] the - intelligence from Stephen when we first learned that he was really - better, and had hardly sent the letters away before the Judge came in. - He was anxious to hear from us and also to attend the funeral, so took - the morning train and came out, took dinner, and then he and father - took Dick and the chaise and went to the funeral, came back, stayed - to supper, and I went and carried him to the depot. We had a most - delightful visit from him. Every time I see Cousin Ira, I think he is - a better and better cousin. It is hardly possible for us to esteem him - enough. I forgot to tell you about the garden. Julia has hoed it all - over, set out the cabbage plants, waters them almost every day; they - are looking finely. She has weeded all the beds, and Sam says he will - help her some about the garden. Brine doesn’t seem to take an interest - in the fine arts. Julia says she hopes you will not take a moment’s - trouble about us, for we are getting on finely and shall do so, but - you must take care of yourself. We--i.e. Julia and I--shall ride down - to the Colonel’s this evening after sundown. I should like to see him - and know he would like to hear from you again. I have not heard where - Stephen is or how since you wrote, but trust he is no worse, and I - also hope you may be able to favor and counsel him so as to keep him - up when he gets back. I feel as much solicitude on your account as - his, for I know how liable you are to get out of fix. I wish every - day that I was there to see that both of you had what you needed to - take and to be done for you. I was earnest in what I wished you to say - to Stephen, that I was ready to go to Carolina or anywhere else if I - could serve him; not that I want a job, as I should insist on putting - my labor against my board, but earnestly if you are both going to try - to summer there and Stephen so feeble as he is, I shall be glad to be - with you. Still, if not proper or acceptable, I, of course, shall not - urge myself or feel slighted, but I feel afraid to have you both there - by yourselves; while you go away on business, he will be obliged to do - something at home to get sick, and maybe I could do it for him if I - were there, or at least take care of him in time. I am not afraid of - naked negroes or rough houses, and you know the only things in all the - world I should fear, for I told you--nothing else aside from these. I - have no precaution or care for anything there could be there, but I - have said enough and too much. Stephen may think I am willing to make - myself more plenty than welcome, but I have obeyed the dictates of my - feelings and judgment and can do no more, and I could not have done - it and done less, so I leave it. If I can serve you, tell me. I have - seen neither of the Washington tourists yet, and I went to the depot - this morning to meet Irving[3] if he was there, but he did not come. - Please tell me if Mr. Vassall talks of going to Carolina this summer, - or will he come North? I have offered Julia this space to fill up, - but she says I have told all the news and declines, and it is almost - time to get ready to ride; so good-bye, and write a word or two often. - Don’t trouble to send long letters, it is hot work to write. Sleep all - you can, don’t drink ice water, be careful about grease, don’t expose - yourself to damp evenings or mornings if too misty, or you will get - the chills. Love to Stephen. Will he ever write me, I wonder? - - From your affectionate sister - CLARA - - -Great as was Clara Barton’s success in Bordentown, she did not move -forward without opposition. Although she had built up the public -school to a degree of efficiency which it had not before known, she -met the resolute opposition of those who objected to a woman’s -control of a school as important as this had now grown to be. It was -rather pathetic that her very success should have been used as an -occasion of opposition. The school was alleged to be too large for a -woman to manage. A woman had made it large and had managed it while -it was in process of becoming large, and was continuing to manage it -very well. However, the demand for a male principal grew very strong, -and, against the wishes of a large majority of the pupils, a male -principal was chosen. Clara Barton would not remain and occupy a -second place. Moreover, it was time for her to leave the schoolroom. -For almost twenty years she had been constantly teaching, and her work -at Bordentown, never easy, had ended in a record of success which -brought its own reaction and disappointment. Suddenly she realized -that her energy was exhausted. Her voice completely failed. A nervous -collapse, such as came to her a number of times later in life, laid her -prostrate. She left her great work at Bordentown and went to Washington -to recuperate. She did not know it, but she was leaving the schoolroom -behind her forever. - -In those days Clara Barton was much given to writing verse. She -never entirely gave it up. The most of her poetical writing during -this period is of no especial interest, but consists of verses for -autograph albums, and other ephemeral writing. Once, while she was at -Bordentown, she tried a rhymed advertisement. At least twice while she -was teaching in that village, she made a round trip to Philadelphia on -the steamboat John Stevens. On the second occasion the steamboat had -been redecorated, and she scribbled a jingle concerning its attractions -in the back of her diary. She may have had some idea that her Pegasus -could be profitably harnessed to the chariot of commerce, and it is -possible that she offered this little jingle to the proprietors of the -boat or to the editor of the Bordentown “Gazette,” who roomed at the -house where she boarded. The files of that enterprising publication -have not been searched, but they probably would show that now and then -Clara Barton handed to the editor some poetical comment on passing -events. So far as is known, however, these lines about the beauty of -the rejuvenated John Stevens have not appeared in print before, and -it is now too late for them to be of value in increasing the business -of her owners. It is pleasant, however, to have this reminder of her -occasional outings while she was teaching school, and to know that she -enjoyed them as she did her river journey to Philadelphia and back: - - -ADVERTISEMENT - -_Written on board the John Stevens between Bordentown and -Philadelphia March 12, 1853_ - - You’ve not seen the John Stevens since her new dress she donned? - Why, you’d think she’d been touched by a fairy’s wand! - Such carpets, such curtains, just sprang into light, - Such mirrors bewildering the overcharged sight. - Such velvets, such cushions, such sofas and all, - Then the polish that gleams on her glittering wall. - Now if it be true that you’ve not seen her yet, - We ask you, nay! _urge_ you, implore and beset, - That you will no longer your interests forget, - But at once _take a ticket_ as we have to-day, - And our word as a warrant-- - You’ll find it will pay. - -[1] Brine Murphy, a faithful hired man. - -[2] Judge Ira M. Barton of Worcester. - -[3] Irving S. Vassall, her nephew. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -THE HEART OF CLARA BARTON - - -When Clara Barton left the schoolroom for the life of a clerk in -Washington, she was well past thirty years of age. When the war -broke out, and she left the Patent Office for the battle-field, she -was forty. Why was not she already married? Her mother married at -seventeen; her sister married early: why was she single and teaching -school at thirty, or available for hospital service at forty? And why -did she not marry some soldier whom she tended? Did any romance lie -behind her devotion to what became her life-work? Had she suffered any -disappointment in love before she entered upon her career? - -The question whether Clara Barton was ever in love has been asked -by every one who has attempted anything approaching a sketch of her -career. Mr. Epler’s biography contained a chapter on this subject, but -later it was found so incomplete and unsatisfactory it was thought -best to omit it and to await the opening of her personal and official -papers. These now are available, as well as the personal recollections -of those of her relatives whose knowledge of her life includes any -possibility of affairs of the heart. - -On the subject of her personal affections, Clara Barton was very -reticent. To the present writer she said that she chose, somewhat early -in life, the course which seemed to her more fruitful of good for her -than matrimony. In her girlhood she was shy, and, when she found her -life vocation, as she then esteemed it, as a teacher, she was so much -interested in her school that she gave little thought to matrimony, -and was satisfied that on the whole it would be better in her case if -she lived unmarried. She had little patience, however, with women who -affect to despise men. Always loyal to her own sex, and proud of every -woman who accomplished anything notable, she was no man-hater, but, on -the contrary, enjoyed the society of men, trusted their judgment, and -liked their companionship. - -Her nephew, Stephen E. Barton, furnishes me this paragraph: - - My aunt said to me at one time that I must not think she had never - known any experience of love. She said that she had had her romances - and love affairs like other girls; but that in her young womanhood, - though she thought of different men as possible lovers, no one of them - measured up to her ideal of a husband. She said to me that she could - think of herself with satisfaction as a wife and mother, but that on - the whole she felt that she had been more useful to the world by being - free from matrimonial ties. - -So far as her diaries and letters show, she remained heart-whole -through the entire period of her girlhood in Oxford. There was, -however, a young man of about her own age, born in Oxford, and a very -distant relative between whom and herself there existed something -approaching affection. The families were long-time friends, and the -young people had interests in common. A lady who remembers him well -says: “She was fond of him and he of her. He was a handsome young -fellow, and Clara once said to me that she should not want the man to -have all the good looks in the family.” - -This friendship continued for many years, and developed on the part -of the young man a very deep affection, and on Clara’s part sincere -respect. He visited her when she was a student in Clinton Institute, -and was of real service to her there, making fine proof of his faithful -friendship, but she could not be sure that she loved him. - -She had another ardent admirer in Oxford, who followed her to -Bordentown and there pressed his suit. Clara had long corresponded -with him, and for a time was uncertain how much she cared for him. -This young man had come to know her while she was a teacher in Oxford -and she was boarding in the family where he lived. In 1849 he went to -California in search of gold, and on his return was eager to take her -out of the schoolroom and establish her in a home. For this purpose he -visited her in Bordentown. She welcomed him, and sincerely wished that -she could love him, but, while she held him in thorough respect, she -did not see in him the possibilities of a husband, such as she would -have chosen. He pressed his suit, and she sorrowfully declined. They -remained firm friends as long as he lived. - -A third young man is known to have made love to her while she was at -Clinton Institute. He was the brother of one of the young women in the -school whom she cherished as a dear friend. He was a young man of fine -character, but her heart did not respond to him. - -Two or more of these affairs lay heavy on her heart and conscience -about the time of her leaving Clinton Institute and of her teaching in -Bordentown. She was then in correspondence with three young men who -loved her, and in a state of some mental uncertainty. If letters were -delayed she missed them, and recorded in her diary: - - Rather melancholy. Don’t know why, I received no intelligence from - certain quarters. - -In the spring of 1852 she had a brief period of depression, growing, -in part at least, out of her uncertainty in these matters. On Tuesday, -March 2, 1852, she wrote in her diary: - - Morning cold and icy. Walked to school. Dull day and unpleasant, - cheerless indoors and out. Cannot see much in these days worth living - for; cannot but think it will be a quiet resting-place when all these - cares and vexations and anxieties are over, and I no longer give or - take offense. I am badly organized to live in the world, or among - society; I have participated in too many of its unpleasant scenes; - have always looked on its most unhappy features and have grown weary - of life at an age when other people are enjoying it most. - -On Thursday, March 13, she wrote: - - I have found it extremely hard to restrain the tears to-day, and would - have given almost anything to have been alone and undisturbed. I have - seldom felt more friendless, and I believe I ever feel enough so. I - see less and less in the world to live for, and in spite of all my - resolution and reason and moral courage and every thing else, I grow - weary and impatient. I know it is wicked and perhaps foolish, but I - cannot help it. There is not a living thing but would be just as well - off without me. I contribute to the happiness of not a single object; - and often to the unhappiness of many and always of my own, for I am - never happy. True, I laugh and joke, but could weep that very moment, - and be the happier for it. - - “There’s many a grief lies hid, not lost, - And smiles the least befit who wear them most.” - - How long I can endure such a life I do not know, but often wish that - more of its future path lay on the other side of the present. I am - grateful when so many of the days pass away. But this repining is of - no use, and I would not say or write it for any ear or eye but my own. - I cannot help thinking it, and it is a relief to say it to myself; but - I will indulge in such useless complaints no more, but commence once - more my allotted task. - -The mood did not last long. Its immediate occasion had been a not -very cheerful letter from friends in Oxford, and a discussion with -the mother of a dull pupil who was troubled because her daughter was -not learning faster. Three days later she was seeking to account for -her depression by some possible telepathic influence from home; for -she had word of the burning of Stephen’s factory. Far from being the -more depressed by this really bad news, she was much relieved to know -that he had not rushed into the burning building, as would have been -just like him, and have been killed or injured in trying to save the -property or to help some one else. - -On Friday night she had finished a reasonably good week, and had a -longer letter than usual from the lover whom she had known longest. It -“of course pleased me in proportion to its length.” She adds, “I am -puzzled to know how I can manage one affair, and fear I cannot do it -properly.” - -The reader of these yellow pages, after seventy years and more, knows -better than she knew then what was troubling her most, and can smile at -what caused her so much concern. - -By the following Tuesday she resolved to “begin to think earnestly of -_immediate_ future. Have not made any definite plans.” - -This necessity of planning for the immediate future brought back her -bad feelings. She wrote on Wednesday, March 24: - - Think I shall not write as much in future. Grow dull and I fear - selfish in my feelings and care less what is going on. Not that I - think less of others, but less of myself, and am more and more certain - every day that there is no such thing as true friendship, at least - for me; and I will not dupe and fool myself with the idle, vain hobby - any longer. It is all false; in fact, the whole world is false. This - brings me to my old inquiry again, what is the use of living in it? - I can see no possible satisfaction or benefit arising from my life; - others may from theirs. - -A week later she wrote that she had no letters, but had “grown -indifferent and did not care either to write or to receive letters.” - -She had resolved not to write so much, but she went on: - - I am thinking to-night of the future, and what my next move must be. - Wish I had some one to advise me, or that I could speak to some one - of it. Had ever one poor girl so many strange, wild thoughts, and no - one to listen or share one of them, or even to realize that my head - contains one idea beyond the present foolish moment? - -But she resolves to stop this vain and moody introspection: - - I will not allow myself any more such grumbling! I know it is wicked. - But how can I make myself happy and contented under such circumstances - as I am ever placed in? - -Her diary then grew irregular, with no entries between April 20 and May -25. Within that time she solved a part of her love-problem: - - Have kept no journal for a month or more. Had nothing to note, but - some things are registered where they will never be effaced in my - lifetime. - -But she finished her school successfully; went to Trenton and bought -a silk dress. She filled the back of this book with a list of the -English poets with the dates of their birth and death, and a sentence -or two descriptive of each of the more prominent. She had this habit -of writing, in the back of her journal, things that belonged to no -one day. The volume previous contained a sentimental poem of a tragic -parting of lovers, and a lachrymose effusion entitled “A Prayer for -Death.” - -These entries and incidents are cited because they are wholly -exceptional. While she was ever morbidly sensitive, to the day of her -death, and under strain of criticism or lack of appreciation given to -great and wholly disproportionate depression of spirits, these entries, -made when she had no less than three possible matrimonial entanglements -in prospect, and was not sure whether she wanted any, must be the -sole documentary evidence of a strain from which both she and the men -concerned wholly recovered. All of the men are known by name, and -they married and left families, and were little if any the worse, and -quite possibly were the better, for having loved Clara Barton. Nor, -though the perplexities of having too many lovers, mingled as these -perplexities were with the daily problems of the schoolroom and a long -absence from home, during which her home letters made her homesick, did -the experience do her any permanent harm. Not long did she wish to die. - -Indeed, her mood was soon a very different one. The entries that have -been cited were made at Hightstown. Next year she was at Bordentown, -and there she throve so well she had to send back to her home town for -an assistant. She still had one love affair, already referred to, but -it had ceased to depress her seriously. - -A young woman of thirty is not to be blamed for stopping to consider -that she may not always be bothered by three simultaneous offers of -marriage. On the other hand, while all of these were worthy men, there -was not one of them so manifestly stronger than she that she felt she -was safe in giving her heart to him. The vexations of the schoolroom -suggested the quiet of a home as a pleasant contrast, but which should -she choose, and were there any of the men to whom she could forever -look up with affection and sustained regard? - -For each one of these three young men she appears to have had a genuine -regard. She liked them, all of them, and it was not easy for her to see -them go out of her life. The time came when each of them demanded to -know where he stood in her affections; and each time this occurred she -had a period of heart-searching, and thought herself the most miserable -young woman alive. In each case, however, she came to the sane and -commendable decision, not to bestow her hand where her heart could not -go utterly. - -From one who knew her intimately in those days I have this statement: - - Clara Barton had many admirers, and they were all men whom she admired - and some whom she almost loved. More men were interested in her than - she was ever interested in; some of them certainly interested her, yet - not profoundly. I do not think she ever had a love affair that stirred - the depths of her being. The truth is, Clara Barton was herself so - much stronger a character than any of the men who made love to her - that I do not think she was ever seriously tempted to marry any of - them. She was so pronounced in her opinions that a man who wanted a - submissive wife would have stood somewhat in awe of her. However good - a wife she might have made to a man whom she knew to be her equal, and - for whom she felt real admiration, she would not have been an ideal - wife for a man to whom she could not look up, not only in regard to - moral character, which in every case was above reproach, but also as - to intellect, education, and ambition. - -Clara Barton’s diaries did not ordinarily indulge in self-analysis. -She recorded the events of the day briefly, methodically, and without -much comment. She indicated by initials the young men to whom she wrote -and from whom she received letters, relatives being spoken of by their -first names. The passages quoted from her diaries are exceptional. -While she was highly sensitive, and morbidly conscientious, her usual -moods were those of quiet and sensible performance of her day’s work. - -For ten years after she began to teach, she was shut out from any real -opportunity for love. Her elevation to the teacher’s platform, while -still a child, shut out her normal opportunity for innocent flirtation. -Love hardly peeped in at her during her teens, or in her early -twenties. By the time it came to her, other interests had gained a long -start. She was ambitious, she was determined to find out what she was -good for, and to do something worth while in life. Had some young man -come into her life as worthy as those who made love to her, and who was -her equal or superior in ability and education, she might have learned -to love him. As it was, she decided wisely both for herself and for -the men who sought her hand. - -Having thus chosen, she did not mourn her fate. She enjoyed her -friendships with men and with women, and lived her busy, successful, -and happy life. She did not talk of these affairs, nor did she write of -them. She retained the personal friendship of the men whom she refused; -and two of them, who lived not far from her in New England, made their -friendship manifest in later years. Few people knew that they had ever -been rejected lovers of hers; they were esteemed and lifelong friends. - -There were times when her heart cried out for something more than this. -From the day of her birth she was too isolated. Her public career -began before her shy childhood had ended. She was too solitary; she -had “strange, wild thoughts,” and no one to whom to confide them. She -could have welcomed the love of a strong, true man. She was always -over-sensitive. She was cut to the very heart by experiences which -she ought to have treated as almost negligible. She met opposition, -criticism, injustice with calm demeanor, but she bled within her armor, -and covered herself with undeserved reproaches and unhappy reflections -that she seemed doomed to give and to suffer pain. In some respects she -was peculiarly unfitted to meet the world alone. But she met it and -conquered it. She turned her loneliness into a rich companionship of -friendships; she forgot her solitude in unselfish ministry. Spite of -her shrinking nature, her natural timidity, her over-sensitiveness, she -lived a full and happy life. Those who knew her remember few laments -and fewer tears, but many a constant smile, a quick and unfailing -sense of humor, a healthy and hearty laugh, a ready sympathy and a -generous spirit. The love which she was forbidden to bestow upon any -one man, she gave to the world at large, and the world loved her in -return. - -The most direct reference to affairs of the heart which Clara Barton -appears to have made in her letters is in a letter written by her to -her cousin, Judge Robert Hale, on August 16, 1876. - -When Clara Barton went abroad in search of health in 1869, she hardly -expected to return. She took two thousand dollars’ worth of bonds which -belonged to her and deposited them with a friend, with instructions -that if she died, the money was to be used for the improvement of the -Barton lot in the Oxford cemetery. It was a large lot on the brow of a -hill, and had been heavily washed by the rains. She wished it properly -graded and cared for, and this was likely to be, and proved to be, an -expensive undertaking. - -This friend did not keep the bonds separate from his own property, and -in time of financial stress he sold them and applied the money to his -own needs. When she returned and learned of this, she was displeased. -To her it seemed hardly less than a criminal action. She had no purpose -of prosecuting him, but, on the other hand, she wished him to realize -that this was something more than an ordinary debt. She put the matter -in the hands of her cousin, Judge Hale, who accepted a note in lieu of -the bonds. This did not please her, and she wrote her cousin a letter -which caused him to chide her as being a rather importunate creditor. - -She replied that this was not true, but that she herself had kept all -her money for French relief separate from her own money, and she always -kept trust funds separate from her own money, and she expected people -dealing with her to do the same. She said: - - I am not, as I seem to you, a “relentless creditor.” On the contrary, - I would give him that debt rather than break him down in his business, - or if the gift would keep him from going down. I am less grieved about - the loss than I am about the manner of his treating my trust. I was - his teacher and he was one of my boys. I have always dealt straight - and plain with my boys. I am not a lawyeress, nor a diplomat, only - a woman artless to simplicity; but I am as square as a brick, and I - expect my boys to be square. - -In some way Judge Hale had gotten the idea that this former pupil of -hers had been a youthful lover, and that that fact had influenced her -in the loan of the money. It is in reply to this suggestion that she -said: - - It seems very ludicrous to me, the idea which has fastened itself upon - you, relative to my supposed love affair. I, poor I, who never had - a love affair in all my born days, and really don’t much expect one - after this date! My dear cousin, I trust this letter will show you - clearly that my pecuniary affairs and my heart affairs are not at all - mixed; and I beg you to believe that, if in the future I should be - stricken by the tender malady, I shall never attempt to facilitate or - perpetuate the matter by the loaning of money. My observation has not - been favorable to such a course of procedure. - -Whether she ultimately recovered the two thousand dollars or not, her -biographer does not know, but she lived to put the cemetery lot in good -order, and in her will she left a fund of sixteen hundred dollars for -its perpetual maintenance. She also kept her financial transactions -free from any heart complications. Her letter is a pretty certain -indication that no love affair had ever taken very strong hold of her -in the first fifty years of her life. - -The war might easily have brought to Clara Barton a husband if she had -inclined toward one, but she found other interests, and was happy in -them. Later in life she had on more than one occasion to consider the -possibility of a home; and we shall have occasion to make brief mention -of one or two of these incidents. What is essential now is to know that -Clara Barton did not enter upon her life-work by reason of a broken -heart. Her relations with men were wholesome and enjoyable, but none -of them brought her such complete assurance of a happy home as to win -her from what she came to feel was her life-work. Some possibilities -of matrimony gave her deep concern at the time; but she was able to -tell Judge Hale in 1876, when she was fifty-five years of age, that -she had never had a love affair, and did not expect to have one; but -that if she had, she would keep it wholly separate from her financial -interests; which was a very sensible resolution, and one to which she -lived up faithfully. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -FROM SCHOOLROOM TO PATENT OFFICE - - -Clara Barton’s work in Bordentown was a marked success. But it involved -strenuous labor and not a little mental strain. When it was over, she -found her reserve force exhausted. In the latter part of 1854 her voice -gave out, and she gave up teaching, for a time as she supposed, and -went to Washington. - -She did not know it, but she was leaving the schoolroom forever. Yet -she continued to think of herself as a teacher, and to consider her -other work as of a more or less temporary character. Twenty years -later, she still reminded herself and others that “fully one fifth of -my life has been passed as a teacher of schools.” The schoolroom had -become temporarily impracticable, and she wanted to see Washington and -to spend time enough in the capital of the Nation to know something -about it. Washington became her home and the center of her life plans -for the next sixty years. - -Clara Barton did not long remain idle in Washington. At the request of -Colonel Alexander De Witt, the representative in Congress from her home -district, she received an appointment as clerk in the Patent Office -at a salary of $1400 a year. She was one of the first, and believed -herself to have been the very first, of women appointed to a regular -position in one of the departments, with work and wages equal to that -of a man. Her appointment was made under President Pierce, in 1854. -The records when searched in later years were found to be imperfect, -but the following letter from the Honorable Alexander DeWitt to the -Honorable Robert McClelland, Secretary of the Interior, shows clearly -her status at the time of its date, September 22, 1855: - - Having understood the Department had decided to remove the ladies in - the Patent Office on the first of October, I have taken the liberty to - address a line on behalf of Miss Clara Barton, a native of my town and - district, who has been employed in the past year in the Patent Office, - and I trust to the entire satisfaction of the Commissioner. - -She had, indeed, performed her work to the entire satisfaction of the -Commissioner. There had been serious leaks in the Patent Office, some -dishonest clerks selling secrets to their own financial advantage and -to the scandal of the department and injury of owners of patents. She -became confidential clerk to the Honorable Charles Mason,--“Judge -Mason” he was called,--the Superintendent of Patents. That official -himself had a hard time under the Secretary of the Interior, Robert -McClelland. - -At different periods in her life, Clara Barton had several different -styles of handwriting. There is a marked contrast between the clear, -strong penmanship which she used when she left the schoolroom and -the badly deteriorated form which she employed after her more -serious nervous breakdowns. When she was lecturing, she wrote a very -large hand, easy to read from manuscript, and that affected her -correspondence. Some of her lectures are written in characters nearly a -half-inch in height. Then she reverted to the “copper-plate” style of -her young womanhood, and in that clear, fine, strong penmanship she -wrote till the end of her life. - -Handwriting such as hers was a joy to the head of the Patent -Department. It was clear, regular, easily read, and accurate. The -characters were well formed, and the page, when she had done with it, -was clean and clear as that of an old missal. - -She was not long in rousing the jealousy of men in the department who -loafed and smoked and drew their pay. Some of them were anything but -polite to her. They blew smoke in her face, and otherwise affronted -her. But she attended strictly to her business. She was removed, -but Judge Mason gave her a “temporary appointment,” and she worked, -sometimes in the office, and sometimes, when political affairs were -such that her presence there gave rise to criticism, at home. She waded -through great volumes and filled other great volumes. A letter to her -brother Stephen in the autumn of 1856 gives some idea of what was -happening in Washington: - - Monday Morning, Sept. 28, 1856 - - DEAR BROTHER: - - I don’t know why I have not written you before, only I suppose - I thought you had enough to occupy your attention without my - uninteresting scrawls. I have been hearing of late that you were - better than when you first came home, but I have not heard a word when - you expect to return. - - We are having a remarkably fine fall, cool and clean, and I have not - seen more than a dozen mosquitoes this summer. - - The city has just been somewhat disturbed, i.e., the official - portions of it (and this is the greater portion at this particular - time), in consequence of the resignation of Judge Mason, which was - tendered to the President some eight days ago, and no notice whatever - taken of it until day before yesterday morning, the Judge in the - meantime drawing his business to a close, packing his library, and - Mrs. Mason packing their wardrobes, and on Friday evening, when I - called on them, they were all ready to leave for Iowa next Tuesday - at three o’clock. They both explained particularly the nature of the - circumstances which induced them to leave. You have known before that - Congress guaranteed to the Commissioner of Patents the exclusive right - of making all temporary appointments in his department, and that - Secretary McClelland had previously interfered in and claimed the - same. He commenced upon the most vulnerable points, something like a - year ago, when he removed us ladies, and, partially succeeding in his - attempts, has been enlarging his grasp ever since, and a few weeks ago - sent a note to Judge Mason forbidding him to appoint any temporary - clerk unless subject to his decision and concurrence, giving to the - Judge the right to _nominate_, reserving to himself the privilege - of _appointing_. Then Congress having voted some $70,000 to be - used by the Commissioner of Patents in procuring sugar-cane slips - (if so they might be termed) from South America for the purpose of - restoring the tone of the sugar growth in the South, which is becoming - exhausted, and the Commissioner having procured his agent to go for - them, the Secretary interfered, said it was all useless to send an - agent, the military could attend to it; he had the agent discharged, - and delayed the matter until it was too late to obtain the cuttings - this year, and the Commissioner, being thus deprived of the privilege - of complying with the directions received from Congress, and thereby - unable to acquit himself creditably, resigned, but at the last moment - the President came to his room, and invested him with power to act as - he pleased in all matters over which the law gave him jurisdiction, - and he promised to remain until the Secretary should return from - Michigan, and see how he behaved then. The Secretary is making - himself extremely odious; he may have, and doubtless has, friends and - admirers, but I never met with one of them. - - Fannie writes me that little Mary has burned her arm; is it badly - burned? Does father still think of coming South this winter? Hobart - was a slippery stick, wasn’t he, and what did he mean? How do you - arrange with Fisher? Some way I hope that will last so that he can’t - slip his halter and leave poor Dave to chase after him, with a - measure of oats in one hand and a cudgel in the other, as he has all - summer. You will come to Washington, I am _sure_, on your way to - Carolina; it is best that you should--I want so much to see you. I - want to talk a good long talk with you that I cannot write. I have so - many things to say, all _very important_, of course. But write me - soon and tell me when you will return. I must go over to the city and - look what I can do to make ready for the comers. - - Please give my love to all inquiring friends; write and come and see - us. - - Your affectionate sister - - CLARA - - How stand politics, and who is going to be President? The Democrats - are looking pale in this quarter. - -Buchanan was elected, and Clara Barton continued in the Patent -Office for a time unmolested. But the election lost her one of her -best friends in Washington, Colonel De Witt, a resident of Oxford, -and representative from her home district, through whom her first -appointment had come, and who had been her constant friend. Just before -the inauguration of President Buchanan, she wrote her home letter to -Julia, and sent it by the hand of the retiring representative, who -volunteered to take her letter to her home: - - WASHINGTON, D.C., Mar. 3rd, 1857 - - DEAR SISTER JULIA: - - Our good friend Colonel De Witt has kindly offered to become the - bearer and deliverer of any despatches which I may wish to send to - Yankee Land, and knowing from good authority that a call upon you - might not be a hard medicine for him to take, I avail myself of the - opportunity to tell you that we are all engaged in making a president; - intend, if no bad luck follow, to finish him off and send him home - to-morrow. I hope he may finally give satisfaction, for there has been - a great deal of pains taken in fitting and making him up, but there - are so many in the family to wear him that it is scarcely possible - that he should be an exact fit for them all.... - - We are at our same old tricks yet here in the capitol, i.e., killing - off everybody who doesn’t just happen to suit us or our peculiar humor - at the moment; we have indeed some shocking occurrences at times. You - have probably seen some account of the homicide which took place in - the Pension Office the other day; if not I think the Colonel will be - so kind as to give you some of the first points and relieve me from - the disagreeable task of reciting so abrupt and melancholy a matter. - My opinion of the matter is that the man who gave the offense, and - from whom the apology was due, remained doggedly at his office, armed, - and shot down his adversary who came to make the very explanation - which the offender should have sought. Colonel Lee (I think), instead - of sitting there at his desk hugging a concealed pistol to his - unchristian and unmanly breast, should at that very moment have been - on his way to Alexandria to apologize to Mr. House for the previous - night’s offense. The man may perhaps meet the sympathy of the world at - large, but at present he has not mine. - - And last night a terrible thing occurred within the district. It - appears that the almshouse and workhouse are, or rather were, both - the same building, very large, new and fine. Last night, curiosity - or something else equally powerful caused the keepers of the - establishment all to leave the premises and come up to the city, - a distance of three miles, I suppose, locking the building very - securely, fastening in all the inmates, I have no idea how many, but - the house took fire, and burned down, consuming a great portion of its - inhabitants, old, lame, and sick men and women and helpless infants. - Only such were saved as could force an escape through the barred - windows--was not that _horrible_? Now it would seem to me that - in both these cases there was room left for reflection on the part of - some one. I think there would be for me if I were in either of their - places. - - I would attempt to tell you something how sorry I am that the Colonel - is going home to return to us no more, but if I wrote all night I - should not have half expressed it. I am sorry for myself, that I shall - have no good friend left to whom I can run with all my annoyances, and - find always a sympathizer and benefactor, and especially am I sorry - for our (generally) old State. I pity their folly; they have cut off - their own hands after having blocked all their wheels; they cannot - stir a peg after the Colonel leaves; they have not a man on the board - they can move; and who is to blame but their own poor foolish selves? - Well, I _am_ sorry, and if crying would do any good I would cry a - week, steadily. I don’t know but I shall as it is.... - - Remember me especially to “Grandpa,” and tell Dave I like him a leetle - particularly since he didn’t sign that petition. - - From your affectionate sister - - CLARA - - -For a time after the election, political matters settled down, and -Clara continued her work unmolested. She was home for a time in the -spring of 1857, but back in Washington through the summer, and in that -time went through huge volumes of technical description and copied -the essential parts into record books for the purpose of reference and -preservation. - -It would make this volume more consecutive in its connections if out -of her letters were culled only such items as related to particular -topics; but her letters must be read as she wrote them, with news, -gossip, inquiry about home matters, answers to questions, and all just -as she thought of them and wrote about them. In the early autumn of -1857 she wrote to Julia: - - WASHINGTON, D.C., Sept. 6th, 1857 - - DEAR SISTER JULIA: - - I dare not ask you to excuse me for neglecting you so badly, but - still I have a kind of indefinable hope that you will do so, when you - remember how busy I am and that this is summer with its long weary - days and short sleepy nights; and then the “_skeeters_!” Just - as soon as you try to write a letter in the evening to anybody, they - must come in flocks to “stick their bills.” In vain have I placarded - myself all over on every side of me, “Stick no bills here”--it doesn’t - do a bit of good, and but for the gallant defense of a couple of - well-fitted nets at my windows, I should long ere this have been - pasted, scarred, and battered as the wooden gateway to an old theater, - or the brick wall adjacent to an eleven-penny-bit lecture-room. I - should, however, have written out of selfishness just to hear from - you, only that by some means intelligence gets to us that father is - better, and the rest of you well. My health is much better than when - I was at home. I have been gaining ever since Miss Haskell came. She - relieves me many ways. The yellow has almost gone off of my forehead, - else it has grown yellow all alike; but it looks _better_, let it - be which way it may; it isn’t so spotted. Bernard has been home and - got cured of the chills and fever, and gone back again; expect Vest. - home soon. I am not much better settled than ever; liable to pick up - my traps and start any day. I am glad you found my mits, for I began - to think I must have had a crazy fit and destroyed my things while I - was at home. To pay for losing my parasol, I made myself carry one - that cost _fifty-six cents_! Did you ever hear of such a thing? - Well, it is the best I have had all summer, and I walked to church - under it to-day; so much to pay for carelessness. I also left a large - bottle of some kind of drugs, I guess in your parlor cupboard. Please - give it closet room awhile, and I will come sometime between this and - the middle of January at farthest and relieve you of it. I may spend - Christmas with you, cannot tell yet, but I shall be home while the - snow is on the ground if I live, and maybe before it comes, but if - I do I shall stay until it is there, for I am determined to have a - sleigh-ride with old Dick. Oh, I am so glad every time I think of it, - that he beat Dr. Newton, blast his saucy picture! Will try it again - when the snow comes. - - I have written “a heap” since my return; let me see, seven large - volumes, the size of ledgers, I have read all through and collected - and transferred something off of every page--3500 pages of dry lawyer - writing is something to wade through in three months; and out of them - I have filled a _great_ volume almost as heavy as I can lift. - My arm is tired, and my poor thumb is all calloused holding my pen. - I begin to feel that my Washington life is drawing to a close, and I - think of it without regret, not that I have not prized it, not that it - has not on the whole been a great blessing to me. I realize all this, - but if I could tell you in detail all I have gone through along with - it, you would agree with me that it had not been _all_ sunshine. - I look back upon it as a weary pilgrimage which it was necessary for - me to accomplish. I have nearly done, so it has been a sturdy battle, - hard-fought, and I trust well won. - - But how do you all do? How are Grandfather and Dave, and the little - ones? How I do want to see you all! Has father’s leg got so he can use - it well again? Does it pain him? Do the children go to school? How are - Mary’s[4] congress gaiters?--a perfect fit, I hope. Tell her to be a - good girl and learn to read, for I shall want to hear her when I come - home. Wash Bubby’s[5] eyes in _bluing_ water; it may improve the - color. Please give my love to Cousin Vira, Mrs. Aborn, and after this - according to discretion. Is Martha in New Worcester? I should like to - see her. We have had a fine summer thus far--very few hot days. - - Please tell father that I was not silent so long because I had - forgotten him, but I had scarce time to write, and I get so tired of - writing. Please write me soon and tell me all the news. I will bring - your jewelry when I come. I feel guilty to have taken it away. - - Your sister, most affectionately &c &c &c - - CLARA - - -The Democrats had some reason to look pale, for no one could predict -just how well John C. Fremont would run. But he was not elected. The -Democrats returned to power, with James Buchanan as their successful -candidate. As the election approached, it became evident that this was -to be the result, and the Democratic chief clerk of the Pension Office, -certain that he was to succeed Judge Mason, desired Clara Barton to -be as good a Democrat as possible that she might not fail to be his -confidential clerk: but she was already a “Black Republican.” Her -father had been an old-time Jackson Democrat, and the administration -under which she was appointed was Democratic; but she heard Charles -Sumner’s great speech on the “Crime Against Kansas” and she was -convinced. “Freedom is national; slavery is sectional,” he said, and -she believed him. - -She was not yet sure that slavery ought to be interfered with where it -was, but she was with the party that opposed its further extension, and -this imperiled her future as a clerk if James Buchanan was elected. -Just before the November election, she wrote to Julia, David’s wife: - - WASHINGTON, D.C., Nov. 2nd, 1856 - Sunday Evening - - DEAR SISTER JULIA: - - Your looked-for letter came safe to hand; you may well suppose we - were anxious to hear from you considering the alarming nature of the - one which had preceded it. Stephen must have had a very distressing - time, but I am so glad to know that he is relieved and has decided to - let some one else be his judge in reference to getting out. I hope he - will continue firm in the faith and venture _nothing_; it is of - no use to strive against nature; he must have time to recruit and he - has no idea of the time and care it will require to rid his system of - the troublesome disease which has fastened upon him. I am glad you - have found a physician there who knew how to name his disease. I have - known all the time, since the first time he wrote me of his illness - in Carolina, what the trouble was, and said when I was at home that - he had the dumb chills, but no one would believe an ignoramus like - me. I have no doubt but he had had his ague fits regularly since his - first attack without ever once mistrusting the real cause of his bad - feelings. People say there are two classes of community that the - shaking ague never attacks, viz., those who are too lazy to shake - and those who will not stop. Stephen belongs to the latter and I to - the former, so we must have dumb ague if any. I am glad that father - is better, and hope I shall not hear of David’s getting down again - this winter; he must keep well enough to come out and see us. We are - all very well, only that I have a slight cold, which will wear off, - I guess. The weather is delightful, but getting quite cool. We saw a - few flakes of snow last Friday, but one would never mistrust it by the - Indian summer haze which is spread over the city this evening. - - We are all dreading the confusion of day after to-morrow night, when - the election returns are made. There will be such an excitement, but - the Democrats are the most certain set of men that I ever saw; their - confidence of success in the approaching contest is unbounded. Judge - Mason has gone to Iowa to vote, and Mr. Stugert (our chief clerk) - will leave the city to-morrow night in order to reach Pennsylvania in - time the next day. He is one of Mr. Buchanan’s most intimate friends. - He called to take me to Georgetown one evening last week, and during - the evening he conversed respecting the approaching election. His - spirits were unbounded, and his confidence in the right results of the - election as unbounded. He wished me to say I would be commissioner - and chief clerk for him until his return, but I declined the honor, - declaring myself a _Freemonter_. This he would not hear a word - of and walked all around the parlors in company with the Reverend - Mr. Halmead assuring all the company that I was an “old school - Loco,” “dyed in the wool,” and my father before me was the same, and - requested them to place no confidence in anything I might say on the - present occasion, as the _coffee_ was exceedingly strong and he - passed my cup up _five_ times. I thought this latter three fifths - of a mistake, but could not quite tell. - - Lo, Bubby [Stephen, her nephew] says he will come to Washington. - Well, he must go and ask Colonel De Witt to make him a page, and if - the Colonel can do it, Bub can come and stay; he is large enough to - carry letters and papers about the House, and do little errands for - the Members. I guess he had best ask the Colonel and see what he - says about it. Irving is getting ready to take our mail to the office - and I must hasten to close my scrawl for the present. I had intended - to write to Stephen to-day, but it is rather late; I may get time - the first of the week, although I have a heavy week’s business in - contemplation. How I wish I could drop in and see you all to-night, - but that cannot be just yet. Please give my love to “Grandpa” [her - father] and then all the others in succession as they come along, down - to _Dick_ [the horse]; is he as nice as ever? I want to see him - too. Please remember me to Elvira and Mrs. Aborn, and write me soon - again. - - Tell Stephen he is a nice fellow to mind so well, and he must keep - doing so. Irving is ready. - - So good-bye. - - Your affectionate sister - - CLARA - - -The country was steadily drifting toward war, and Clara Barton felt -the danger of it. Although she was convinced that slavery ought not -to be extended further, she was not yet an abolitionist, and she felt -that violent agitators were taking upon themselves a serious risk -in bringing the Nation to the very brink of bloodshed. She did not -approve of the John Brown raid, and she was greatly concerned about the -meetings that were held that seemed to her calculated to induce riot. -She had her convictions, and was never afraid to speak them boldly, but -she said, “It will be a strange pass when the Bartons get fanatical, -and cannot abide by and support the laws they live under.” A neighbor -who had been with Stephen in Carolina was driven away on account of -utterances that followed the John Brown raid. She wrote to her brother -Stephen at this time--the letter is not dated--and gave the fullest -account of her own feelings and convictions concerning the issues then -before the country, having in special mind the duty of Northern people -resident in the South to be considerate of the conditions under which -Southern people had to live. It is a very interesting letter, and the -author of this volume could wish that it had been in his possession -while Clara Barton was living, that he might have asked her to what -extent her views changed in the years that followed: - - I have not seen Mr. Seaver since his return, and regret exceedingly - that there should have been any necessity for such a termination - to his residence in the South. I should not have supposed that - he would have felt it his _duty_ to uphold such a cause as - “Harper’s Ferry,” and if he _did_ not, it is a pity he had the - misfortune to make it appear so. Of course I could not for a moment - believe him a dangerous man, hostile to either human life, rights, or - interests, or antagonistic to the community among whom he resided, - but if _they_ felt him to be so, I do not by any means blame - them for the course they took. Situated as they are, they have a - _right_ to be cautious, and adopt any measures for safety and - quiet which their own judgment may suggest. They have a right even to - be _afraid_, and it is not for the North, who in no way share in - the danger, to brand them as cowards; they are the same that people - the world over are and would be under the circumstances. Unorganized - men _everywhere_ are timid, easy and quick to take alarm. It is - only when bodies of men are organized and disciplined, and prepared - to defend themselves against _expected_ dangers, that they - stand firm and unshrinking, and face death unmoved. Occasionally we - hear that _you_ have been or will be requested to leave--this - _amuses me_. It would be singular, indeed, if in all this time - your Southern friends had not learned _you_ well enough to - tolerate you. It will be a strange pass when the _Bartons_ get - fanatical, and cannot abide by and support the laws they live under, - and mind their own business closely enough to remain anywhere they - may chance to be. I am grieved and ashamed of the course which our - Northern people have taken relative to the John Brown affair. Of their - relief societies, and mass meetings and sympathetic gatherings, I can - say nothing, for I have never witnessed one, and never shall. From - the first they seemed to me to be wrong and ill-advised, and had a - strained and forced appearance; and the longer they are persisted in, - and the greater extent to which they are carried, the more ridiculous - they become in my sight. If they represented the true sentiments - and feeling of the majority of candid thinking men at the North, it - would savor more of justice, but this I believe to be very far from - the facts. Their gatherings and speechifyings serve the purpose of - a few loud-mouthed, foaming, eloquent fanatics, who would be just - as ready in any other cause as this. They preach for notoriety and - oratorical praise, fearlessly and injudiciously, with characters long - stamped and nothing to lose. It matters little to them that every - rounded sentence which falls from their chiseled lips, every burst of - eloquence which “brings down the house,” drives home one more rivet in - slavery’s chain; if slavery be an evil, they are but helping it on; it - is only human nature that it should be so, and so plain a fact “that - the wayfaring man cannot err therein.” Nature, and cause and effect, - are, I suppose, much the same the world over, and if our Southern - neighbors clasp their rights all the firmer, when assailed, and plant - the foot of resistance toe to toe with the foot of aggression, it - is not for _us_ to complain of it; what differently should we - ourselves do? That slavery be an evil I am neither going to affirm nor - deny; let those pass judgment whom greater experience and observation - have made capable of judging; but allowing the affirmative in its - most exaggerated form, could it _possibly_ be equal to the - pitiful scene of confusion, distrust, and national paralysis before - and around us at the present hour, with the prospect of all the - impending danger threatening our vast Republic? Men talk flippantly of - dissolving the Union. This may happen, but in my humble opinion never - till our very horses gallop in human blood. - - But I must hold or I shall get to writing politics to you, and you - might tell me, as old Mr. Perry of New Jersey did Elder Lampson when - he advised him to leave off drinking whiskey and join the Temperance - Society. After listening long and patiently until the Elder had - finished his remarks, he looked up very, very benignly with, “Well, - Elder, your opinions are very good, and probably worth as much to - yourself as anybody.” - -Lincoln was elected and duly inaugurated. Clara heard the inauguration -address and liked it. She witnessed nothing in the ceremony of -inauguration which seemed immediately threatening. So far as she could -discover, no one present had any objection to permitting the new -President to live. There were rumors that Eli Thayer, of Worcester, who -had done more than any other man to make Kansas a free State, was to be -Commissioner of Patents. That was delightful news for her. It meant not -only an assured position, but an opportunity of service undisturbed by -needless annoyances. She had an invitation to the inauguration ball, -but had to decline that dreary function on account of a cold. On the -day following the inauguration, she wrote to Annie Childs, sister of -Frances, her account of the day’s events: - - WASHINGTON CITY, March 5th, 1861 - - MY DEAR ANNIE: - - I have just a few minutes before dinner for which I have no positive - call, and I am going to inflict them on you. Of course you will not - expect an elaborate letter, for I by no means feel competent to the - task to-day if I had the time. - - The 4th of March has come and gone, and we have a _live - Republican_ President, and, what is perhaps singular, during - the whole day we saw no one who appeared to manifest the least - dislike to his living. We had a crowd, of course, but not so utterly - overwhelming as had been anticipated; everywhere seemed to be just - full, and no more, which was a very pleasant state of affairs. The - ceremony was performed upon the East Capitol steps facing Capitol - Hill, you remember. The inaugural address was first delivered in a - loud, fine voice, which was audible to many, or a majority of the - assemblage. Only a very few of the United States troops were brought - to the Capitol at all, but were in readiness at their quarters and - other parts of the city; they were probably not brought out, lest it - look like menace. Great pains appeared to be taken to avoid all such - appearances, and indeed a more orderly crowd I think I never saw and - general satisfaction expressed at the trend and spirit of the Address. - Of course, it will not suit your latitude quite as well, but I hope - they may find it endurable. - - It is said that the Cabinet is formed and has been or will be - officially announced to-day. And there is some prospect of the - Honorable Eli Thayer being appointed Commissioner of Patents. Only - think of it! Isn’t it nice if it is true? Mr. Suydam has been spending - the week with us; left this morning. Mrs. Suydam is better, he says. - Mr. Starr is here. - - We have had the most splendid spring weather you ever saw for two - weeks past, no rain, but bright sunshine; it has been frightfully - dusty some of the time and this day is one apparently borrowed from - Arabia, by the clouds of sand. - - I hear from you sister sometimes, but not until I have almost lost - trace of her each time, but I am, of course, most to blame. I hope - your business has revived with the approach of spring, as it - doubtless has. You will not be surprised if I tell you that I am in a - hopeless state of semi-nudity, just clear the law and nothing more. - Sally told me on her return that you would have come out and stayed - with us some this winter if you had thought it could have been made to - pay, but as usual I knew nothing of this until it was too near spring - to think of your leaving your business. How glad I should have been to - have had you here a month or two, and I think I could have relieved - you of the most of expense to say the least of it, if you were not - doing much at home, and what a comfort it would have been to me to - _get right_ in the clothing line. Will there ever be another time - that you would think you could leave, and come to Washington if I - should remain? - - Where is Fannie? Is she having a vacation now? Please give my love to - her, and all inquiring friends, reserving a large share for yourself, - and believe me, - - As ever, your loving friend - - CLARA - - Everybody would send love if they knew I were writing. I cannot report - the Inauguration Ball personally, as I was not present; after a - delightful invitation could not go. I have been having a very bad cold - for a few days and a worse cough than I ever had, but I hope to get - over it soon. I did not attend the last Levee. - -[4] Mary--Mrs. Mamie Barton Stafford, daughter of David. - -[5] Bubby--Stephen E. Barton, son of David, Miss Barton’s brother. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -HOME AND COUNTRY - - -The family and home life of Clara Barton occupy of necessity a smaller -place in this narrative than they rightfully deserve. Reference has -been made in the early pages of this work to Clara Barton’s advent into -a home which for several years had believed itself complete. It must -not be inferred on that account that the little late arrival was other -than heartily welcome. Nor must the fact that her more than normal -shyness and introspection during her childhood made her a problem be -understood as indicating any lack of sympathy between her and any -member of her household. On the contrary, her childhood memories were -happy ones, and her affection for every member of the household was -sincere and almost unbounded. Nor yet again must it be supposed that -her long absences from home weaned her heart away from those who were -entitled to her love. Love of family and pride of family and sincere -affection for every member of the home group were manifest in all her -correspondence. She left her home and went out into the world while -she was still a child in her own thought and in the thought of her -family. She became a teacher while she was still wearing the “little -waifish” dresses of her childhood. She had to do a large part of her -thinking and planning apart from the companionship of those she loved -best. But she loved them deeply and sincerely. The members of her -family receive only incidental mention in this narrative, and, with her -advent into wider fields of service, they must drop increasingly into -the background and out of view. In order, however, that we may have in -mind their incidental mention, let us here record the condition of her -immediate family at the time of the outbreak of the Civil War. - -Her eldest sister Dorothy, born October 2, 1804, became an invalid and -died unmarried April 19, 1846, aged forty-one. - -Her brother Stephen, born March 20, 1806, married November 24, -1833, Elizabeth Rich, and died in Washington, March 10, 1865, aged -fifty-nine years. At the outbreak of the Civil War he was living in -Hertford County, North Carolina, whither he had gone in 1854. He had -established a large sawmill there, and gathered about it a group of -industries which by 1861 had become the most important concern in the -village. Indeed, the village itself had grown up about his enterprise, -and took its name, Bartonville, from him. When the war broke out, -he was past the age for military service. At the beginning of the -struggle, however, he had no mind to leave the South. While he was a -Union man, and every one knew it, he had been long enough in the South -to appreciate the position of the Southern people and had no mind -needlessly to wound their feelings. His mill, his store, his blacksmith -shop, his lands, his grain, his cattle, had been accumulated by him -through years of toil, and he desired to stay where he was and protect -his property. He did not believe--no one believed--that the war was -going to last so long. There was no service which at the beginning he -could render to the Northern cause. So he remained. As the war went on, -his situation grew less and less tenable, and, in time, dangerous. He -sent his helpers North, some twenty of them. They made their way amid -perils and hardship, reached Washington where Clara Barton rendered -them assistance, and ultimately the most of them entered the Union -army. But earlier than this, in 1861 and at the beginning of 1862, his -family was growing increasingly anxious about him, and very desirous, -if possible, that he should get away. He was warned and threatened; at -one time he suffered a night assault by a mob. Bruised and battered -though he was, he fought them off single-handed and remained in the -South. - -Her younger brother David, born August 15, 1808, married, September -30, 1829, Julia Ann Maria Porter, lived to the age of eighty, and died -March 12, 1888. At the outbreak of the war David and Julia Barton had -four children--their twin daughters Ada and Ida, born January 18, 1847, -the one son, Stephen Emery, born December 24, 1848, and in 1861 a lad -of twelve, and the daughter Mary, born December 11, 1851. - -With her brother David, his wife Julia and his four children, Clara was -in continuous correspondence. His family lived in the old home, and she -kept in constant touch with them. Her sister-in-law Julia was very dear -to her, and perhaps the best correspondent in the family. - -Her sister Sarah, born March 20, 1811, married, April 17, 1834, Vester -Vassall, and died in May, 1874. At the outbreak of the war both the -children of this marriage were living. The younger son Irving, died -April 9, 1865. The elder son, Bernard Barton Vassall, born October 10, -1835, married, October 26, 1863, Frances Maria Childs, and died March -23, 1894. Mrs. Vassall is still living. - -With this family Clara’s relations were those of peculiar intimacy. -Her sister and her sister’s children were very dear to her. Irving was -a young man of fine Christian character, not physically strong enough -to bear arms, and was in Washington in the service of the Government -during the war. Bernard married Clara’s dear friend and assistant at -Bordentown. He was a soldier and during the war his wife Fannie lived -for a considerable time in Washington. - -Clara Barton’s mother, Sarah or Sally Stone, born November 13, 1783, -died July 10, 1851, aged sixty-eight. Her death occurred while Clara -was studying at Clinton, and the expressions of solitude in Clara’s -diary at the time of her perplexities over her love affairs, were -induced in part, though perhaps unconsciously, by her loneliness after -her mother’s death. - -Clara’s relations to her father were always those of peculiar nearness -and sympathy. In her childhood he was more constantly her companion -than her mother ever was. When Clara was away from home, nothing more -surely gave her concern than news from her brother or sister that -“father,” or from her nieces and nephews that “grandpa,” was not as -well as usual. Her diaries and her letters are burdened with her -solicitude for him. In the latter part of 1861 his health gave occasion -for some concern, but he seemed to recover. She made a journey to -Worcester and Oxford in December, but returned to Washington before -Christmas, taking with her boxes and trunks of provisions for the -soldiers which she wished to deliver if possible at Arlington, so as -to be closer to the place of actual need. Her nephew, Irving Vassall, -was with her on the return journey. The letter which preserves the -account of this expedition is interesting as recording her account of a -Sunday spent with the army. What took her there was her determination -to deliver her goods to the place of need before she returned to her -home in Washington. She was still learning military manners and the -ways of camp life, and was giving herself unsparingly to the collection -of supplies. She was assisting in hospital work in Washington, and -definitely planning to have a hospital there assigned to herself. As -yet, apparently, she had no definite plan to go herself directly to the -battle-field. - -November and the early part of December were mild. Day by day she -thanked God for every ray of sunshine, and night by night she lifted up -her heart in thanksgiving that the boys, who were sleeping on the bare -ground with only single threads of white canvas above them, were not -compelled to suffer from the rigors of cold. On December 9, 1861, she -wrote the following which was a kind of prayer of thanksgiving for mild -weather: - - December 9, 1861 - - The streets are thronged with men bright with tinsel, and the - clattering hoofs of galloping horses sound continually in our ears. - The weather is bright and warm as May, for which blessing I feel - hourly to thank the great Giver of all good gifts, that upon this vast - army lying like so many thousand herds of cattle on every side of our - bright, beleaguered city, with only the soil, for which they peril - life, beneath, and the single threads of white canvas above, watching - like so many faithful dogs, held by bonds stronger than death, yet - patient and uncomplaining. A merciful God holds the warring, pitiless - elements in his firm, benignant grasp, withholds the rigors of early - winter, and showers down upon their heads the genial rays of untimely - warmth changing the rough winds of December to the balmy breezes of - April. Well may we hold thanksgiving and our army unite in prayer and - songs of praise to God. - -Her diary at this period is irregular, and I have not yet discovered -a definite record of her journey from Washington and back, except in -her letter to the wife of an army surgeon, which she wrote on the day -before Christmas, 1861: - - WASHINGTON, D.C., December 24th, 1861 - - MY DARLING COUSIN: - - How naughtily I have neglected your cheering little letter, but it has - been all my hands and none my heart which have done the naughty thing. - I have wanted so to write you all the time, and intruders _would_ - come between us and would have all my time. It was not always people. - Oh, no,--work and care, and an o’ergrown correspondence intruded upon - me, but I always solace myself with the thought that, if my friends - will only have a _little patience_ with me, it will all come - right, and their turn will come at last, and after a time the best of - them learn me, and then in my easy, hurrying, slipshod way we come - to be correspondents for aye. In the course of a year I say a great - deal of nonsense to my correspondents, but I cannot always say it - when my head and heart are the fullest of it. But first let me hasten - to tell you what _cannot fail of being exceedingly gratifying_ - to you, viz., that I am in a “_habit_” of receiving _daily - visits from your husband_. But I was a long time in getting about - it, however. I sent twice to his hotel, the great Pandemonium wherein - he is incarcerated, before Sunday, but could get no tidings all the - time. I was fearful he _was_ here and I missing him, and then - I was almost certain that he was _not able_ to be here; but at - length I could risk it no longer and wrote a hurried little note and - dropped in the office for him, and sure enough it brought him. I - was so _glad_ to see him and so much _better_ too, it is - _splendid_; but then he had been trying to find me, and I in the - meantime had, along with all Washington, removed! Just think of it, - but I removed out of a burden of care to perfect ease and yet can - _command_ just as much room as I desire in case I need, and if - I have no need of it am not troubled with it--only that I have the - trouble of furnishing, at which Doctor may inform you I am making very - slow progress. I have so many things in Massachusetts _now_ that - I want; my walls are perfectly bare, not a picture, and I have plenty - to furnish them. It is vexatious that I didn’t “know to take them” - when I was there. I fear to allow others to pack them. - - I suspect that, after the daily letter of your husband, inimitable - correspondent and conversationist that he is, there is nothing left - for me to relate of our big city, grown up so strangely like a gourd - all in a night; places which never before dreamed of being honored by - an inhabitant save dogs, cats, and rats, are converted into “elegantly - furnished rooms for rent,” and people actually live in them with all - the city airs of people really living in respectable houses, and I - suspect many of them do not _know_ that they are positively - living in sheds, but we, who have become familiar with every old roof - years agone, know perfectly well what shelters them. Well, the present - aspect of our capital is a wide, fruitful field for description, and I - will leave it for the Doctor; he will clothe it in a far richer dress - than I could do. - - Perhaps you wish to know somewhat about my journey with my big trunks. - Well, it was perfectly quiet; nothing like an adventure to enliven - until we reached Baltimore, to which I had checked my baggage as the - nearest point to Annapolis, for which place I could not get checks, - but to which I had determined to go before proceeding to Washington. I - delivered my checks to the expressman, took receipts, and gave every - conductor on the train to understand that _my baggage_ was - to be taken through the city in the same train with myself (for we - disconnect and come through Baltimore in horse-cars); but just imagine - my vexation when, as our train commenced to move off, I saw my baggage - just moving by slow teams _up_ the street in the direction of our - train. It had no checks, and I must not become long separated from - it; the train was in motion and I could not leave it. I had no idea - what would be done with it, whether retained in Baltimore, sent to - Annapolis junction, or forwarded to Washington. I had to think fast, - and you remember it was Saturday night. Relay House was the nearest - station. I left the train there (Irving went on to Washington), and - proceeded directly to the telegraph office and telegraphed back to - Baltimore describing the baggage and directing it to come on the - next train one hour later. They had just time to get it aboard, and - on the arrival of the train I found it in the baggage car, took that - train, and proceeded “nine miles to the junction,” stopped too late - for Annapolis that night, chartered the parlor and sofa,--every room - in the house filled with officers,--and as good luck would have it a - train (special) ran down from Annapolis the next day about eleven, - for a regiment of Zouaves, and I claimed my seat, and went, too, - and the first any one knew I presented myself at the Headquarters - of the 21st. You will have to imagine the cordial, affable Colonel - springing from his seat with both hands extended, the extremely polite - Lieutenant-Colonel Maggie, always in full dress with the constantly - worn sword, with eyes and hair so much blacker than night, going - through a succession of bows and formalities, which _I_, a - simple, home-bred, unsophisticated Yankee didn’t know what upon earth - to do with, completely confounded!--till the clear, appreciative, - knowing twinkle of our “cute” Major Clark’s eyes set things right - again; and almost the last, our honest, modest “Cousin” Fletcher - coming up away round on the other side for his word, and not one - among them all to whom I could extend a more cordial greeting. Please - tell Grandma that he hasn’t broken a limb; his horse fell with him - and hurt his shoulder, but it is nearly well now. I was just in time - for a seat between the Colonel and Lieutenant-Colonel at dinner, and - accompanying them to the Chapel to listen to the opening discourse of - their newly arrived chaplain, Rev. Mr. Ball, Unitarian. He addressed - the men with great kindness of manner, beseeching them to come near to - him with all their trials, burdens, and temptations, and let him help - to bear them. He was strong to bear, patient to hear, and willing to - do, and his arm, and his ear, and his heart were theirs for all good - purposes. There was many a glistening eye among that thousand waiting - men, still as the night of death; for a regiment of soldiers can be - the stillest living thing I ever looked at. The 21st are in the main - good, true men, and I was glad that a man of gentle speech and kind - and loving heart had come among them. - - Next morning brought some of our good Worcester ladies from the 25th - to our Camp, among whom was the daughter-in-law of your neighbor Mr. - Denny. A beautiful coach and span of horses were found, and a cozy, - but rather gay, party of us started for the Camp of the 25th, and - here we found your excellent pastor, Mr. James, the best specimen of - a _true_ soldier that I ever saw; nothing too vast for his mind - to grasp, nothing too trivial (if needful) to interest him, cheerful, - brave, and tireless, watching like a faithful sentry the wants of - every soldier, and apparently more than equal to every emergency. - What a small army of _such_ men were sufficient to overcome all - our present difficulties! You should see his tent; it was a cold, - raw day, more so than any which has followed it, but the moment I - was inside I found myself _so warm_ and my feet grew warm as if - I were standing over a register, and I could not see where the heat - came from; but my curiosity was irrepressible, and I had to ask an - explanation of the mystery,--when Mr. James raised a little square - iron lid, like the door of a stove (which I believe it was), almost - hidden in the ground, in among the dried grass, and to my astonishment - revealed a miniature volcano blazing beneath our very feet. The whole - ground beneath his tent seemed to be on fire, with currents of air - passing through which fed the flame, and took away the smoke. There - was, of course, no dampness in the tent, and I could see no reason - why it should be less healthy, or comfortable indeed (excepting small - space), than any house, and such piles of letters and books and - Neddy’s picture over the table, and the quiet little boy, following - close and looking up in his master’s face, like any pet, all presented - a scene which I wished his intelligent and appreciative wife, at - least, could have looked in upon. Oh, yes, I must not “forget” to - mention the conspicuous position which _Grandma’s mittens_ - occupied upon the table. Mr. James put them on to show what a nice fit - they were and wondered what “Grandma” would say if she were to look in - upon him in his tent. - -Clara Barton was still in Washington through January and apparently -through February, 1862. Not always was she able to include pleasant -weather among the occasions of her thanksgiving. Every now and again a -pitiless storm beat down upon the soldiers, who were poorly provided -with tents and blankets. Frequently she met among the soldiers in -Washington some of her old pupils. She was never able to look upon -armies as mere masses of troops; she had to remember that they were -individual men, each capable of suffering pain in his own person, and -each of them carrying with him to the front the anxious thought of -loved ones at home. This was the burden of a letter which she wrote on -January 9, 1862: - - WASHINGTON, D.C., Jan’y 9th, 1862 - Thursday morning - - MY DARLING SIS FANNIE: - - In spite of everything, I shall this moment commence this note to you, - and I shall finish it as soon as I can, and when it is finished, I - shall send it. In these days of “Proclamations,” this is mine. - - I am truly thankful for the institution of ghosts, and that mine - haunted you until you felt constrained to cry out for “relief”--not - that I would have invoked discomfort upon you, or welcomed it when it - should come, but your letter was _so_ welcome, how _could_ I - in mortal weakness be so unselfish as not to hail with joy _any_ - “provoking cause”? You perceive that my idea of ghosts is not limited - to graveyards and tombs, or the tenants thereof; indeed, so far from - it, the most troublesome I have ever known were at times the inmates - of living and moving bodies habiting among other people, coming - out only occasionally like owls and bats to frighten the weak and - discourage the weary. I am rejoiced to know that you are comfortable - and happy, and that your school is not wearing you--you are perfectly - right, never let another school be a burden of care upon you; you - will do all your duty without any such soul-vexing labors. I envy - you and Miss Bliss your long social intellectual evenings; please - play I am there sometimes. I will be so quiet, and never disturb - a bit, but, dear me, I am in rougher scenes, if in scenes at all. - My head is just this moment full to aching, bursting with all the - thoughts and doings of our pet expedition. A half-hour ago came to - my room the last messenger from them, the last I shall have in all - probability until the enemy’s galling shot shall have raked through - the ranks of my dear boys, and strewn them here and there, bleeding, - crippled, and dying. Only think of it! the same fair faces that only - a few years ago came every morning, newly washed, hair nicely combed, - bright and cheerful, and took their places quietly and happily among - my scholars,--the same fair heads (perhaps now a few shades darker) - that I have smoothed and patted in fond approval of some good deed - or well-learned task, so soon to lie low in the Southern sands, - blood-matted and tangled, trampled under foot of man and horse, buried - in a common trench “unwept, uncoffined, and unknown.” For the last two - weeks my very heart has been crushed by the sad thoughts and little - touching scenes which have come in my way. It tires me most when one - would get a few hours’ leave from his regiment at Annapolis, and come - to me with some little sealed package, and perhaps his “warrant” as - a non-commissioned officer, and ask me to keep it for him, either - until he returns for it, or--_when I should read his name in the - “Black List,” send it home_. And by the time his errand were well - done, his little hour would be up and, with a hearty grasp of the - hand, an earnest, deep-toned “good-bye,” he stepped from my presence, - marching cheerfully, bravely out--“To die,” I said to myself, as my - soul sunk within me, and the struggling breath would choke and stop, - until the welcome shower of tears came to my relief. Oh, the hours I - have wept alone over scenes like these, no mortal knows! To any other - friend than you, I should not feel like speaking so freely of such - things, but you, who know how foolishly tender my friendships are, and - how I loved “my boys,” will pardon me, and not think me strange or - egotistical. But I must forget myself, and tell you what the messenger - said. It was simply that they were all on board; that, when he left, - the harbor was full, literally crammed with boats and vessels, covered - with men, shouting from every deck. At every breeze that lifted - the drooping flag aloft, a shout went up that deafened and drowned - every other sound, save the roar of the cannon, following instantly, - drowning them in return. The.... - - Well, just as I knew it would be when I commenced twenty days ago to - write you, some one interrupted me, and then came the returning hours - of tedious labor, and a thrice-told quantity has held me fast until - now. I have been a great deal _more_ than busy for the past three - weeks, owing to some new arrangements in the office, mostly, by which - I lead the Record, and hurry up the others who lag. - - Our city has known very little change, since I commenced my first - sheet, although everybody but the wise people have looked intently for - something new, and desperately dreadful, some “forward movement” or - backward advance, but nothing of the kind has happened, doubtless much - to our credit and comfort. No private returns from the “expedition” - yet, but the Commandant of the Post at Annapolis, who just left me a - moment ago, says that the Baltic will leave there this P.M. - to join them in their landing wherever it may be. - - Colonel Allen’s death was a most sad affair: his regiment was the - first to embark at Annapolis, a splendid regiment 1200 strong. But a - truce to wars, so here’s my white flag, only I suppose you “don’t see - it,” do you? By this time you are reveling in the February number of - the “Atlantic.” So am I. I have just laid down “A. C.” after a hurried - perusal; not equal to “Love and Skates,” though; what a capital thing - that is! But the “Yankee Idyll” caps all that has yet been done or - said. I _cannot_ lay _that_ down, and keep it there; it - _will_ come up again, the thoughts to my mind, and the pages to - my hand. - - “Old Uncle S,--says he, I guess, - God’s price is high, says he.”[6] - - Who ever heard so much, so simply and so quaintly expressed?--there - are at least ten volumes of good sound Orthodoxy embodied just there - in that single stanza. But “Port Royal” mustn’t be eclipsed. The - glories of that had been radiating through my mind, however, since its - first appearance in the “Tribune” (if that were the first; it was the - first I saw of it), and I thought it so beautiful that I shouldn’t be - able to relish another poem for at least six weeks, and here it is, so - soon bedimmed by a _rival_. Oh, the fickleness of human nature, - and human loves, a beautiful pair they are, surmounted by the Godlike - “Battle Hymn”[7] tossing over all. What did our poets do for subjects - before the war? It’s a Godsend to them, I am certain, and they equally - so to us; sometimes I think them the only bright spot in the whole - drama. - - Well, here I am at _war_ again. I knew’t would be so when I - signed that treaty on the previous page. I’m as bad as England; the - fight is in me, and I will find a pretext. - - I have not seen our North Oxford “Regulars” for some time owing to - the fact that a sea of mud has lain between me and them for the last - three weeks, utterly impassable. A few weeks ago Cousin Leander - called me to see a member of his “mess” who was just attacked with - pleuritic fever. I went, and found him in hospital. He was cheerful - (a fine young man) and thought he should be out soon. Work and storm - kept me from him three days, and the fourth we bought him a grave in - the Congressional Burying Ground. Poor fellow, and there he lies all - alone. A _soldier’s_ grave, a sapling at the head, a rough slab - at the foot, nine shots between, and all is over. He waits God’s bugle - to summon him to a reënlistment in the Legion of Angels. - - Well, it’s no use, I’ve broken the peace again, and I _can’t_ - keep it. I hope you live in a more peaceful community than I do, and - are consequently more manageable and less belligerent.... - - CLARA - - -The foregoing letter dealt almost wholly with national affairs. Family -matters were giving her little concern during the twenty days in which -this unfinished missive lay on her desk. But scarcely had she mailed it -when she received this letter concerning her father: - - NORTH OXFORD, MASS., January 13, 1862 - - MY DEAR CLARA: - - I sat up with Grandpa last night and he requested me to write to you - and tell how he was. Some one has to sit up with him to keep his fire - regulated. He takes no medicine, and says he shall take _no_ - more. He is quite low-spirited at times, and last night very much so. - Complains of pains in his back and bowels; said he should not stop - long with us, and should like to see you once more before he died. He - spoke in high terms of Julie and of the excellent care she had taken - of him, but said after all there was no one like you. I think he fails - slowly and is gradually wearing out. A week ago he was quite low; so - feeble that he was unable to raise himself in bed; now he is more - comfortable and walks out into the sitting-room ’most every day. He - cannot be prevailed upon to go to bed, but sits in his great chair and - sleeps on the lounge. When he was the sickest I notified Dr. Darling - of his situation and he called. Grandpa told him his medicine did - not help or hurt him. Doctor left him some drops, but said he had no - confidence in his medicine and he did not think it would help him. - His appetite is tolerably good for all kinds of food, and what he - wants he will have. I hardly know what to write about him. I do not - wish to cause unnecessary alarm, and at the same time I want you to - fully understand his case. As I said before, he gets low-spirited and - disconsolate, but I think he may stand by us some months longer, and - yet, he may be taken away at any moment. Of course every new attack - leaves him feebler and more childish. He wants to see you again and - seems quite anxious about it, but whether about anything in particular - he did not say.... - - SAM BARTON - - -Thus, at the beginning of February, 1862, she was called back to -Oxford. Her father, who had several times seemed near to death, but -who had recovered again and again, was now manifestly nearing the -end. She was with him more than a month before he died. His mind was -clear, and they were able to converse about all the great matters which -concerned them and their home and country. He made his final business -arrangements; he talked with the children who were there, and about -the children who were away. He was greatly concerned for Stephen, at -that time shut in by the Confederate army. Even if the Northern armies -could reach him, as they seemed likely to do before long, neither Clara -nor her father felt sure that he would leave. There was an element of -stubbornness in the Barton family, and Stephen was disposed to stand -his ground against all threats and all entreaties. Clara and her father -felt that the situation was certainly more serious than even Stephen -could realize. To invite him to return to Oxford and sit down in -idleness was worse than useless, and he could not render any military -service. Not only was he too old, but he had a hernia. But she felt -sure that if he were in Washington there would be something that he -could do; and, as was subsequently proved, she was right about it. -There were no mails between Massachusetts or Washington and the place -of his residence, but Clara had opportunity to send a letter which she -hoped would reach him. She wrote guardedly, for it was not certain into -whose hands the letter might fall. Sitting by her father’s bedside she -wrote the following long epistle: - - NORTH OXFORD, March 1st, 1862 - - MY DEAR EXILED BROTHER: - - I trust that at length I have an opportunity of speaking to you - without reserve. I only wish I might talk with you face to face, for - in all the shades of war which have passed over us, we must have taken - in many different views. I would like to compare them, but as this - cannot be, I must tell you mine, and in doing so I shall endeavor - to give such opinions and facts as would be fully endorsed by every - friend and person here whose opinions you would ever have valued. I - would sooner sever the hand that pens this than mislead you, and you - may _depend_ upon the _strict fact_ of everything I shall - say, remembering that I shall overcolor nothing. - - In the first place, let me remove the one great error, prevalent - among all (Union) people at the South, I presume,--viz., that this - is a war of “Abolitionism” or abolitionists. This is not so; our - Government has for its object the restoration of the Union _as it - was_, and will do so, unless the resistance of the South prove so - obstinate and prolonged that the abolition or overthrow of slavery - follow as a _consequence_--never an object. Again, the idea of - “_subjugation_.” This application never originated with the - North, nor is it tolerated there, for an instant; desired by no one - unless, like the first instance, it follows as a necessity incident - upon a course of protracted warfare. Both these ideas are used as - stimulants by the Southern (mis)leaders, and without them they could - never hold their army together a month. The North are fighting for - the maintenance of the Constitutional Government of the United States - and the defense and honor of their country’s flag. This accomplished, - the army are ready to lay down their arms and return to their homes - and peaceable pursuits, and our leaders are willing to disband them. - Until such time, there will be found no willingness on the part of - either. We have now in the field between 500,000 and 600,000 soldiers; - more cavalry and artillery than we can use to advantage, our navy - growing to a formidable size, and all this vast body of men, clothed, - fed, and paid, as was never an army on the face of the earth before, - perfectly uniformed, and hospital stores and clothing lying idly by - waiting to be used; we feel no scarcity of money. I am not saying - that we are not getting a large national debt, but I mean to say - that our people are not feeling the pinchings of “war-time.” The - people of the North are as comfortable as you used to see them. You - should be set down in the streets of Boston, Worcester, New York, - or Philadelphia to-day, and only by a profusion of United States - flags and occasionally a soldier home on a furlough would you ever - mistrust that we were _at war_. Let the fire bells ring in any of - those cities, and you will never miss a man from the crowds you have - ordinarily seen gather on such occasions. We can raise another army - like the one we have in the field (only better men as a _mass_), - arm and equip them for service, and still have men and means enough - left at home for all practical purposes. Our troops are just beginning - to be effective, only just properly drilled, and are now ready to - commence work in earnest or just as ready to lay down their arms when - the South are ready to return to the Union, as “loyal and obedient - States”; not obedient to the _North_, but obedient to the laws - of the whole country. Our relations with foreign countries are - amicable, and our late recent victories must for a long time set at - rest all hope or fears of foreign interference, and even were such an - event probable, the Federal Government would not be dismayed. We are - doubtless in better condition to meet a foreign foe, along with all - our home difficulties to-day, than we should have been all together - one year ago to-day. Foreign powers stand off and look with wonder - to see what the Americans have accomplished in ten months; they will - be wary how they wage war with “Yankees” after this. I must caution - here, lest you think there is in all I say something of the spirit - of “brag.” There is not a vestige of it. I am only stating plain - facts, and not the hundredth part of them. I do not feel exultant, - but humble and grateful that under the blessing of God, my country - and my people have accomplished what they have; and even _were_ - I exulting, it would be _for_ you, and not over, or against you, - for “according to the straightest of your sect,” have you lived a - “Yankee.” And this brings me to the point of my subject; here comes my - request, my prayer, supplication, entreaty, command--call it what you - will, only _heed it_, at once. COME HOME, not home to - Massachusetts, but home to _my_ home; I want you in Washington. - I could cover pages, fill volumes, in telling you all the anxiety - that has been felt for you, all the hours of anxious solicitude that - I have known in the last ten months, wondering where you were, or if - you were at all, and planning ways of getting to you, or getting you - to me, but never until now has any safe or suitable method presented - itself, and now that the expedition has opened a means of escape, I - am tortured with the fear that, under the recent call of the State, - you may have been drafted into the enemy’s service. If you are - still at your place and this letter reaches you, I desire, and most - sincerely advise, you to make ready, and, when the opportunity shall - present (which surely will), place yourself, with such transportable - things as you may desire to take, on board one of our boats, under - protection of our officers, and be taken to the landing at Roanoke, - and from thence by some of our transports up to Annapolis, where - either myself or friends will be waiting for you, then go with me to - Washington and call your days of trial over;--for so it can be done. - If we could have known when General Burnside’s expedition left, that - it was destined for your place, Sam would have accompanied them, and - made his way to you on the first boat up your river; as it is, he - is coming now, hoping that he may be in time to reach you, and have - your company back. I want in some way that this and other letters - reach you before he does, that you may make such preparations as - will be necessary, and be ready, whenever he shall appear, to step - on board and set your face toward a more peaceful quarter. You will - meet a welcome from our officers such as you little dream of, unless - perchance you have already met them. If you have, you have found - them gentlemen and friends; you will find scores of old friends in - that expedition, all anxious to see you, would do anything to serve - you if you were with them, but don’t know where to find you. There - are some down on the Island, among General Burnside’s men, who have - your address, but they would scarcely be on our gunboats. There are - plenty of men there who have not only your name in their pockets, - but your memory in their hearts, and would hail you with a brother’s - welcome. General Butler came in at Hatteras with a long letter in his - possession relating to you, and if he had advanced so far, he would - have claimed you. I don’t know how many of our prominent Worcester - men have come or sent to me for your address, to make it known among - our troops if ever they reached you, that they might offer you any - aid in their power. No one can bear the idea of our forces going near - you without knowing all about you, and claiming and treating you as a - brother; you were never as near and dear to the people of Worcester - County as you are to-day. I have seen the tears roll over more than - one man’s face when told that Sam was going to see and take something - to you, and bring you away if you would come. “God grant he may” is - the hearty ejaculation which follows. I want to tell you who you - will find among the officers and men composing the Expedition near - you; Massachusetts has five regiments--21st, 23rd, 24th, 25th, 27th; - the 21st and 25th were raised in Worcester, the former under Colonel - Augustus Morse, of Leominster, formerly Major-General Morse, of the - 3rd Division, State Militia: he is detached from the regiment and - is commandant (or second in command now) of the post at Annapolis. - It is he who will send Sam free of cost to you. He is a good, true - friend of mine, and tells me to send Sam to him, and he will put him - on the track to you. He will also interest both General Burnside and - Commander Goldsburgh in both of you and leave nothing undone for your - comfort and interest. In the meantime he is waiting to grasp your - hand, and share his table and blanket with you at Annapolis. So much - for him; the other officers of the regiment are Lieutenant-Colonel - Maggi, Major Clark (of Amherst College, Professor of Chemistry), - Dr. Calvin Cutter as surgeon (you remember Cutter’s Physiology), - Adjutant Stearns, Chaplain Ball, etc. etc. all of whom know me, are - my friends, and will be yours in an instant; among the men are scores - of boys whom you know. You can’t enter _that_ regiment without - a shout of welcome, unless you do it _very slyly_. Then for the - 25th, Colonel Upton, of Fitchburg, Lieutenant-Colonel Sprague, of - Worcester, Major Caffidy, of W., Chaplain Reverend Horace James, of - the Old South, Cousin Ira’s old minister, one of the bravest men in - the regiment, one of my best friends, and yours too; Captain I. Waldo - Denny, son of Denny the insurance agent. The Captain has been talking - about you for the last six months, and if he once gets hold of you - will be slow to release you unless you set your face for me; the old - gentleman (his father) has been very earnest in devising plans all - through the difficulties to reach, aid, or get you away as might be - best. He came to me in Washington for your address and all particulars - long months ago, hoping that he could reach you through just some such - opening as the present. I state all this because it is due you that - you should know the state of feeling held towards you by your old - friends and acquaintances whether you choose to come among them or - not. Even old Brine was in here a few minutes ago, and is trying to - have Sam take a hundred dollars of _his_ money out to you, lest - you should need it and cannot get it there; the old fellow urged it - upon me with the tears running down his cheeks. There is no bitterness - here, even towards the Southerners themselves, and men would give - their lives to save the Union men of the South. The North feel it to - be a necessity to put down a rebellion, and there the animosity ends. - Now, my advice to you would be this; if you do not see fit to follow - it, you will promise not to take offense or think me conceited in - _presuming_ to advise you; under ordinary circumstances I would - not think of the thing, as you very well know. I get my privilege - merely from the different standpoint I occupy. No word or expression - has ever come from you, and you are regarded as a Union man closed - in and unable to leave, standing by your property to guard it. This - expedition is supposed to have opened the way for your safe exit or - escape to your native land, friends, and loyal Government, and if now - you should take the first opportunity to leave and report yourself - at your own Government you would find yourself a hundred times more - warmly received than if you had been here naturally, all the time. So - far as lay in the power of our troops your property would be sacredly - protected, far more so than if you remained on it in a manner a - little hostile or doubtful. I am not certain but the best thing for - Mr. Riddick would be for you to leave just in this way, and surely I - would have his property harmed no more than yours. I have understood - Mr. Riddick to be a Union man at heart like hundreds of other men whom - our Government desires to protect from all harm and secure against - all loss. This being the case, the best course for both of you which - could be adopted, in my judgment, is for you to leave with our troops. - This will secure the property against them; they would never harm a - hair of it intentionally knowing it to belong to you, a Union man - who had come away with them, and you could so represent the case - of Mr. Riddick that his rights and property would be respected by - them. _He would be infinitely more secure for such a move on your - part_, while his connection with you would, I trust, be sufficient - to secure your property from molestation by his neighbors, who would - be slow to offend or injure him. If you leave and your property be - _un_officially injured by our troops, the Federal Government - must be held responsible for it, and if, after matters are settled, - and business revives, you should find your attachment to your home so - strong as to desire to return, I trust you could do so, as I would by - no means have you do anything to weaken the goodly feeling between you - and your friend, Mr. Riddick, for whom we have all learned to feel the - utmost degree of grateful respect, and I cannot for a moment think - that he would seriously disagree with my conclusions or advice. At all - events, I am willing he should know them, or see or hear any portions - of this letter which might be desired. I deal perfectly fairly and - honestly with all, and I have written or said nothing that I am or - shall be unwilling to have read by either side. I am a plain Northern - Union woman, honest in my feelings and counsels, desiring only the - good of all, disguising nothing, covering nothing, and so far my - opinions are entitled to respect, and will, I trust, be received with - confidence. If you will do this as I suggest and come at once to me at - Washington, you need have no fears of remaining idle. This Sam will - tell you of when you see him, better than for me to write so much. - Washington had never so many people and so much business as now. Some - of it would be for you at once. - - You must not for a moment suppose that you would be offered any - position which would interfere with any oath you may have given, - for all know that you must have done something of this nature to - have remained in that country through such times, unharmed, and all - know you too well to approach you with any such request, as that you - shall forfeit your word. Now, what more can I say, only to repeat - my advice, and desire you to consult Mr. Riddick in relation to the - matter (if you think best) and leave the result with you, and you with - the good God, whom I daily desire and implore to sustain, guide, keep, - and protect you in the midst of all your trials and isolation. - - I sent a short letter to you some weeks ago, which I rather suppose - must have reached you, in which I told you of the failing condition - of our dear old father. He is still failing and rapidly; he cannot - remain with us many days, I think (this calls me home); his appetite - has entirely failed; he eats nothing and can scarcely bear his weight, - growing weaker every hour. He has talked a _hundred volumes_ - about you; wishes he could see you, knows he cannot, but hopes you - will come away with Sam until the trials are ended which distress our - beloved country. Samuel will tell you more than I can write. - - Hoping to see you soon I remain - - Ever your affectionate sister - - CLARA - - -It was beside her father’s death-bed that Clara Barton consecrated -herself to work at the battle-front. She talked the whole problem -over with him. She told him what she had seen in the hospitals -at Washington, and that was none too encouraging. But the thing -that distressed her most of all was the shocking loss of life and -increase of suffering due to the transportation of soldiers from the -battle-field to the base hospitals in Washington. She saw more of this -later, but she had seen enough of it already to be appalled by the -conditions that existed. After Fredericksburg she wrote about it in -these terms: - - I went to the 1st Division, 9th Corps Hospital; found eight officers - of the 57th lying on the floor with a blanket under them, none over; - had had some crackers once that day. About two hundred left of the - regiment. Went to the Old National Hotel, found some hundreds (perhaps - four hundred) Western men sadly wounded, all on the floors; had - nothing to eat. I carried a basket of crackers, and gave two apiece - as far as they went and some pails of coffee; they had had no food - that day and there was none for them. I saw them again at ten o’clock - at night; they had had nothing to eat; a great number of them were to - undergo amputation sometime, but no surgeons yet; they had not dippers - for one in ten. I saw no straw in any hospital, and no mattresses, and - the men lay so thick that gangrene was setting in, and in nearly every - hospital there has been set apart an _erysipelas_ ward. - - There is not room in the city to receive the wounded, and those that - arrived yesterday mostly were left lying in the wagons all night - at the mercy of the drivers. It rained very hard, many died in the - wagons, and their companions, where they had sufficient strength, had - raised up and thrown them out into the street. I saw them lying there - early this morning; they had been wounded two and three days previous, - had been brought from the front, and after all this lay still another - night without care, or food, or shelter, many doubtless famished - after arriving in Fredericksburg. The city is full of houses, and - this morning broad parlors were thrown open and displayed to the view - of the rebel occupants the bodies of the dead Union soldiers lying - beside the wagons in which they perished. Only those most slightly - wounded have been taken on to Washington; the roads are fearful and - it is worth the life of a wounded man to move him over them. A common - ambulance is scarce sufficient to get through. We passed them this - morning four miles out of town, full of wounded, with the tongue - broken or wheels crushed in the middle of a hill, in mud from one - to two feet deep; what was to be done with the moaning, suffering - occupants God only knew. - - Dr. Hitchcock most strongly and earnestly and indignantly remonstrates - against any more removals of broken or amputated limbs. He declares - it little better than murder, and says the greater proportion of them - will die if not better fed and afforded more room and better air. The - surgeons do _all_ they _can_, but no provision had been made - for such a wholesale slaughter on the part of any one, and I believe - it would be impossible to comprehend the magnitude of the necessity - without witnessing it. - -Clara Barton knew these matters better in 1863 than she did at the -beginning of 1862, but she knew something about them when she reached -her father’s bedside, and he entered intelligently and with sympathy -into the recital of her story. He had been a soldier and he understood -exactly the conditions which she described. Her old friend Colonel -De Witt, formerly a member of Congress from her home district, also -appreciated what she had to say. On a day when her father was able to -be left, she went with Colonel De Witt to Boston to call on Governor -John A. Andrew. She had much to tell him about conditions and life in -the hospitals, and also something concerning leaks which she knew to be -occurring in Washington and vicinity, and of treasonable organizations -operating close to the capital, in constant communication with the -enemy. A few days after this call the Washington papers contained -an account of the arrest of twenty-five or thirty Secessionists at -Alexandria, and the disclosure of just such a “leak” and plot as she -had related to Governor Andrew: - - Sunday Chronicle, March 2nd, 1862 - - Important Arrests at Alexandria.--Quite a sensation was produced - in Alexandria on last Thursday evening by the arrest of some - twenty-five or thirty alleged secessionists, who are charged with - being concerned in a secret association for the purpose of giving aid - and comfort to the rebels. The conspiracy, it seems, was organized - under the pretended forms of a relief association, and comprised - all the treasonable objects of affording relief to the enemy. It is - further stated that a fund was obtained from rebel sympathizers for - the purpose of supporting the families of soldiers in the service of - the “Confederate States,” on the identical plan of the noble Relief - Commission of Philadelphia, established with such different motives. - It has also been engaged in the manufacture of rebel uniforms, which - were distributed among the subordinate female associations. The - purpose of the plotters was also to furnish arms and munitions of - war. A considerable quantity has been discovered packed for shipment, - consisting of knapsacks and weapons. Letters were found acknowledging - the receipt through the agency of the association of rifles and - pistols in Richmond.... - - Among the papers secured are many letters implicating persons - heretofore unsuspected. - - The parties were brought to this city on Friday, and lodged in the old - Capital prison. As they passed along the avenue, under the guard of - soldiers, they appeared to be quite indifferent as to their fate and - the enormity and baseness of the crime with which they are charged. - The majority of them presented a very respectable appearance, and were - followed to jail by an anxious crowd of men and boys. - -Clara Barton asked her father his opinion of the feasibility of her -getting to the front. He did not discourage the idea. He knew his -daughter and believed her capable of accomplishing what she set out to -do. Moreover, he knew the American soldier. He felt sure that Clara -would be protected from insult, and that her presence would be welcome -to the soldiers. - -Having thus been favorably introduced to Governor Andrew, and her story -of the secret operations of Secessionists near Washington having been -confirmed, she felt that she could write the Governor and ask him for -permission to go to the very seat of war. She had been sending supplies -to Roanoke, and Newbern, North Carolina, and she wished very much that, -as soon as her father should have passed away, she might be permitted -to go with her supplies and perform her own work of distribution. From -her father’s bedside she wrote the following letter to Governor Andrew: - - NORTH OXFORD, Mar. 20, 1862 - - TO HIS EXCELLENCY JOHN A. ANDREW, Governor - of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. - - Governor Andrew will perhaps recollect the writer as the lady who - waited upon him in company with Hon. Alexander De Witt, to mention the - existence of certain petitions from the officers of the Massachusetts - Regiments of Volunteers, relating to the establishment of an agency in - the City of Washington. - - With the promise of Your Excellency to “look after the leak” came a - “lessening of my fears,” and the immediate discovery of the truly - magnificent rebel organization in Alexandria, and the arrest of - twenty-five of the principal actors, including the _purchasing - committee_, brought with it not only entire satisfaction, but a - joy I had scarce known in months. Since September I had been fully - conscious in my own mind of the existence of something of this kind, - and in October attempted to warn our Relief Societies, but, in the - absence of all proof, I must perforce _say_ very little. I - should never have brought the subject before you again, only that I - incidentally learned that our excellent Dr. Hitchcock has taken back - from Roanoke other papers relating to the same subject, which will - doubtless be laid before you, and, as I have an entirely different - boon to crave, I find it _necessary_ to speak. - - I desire Your Excellency’s permission to go to Roanoke. I should - have proffered my request weeks earlier, but I am called home to - witness the last hours of my old soldier father, who is wearing out - the remnant of an oak and iron constitution, seasoned and tempered - in the wild wars of “Mad Anthony.” His last tale of the Red Man is - told; a _few_ more suns, and the old soldier’s weary march is - ended,--honorably discharged, he is journeying home. - - With this, my highest duties close, and I would fain be allowed to go - and administer comfort to our brave men, who peril life and limb in - defense of the priceless boon the fathers so dearly won. - - If I know my own heart, I have none but right motives. I ask neither - pay nor praises, simply a soldier’s fare and the sanction of Your - Excellency to go and do with my might, whatever my hands find to do. - - In General Burnside’s noble command are upwards of forty young men who - in former days were my pupils. I am glad to know that somewhere they - have learned their duty to their country, and have come up neither - cowards nor traitors. I think I am safe in saying that I possess - the entire confidence and respect of every one of them. For the - _officers_, their signatures are before you. - - If my request appear unreasonable, and must be denied, I shall submit, - patiently, though sorrowfully, but trusting, hoping better things. I - beg to submit myself - - With the highest respect, - - Yours truly - - CLARA H. BARTON - - -John A. Andrew was one of the great war governors. Massachusetts is -one of the States that can always be proud of the record of its chief -executive during the dark days of the Civil War. He responded promptly -to Clara Barton’s appeal. On the day of her father’s funeral she -received the following letter from Governor Andrew: - - COMMONWEALTH OF MASSACHUSETTS - EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENT - BOSTON, March 24th, 1862 - - MISS CLARA H. BARTON, - North Oxford, Mass. - - I beg to assure you, Miss Barton, of my cordial sympathy with your - most worthy sentiments and wishes; and that if I have any power to - promote your design in aid of our soldiers I will surely use it. - Whenever you may be ready to visit General Burnside’s division I will - cheerfully give you a letter of introduction, with my hearty approval - of your visit and my testimony to the value of the service to our sick - and wounded it will be in _your_ power to render. - - With high respect I am, - - Your ob. servant - - JOHN A. ANDREW - - -This letter seemed a practical assurance that Clara Barton was to be -permitted to go to the front. She had the Governor’s virtual promise, -conditioned, of course, upon recommendations from proper authorities, -and she thought she had sufficient influence with the surgeon, Dr. -Hitchcock, to secure the required recommendation. Through an official -friend she took up the matter with Dr. Hitchcock, but in a few days his -letter to the Doctor came back to Clara by way of the Governor. Dr. -Hitchcock did not believe that the battle-field was a suitable place -for women. Among Clara Barton’s papers the letter to Dr. Hitchcock is -found bearing his comment and the Governor’s brief reference with which -the letter was forwarded to Clara Barton. This closed, for the time -being, her prospect of getting to the front: - - BOSTON, March 22, 1862 - - DR. HITCHCOCK, - DEAR SIR: - - A friend of mine, Miss Clara H. Barton, is very desirous of doing what - she can to aid our sick and wounded men at Roanoke, or Newbern, and - I to-day presented a letter from her to Governor Andrew asking that - she might be sent there by the State. Governor Andrew said he would - confer with you relative to the matter. I presume Miss Barton will - write to you. She has been a resident of Washington and the petitions - you brought for me to present to the Governor were for her appointment - as an agent at Washington. She now desires to go to the Burnside - expedition. - - I need not say that she would render efficient service to our sick and - wounded and would not be an encumbrance to the service. - - Truly yours - - J. W. FLETCHER - - -This letter bears written on its back these endorsements by Dr. Alfred -Hitchcock and Governor Andrew: - - I do not think at the present time Miss Barton had better undertake to - go to Burnside’s Division to act as a nurse. - - ALFRED HITCHCOCK - - March 25th, 1862. - - - Respectfully referred for the information of Miss Barton. - - J. A. ANDREW - - March 25, /62. - - -Old Captain Stephen Barton died at last, aged almost eighty-eight. -The entries in Clara Barton’s diary on these days are brief and -interesting: - - _Thursday, March 20, 1862._ Wrote Governor Andrew, and watched by - poor, suffering Grandpa. Sent a letter to Irving by the morning mail. - - _Friday, March 21, 1862._ At 10.16 at night, my poor father - breathed his last. By him were Misses Grover, Hollendrake, Mrs. Vial, - David, Julia, and I. - - _Saturday, March 22, 1862._ David and Julia went to Worcester. - Mrs. Rich here. Sent letters to Irving, Judge, Mary, Dr. Darling. - - _Sunday, March 23, 1862._ Call from Deacon Smith. - - _Monday, March 24, 1862._ Mrs. Rich went to Worcester for me. - Left a note for Arba Pierce to make a wreath for poor Grandpa’s coffin. - - _Tuesday, March 25, 1862._ At two P.M., commenced the - services of the burial, Rev. Mr. Holmes of Charlton officiating. House - and grounds crowded. Ceremony solemn and impressive. At evening Cousin - Jerry Stone came and brought me a letter from Governor J. A. Andrew. - -This was all she found time to write in the diary. Of the letters she -wrote to her cousin, Corporal Leander A. Poor, relating to her father’s -death, one has been recovered: - - NORTH OXFORD, March 27th, 1862 - Thursday Afternoon - - MY DEAR COUSIN LEANDER: - - Your welcome second letter came to me this noon--doubtless before this - you have learned the answer to your kind inquiry, “How is Grandsire?” - But if not, and the sentinel post is mine, I must answer, “All is - well.” Down under the little pines, beside my mother, he rests - quietly, sleeps peacefully, dreams happily. The old soldier’s heavy - march is ended, for him the last tattoo has sounded, and, resting upon - the unfailing arms of truth, hope, and faith, he awaits the “reveille - of the eternal morning.” - - “Grandsire” had been steadily failing since I came home. For more - than thirty days he did not taste a morsel of food, and could retain - nothing stronger or more nourishing than a little milk and water--for - over ten of the last days not that, simply a little cold water, which - he dared not swallow. And still he lived and moved himself and talked - strongly and sensibly and wisely as you had always heard him. Who ever - heard of such constitutional strength? - - You will be gratified to know that he arranged all his business to - his entire satisfaction some days previous to his death. After being - raised up and writing his name, he said to me, “This is the last day I - shall ever do any business; my work in this world is done.” - - He remained until Friday, the 21st [of March], sixteen minutes - past ten o’clock at night. He spoke for the last time about five - o’clock, but made us understand by signs until the very last, when he - straightened himself in bed, closed his mouth firmly, gave one hand to - Julia, and the other to me, and left us. - -Clara Barton’s hopes of going to the front received a severe -disappointment when Governor Andrew returned Dr. Hitchcock’s -communication with the refusal to endorse her application. But she -was nothing if not persistent. Almost immediately after her receipt -of the Governor’s letter, she began again seeking to bring influence -to bear on a Massachusetts captain (Denney), whose wife she had come -to know. In this she gives more detail of the so-called “leak” in -stores, which had been sent more or less recklessly for the benefit of -troops, and without the prepaying of express charges. An organization -of Confederate sympathizers had been formed to purchase these goods -from the express company, and slip them through the lines. In some way -she had found this out, and so as to be morally certain of it before -the exposure and arrest of the conspirators, she had relied upon -advance information that she possessed of this system to commend her to -Governor Andrew, and he was, evidently, favorably impressed. But she -encountered the red tape of the surgeons who were not willing that she -should go to the battle-field. - -No immediate results came from her continued efforts to secure -permission to go to the front. She still remained in New England -through the month of May, but in June returned to Washington and -remained there until the 18th of July. - -She had already been receiving supplies from her friends in New -Jersey as well as from Massachusetts. She now went to Bordentown and -from there to New York, Boston, Worcester, and Oxford. This journey -was made for the purpose of ensuring a larger and continuous supply -of provisions, for she had now obtained what she long had coveted, -her permission to go to the front. Authority, when it finally came, -was direct from the Surgeon-General’s office, and it gave her as -large liberty as she could well have asked. The following passes and -authorizations were all issued within twenty-four hours. Just how she -obtained them, we do not know. In some way her persistence triumphed -over all official red tape, and when she secured her passes they were -practically unlimited either as to time or destination. The following -are from the official records: - - SURGEON-GENERAL’S OFFICE - July 11, 1862 - - Miss C. H. Barton has permission to go upon the sick transports in any - direction--for the purpose of distributing comforts for the sick and - wounded--and nursing them, always subject to the direction of the - surgeon in charge. - - WILLIAM A. HAMMOND - Surgeon-General, U.S.A. - - - SURGEON-GENERAL’S OFFICE - WASHINGTON CITY, July 11, 1862 - - SIR: - - At the request of the Surgeon-General I have to request that you give - every facility to Miss Barton for the transportation of supplies for - the comfort of the sick. I refer you to the accompanying letter. - - Very respectfully - R. C. WOOD, A.S. Gen’l. - - MAJOR D. H. RUCKER, A.Q.M. - WASHINGTON, D.C. - - - OFFICE OF DEPOT QUARTERMASTER - WASHINGTON, July 11, 1862 - - Respectfully referred to General Wadsworth, with the request that - permission be given this lady and friend to pass to and from Acquia - Creek on Government transports at all times when she may wish to visit - the sick and hospitals, etc., with such stores as she may wish to take - for the comfort of the sick and wounded. - - D. H. RUCKER, Quartermaster and Col. - - - H’D QRS. MIL. DIV. OF VA. - WASHINGTON, D.C., July 11, 1862 - - The within mentioned lady (Miss Barton) and friend have permission to - pass to and from Fredericksburg by Government boat and railroad at all - times to visit sick and wounded and to take with her all such stores - as she may wish to take for the sick, and to pass anywhere within - the lines of the United States forces (excepting to the Army of the - Potomac), and to travel on any military railroad or Government boat to - such points as she may desire to visit and take such stores as she - may wish by such means of transportation. - - By order of Brig.-Gen’l Wadsworth, Mil. Gov. D.C. - - T. E. ELLSWORTH, Capt. and A.D.C. - - - INSPECTOR-GENERAL’S OFFICE, ARMY OF VIRGINIA - WASHINGTON, D.C., August 12, 1862 - - No. 83 - - To Whom it may Concern: - - Know ye, that the bearers, Miss Barton and two friends, have - permission to pass within the lines of this army for the purpose of - supplying the sick and wounded. Transportation will be furnished by - Government boat and rail. - - By command of Major-General Pope - R. JONES, Asst. Inspector-General - - -It is said that when Clara Barton finally succeeded in getting -permission to go to the front, she broke down and burst into tears. -That is possible, but her diary shows no sign of her emotion. Nor is it -true, as has been affirmed, that, as soon as she received her passes, -she rushed immediately to the front. Her self-possession and deliberate -action at this moment of triumph are thoroughly characteristic of her. -Instead of going to the front, she went to New Jersey and New England, -as has already been intimated. She had no intention of going to the -front until she had assurance of supplies which she could take with -her and could continue to receive. She was no love-lorn, sentimental -maiden, going with unreckoning and hysterical ardor into conditions -which she did not understand. She was forty years old, and she knew -what hospitals were. She also knew a good deal about official red tape -and the reasonable unwillingness of surgeons to have any one around the -hospital unless she could earn her keep. With a pocket full of passes -which she now possessed, she could go almost anywhere. To be sure, it -was necessary to get special passes for particular objects, but in -general all she had to do was to present these blanket credentials, and -particular permission for a specific journey was promptly forthcoming. -Indeed, she seldom needed that when her lines of operation were -definitely established, but at the beginning she took no chances. -Among the other friends whom she gained while she was procuring these -certificates was Assistant Quartermaster-General D. H. Rucker. He -proved an unfailing friend. Never thereafter did she go to him in vain -with any request for transportation for herself or her goods. - -Her first notable expedition in supplies started from Washington on -Sunday, August 3, 1862, just as the people were going to church. -Frequent mention has been made of the fact that this occurred on -Sunday, and some incorrect inferences have been drawn from it. Clara -Barton had too large a conception of the sacredness of her task to -have waited until Monday for a thing that needed to be done on Sunday. -On the other hand, she had too much religion of her own, and too much -regard for other people’s religion, to have chosen deliberately the -day and hour when people were going to church as that on which she -would mount a loaded truck and conspicuously take her journey to the -boat. She began her arrangements to go to Fredericksburg on Wednesday, -July 30th, as her diary shows. But it was Friday afternoon before her -arrangements were complete, including the special passes which she had -to procure from General Polk’s headquarters. Saturday she started, but -the boat was withdrawn, and it was due to this delay that she rode on -top of her load on Sunday morning. She was taking no chances concerning -her load of provisions; she knew that her welcome at the front and -her efficiency there depended upon her getting her supplies there as -well as herself. So she climbed over the wheel and sat beside the -mule-driver as he carted her provisions to the dock. The boat conveyed -her to Acquia Creek where she stayed all night, being courteously -treated by the quartermaster. On Monday she went on to Fredericksburg, -where she visited the general hospital, located in a woolen factory. -There she witnessed her first amputation. The next day she visited -the camp of the 21st Massachusetts. She distributed her supplies, and -found where more were needed. Returning, she reached Washington at six -o’clock Tuesday night. The next few days she had conferences with the -Sanitary Commission, and suggested some improvement in the methods of -supplying the hospitals. - -She found the Sanitary Commission quite ready to coöperate with her, -and obtained from them without difficulty some stores for the 8th and -11th Connecticut Regiments. She took time to write the story of her -visit to Fredericksburg, and to secure its full value in additional -supplies. - -This was the way she spent her time for a full month after she secured -her passes. She visited the friends who were to supply her with the -articles she was to need; she visited the front and personally oversaw -the method of distributing supplies; she placed herself in sympathetic -relationship with the Sanitary Commission, whose work was next of kin -to her own, and she wrote letters that were to bring her a still -larger volume of resources for her great work. A more businesslike, -methodical, or sensible method of procedure could not be imagined than -that which her diary and letters disclose. - -How she felt about going to the front at this time is finely set forth -in a letter to her cousin, Corporal Leander A. Poor, who was sick in a -hospital at Point Lookout, Maryland, and whom she succeeded in getting -transferred to a hospital in Washington. She did not expect to be there -when he arrived, for she was committed to her plan of getting to the -front. Not that she expected to stay continuously; it was her purpose -to come and go; to get relief directly where it was needed, and to keep -her lines of communication open. This letter shows that she labored -under no delusion concerning the difficulties of transportation. She -was going in with her eyes open. - - WASHINGTON, D.C., Aug. 2, 1862 - Saturday P.M. - - OH, MY DEAREST COUZ: - - Can you believe it! that this afternoon’s mail takes an order from the - Surgeon-General for you to report in Washington (provided the state of - your health will permit)? I have just seen the order written. - - You are to report to Dr. Campbell, Medical Director, and he is to - assign you to some hospital. Now I want you assigned near me, but am - not certain that I can influence it in the least,--but I’ll try! I can - tell you the ropes and you can help pull them when you go to report. - - At the Medical Director’s, I have an especial friend in the person - of Dr. Sheldon, one of the _chargés des affaires_ of the - Institution. I will acquaint him with the facts before your arrival - either by a personal interview or a note, and then, when you go to - report to Dr. Campbell, see first, if possible, Dr. Sheldon, and ask - him if he can assist you in getting assigned to some hospital near - me (7th Street) or in the vicinity of the Post-Office, he knows my - residence, having called upon me. - - My choice would be the “Armory Square,” a new hospital on 7th Street - a few rods the other side of the Avenue from me, on the way to the - Arsenal, you will recollect, just opposite the Smithsonian Institute, - on the east side of 7th. This is designed as a model hospital, but - perhaps one difficulty will be that it is intended more exclusively - for extreme cases, or desperately wounded who can be conveyed but - little distance from the boat. There are in it _now_, however, - some very slight cases, some whom I visit every day. The chaplain, - E. W. Jackson, is from Maine, near Portland,--and I would not be - surprised if more Maine men were in charge there, too. - - After this I have not much choice in any of the hospitals near me. E - Street Church is near, and so many of the churches, and perhaps being - less in magnitude they are less strict. I don’t even know if you - will be allowed to see me before making your report to the Medical - Director, and there is one bare possibility that I may be out on a - scout when you arrive. Lord knows the condition of our poor wretched - soldiers down in the army; all communication cut off to and from, - they must be dying from want of care, and I am promised to go to them - the first moment access can be had, but this would not discourage - you, for I should come home again when the poor fellows were a little - comfortable. - - I am not certain when you can come, probably not until some Government - boat comes up; one went down yesterday, and if I had had your order - _then_, I should have come for you, but to start in one now after - this I might miss you, as they only go some once a week or so. - - All sorts of rumors in town,--that we are whipping the rebels, they - are whipping us, Jackson defeated, Pope defeated. But one thing I do - suppose to be true, viz., that our army is isolated, cut off from - supplies of food, and that we cannot reach them with more until they - fight their way out. This is not generally believed or understood, - but your cousin both understands and believes it. People talk like - children about “_transporting supplies_” as if it were the - easiest thing imaginable to transport supplies by wagon thirty miles - across a country scouted by guerrilla bands. Our men _must_ be on - part rations, tired and hungry, fighting like tigers, and dying like - dogs. There! Doesn’t that sound impatient. I won’t speak again. - - Of course you will write me instantly and tell me if you are able to - come, and when as nearly as possible, etc., etc. - - I will enclose $5.00 lest you may need and not have. - - Your affectionate Cousin - - CLARA H. BARTON - - Washington, D.C. - - -Thus did Clara Barton at her father’s death-bed consecrate herself to a -work more difficult than any woman had at that time undertaken for the -relief of suffering caused by the war. Other women were equally brave; -others, equally tender in their personal ministrations; but Clara -Barton knew the difficulties of transportation and the awful agonies -and loss of life endured by men through neglect and delay and the -distance of the hospital from the battle-field. She was ready to carry -relief right behind the battle lines. She had not long to wait for her -opportunity. - -[6] From James Russell Lowell’s second series of “Biglow Papers,” then -appearing in the _Atlantic_. - -[7] A reference to Julia Ward Howe’s “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” -then new. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -CLARA BARTON TO THE FRONT - - -When the author of this volume was a schoolboy, the advanced readers in -the public schools partook largely of a patriotic character, and the -rhetorical exercises of Friday afternoons contained recitations and -declamations inspired by the great Civil War. The author remembers a -Friday when he came upon the platform with his left arm withdrawn from -his coat-sleeve and concealed inside the coat, while he recited a poem -of which he still remembers certain lines: - - My arm? I lost it at Cedar Mountain; - Ah, little one, that was a dreadful fight; - For brave blood flowed like a summer fountain, - And the cannon roared till the fall of night. - - Nay, nay! Your question has done me no harm, dear, - Though it woke for the moment a thrill of pain; - For whenever I look at my stump of an arm here, - I seem to be living that day again. - -The poem went on to relate the scenes of the battle, the desperate -charge, the wound, the amputation, and now the necessity of earning -a livelihood by the peddling of needles, pins, and other inexpensive -household necessities. It was a poem with rather large dramatic -possibilities, and the author utilized them according to the best of -his then ability. Since that Friday afternoon in his early boyhood -he has always thought of Cedar Mountain as a battle in which he had -something of a share. If he had really been there and had lost an arm -in the manner which the poem described, one of the things he would have -been almost certain to remember would have been the presence there of -Clara Barton. She afterward told of it in this simple fashion: - - When our armies fought on Cedar Mountain, I broke the shackles and - went to the field. Five days and nights with three hours’ sleep--a - narrow escape from capture--and some days of getting the wounded into - hospitals at Washington brought Saturday, August 30. And if you chance - to feel that the positions I occupied were rough and unseemly for a - _woman_--I can only reply that they were rough and unseemly for - _men_. But under all, lay the life of the Nation. I had inherited - the rich blessing of health and strength of constitution--such as are - seldom given to woman--and I felt that some return was due from me and - that I ought to be there. - -The battle of Cedar Mountain, also called Cedar Run and Culpeper, was -fought on Saturday, August 9, 1862. Stonewall Jackson, as directed by -General Lee, moved to attack Pope before McClellan could reënforce -him. The corps attack was under command of General Banks, and the -Confederates were successful. The Federal losses were 314 killed, 1465 -wounded, and 622 missing. News of the battle reached Washington on -Monday. Clara Barton’s entry for that day contains no suggestion of -the heroic; no appearance of consciousness that she was beginning for -herself and her country, and the civilized world, a new epoch in the -history of woman’s ministration to men wounded on the battle-field: - - _Monday, August 11, 1862._ Battle at Culpeper reached us. Went to - Sanitary Commission. Concluded to go to Culpeper. Packed goods. - -The next day she went to General Pope’s headquarters and got her pass, -General Rucker accompanying her. The remainder of the day she spent in -completing her arrangements and in conference with Gardiner Tufts, of -Massachusetts, an agent sent by the State to look after Massachusetts -wounded. That night she went to Alexandria, which was as far as she -could get, and the next morning she resumed her journey and arrived at -Culpeper at half-past three in the afternoon. - -The next days were busy days. It is interesting to find in her diary -that she ministered not only to the Union, but also to the Confederate -wounded. For several days she had little rest. When she returned to -Washington later in the month, she was not permitted to remain. She -learned that her cousin, Corporal Poor, had been brought to a hospital -in the city, but she was unable to visit him, being called to minister -to the wounded who were being brought to Alexandria as the result of -the fighting that followed Cedar Mountain. Her hastily written note is -not dated, but the time is in the latter part of August, 1862: - - MY OWN DARLING COUSIN: - - I was almost (_all-but_) ready to come to you, and then came this - bloody fight at Culpeper and the State agent for Massachusetts comes - and claims me to go to Alexandria where 600 wounded are to be brought - in to-day, and I may have to go on further. I hope to be back yet in - time to come to you _this_ week; if not I will write you. - - I am distressed that I cannot come to you to-morrow as I had intended. - - I hope you are as well as when I last heard. I should have written, - but I thought to come so soon. - - I must leave now. My wagon waits for me. - - God bless you, my poor dear Cousin, and I will see you if the rebels - don’t catch me. - - Good-bye, - - Your affec. cousin - - CLARA - - -Whether she was able to visit her cousin or not on her return from -Alexandria, we do not know. Her diary for the latter part of the year -1862 ceases to be consecutive. It contains not the record of her own -comings and goings, but names of wounded soldiers, memoranda of letters -to write for men who had died, and other data of this character. Her -entry for Saturday, August 30, 1862, is significant. It reads: - - Visited Armory Hospital. Took comb to Sergeant Field, of Massachusetts - 21st. On my way saw everybody going to wharf. I went. - -That was her last record for more than a week. We know what was taking -the people to the wharf. We know what sad sights awaited those who made -their way to the Potomac. We know the sad procession that came over the -long bridge; the second battle of Bull Run had been fought. After the -first battle of Bull Run there was nothing she could do but stay in -Washington and write her father such distracting news that she had to -stop. The situation was different now; Clara Barton knew where she was -needed, and she had authority to go. No time was wasted now in special -passes. She had proved the value of her worth at Cedar Mountain. - -That very night she was in a box car on her way to the battle-field. - -Shortly after the second battle of Bull Run, Clara Barton wrote the -following account to a friend, and later revised it as a part of one of -her war lectures. It is, in some respects, the most vivid of all her -recitals of experiences on battle-fields: - - Our coaches were not elegant or commodious; they had no windows, no - seats, no platforms, no steps, a slide door on the side was the only - entrance, and this higher than my head. For my manner of attaining my - elevated position, I must beg of you to draw on your own imaginations - and spare me the labor of reproducing the boxes, barrels, boards, and - rails, which, in those days, seemed to help me up and on in the world. - We did not criticize the unsightly helpers and were only too thankful - that the stiff springs did not quite jostle us out. This description - need not be limited to this particular trip or train, but will suffice - for all that I have known in army life. This is the kind of conveyance - by which your tons of generous gifts have reached the field with the - precious freights. These trains, through day and night, sunshine and - rain, heat and cold, have thundered over heights, across plains, - through ravines, and over hastily built army bridges ninety feet - across the rocky stream beneath. - - At ten o’clock Sunday (August 31) our train drew up at Fairfax - Station. The ground, for acres, was a thinly wooded slope--and among - the trees, on the leaves and grass, were laid the wounded who were - pouring in by scores of wagonloads, as picked up on the field under - the flag of truce. All day they came, and the whole hillside was - covered. Bales of hay were broken open and scattered over the ground - like littering for cattle, and the sore, famishing men were laid upon - it. - - And when the night shut in, in the mist and darkness about us, we - knew that, standing apart from the world of anxious hearts, throbbing - over the whole country, we were a little band of almost empty-handed - workers literally by ourselves in the wild woods of Virginia, with - three thousand suffering men crowded upon the few acres within our - reach. - - After gathering up every available implement or convenience for our - work, our domestic inventory stood, two water buckets, five tin cups, - one camp kettle, one stewpan, two lanterns, four bread knives, three - plates, and a two-quart tin dish, and three thousand guests to serve. - - You will perceive, by this, that I had not yet learned to equip - myself, for I was no Pallas, ready armed, but grew into my work - by hard thinking and sad experience. It may serve to relieve your - apprehension for the future of my labors if I assure you that I was - never caught so again. - - You have read of adverse winds. To realize this in its full sense you - have only to build a camp-fire and attempt to cook something on it. - - There is not a soldier within the sound of my voice but will sustain - me in the assertion that, go whichsoever side of it you will, wind - will blow the smoke and flame directly in your face. Notwithstanding - these difficulties, within fifteen minutes from the time of our - arrival we were preparing food and dressing wounds. You wonder what, - and how prepared, and how administered without dishes. - - You generous thoughtful mothers and wives have not forgotten the tons - of preserves and fruits with which you filled our hands. Huge boxes of - these stood beside that railway track. Every can, jar, bucket, bowl, - cup or tumbler, when emptied, that instant became a vehicle of mercy - to convey some preparation of mingled bread and wine or soup or coffee - to some helpless, famishing sufferer, who partook of it with the tears - rolling down his bronzed cheeks and divided his blessings between the - hands that fed him and his God. I never realized until that day how - little a human being could be grateful for, and that day’s experience - also taught me the utter worthlessness of that which could not be - made to contribute directly to our necessities. The bit of bread which - would rest on the surface of a gold eagle was worth more than the coin - itself. - - But the most fearful scene was reserved for the night. I have said - that the ground was littered with dry hay and that we had only two - lanterns, but there were plenty of candles. The wounded were laid so - close that it was impossible to move about in the dark. The slightest - misstep brought a torrent of groans from some poor mangled fellow in - your path. - - Consequently here were seen persons of all grades, from the careful - man of God who walked with a prayer upon his lips to the careless - driver hunting for his lost whip--each wandering about among this hay - with an open flaming candle in his hand. - - The slightest accident, the mere dropping of a light could have - enveloped in flames this whole mass of helpless men. - - How we watched and pleaded and cautioned as we worked and wept that - night! How we put socks and slippers upon their cold damp feet, - wrapped your blankets and quilts about them, and when we had no longer - these to give, how we covered them in the hay and left them to their - rest! - - On Monday (September 1) the enemy’s cavalry appeared in the wood - opposite and a raid was hourly expected. In the afternoon all the - wounded men were sent off and the danger became so imminent that Mrs. - Fales thought best to leave, although she only went for stores. I - begged to be excused from accompanying her, as the ambulances were - up to the fields for more, and I knew I should never leave a wounded - man there if I were taken prisoner forty times. At six o’clock it - commenced to thunder and lighten and all at once the artillery began - to play, joined by the musketry about two miles distant. We sat down - in our tent and waited to see them break in, but Reno’s forces held - them back. The old 21st Massachusetts lay between us and the enemy - and they could not pass. God only knows who was lost, I do not, for - the next day all fell back. Poor Kearny, Stephen, and Webster were - brought in, and in the afternoon Kearny’s and Heintzelman’s divisions - fell back through our camp on their way to Alexandria. We knew this - was the last. We put the thousand wounded men we then had into the - train. I took one carload of them and Mrs. M. another. The men took to - the horses. We steamed off, and two hours later there was no Fairfax - Station. We reached Alexandria at ten o’clock at night, and, oh, the - repast which met those poor men at the train. The people of the island - are the most noble I ever saw or heard of. I stood in my car and fed - the men till they could eat no more. Then the people would take us - home and feed us, and after that we came home. I had slept one and one - half hours since Saturday night and I am well and strong and wait to - go again if I have need. - -Immediately after the second Bull Run, or Manassas, followed the -battle of Chantilly. It was a woeful battle for the Federal cause. -The Confederates were completely successful. Pope’s army retreated to -Washington in almost as great a state of panic as had characterized the -army of McDowell in the previous year. Nothing saved Washington from -capture but the fact that the Confederate forces had been so reduced by -continuous fighting that they were unable to take advantage of their -success. But they had captured the Federal wagon trains; had inflicted -far greater losses than they had themselves endured, and were in so -confident a frame of mind that Lee immediately prepared to cross the -Potomac, invade the North, and bring the war, as he hoped, to a speedy -end. It was under these conditions that Clara Barton continued her -education at the battle-front. - -Among many other experiences on the field of Chantilly, Miss Barton -recalled these incidents: - - The slight, naked chest of a fair-haired lad caught my eye, and - dropping down beside him, I bent low to draw the remnant of his torn - blouse about him, when with a quick cry he threw his left arm across - my neck and, burying his face in the folds of my dress, wept like a - child at his mother’s knee. I took his head in my hands and held it - until his great burst of grief passed away. “And do you know me?” he - asked at length; “I am Charley Hamilton who used to carry your satchel - home from school!” My faithful pupil, poor Charley. That mangled right - arm would never carry a satchel again. - - About three o’clock in the morning I observed a surgeon with his - little flickering candle in hand approaching me with cautious step far - up in the wood. “Lady,” he said as he drew near, “will you go with - me? Out on the hills is a poor distressed lad, mortally wounded and - dying. His piteous cries for his sister have touched all our hearts - and none of us can relieve him, but rather seem to distress him by our - presence.” - - By this time I was following him back over the bloody track, with - great beseeching eyes of anguish on every side looking up into our - faces saying so plainly, “Don’t step on us.” - - “He can’t last half an hour longer,” said the surgeon as we toiled - on. “He is already quite cold, shot through the abdomen, a terrible - wound.” By this time the cries became plainly audible to me. - - “Mary, Mary, sister Mary, come,--oh, come, I am wounded, Mary! I am - shot. I am dying--oh, come to me--I have called you so long and my - strength is almost gone--Don’t let me die here alone. Oh, Mary, Mary, - come!” - - Of all the tones of entreaty to which I have listened--and certainly I - have had some experience of sorrow--I think these, sounding through - that dismal night, the most heart-rending. As we drew near, some - twenty persons, attracted by his cries, had gathered around and stood - with moistened eyes and helpless hands waiting the change which would - relieve them all. And in the midst, stretched upon the ground, lay, - scarcely full grown, a young man with a graceful head of hair, tangled - and matted, thrown back from a forehead and a face of livid whiteness. - His throat was bare. His hands, bloody, clasped his breast, his large, - bewildered eyes turning anxiously in every direction. And ever from - between his ashen lips pealed that piteous cry of “Mary! Mary! Come.” - - I approached him unobserved, and, motioning the lights away, I knelt - by him alone in the darkness. Shall I confess that I intended if - possible to cheat him out of his terrible death agony? But my lips - were truer than my heart, and would not speak the word “Brother,” I - had willed them to do. So I placed my hands upon his neck, kissed his - cold forehead, and laid my cheek against his. - - The illusion was complete; the act had done the falsehood my lips - refused to speak. I can never forget that cry of joy. “Oh, Mary! Mary! - You have come? I knew you would come if I called you and I have called - you so long. I could not die without you, Mary. Don’t cry, Darling, - I am not afraid to die now that you have come to me. Oh, bless you. - Bless you, Mary.” And he ran his cold, blood-wet hands about my neck, - passed them over my face, and twined them in my hair, which by this - time had freed itself from fastenings and was hanging damp and heavy - upon my shoulders. He gathered the loose locks in his stiffened - fingers and holding them to his lips continued to whisper through - them, “Bless you, bless you, Mary!” And I felt the hot tears of joy - trickling from the eyes I had thought stony in death. This encouraged - me, and, wrapping his feet closely in blankets and giving him such - stimulants as he could take, I seated myself on the ground and lifted - him on my lap, and drawing the shawl on my own shoulders also about - his I bade him rest. - - I listened till his blessings grew fainter, and in ten minutes with - them on his lips he fell asleep. So the gray morning found us; my - precious charge had grown warm, and was comfortable. - - Of course the morning light would reveal his mistake. But he had grown - calm and was refreshed and able to endure it, and when finally he - woke, he seemed puzzled for a moment, but then he smiled and said: “I - knew before I opened my eyes that this could n’t be Mary. I know now - that she could n’t get here, but it is almost as good. You’ve made me - so happy. Who is it?” - - I said it was simply a lady who, hearing that he was wounded, had come - to care for him. He wanted the name, and with childlike simplicity he - spelled it letter by letter to know if he were right. “In my pocket,” - he said, “you will find mother’s last letter; please get it and write - your name upon it, for I want both names by me when I die.” - - “Will they take away the wounded?” he asked. “Yes,” I replied, “the - first train for Washington is nearly ready now.” “I must go,” he said - quickly. “Are you able?” I asked. “I must go if I die on the way. I’ll - tell you why; I am poor mother’s only son, and when she consented - that I go to the war, I promised her faithfully that if I were not - killed outright, but wounded, I would try every means in my power to - be taken home to her dead or alive. If I die on the train, they will - not throw me off, and if I were buried in Washington, she can get me. - But out here in the Virginia woods in the hands of the enemy, never. I - _must_ go!” - - I sent for the surgeon in charge of the train and requested that my - boy be taken. - - “Oh, impossible, madam, he is mortally wounded and will never reach - the hospital! We must take those who have a hope of life.” “But you - must take him.” “I cannot”--“Can you, Doctor, guarantee the lives of - all you have on that train?” “I wish I could,” said he sadly. “They - are the worst cases; nearly fifty per cent must die eventually of - their wounds and hardships.” - - “Then give this lad a chance with them. He can only die, and he has - given good and sufficient reasons why he must go--and a woman’s word - for it, Doctor. You take him. Send your men for him.” Whether yielding - to argument or entreaty, I neither knew nor cared so long as he did - yield nobly and kindly. And they gathered up the fragments of the - poor, torn boy and laid him carefully on a blanket on the crowded - train and with stimulants and food and a kind-hearted attendant, - pledged to take him alive or dead to Armory Square Hospital and tell - them he was Hugh Johnson, of New York, and to mark his grave. - - Although three hours of my time had been devoted to one sufferer among - thousands, it must not be inferred that our general work had been - suspended or that my assistants had been equally inefficient. They had - seen how I was engaged and nobly redoubled their exertions to make - amends for my deficiencies. - - Probably not a man was laid upon those cars who did not receive some - personal attention at their hands, some little kindness, if it were - only to help lift him more tenderly. - - This finds us shortly after daylight Monday morning. Train after - train of cars was rushing on for the wounded, and hundreds of wagons - were bringing them in from the field still held by the enemy, where - some poor sufferers had lain three days with no visible means of - sustenance. If immediately placed upon the trains and not detained, - at least twenty-four hours must elapse before they could be in the - hospital and properly nourished. They were already famishing, weak - and sinking from loss of blood, and they could ill afford a further - fast of twenty-four hours. I felt confident that, unless nourished at - once, all the weaker portion must be past recovery before reaching the - hospitals of Washington. If once taken from the wagons and laid with - those already cared for, they would be overlooked and perish on the - way. Something must be done to meet this fearful emergency. I sought - the various officers on the grounds, explained the case to them, and - asked permission to feed all the men as they arrived before they - should be taken from the wagons. It was well for the poor sufferers of - that field that it was controlled by noble-hearted, generous officers, - quick to feel and prompt to act. - - They at once saw the propriety of my request and gave orders that all - wagons should be stayed at a certain point and only moved on when - every one had been seen and fed. This point secured, I commenced my - day’s work of climbing from the wheel to the brake of every wagon - and speaking to and feeding with my own hands each soldier until he - expressed himself satisfied. - - Still there were bright spots along the darkened lines. Early in the - morning the Provost Marshal came to ask me if I could use fifty men. - He had that number, who for some slight breach of military discipline - were under guard and useless, unless I could use them. I only - regretted there were not five hundred. They came,--strong, willing - men,--and these, added to our original force and what we had gained - incidentally, made our number something over eighty, and, believe me, - eighty men and three women, acting with well-directed purpose, will - accomplish a good deal in a day. Our fifty prisoners dug graves and - gathered and buried the dead, bore mangled men over the rough ground - in their arms, loaded cars, built fires, made soup, and administered - it. And I failed to discern that their services were less valuable - than those of the other men. I had long suspected, and have been - since convinced, that a private soldier may be placed under guard, - court-martialed, and even be imprisoned without forfeiting his honor - or manliness; that the real dishonor is often upon the gold lace - rather than the army blue. - - At three o’clock the last train of wounded left. All day we had known - that the enemy hung upon the hills and were waiting to break in upon - us.... - - At four o’clock the clouds gathered black and murky, and the low growl - of distant thunders was heard while lightning continually illuminated - the horizon. The still air grew thick and stifled, and the very - branches appeared to droop and bow as if in grief at the memory of - the terrible scenes so lately enacted and the gallant lives so nobly - yielded up beneath their shelter. - - This was the afternoon of Monday. Since Saturday noon I had not - thought of tasting food, and we had just drawn around a box for that - purpose, when, of a sudden, air and earth and all about us shook with - one mingled crash of God’s and man’s artillery. The lightning played - and the thunder rolled incessantly and the cannon roared louder and - nearer each minute. Chantilly with all its darkness and horrors had - opened in the rear. - - The description of this battle I leave to those who saw and moved - in it, as it is my purpose to speak only of events in which I was a - witness or actor. Although two miles distant, we knew the battle was - intended for us, and watched the firing as it neared and receded and - waited minute by minute for the rest. - - With what desperation our men fought hour after hour in the rain and - darkness! How they were overborne and rallied, how they suffered from - mistaken orders, and blundered, and lost themselves in the strange - mysterious wood. And how, after all, with giant strength and veteran - bravery, they checked the foe and held him at bay, is an all-proud - record of history. - - And the courage of the soldier who braved death in the darkness of - Chantilly let no man question. - - The rain continued to pour in torrents, and the darkness became - impenetrable save from the lightning leaping above our heads and the - fitful flash of the guns, as volley after volley rang through the - stifled air and lighted up the gnarled trunks and dripping branches - among which we ever waited and listened. - - In the midst of this, and how guided no man knows, came still another - train of wounded men, and a waiting train of cars upon the track - received them. This time nearly alone, for my worn-out assistants - could work no longer, I continued to administer such food as I had - left. - - Do you begin to wonder what it could be? Army crackers put into - knapsacks and haversacks and beaten to crumbs between stones, and - stirred into a mixture of wine, whiskey, and water, and sweetened with - coarse brown sugar. - - Not very inviting you will think, but I assure you it was always - acceptable. But whether it should have been classed as food, or, - like the Widow Bedott’s cabbage, as a delightful beverage, it would - puzzle an epicure to determine. No matter, so it imparted strength and - comfort. - - The departure of this train cleared the grounds of wounded for the - night, and as the line of fire from its plunging engines died out in - the darkness, a strange sensation of weakness and weariness fell upon - me, almost defying my utmost exertion to move one foot before the - other. - - A little Sibley tent had been hastily pitched for me in a slight - hollow upon the hillside. Your imaginations will not fail to picture - its condition. Rivulets of water had rushed through it during the last - three hours. Still I attempted to reach it, as its white surface, in - the darkness, was a protection from the wheels of wagons and trampling - of beasts. - - Perhaps I shall never forget the painful effort which the making of - those few rods and the gaining of the tent cost me. How many times I - fell, from sheer exhaustion, in the darkness and mud of that slippery - hillside, I have no knowledge, but at last I grasped the welcome - canvas, and a well-established brook, which washed in on the upper - side at the opening that served as door, met me on my entrance. My - entire floor was covered with water, not an inch of dry, solid ground. - - One of my lady assistants had previously taken train for Washington - and the other, worn out by faithful labors, was crouched upon the top - of some boxes in one corner fast asleep. No such convenience remained - for me, and I had no strength to arrange one. I sought the highest - side of my tent which I remembered was grass-grown, and, ascertaining - that the water was not very deep, I sank down. It was no laughing - matter then. But the recollection of my position has since afforded me - amusement. - - I remember myself sitting on the ground, upheld by my left arm, my - head resting on my hand, impelled by an almost uncontrollable desire - to lie completely down, and prevented by the certain conviction that - if I did, water would flow into my ears. - - How long I balanced between my desires and cautions, I have no - positive knowledge, but it is very certain that the former carried the - point by the position from which I was aroused at twelve o’clock by - the rumbling of more wagons of wounded men. I slept two hours, and oh, - what strength I had gained! I may never know two other hours of equal - worth. I sprang to my feet dripping wet, covered with ridges of dead - grass and leaves, wrung the water from my hair and skirts, and went - forth again to my work. - - When I stood again under the sky, the rain had ceased, the clouds were - sullenly retiring, and the lightning, as if deserted by its boisterous - companions, had withdrawn to a distant corner and was playing quietly - by itself. For the great volleying thunders of heaven and earth had - settled down on the fields. Silent? I said so. And it was, save the - ceaseless rumbling of the never-ending train of army wagons which - brought alike the wounded, the dying, and the dead. - - And thus the morning of the third day broke upon us, drenched, weary, - hungry, sore-footed, sad-hearted, discouraged, and under orders to - retreat. - - A little later, the plaintive wail of a single fife, the slow beat - of a muffled drum, the steady tramp, tramp, tramp of heavy feet, the - gleam of ten thousand bayonets on the hills, and with bowed heads and - speechless lips, poor Kearny’s leaderless men came marching through - - This was the signal for retreat. All day they came, tired, hungry, - ragged, defeated, retreating, they knew not whither--they cared not - whither. - - The enemy’s cavalry, skirting the hills, admonished us each moment - that we must soon decide to go from them or with them. But our work - must be accomplished, and no wounded men once given into our hands - must be left. And with the spirit of desperation, we struggled on. - - At three o’clock an officer galloped up to me, with “Miss Barton, can - you ride?” “Yes, sir,” I replied. - - “But you have no lady’s saddle--could you ride mine?” - - “Yes, sir, or without it, if you have blanket and surcingle.” - - “Then you can risk another hour,” he exclaimed, and galloped off. - - At four he returned at a break-neck speed, and, leaping from his - horse, said, “Now is your time. The enemy is already breaking over the - hills; try the train. It will go through, unless they have flanked, - and cut the bridge a mile above us. In that case I’ve a reserve horse - for you, and you must take your chances to escape across the country.” - - In two minutes I was on the train. The last wounded man at the station - was also on. The conductor stood with a torch which he applied to - a pile of combustible material beside the track. And we rounded the - curve which took us from view and we saw the station ablaze, and a - troop of cavalry dashing down the hill. The bridge was uncut and - midnight found us at Washington. - - You have the full record of my sleep--from Friday night till Wednesday - morning--two hours. You will not wonder that I slept during the next - twenty-four. - - On Friday (the following), I repaired to Armory Square Hospital to - learn who, of all the hundreds sent, had reached that point. - - I traced the chaplain’s record, and there upon the last page freshly - written stood the name of Hugh Johnson - - Turning to Chaplain Jackson, I asked--“Did that man live until to-day?” - - “He died during the latter part of last night,” he replied. “His - friends reached him some two days ago, and they are now taking his - body from the ward to be conveyed to the depot.” - - I looked in the direction his hand indicated, and there, beside a - coffin, about to be lifted into a wagon, stood a gentleman, the - mother, and Sister Mary! - - “Had he his reason?” I asked. - - “Oh, perfectly.” - - “And his mother and sister were with him two days.” - - “Yes.” - - There was no need of me. He had given his own messages; I could add - nothing to their knowledge of him, and would fain be spared the scene - of thanks. Poor Hugh, thy piteous prayers reached and were answered, - and with eyes and heart full, I turned away, and never saw Sister Mary. - - These were days of darkness--a darkness that might be felt. - - The shattered bands of Pope and Banks! Burnside’s weary legions! - Reënforcements from West Virginia--and all that now remained of the - once glorious Army of the Peninsula had gathered for shelter beneath - the redoubts and guns that girdled Washington. - -How the soldiers remembered these ministrations is shown in letters -such as this: - - CHARLES E. SIMMONS, Secretary, 21st Regt. Mass. Vol. - CHARLES E. FRYE, President - 7 JAQUES AVENUE, - WORCESTER, MASS. - September 13th, 1911 - - TO CLARA BARTON - - The survivors of the Veteran 21st Massachusetts Regiment, assembled - in “Odd Fellows Temple in the City of Worcester,” wish to put on - record the day of your coming to us at Bull Run and Chantilly, when - we were in our deepest bereavement and loss; how your presence and - deeds brought assurance and comfort; and how you assisted us up the - hot and rugged sides of South Mountain by your ministry forty-nine - years ago to-day, at and over the “Burnside Bridge” at Antietam, then - through Pleasant Valley, to Falmouth, and in course of time were - across the Rappahannock and storming the heights of Fredericksburg; - were with us, indeed, when we recrossed the river and found shelter in - our tents--broken, bruised, and sheared. With us evermore in body and - spirit, lo, these fifty years. The prayer of the 21st Regiment is, God - bless our old and tried friend. It was also voted that we present to - Clara Barton a bouquet of flowers. - - CHARLES E. SIMMONS, Secretary - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -HARPER’S FERRY TO ANTIETAM - - -Clara Barton had now definitely settled the method of her operations. -She had demonstrated the practicability of getting to the front -early, and had begun to learn what equipment was necessary if she -were to perform her work successfully. Washington was still to be her -headquarters, her base of supplies, but from Washington as a center she -would radiate in any direction where the need was, going by the most -direct route and arriving on the scene of conflict as soon as possible -after authentic news of the battle. This was in contravention of all -established custom, which was for women, if they assisted at all, to -remain far in the rear until wounded soldiers were conveyed to them, or -until the retreat of the opposing army made it safe for them to come -upon the field where the conflict had been. It disheartened her to have -to remain in Washington where there was no lack of willing assistance, -and wait till it was safe to stir. - -Moreover, she did not find her service in the Washington hospitals -wholly cheerful. It depressed her to move among the wounded and witness -the after effects of the battle, the gangrene, the infection of wounds, -and the slow fevers, and to think how much of this might have been -avoided if the men could have had relief earlier. An extract from a -letter to her sister-in-law, written in the summer of 1862, indicates -something of her feeling at this time: - - WASHINGTON, D.C., June 26th, 1862 - - MY DEAR SISTER JULIA: - - I cannot make a pleasant letter of this; everything is sad; the very - pain which is breathed out in the atmosphere of this city is enough - to sadden any human heart. Five thousand suffering men, and room - preparing for eight thousand more,--poor, fevered, cut-up wretches, - it agonizes me to think of it. I go when I can; to-day am having a - visit from a little Massachusetts (Lowell) boy, seventeen, his widowed - mother’s only child, whom I found recovering from fever in Mount - Pleasant Hospital. It had left him with rheumatism. He was tender, - and, when I asked him “what he wanted,” burst in tears and said, “I - want to _see my mother_. She didn’t know when I left.” I appealed - to the chief surgeon and applied for his discharge as a native of - Massachusetts. It was promised me, and, when the astonished little - fellow heard it, he threw himself across the back of his chair and - sobbed so he could scarcely get his breath. He had been ordered to - another hospital next day; the order was checked; this was a week ago, - and _yesterday he came to me discharged_, and with forty-three - dollars and some new clothes. I send him on _to-night_ to his - mother as a Sunday present. She knows nothing of it, only that he is - suffering in hospital. I am ungrateful to be heavy-hearted when I have - been able to do _only that little_. His name is William Diggles, - nephew of Jonas Diggles, tailor of New Sharon, Maine. - -Authentic news of battles reached Washington slowly. At first there was -no certainty whether a battle was a battle or only a skirmish. Then, -when it became certain that a battle had been fought, the first news -was almost always unreliable. It would have been a great advantage -if Clara Barton could have known where a battle was to be fought. -Manifestly, she could not always know. The generals in command did -not always know. But there were times when official Washington had -premonitory information. She sought to establish relationship with -sufficiently high authority to enable her to know in advance where such -battles were to be fought as were brought on by a Union offensive. On -Saturday night, September 13, 1862, she had secret information that a -great battle was about to be fought. A small battle had been fought the -day before and it had been disastrous. There had been an engagement -at Harper’s Ferry in which the Union army had 44 killed, 173 wounded, -and the amazing number of 12,520 missing or captured. She already -suspected, and a little later she knew, that that long list of men -missing and captured, was more ominous than an added number killed or -wounded: - -“Our army was weary,” she said, “and lacked not only physical strength, -but confidence and spirit. And why should they not? Always defeated! -Always on the retreat! I was almost demoralized myself! And I had just -commenced.” - -She “had just commenced”; that was characteristic of her. She had been -ministering to the soldiers ever since the day when the first blood was -shed on the 19th of April, 1861, and had been at it without rest or -stint ever since. But she had just commenced; she had just learned how -to do it in the way that was hereafter to characterize her methods. - -The defeat at Harper’s Ferry threw Washington into a panic. But it -moved McClellan to a long-deferred engagement with the Union forces in -the offensive. - - The long maneuvering and skirmishing [she wrote], had yielded no - fruit. Pope had been sacrificed and all the blood shed from Yorktown - to Malvern Hill seemed to have been utterly in vain. But the minor - keys, upon which I played my infinitesimal note in the great anthem - of war and victory which rang through the land when these two fearful - forces met and closed, with gun-lock kissing gun-lock across the rocky - bed of Antietam, are yet known only to a few. Washington was filled - with dismay, and all the North was moved as a tempest stirs a forest. - - Maryland lay temptingly in view, and Lee and Jackson with the flower - of the rebel army marched for its ripening fields. Who it was that - whispered hastily on Saturday night, September 13,--“_Harper’s - Ferry, not a moment to be lost_”--I have never dared to name. - - In thirty minutes I was waiting the always kindly spoken “_Come - in_,” of my patron saint, Major, now Quartermaster-General, Rucker. - - “Major,” I said--“I want to go to Harper’s Ferry; can I go?” - - “Perhaps so,” he replied, with genial but doubtful expression. - “Perhaps so; do you want a conveyance?” - - “Yes,” I said. - - “But an army wagon is the only vehicle that will reach there with any - burden in safety. I can send you one of these to-morrow morning.” - - I said, “I will be ready.” - - But here was to begin a new experience for me. I was to ride eighty - miles in an army wagon, and straight into battle and danger at that. - - I could take no female companion, no friend, but the stout working-men - I had use for. - - You, who are accustomed to see a coach and a pair of fine horses with - a well-dressed, gentlemanly driver draw up to your door, will scarcely - appreciate the sensation with which I watched the approach of the long - and high, white-covered, tortoise-motioned vehicle, with its string of - little, frisky, long-eared animals, with the broad-shouldered driver - astride, and the eternal jerk of the single rein by which he navigated - his craft up to my door. - - The time, you will remember, was Sunday; the place, 7th Street, just - off Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington City. - - Then and there, my vehicle was loaded, with boxes, bags, and parcels, - and, last of all, I found a place for myself and the four men who were - to go with me. - - I took no Saratoga trunk, but remembered, at the last moment, to tie - up a few articles in my handkerchief. - - Thus equipped, and seated, my chain of little uneasy animals - commenced to straighten itself, and soon brought us into the center - of Pennsylvania Avenue, in full gaze of the whole city in its best - attire, and on its way to church. - - Thus all day we rattled on over the stones and dikes, and up and down - the hills of Maryland. - - At nightfall we turned into an open field, and, dismounting, built a - camp-fire, prepared supper, and retired, I to my work in my wagon, the - men wrapped in their blankets, camping about me. - - All night an indistinct roar of artillery sounded upon our ears, and - waking or sleeping, we were conscious of trouble ahead; but it was - well for our rest that no messenger came to tell us how death reveled - among our brave troops that night. - - Before daybreak, we had breakfasted, and were on our way. You will - not infer that, because by ourselves, we were alone upon the road. We - were directly in the midst of a train of army wagons, at least ten - miles in length, moving in solid column--the Government supplies and - ammunition, food, and medicine for an army in battle. - - Weary and sick from their late exposures and hardships, the men were - falling by the wayside, faint, pale, and often dying. - - I busied myself as I rode on hour by hour in cutting loaves of bread - in slices and passing them to the pale, haggard wrecks as they sat - by the roadside, or staggered on to avoid capture, and at each little - village we entered, I purchased all the bread its inhabitants would - sell. - - Horses as well as men had suffered and their dead bodies strewed the - wayside. - - My poor words can never describe to you the consternation and horror - with which we descended from our wagon, and trod, there in the - mountain pass, that field of death. - - There, where we now walked with peaceful feet, twelve hours before the - ground had rocked with carnage. There in the darkness God’s angels of - wrath and death had swept and, foe facing foe, the souls of men went - out. And there, side by side, stark and cold in death mingled the - Northern Blue and the Southern Gray. - - To such of you as have stood in the midst or followed in the track - of armies and witnessed the strange and dreadful confusion of recent - battle-grounds, I need not describe this field. And to you who have - not, no description would ever avail. - - The giant rocks, hanging above our heads, seemed to frown upon the - scene, and the sighing trees which hung lovingly upon their rugged - edge drooped low and wept their pitying dews upon the livid brows and - ghastly wounds beneath. - - Climbing hills and clambering over ledges we sought in vain for some - poor wretch in whom life had still left the power to suffer. Not one - remained, and, grateful for this, but shocked and sick of heart, we - returned to our waiting conveyance. - -So far as Harper’s Ferry was concerned, her advance information -appeared to have come too late to be of any value. The number of -wounded was not large, and these had all been taken to Frederick, -Maryland. Only the day before, Stonewall Jackson and his men had passed -through, and Barbara Frietchie had refused to haul down her flag. -There had not been many wounded, anyway; the Federal army simply had -failed to fight at Harper’s Ferry. The word “morale” was not then in -common use, but that was what the Union army had lost. On Monday, -September 15, 1862, was fought the battle of South Mountain, Maryland. -There Hooker and Franklin and Reno were defeated with a loss of 325 -men killed, 1403 wounded, and 85 prisoners. There were few prisoners -as compared with Harper’s Ferry, but that was partly because the -mountainous country gave the defeated Union soldiers a better chance to -escape. The defeat was beyond question, and General Reno was killed. -While Clara Barton was driving from Harper’s Ferry where she had -expected to find a battle, she came suddenly upon a battle-field, that -of South Mountain. There she did her ministering work. But Harper’s -Ferry and South Mountain were both preliminary to the real battle of -which she had had her Washington warning. And now she made a discovery. -If she was ever to get to the front in time to be of the greatest -possible service, she must short-circuit the ordinary military method -which would have put her and her equipment among the baggage-wagons. -For her the motto from this time on was, “Follow the cannon.” This -gave her something approaching an open road, and afforded her the -opportunity which she was just learning how to utilize with greatest -efficiency. - - The increase of stragglers along the road [Miss Barton recalled] - was alarming, showing that our army was weary, and lacked not only - physical strength, but confidence and spirit. - - And why should they not? Always defeated! Always on the retreat! I - was almost demoralized myself! And I had just commenced. - - I have already spoken of the great length of the army train, and that - we could no more change our position than one of the planets. Unless - we should wait and fall in the rear, we could not advance a single - wagon. - - And for the benefit of those who may not understand, I may say that - the order of the train was, first, ammunition; next, food and clothing - for well troops; and finally, the hospital supplies. Thus, in case - of the battle the needed stores for the army, according to the slow, - cautious movement of such bodies, must be from two to three days in - coming up. - - Meanwhile, as usual, our men must languish and die. Something must - be done to gain time. And I resorted to strategy. We found an early - resting-place, supped by our camp-fire, and slept again among the dews - and damps. - - At one o’clock, when everything was still, we arose, breakfasted, - harnessed, and moved on past the whole train, which like ourselves had - camped for the night. At daylight we had gained ten miles and were up - with the artillery and in advance even of the ammunition. - - All that weary, dusty day I followed the cannon, and nightfall brought - us up with the great Army of the Potomac, 80,000 men resting upon - their arms in the face of a foe equal in number, sullen, straitened, - and desperate. - - Closely following the guns we drew up where they did, among the - smoke of the thousand camp-fires, men hastening to and fro, and the - atmosphere loaded with noxious vapors, till it seemed the very breath - of pestilence. We were upon the left wing of the army, and this was - the last evening’s rest of Burnside’s men. To how many hundred it - proved the last rest upon the earth, the next day’s record shows. - - In all this vast assemblage I saw no other trace of womankind. I was - faint, but could not eat; weary, but could not sleep; depressed, but - could not weep. - - So I climbed into my wagon, tied down the cover, dropped down in - the little nook I had occupied so long, and prayed God with all the - earnestness of my soul to stay the morrow’s strife or send us victory. - And for my poor self, that He impart somewhat of wisdom and strength - to my heart, nerve to my arm, speed to my feet, and fill my hands for - the terrible duties of the coming day. Heavy and sad I awaited its - approach. - -The battle of Antietam occurred on September 16 and 17, 1862. It was -the first battle in the East that roused to any considerable degree the -forlorn hope of the friends of the Union. It was the first real Eastern -victory for the Union army. It was not as decided a victory as it ought -to have been, but it was a victory. It put heart into Abraham Lincoln -and certified to his conscience that the time had come to redeem the -promise he had made to God--that if He would give victory to the Union -arms Lincoln would free the slaves. McClellan did not follow up his -advantage as he should have done and make that victory triumphant. But -he did something other than delay and retreat, and he put some heart -into the Union army when it discovered that it need not forever be on -the defensive, nor always suffer defeat. In this great, and, in spite -of its limitations, victorious, battle, Clara Barton was on the ground -before the first gun was fired, and she did not leave the field until -the last wounded man had been cared for. At the outset she watched the -battle, but almost immediately she laid down her field-glasses, went -to the place where the wounded were being brought in, and was able to -perform her work of ministration without a single hour’s delay. - -She told her story of the conflict as she saw it: - - The battle commenced on the right and already with the aid of - field-glasses we saw our own forces, led by “Fighting Joe” [Hooker], - overborne and falling back. - - Burnside commenced to send cavalry and artillery to his aid, and, - thinking our place might be there, we followed them around eight - miles, turning into a cornfield near a house and barn, and stopping - in the rear of the last gun, which completed the terrible line of - artillery which ranged diagonally in the rear of Hooker’s army. That - day a garden wall only separated us. The infantry were already driven - back two miles, and stood under cover of the guns. The fighting had - been fearful. We had met wounded men, walking or borne to the rear - for the last two miles. But around the old barn there lay, too badly - wounded to admit of removal, some three hundred thus early in the day, - for it was scarce ten o’clock. - - We loosened our mules and commenced our work. The corn was so high as - to conceal the house, which stood some distance to the right, but, - judging that a path which I observed must lead to it, and also that - surgeons must be operating there, I took my arms full of stimulants - and bandages and followed the opening. - - Arriving at a little wicker gate, I found the dooryard of a small - house, and myself face to face with one of the kindest and noblest - surgeons I have ever met, Dr. Dunn, of Conneautville, Pennsylvania. - - Speechless both, for an instant, he at length threw up his hands with - “God has indeed remembered us! How did you get from Virginia here so - soon? And again to supply our necessities! And they are terrible. We - have nothing but our instruments and the little chloroform we brought - in our pockets. We have torn up the last sheets we could find in this - house. We have not a bandage, rag, lint, or string, and all these - shell-wounded men bleeding to death.” - - Upon the porch stood four tables, with an etherized patient upon each, - a surgeon standing over him with his box of instruments, and a bunch - of green corn leaves beside him. - - With what joy I laid my precious burden down among them, and thought - that never before had linen looked so white, or wine so red. Oh! - be grateful, ladies, that God put it in your hearts to perform the - work you did in those days. How doubly sanctified was the sacred old - household linen woven by the hands of the sainted mother long gone to - her reward. For you arose the tender blessings of those grateful men, - which linger in my memory as faithfully to-night as do the bugle notes - which called them to their doom. - - Thrice that day was the ground in front of us contested, lost, and - won, and twice our men were driven back under cover of that fearful - range of guns, and each time brought its hundreds of wounded to our - crowded ground. - - A little after noon, the enemy made a desperate attempt to regain - what had been lost; Hooker, Sedgwick, Dana, Richardson, Hartsuff, and - Mansfield had been borne wounded from the field and the command of the - right wing devolved upon General Howard. - - The smoke became so dense as to obscure our sight, and the hot, - sulphurous breath of battle dried our tongues and parched our lips to - bleeding. - - We were in a slight hollow, and all shell which did not break over our - guns in front came directly among or over us, bursting above our heads - or burying themselves in the hills beyond. - - A man lying upon the ground asked for a drink; I stopped to give it, - and, having raised him with my right hand, was holding him. - - Just at this moment a bullet sped its free and easy way between us, - tearing a hole in my sleeve and found its way into his body. He fell - back dead. There was no more to be done for him and I left him to - his rest. I have never mended that hole in my sleeve. I wonder if a - soldier ever does mend a bullet hole in his coat? - - The patient endurance of these men was most astonishing. As many as - could be were carried into the barn, as a slight protection against - random shot. Just outside the door lay a man wounded in the face, the - ball having entered the lower maxillary on the left side and lodged - among the bones of the right cheek. His imploring look drew me to - him, when, placing his finger upon the sharp protuberance, he said, - “Lady, will you tell me what this is that burns so?” I replied that it - must be the ball which had been too far spent to cut its way entirely - through. - - “It is terribly painful,” he said. “Won’t you take it out?” - - I said I would go to the tables for a surgeon. “No! No!” he said, - catching my dress. “They cannot come to me. I must wait my turn, for - this is a little wound. You can get the ball. There is a knife in your - pocket. Please take the ball out for me.” - - This was a new call. I had never severed the nerves and fibers of - human flesh, and I said I could not hurt him so much. He looked up, - with as nearly a smile as such a mangled face could assume, saying, - “You cannot hurt me, dear lady, I can endure any pain that your hands - can create. Please do it. It will relieve me so much.” - - I could not withstand his entreaty and, opening the best blade of - my pocket-knife, prepared for the operation. Just at his head lay a - stalwart orderly sergeant from Illinois, with a face beaming with - intelligence and kindness, and who had a bullet directly through the - fleshy part of both thighs. He had been watching the scene with great - interest and, when he saw me commence to raise the poor fellow’s head, - and no one to support it, with a desperate effort he succeeded in - raising himself to a sitting posture, exclaiming as he did so, “I will - help do that.” Shoving himself along the ground he took the wounded - head in his hands and held it while I extracted the ball and washed - and bandaged the face. - - I do not think a surgeon would have pronounced it a scientific - operation, but that it was successful I dared to hope from the - gratitude of the patient. - - I assisted the sergeant to lie down again, brave and cheerful as he - had risen, and passed on to others. - - Returning in half an hour, I found him weeping, the great tears - rolling diligently down his manly cheeks. I thought his effort had - been too great for his strength and expressed my fears. “Oh! No! No! - Madam,” he replied. “It is not for myself. I am very well, but,” - pointing to another just brought in, he said, “this is my comrade, and - he tells me that our regiment is all cut to pieces, that my captain - was the last officer left, and he is dead.” - - Oh, God! what a costly war! This man could laugh at pain, face death - without a tremor, and yet weep like a child over the loss of his - comrades and his captain. - - At two o’clock my men came to tell me that the last loaf of bread had - been cut and the last cracker pounded. We had three boxes of wine - still unopened. What should they do? - - “Open the wine and give that,” I said, “and God help us.” - - The next instant an ejaculation from Sergeant Field, who had opened - the first box, drew my attention, and, to my astonished gaze, the wine - had been packed in nicely sifted Indian meal. - - If it had been gold dust it would have seemed poor in comparison. I - had no words. No one spoke. In silence the men wiped their eyes and - resumed their work. - - Of twelve boxes of wine which we carried, the first nine, when opened, - were found packed in sawdust, the last three, when all else was gone, - in Indian meal. - - A woman would not hesitate long under circumstances like these. - - This was an old farmhouse. Six large kettles were picked up and set - over fires, almost as quickly as I can tell it, and I was mixing water - and meal for gruel. - - It occurred to us to explore the cellar. The chimney rested on an - arch, and, forcing the door, we discovered three barrels and a bag. - “They are full,” said the sergeant, and, rolling one into the light, - found that it bore the mark of Jackson’s army. These three barrels of - flour and a bag of salt had been stored there by the rebel army during - its upward march. - - I shall never experience such a sensation of wealth and competency - again, from utter poverty to such riches. - - All that night my thirty men (for my corps of workers had increased - to that number during the day) carried buckets of hot gruel for miles - down the line to the wounded and dying where they fell. - - This time, profiting by experience, we had lanterns to hang in and - around the barn, and, having directed it to be done, I went to the - house and found the surgeon in charge, sitting alone, beside a table, - upon which he rested his elbow, apparently meditating upon a bit of - tallow candle which flickered in the center. - - Approaching carefully, I said, “You are tired, Doctor.” He started - up with a look almost savage, “Tired! Yes, I am tired, tired of such - heartlessness, such carelessness!” Turning full upon me, he continued: - “Think of the condition of things. Here are at least one thousand - wounded men, terribly wounded, five hundred of whom cannot live till - daylight, without attention. That two inches of candle is all I have - or can get. What can I do? How can I endure it?” - - I took him by the arm, and, leading him to the door, pointed in the - direction of the barn where the lanterns glistened like stars among - the waving corn. - - “What is that?” he exclaimed. - - “The barn is lighted,” I said, “and the house will be directly.” - - “Who did it?” - - “I, Doctor.” - - “Where did you get them?” - - “Brought them with me.” - - “How many have you?” - - “All you want--four boxes.” - - He looked at me a moment, as if waking from a dream, turned away - without a word, and never alluded to the circumstances, but the - deference which he paid me was almost painful. - -During a lecture in the West, Miss Barton related this incident, and -as she closed a gentleman sprang upon the stage, and, addressing -the audience, exclaimed: “Ladies and gentlemen, if I never have -acknowledged that favor, I will do it now. I am that surgeon.” - - Darkness [Miss Barton continues] brought silence and peace, and - respite and rest to our gallant men. As they had risen, regiment by - regiment, from their grassy beds in the morning, so at night the - fainting remnant again sank down on the trampled blood-stained earth, - the weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. - - Through the long starlit night we wrought and hoped and prayed. But - it was only when in the hush of the following day, as we glanced over - that vast Aceldama, that we learned at what a fearful cost the gallant - Union army had won the battle of Antietam. - - Antietam! With its eight miles of camping armies, face to face; - 160,000 men to spring up at dawn like the old Scot from the heather! - Its miles of artillery shaking the earth like a chain of Ætnas! - Its ten hours of uninterrupted battle! Its thunder and its fire! - The sharp, unflinching order,--“Hold the Bridge, boys,--always the - Bridge.” At length, the quiet! The pale moonlight on its cooling guns! - The weary men, the dying and the dead! The flag of truce that buried - our enemies slain, and Antietam was fought, and won, and the foe - turned back! - -Clara Barton remained on the battle-field of Antietam until her -supplies were exhausted and she was completely worn out. Not only -fatigue but fever came upon her, and she was carried back to Washington -apparently sick. But the call of duty gave her fresh strength, and she -was soon wondering where the next battle was to be and planning to -be on the field. Almost the only entry in her diary in the autumn of -1862, aside from memoranda of wounded men and similar entries relating -to people other than herself, is one of October 23, which she began -in some detail, but broke off abruptly. She records that she “left -Washington for Harper’s Ferry expecting to meet a battle there. Have -taken four teams of Colonel Rucker loaded at his office, traveled and -camped as usual, reaching Harper’s Ferry the third day. At the first -end of the pontoon bridge one of Peter’s mules ran off and we delayed -the progress of the army for twenty minutes to be extricated.” - -The rest of the entry contains the names of her drivers, details of the -overturned wagon, and other memoranda. Two things are of interest in -this fragmentary record. One is the definiteness of the method which -she now had adopted of going where she “expected to meet a battle.” -The other is the fact that a delay of twenty minutes, caused by an -accident to one of her wagons on the pontoon bridge, illustrates a -reason why, in general, armies cannot permit even so necessary things -as supplies for the wounded to get in the way of the free movement -of troops. However, this delay was quite exceptional. She did not -usually cause any inconvenience of this sort, nor did it in this -instance result in any serious harm. On this occasion she was provided -with an ambulance for her own use. That thoughtful provision for her -convenience and means of conserving her energy, was provided for her -by Quartermaster-General Rucker. - -On this journey the question was decided who was really in command of -her part of the expedition. In one of her lectures she described her -associates on this and subsequent expeditions: - - There may be those present who are curious to know how eight or ten - rough, stout men, who knew nothing of me, received the fact that they - were to drive their teams under the charge of a lady. - - This question has been so often asked in private that I deem it proper - to answer it publicly. - - Well, the various expressions of their faces afforded a study. They - were not soldiers, but civilians in Government employ. Drovers, - butchers, hucksters, mule-breakers, probably not one of them had ever - passed an hour in what could be termed “ladies’ society,” in his life. - But every man had driven through the whole peninsular campaign. Every - one of them had taken his team unharmed out of that retreat, and had - sworn an oath never to drive another step in Virginia. - - They were brave and skillful, understood their business to perfection, - but had no art. They said and looked what they thought; and I - understood them at a glance. - -These teamsters proposed to go into camp at four o’clock in the -afternoon, and start when they got ready in the morning, but she first -established her authority over them, and then cooked them a hot supper, -the first and last she ever cooked for army teamsters, and they came -to her later in the evening, apologized for their obstinacy, and were -ready to drive her anywhere. - - “We come to tell you we are ashamed of ourselves” [their leader said]. - - I thought honest confession good for the soul, and did not interrupt - him. - - “The truth is,” he continued, “in the first place we didn’t want to - come. There’s fighting ahead and we’ve seen enough of that for men who - don’t carry muskets, only whips; and then we never seen a train under - charge of a woman before and we couldn’t understand it, and we didn’t - like it, and we thought we’d break it up, and we’ve been mean and - contrary all day, and said a good many hard things and you’ve treated - us like gentlemen. We hadn’t no right to expect that supper from you, - a better meal than we’ve had in two years. And you’ve been as polite - to us as if we’d been the General and his staff, and it makes us - ashamed. And we’ve come to ask your forgiveness. We shan’t trouble you - no more.” - - My forgiveness was easily obtained. I reminded them that as men it was - their duty to go where the country had need of them. As for my being - a woman, they would get accustomed to that. And I assured them that, - as long as I had any food, I would share it with them. That, when they - were hungry and supperless, I should be; that if harm befell them, I - should care for them; if sick, I should nurse them; and that, under - all circumstances, I should treat them like gentlemen. - - They listened silently, and, when I saw the rough, woolen coat-sleeves - drawing across their faces, it was one of the best moments of my life. - - Bidding me “good-night” they withdrew, excepting the leader, who went - to my ambulance, hung a lighted lantern in the top, arranged the few - quilts inside for my bed, assisted me up the steps, buckled the canvas - down snugly outside, covered the fire safely for morning, wrapped his - blanket around him, and lay down a few feet from me on the ground. - - At daylight I became conscious of low voices and stifled sounds, and - soon discovered that these men were endeavoring to speak low and feed - and harness their teams quietly, not to disturb me. - - On the other side I heard the crackling of blazing chestnut rails and - the rattling of dishes, and George came with a bucket of fresh water, - to undo my buckle door latches, and announce that breakfast was nearly - ready. - - I had cooked my last meal for my drivers. These men remained with me - six months through frost and snow and march and camp and battle; and - nursed the sick, dressed the wounded, soothed the dying, and buried - the dead; and if possible grew kinder and gentler every day. - -There was one serious difficulty about following advance information -and attempting to be on the battle-field when the battle occurred. The -battle does not always occur at the time and place expected. The battle -at Harper’s Ferry in October, 1862, did not take place as planned. -General Lee may have received the same advance information which was -conveyed to Clara Barton. At all events, he was not among those present -when the battle was scheduled to take place. He withdrew his army and -waited until he was ready to fight. McClellan decided to follow Lee, -and Clara Barton moved with the army. As she moved, she cared for the -sick, supplying them from her own stores, returning to Washington with -a body of sick men about the first of December. She was suffering from -a felon on her hand from the first of November until near the end of -that month. Her hand was lanced in the open field, and she suffered -from the cold, but did not complain. - -She did not remain long in Washington, but returned by way of Acquia -Creek and met the army at Falmouth. From Falmouth she wrote a letter -to some of the women who had been assisting her, and sent it by the -hand of the Reverend C. M. Wells, one of her reliable associates. -It contains references to her sore finger and to the nature of -accommodations: - - CAMP NEAR FALMOUTH, VA. - HEADQUARTERS GENERAL STURGIS, 2ND DIVISION - - December 8th, 1862 - - MESSRS. BROWN & CO. - - DEAR FRIENDS: - - Mr. Wells returns to-morrow and I improve the opportunity to send a - line by him to you, not feeling quite certain if posted matter reaches - directly when sent from the army. - - We reached Acquia Creek safely in the time anticipated, and to my - great joy learned immediately that our old friend Captain (Major) Hall - (of the 21st) was Quartermaster. As soon as the boat was unloaded, he - came on board and spent the remainder of the evening with me.--We had - a _home_ chat, I assure you. Remained till the next day, sent a - barrel of apples, etc., up to the Captain’s quarters, and proceeded - with the remainder of our luggage, for which it is needless to say - _ready transportation_ was found, and the Captain chided me for - having left anything behind at the depot, as I told him I had done. On - reaching Falmouth Station we found another old friend, Captain Bailey, - in charge, who instituted _himself_ as watch over the goods until - he sent them all up to Headquarters. My ambulance came through that - P.M., but for fear it might not, General Sturgis had his - taken down for me, and had supper arranged and a splendid serenade. - I don’t know how we could have had a warmer “welcome home,” as the - officers termed it. - - Headquarters are in the dooryard of a farmhouse, one room of which is - occupied by Miss G. and myself. My wagons are a little way from me, - out of sight, and I am wishing for a tent and stove to pitch and live - near them. The weather is cold, and the ground covered with snow, - but I could make me comfortable with a good tent, floor, and stove, - and should prefer it to a room in a rebel house and one so generally - occupied. - - The 21st are a few rods from me; many of the officers call to see me - every day. Colonel Clark is very neighborly; he is looking finely now; - he was in this P.M., and was going in search of Colonel Morse - whom he thought to be a mile or two distant. I learned to-night that - the 15th are only some three miles away; the 36th I cannot find yet. I - have searched hard for them and shall get on their track soon, I trust. - - Of army movements nothing can be said with certainty; no two - persons, not even the generals, agree in reference to the future - programme. The snow appears to have deranged the plans very - seriously. I have received calls from two generals to-day, and - in the course of conversation I discovered that their views were - entirely different. General Burnside stood a long time in front of - my door to-day, but to my astonishment _he did not express his - opinion_--STRANGE! - - I have not suffered for want of the boots yet, but should find them - convenient, I presume, and shall be glad to see them. The sore finger - is much the same; not _very_ troublesome, although somewhat - so. If you desire to reach this point, I think you would find no - difficulty after getting past the guard at Washington--at Acquia you - would find all right I am sure. - - I can think of a host of things I wish you could take out to me. - -In spite of her wish that she might have had a tent, and so have -avoided living in a captured house, her residence was the Lacy house -on the shore of the Rappahannock and close to Fredericksburg. There -was nothing uncertain about her information this time. She knew when -the battle was to occur, and at two o’clock in the morning she wrote -a letter to her cousin, Vira Stone, just before the storm of battle -broke: - - HEADQUARTERS 2ND DIVISION - ARMY OF THE POTOMAC - CAMP NEAR FALMOUTH, VA. - - December 12, 1862, 2 o’clock A.M. - - DEAR COUSIN VIRA: - - Five minutes’ time with you, and God only knows what that five minutes - might be worth to the--may be--doomed thousands sleeping around - me. It is the night before a “battle.” The enemy, Fredericksburg, - and its mighty entrenchments lie before us--the river between. At - to-morrow’s dawn our troops will essay to cross and the guns of the - enemy will sweep their frail bridges at every breath. The moon is - shining through the soft haze with a brightness almost prophetic; - for the last half-hour I have stood alone in the awful stillness of - its glimmering light gazing upon the strange, sad scene around me - striving to say, “Thy will, O God, be done.” The camp-fires blaze with - unwonted brightness, the sentry’s tread is still but quick, the scores - of little shelter tents are dark and still as death; no wonder, for, - as I gazed sorrowfully upon them, I thought I could almost hear the - slow flap of the grim messenger’s wings as one by one he sought and - selected his victims for the morning’s sacrifice. - - Sleep, weary ones, sleep and rest for to-morrow’s toil! Oh, sleep and - visit in dreams once more the loved ones nestling at home! They may - yet live to dream of you, cold, lifeless, and bloody; but this dream, - soldier, is thy last; paint it brightly, dream it well. Oh, Northern - mothers, wives, and sisters, all unconscious of the peril of the hour, - would to Heaven that I could bear for you the concentrated woe which - is so soon to follow; would that Christ would teach my soul a prayer - that would plead to the Father for grace sufficient for you all! God - pity and strengthen you every one. - - Mine are not the only waking hours; the light yet burns brightly in - our kind-hearted General’s tent, where he pens what may be a last - farewell to his wife and children, and thinks sadly of his fated men. - Already the roll of the moving artillery is sounding in my ears. The - battle draws near and I must catch one hour’s sleep for to-day’s labor. - - Good-night, and Heaven grant you strength for your more peaceful and - terrible, but not less weary, days than mine. - - CLARA - - -All her apprehensions were less than the truth. It was a terrible -battle, and a disheartening disaster. The Union army lost 1284 in -killed, 9600 wounded, and 1769 missing. The memories of Fredericksburg -remained with her distinct and terrible to the day of her death. She -described the battle and the events which followed it in her war -lectures: - - We found ourselves beside a broad, muddy river, and a little canvas - city grew up in a night upon its banks. And there we sat and waited - “while the world wondered.” Ay, it did more than wonder! It murmured, - it grumbled, it cried shame, to sit there and shiver under the canvas. - “Cross over the river and occupy those brick houses on the other - shore!” The murmurs grew to a clamor! - - Our gallant leader heard them and his gentle heart grew sore as he - looked upon his army that he loved as it loved him and looked upon - those fearful sights beyond. Carelessness or incapacity at the capital - had baffled his best-laid plans till time had made his foes a wall of - adamant. Still the country murmured. You, friends, have not forgotten - how, for these were the dark days of old Fredericksburg, and our - little canvas city was Falmouth. - - Finally, one soft, hazy winter’s day the army prepared for an attack; - but there was neither boat nor bridge, and the sluggish tide rolled - dark between. - - The men of Hooker and Franklin were right and left, but here in the - center came the brave men of the silvery-haired Sumner. - - Drawn up in line they wait in the beautiful grounds of the stately - mansion whose owner, Lacy, had long sought the other side, and stood - that day aiming engines of destruction at the home of his youth and - the graves of his household. - - There on the second portico I stood and watched the engineers as they - moved forward to construct a pontoon bridge. It will be remembered - that the rebel army occupying the heights of Fredericksburg previous - to the attack was very cautious about revealing the position of its - guns. - - A few boats were fastened and the men marched quickly on with timbers - and planks. For a few rods it proved a success, and scarcely could the - impatient troops be restrained from rending the air with shouts of - triumph. - - On marches the little band with brace and plank, but never to be laid - by them. A rain of musket balls has swept their ranks and the brave - fellows lie level with the bridge or float down the stream. - - No living thing stirs on the opposite bank. No enemy is in sight. - Whence comes this rain of death? - - Maddened by the fate of their comrades, others seize the work and - march onward to their doom. For now, the balls are hurling thick and - fast, not only at the bridge, but over and beyond to the limit of - their range--crashing through the trees, the windows and doors of the - Lacy house. And ever here and there a man drops in the waiting ranks, - silently as a snowflake. And his comrades bear him in for help, or - back for a grave. - - There on the lower bank under a slouched hat stands the man of honest - heart and genial face that a soldier could love and honor even through - defeat. The ever-trusted, gallant Burnside. Hark--that deep-toned - order rising above the heads of his men: “Bring the guns to bear and - shell them out.” - - Then rolled the thunder and the fire. For two long hours the shot - and shell hurled through the roofs and leveled the spires of - Fredericksburg. Then the little band of engineers resumed its work, - but ere ten spaces of the bridge were gained, they fell like grass - before the scythe. - - For an instant all stand aghast; then ran the murmurs: “The cellars - are filled with sharp-shooters and our shell will never reach them.” - - But once more over the heads of his men rose that deep-toned order: - “_Man the boats._” - - Into the boats like tigers then spring the 7th Michigan. - - “Row!! Row!! Ply for your lives, boys.” And they do. But mark! They - fall, some into the boats, some out. Other hands seize the oars and - strain and tug with might and main. Oh, how slow the seconds drag! How - long we have held our breath. - - Almost across--under the bluffs--and out of range! Thank God--they’ll - land! - - Ah, yes; but not all. Mark the windows and doors of those houses above - them. See the men swarming from them armed to the teeth and rushing to - the river. - - They’ve reached the bluffs above the boats. Down point the muskets. - Ah, that rain of shot and shell and flame! - - Out of the boats waist-deep in the water; straight through the fire. - Up, up the bank the boys in blue! Grimly above, that line of gray! - - Down pours the shot. Up, up the blue, till hand to hand like fighting - demons they wrestle on the edge. - - Can we breathe yet? No! Still they struggle. Ah, yes, they break, they - fly, up through the street and out of sight, pursuer and pursued. - - It were long to tell of that night crossing and the next terrible day - of fire and blood. And when the battle broke o’er field and grove, - like a resistless flood daylight exposed Fredericksburg with its - fourth-day flag of truce, its dead, starving, and wounded, frozen to - the ground. The wounded were brought to me, frozen, for days after, - and our commissions and their supplies at Washington with no effective - organization or power to go beyond! The many wounded lay, uncared for, - on the cold snow. - -Although the Lacy house was exposed to fire she was not permitted to -remain within the shelter of its walls. While the fight was at its -hottest, she crossed the river under fire for a place of greater danger -and of greater need: - - At ten o’clock of the battle day when the rebel fire was hottest, - the shell rolling down every street, and the bridge under the heavy - cannonade, a courier dashed over and, rushing up the steps of the Lacy - house, placed in my hand a crumpled, bloody slip of paper, a request - from the lion-hearted old surgeon on the opposite shore, establishing - his hospitals in the very jaws of death. - - The uncouth penciling said: “Come to me. Your place is here.” - - The faces of the rough men working at my side, which eight weeks ago - had flushed with indignation at the very thought of being controlled - by a woman, grew ashy white as they guessed the nature of the summons, - and the lips which had cursed and pouted in disgust trembled as they - begged me to send them, but save myself. I could only permit them to - go with me if they chose, and in twenty minutes we were rocking across - the swaying bridge, the water hissing with shot on either side. - - Over into that city of death, its roofs riddled by shell, its very - church a crowded hospital, every street a battle-line, every hill a - rampart, every rock a fortress, and every stone wall a blazing line of - forts! - - Oh, what a day’s work was that! How those long lines of blue, rank - upon rank, charged over the open acres, up to the very mouths of those - blazing guns, and how like grain before the sickle they fell and - melted away. - - An officer stepped to my side to assist me over the débris at the end - of the bridge. While our hands were raised in the act of stepping - down, a piece of an exploding shell hissed through between us, just - below our arms, carrying away a portion of both the skirts of his - coat and my dress, rolling along the ground a few rods from us like a - harmless pebble into the water. - - The next instant a solid shot thundered over our heads, a noble - steed bounded in the air, and, with his gallant rider, rolled in the - dirt, not thirty feet in the rear! Leaving the kind-hearted officer, - I passed on alone to the hospital. In less than a half-hour he was - brought to me--dead. - - I mention these circumstances not as specimens of my own bravery. - Oh, no! I beg you will not place that construction upon them, for I - never professed anything beyond ordinary courage, and a thousand times - preferred safety to danger. - - But I mention them that those of you, who have never seen a battle, - may the better realize the perils through which these brave men - passed, who for four long years bore their country’s bloody banner - in the face of death, and stood, a living wall of flesh and blood, - between the invading traitor and your peaceful homes. - - In the afternoon of Sunday an officer came hurriedly to tell me that - in a church across the way lay one of his men shot in the face the - day before. His wounds were bleeding slowly and, the blood drying and - hardening about his nose and mouth, he was in immediate danger of - suffocation. - - (Friends, this may seem to you repulsive, but I assure you that many a - brave and beautiful soldier has died of this alone.) - - Seizing a basin of water and a sponge, I ran to the church, to find - the report only too true. Among hundreds of comrades lay my patient. - For any human appearance above his head and shoulders, it might as - well have been anything but a man. - - I knelt by him and commenced with fear and trembling lest some unlucky - movement close the last aperture for breath. After some hours’ labor, - I began to recognize features. They seemed familiar. With what - impatience I wrought. Finally my hand wiped away the last obstruction. - An eye opened, and there to my gaze was the sexton of my old home - church! - - I have remarked that every house was a hospital. Passing from one to - another during the tumult of Saturday, I waited for a regiment of - infantry to sweep on its way to the heights. Being alone, and the only - woman visible among that moving sea of men, I naturally attracted the - attention of the old veteran, Provost Marshal General Patrick, who, - mistaking me for a resident of the city who had remained in her home - until the crashing shot had driven her into the street, dashed through - the waiting ranks to my side, and, bending down from his saddle, said - in his kindliest tones, “You are alone and in great danger, Madam. Do - you want protection?” - - Amused at his gallant mistake, I humored it by thanking him, as I - turned to the ranks, adding that I believed myself the best protected - woman in the United States. - - The soldiers near me caught my words, and responding with “That’s so! - That’s so!” set up a cheer. This in turn was caught by the next line - and so on, line after line, till the whole army joined in the shout, - no one knowing what he was cheering at, but never doubting there was a - victory somewhere. The gallant old General, taking in the situation, - bowed low his bared head, saying, as he galloped away, “I believe you - are right, Madam.” - - It would be difficult for persons in ordinary life to realize the - troubles arising from want of space merely for wounded men to occupy - when gathered together for surgical treatment and care. You may - suggest that “all out-of-doors” ought to be large, and so it would - seem, but the fact did not always prove so. Civilized men seek shelter - in sickness, and of this there was ever a scarcity. - - Twelve hundred men were crowded into the Lacy house, which contained - but twelve rooms. They covered every foot of the floors and porticoes, - and even lay on the stair landings! A man who could find opportunity - to lie between the legs of a table thought himself lucky: he was not - likely to be stepped on. In a common cupboard, with four shelves, five - men lay, and were fed and attended. Three lived to be removed, and two - died of their wounds. - - Think of trying to lie still and die quietly, lest you fall out of a - bed six feet high! - - Among the wounded of the 7th Michigan was one Faulkner, of Ashtabula - County, Ohio, a mere lad, shot through the lungs and, to all - appearances, dying. When brought in, he could swallow nothing, - breathed painfully, and it was with great difficulty that he gave me - his name and residence. He could not lie down, but sat leaning against - the wall in the corner of the room. - - I observed him carefully as I hurried past from one room to another, - and finally thought he had ceased to breathe. At this moment another - man with a similar wound was taken in on a stretcher by his comrades, - who sought in vain for a spot large enough to lay him down, and - appealed to me. I could only tell them that when that poor boy in the - corner was removed, they could set him down in his place. They went - to remove him, but, to the astonishment of all, he objected, opened - his eyes, and persisted in retaining his corner, which he did for some - two weeks, when, finally, a mere bundle of skin and bones, for he gave - small evidence of either flesh or blood, he was wrapped in a blanket - and taken away in an ambulance to Washington, with a bottle of milk - punch in his blouse, the only nourishment he could take. - - On my return to Washington, three months later, a messenger came from - Lincoln Hospital to say that the men of Ward 17 wanted to see me. - I returned with him, and as I entered the ward seventy men saluted - me, standing, such as could, others rising feebly in their beds, and - falling back--exhausted with the effort. - - Every man had left his blood in Fredericksburg--every one was from the - Lacy house. My hand had dressed every wound--many of them in the first - terrible moments of agony. I had prepared their food in the snow and - winds of December and fed them like children. - - How dear they had grown to me in their sufferings, and the three great - cheers that greeted my entrance into that hospital ward were dearer - than the applause. I would not exchange their memory for the wildest - hurrahs that ever greeted the ear of conqueror or king. When the first - greetings were over and the agitation had subsided somewhat, a young - man walked up to me with no apparent wound, with bright complexion, - and in good flesh. There was certainly something familiar in his face, - but I could not recall him, until, extending his hand with a smile, he - said, “I am Riley Faulkner, of the 7th Michigan. I didn’t die, and the - milk punch lasted all the way to Washington!” - -The author once inquired of Miss Barton how she dressed for these -expeditions. She dressed simply, she said, so that she could get -about easily, but her costume did not greatly differ from that of the -ordinary woman of the period. She added humorously that her wardrobe -was not wholly a matter of choice. Her clothes underwent such hard -usage that nothing lasted very long, and she was glad to wear almost -anything she could get. - -This was not wholly satisfactory, for those were the days of -hoop-skirts and other articles of feminine attire which had no -possible place in her work. From Mrs. Vassall the author obtained -somewhat more explicit information. She said: - - When Clara went to the front, she dressed in a plain black print - skirt with a jacket. She wished to dress so that she could easily get - about and not consume much time in dressing. Her clothing received - hard usage, and when she returned from any campaign to Washington, - she was in need of a new outfit. At one time the women of Oxford sent - her a box for her own personal use. Friends in Oxford furnished the - material, and Annie Childs made the dresses. The box was delivered at - her room during her absence, and she returned from the field, weary - and wet, her hair soaked and falling down her back, and entered her - cold and not very cheerful room. There she found this box with its - complete outfit, and kneeling beside it she burst into happy tears. - -The author counts it especially fortunate that he has been able to find -a letter from Clara relating to this very experience, which was on -the occasion of her return from the battle of Fredericksburg. It was -addressed to Annie Childs, and dated four months later: - - PORT ROYAL, May 28th, 1863 - - MY DEAR ANNIE: - - I remember, four long months ago, one cold, dreary, windy day, I - dragged me out from a chilly street-car that had found me ankle-deep - in the mud of the 6th Street wharf, and up the slippery street and - my long flights of stairs into a room, cheerless, in confusion, and - alone, looking in most respects as I had left it some months before, - with the exception of a mysterious _box_ which stood unopened - in the middle of the floor. All things looked strange to me, for in - that few months I had taken in so much that yet I had no clear views. - The great artist had been at work upon my brain and sketched it all - over with life scenes, and death scenes, never to be erased. The - fires of _Fredericksburg_ still blazed before my eyes, and her - cannon still thundered at my ear, while away down in the depths of my - heart I was smothering the groans and treasuring the prayers of her - dead and dying heroes; worn, weak, and heartsick, I was _home from - Fredericksburg_; and when, there, for the first time I looked at - myself, shoeless, gloveless, ragged, and blood-stained, a new sense - of desolation and pity and sympathy and weariness, all blended, swept - over me with irresistible force, and, perfectly overpowered, I sank - down upon the strange box, unquestioning its presence or import, and - wept as I had never done since the soft, hazy, winter night that saw - our attacking guns silently stealing their approach to the river, - ready at the dawn to ring out the shout of death to the waiting - thousands at their wheels. - - I said I wept, and so I did, and gathered strength and calmness - and consciousness--and finally the _strange box_, which had - afforded me my _first rest_, began to claim my attention; it was - clearly and handsomely marked to myself at Washington, and came by - express--so much for the outside; and a few pries with a hatchet, to - hands as well accustomed as mine, soon made the inside as visible, - only for the neat paper which covered all. It was doubtless something - sent to some soldier; pity I had not had it earlier--it might be too - late now; he might be past his wants or the kind remembrances of the - loved ones at home. The while I was busy in removing the careful - paper wrappings a letter, addressed to me, opened--“_From friends - in Oxford and Worcester_”--no signature. Mechanically I commenced - lifting up, one after another, hoods, shoes, boots, gloves, skirts, - handkerchiefs, collars, linen,--and that beautiful dress! look at it, - all made--who--! Ah, there is no mistaking the workmanship--Annie’s - scissors shaped and her skillful fingers fitted that. Now, I begin to - comprehend; while I had been away in the snows and frosts and rains - and mud of Falmouth, forgetting my friends, myself, to eat or sleep or - rest, forgetting everything but my God and the poor suffering victims - around me, these dear, kind friends, undismayed and not disheartened - by the great national calamity which had overtaken them, mourning, - perhaps, the loss of their own, had remembered _me_, and with - open hearts and willing hands had prepared this noble, thoughtful gift - for me at my return. It was too much, and this time, burying my face - in the dear tokens around me, I wept again as heartily as before, but - with very different sensations; a new chord was struck; my labors, - slight and imperfect as they had been, had been appreciated; I was not - alone; and then and there again I re-dedicated myself to my little - work of humanity, pledging before God all that I _have_, all that - I _am_, all that I _can_, and all that I _hope_ to be, - to the cause of _Justice_ and _Mercy_ and _Patriotism_, - my _Country_, and my _God_. And cheered and sustained as - I have been by the kind remembrances of old friends, the cordial - greeting of new ones, and the tearful, grateful blessings of the - thousands of noble martyrs to whose relief or comfort it has been my - blessed privilege to add my mite, I feel that my cup of happiness is - more than full. It is an untold privilege to have lived in this day - when there is work to be done, and, still more, to possess health and - strength to do it, and most of all to feel that I bear with me the - kindly feelings and perhaps prayers of the noble mothers and sisters - who have sent sons and brothers to fight the battles of the world in - the armies of Freedom. Annie, if it is not asking too much, now that I - have gathered up resolution enough to speak of the subject at all (for - I have never been able to before), I would like to know _to whom_ - besides yourself I am indebted for these beautiful and valuable gifts. - It is too tame and too little to say that I am thankful for them. - You did not _want that_, but I will say that, God willing, I - will _yet wear them where none of the noble donors would be ashamed - to have them seen_. Some of those gifts shall yet see service if - Heaven spare my life. With thanks I am the friend of my “Friends in - Oxford and Worcester.” - - CLARA BARTON - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -CLARA BARTON’S CHANGE OF BASE - -SPRING OF 1863 - - -The events we have been describing bring Miss Barton to the end of -1862. The greater part of the year 1863 was spent by her in entirely -different surroundings. Believing that the most significant military -events of that year would be found in connection with a campaign -against Charleston, South Carolina, and that the Army of the Potomac, -which she had thus far accompanied, was reasonably well cared for in -provisions which were in large degree the result of her establishment, -she began to consider the advisability of going farther south. - -Her reasons for this were partly military and partly personal. The -military aspect of the situation was that she learned in Washington -that the region about Charleston was likely to be the place of largest -service during the year 1863. On the personal side was first her great -desire to establish communication with her brother Stephen, who still -was in North Carolina. When Charleston was captured, the army could -move on into the interior. If she were somewhere near, she could have -a part in the rescue of her brother, and she had reason to believe -that he might have need of her service after his long residence within -the bounds of the Confederacy. Her brother David received a commission -in the Quartermaster’s Department, and he was sent to Hilton Head in -the vicinity of Charleston. Her cousin, Corporal Leander T. Poor, -in the Engineers’ Department, was assigned there, partly through -her influence. It seemed as though that field promised to her every -possible opportunity for public and private usefulness. There she could -most largely serve her country; there she could have the companionship -of her brother David and her cousin, Leander Poor; there she could most -probably establish communications with Stephen, who might be in great -need of her assistance. It is difficult to see how in the circumstances -she could have planned with greater apparent wisdom. If in any respect -the outcome failed to justify her expectations, it was because she -was no wiser with respect to the military developments of the year -1863 than were the highest officials in Washington. Her request for -permission to go to Port Royal was written early in 1863, and was -addressed to the Assistant Secretary of War. - -This request was promptly granted, and she was soon planning for a -change of scene. The first three months of 1863, however, were spent in -Washington, and we have few glimpses of her activities. In the middle -of January she rejoined the army, acting on information which led her -to believe that a battle was impending. - -It should be stated that Clara Barton’s diaries are most fragmentary -where there is most to record. She was much given to writing, and, -when she had time, enjoyed recording in detail almost everything that -happened. She was accustomed to record the names of her callers, -and the persons from whom she received, and those to whom she sent, -letters; her purchases with the cost of each; her receipts and -expenditures; her repairs to her wardrobe, and innumerable other little -items; but a large proportion of the most significant events in her -public life are not recorded in her diaries, or, if recorded at all, -are merely set down in catchwords, and the details are given, if at -all, in her letters. Of this expedition in the winter of 1863 we have -no word either in her diary, which she probably left in Washington, or -in her letters which she may have been too busy to write, or which, if -written, have not been preserved. Our knowledge of her departure upon -this expedition is contained in a letter from her nephew Samuel Barton: - - SURGEON-GENERAL’S OFFICE - WASHINGTON CITY, D.C., January 18th, 1863 - - MY DEAR COUSIN MARY: - - Your very acceptable letter, with Ada’s and Ida’s, was received last - Thursday evening. I could not answer sooner, for I have been quite - busy evenings ever since it was received. Aunt Clara left the city - this morning for the army. Her friend, Colonel Rucker, the Assistant - Quartermaster-General, told her last Thursday that the army were about - to move and they were expecting a fight and wanted her to go if she - felt able, so this morning she, Mr. Welles, who always goes with her - to the battles, and Mr. Doe, a Massachusetts man, took the steamboat - for Acquia Creek, where they will take the cars for Falmouth and there - join the army. Colonel Rucker gave her two new tents, and bread, - flour, meal, and a new stove, and requested her to telegraph to him - for anything she wanted and he would send it to her. Aunt Sally left - for Massachusetts last Thursday evening.... - - SAM BARTON - - -In the State House in Boston is the battle-flag of the 21st -Massachusetts, stained with the blood of Sergeant Thomas Plunkett. -Both his arms were shot away in the battle of Fredericksburg, but -he planted the flagstaff between his feet and upheld the flag with -his two shattered stumps of arms. Massachusetts has few relics so -precious as this flag. Clara Barton was with him at Fredericksburg -and ministered to him there, and remained his lifelong friend. In -many ways she manifested her interest in him, rendering her aid in a -popular movement which secured him a purse of $4000. Sergeant Plunkett -was in need of a pension, and Clara Barton addressed to the Senate’s -Committee on Military Affairs a memorial on his behalf. It was written -on Washington’s Birthday, after her return from the field: - - WASHINGTON, D.C., Feb. 22nd, ’63 - - TO THE MEMBERS OF THE - MILITARY COMMITTEE, U.S. SENATE. - - SENATORS: - - Nothing less than a strong conviction of duty owed to one of the - brave defenders of our Nation’s honor could induce me to intrude for - a moment upon the already burdened, and limited term of action yet - remaining to your honorable body. - - During the late Battle of Fredericksburg, the 21st Massachusetts - Regiment of Volunteers were ordered to charge upon a battery across an - open field; in the terrible fire which assailed them, the colors were - three times in quick succession bereft of their support; the third - time they were seized by Sergeant Thomas Plunkett, of Company E, and - borne over some three hundred yards of open space, when a shell from - the enemy’s battery in its murderous course killed three men of the - regiment and shattered both arms of the Sergeant. He could no longer - support the colors upright, but, planting his foot against the staff, - he endeavored to hold them up, while he strove by his shouts amid the - confusion to attract attention to their condition; for some minutes - he sustained them against his right arm torn and shattered just below - the shoulder, while the blood poured over and among the sacred folds, - literally obliterating the _stripes_, leaving as fit emblem of - such heroic sacrifice only the _crimson and the stars_. Thus - drenched in blood, and rent by the fury of eight battles, the noble - standard could be no longer borne, and, while its gallant defender - lay suffering in field hospital from amputation of _both_ arms, - it was reverently wrapped by Colonel Clark and returned to the State - House in Boston, with the request that others might be sent them; the - 21st had never lost their colors, but they had worn them out. - - The old flag and its brave bearer are alike past their usefulness save - as examples for emulation and titles of glory for some bright page - of our Nation’s history, and, while the one is carefully treasured - in the sacred archives of the State, need I more than ask of this - noble body to put forth its protecting arm to shelter, cherish, and - sustain the other? If guaranty were needful for the private character - of so true a _soldier_, it would have been found in the touching - address of his eloquent Colonel (Clark) delivered on Christmas beside - the stretcher waiting at the train at Falmouth to convey its helpless - burden to the car, whither he had been escorted not only by his - regiment, but his _General_. The tears which rolled over the - veteran cheeks around him were ample testimony of the love and respect - he had won from them, and to-day his heart’s deepest affections twine - round his gallant regiment as the defenders of their country. - - A moment’s reflection will obviate the necessity of any suggestions - in reference to the provisions needful for his future support; it is - only to be remembered that he can nevermore be unattended, a common - doorknob is henceforth as formidable to him as a prison bolt. His - little pension as a Sergeant would not remunerate an attendant for - placing his food in his mouth, to say nothing of how it shall be - obtained for _both_ of them. - - For the sake of formality merely, for to you gentlemen I know the - appeal is needless, I will close by praying your honorable body to - grant to Sergeant Plunkett such pension as shall in your noble wisdom - be ample for his future necessities and a fitting tribute to his - patriotic sacrifice. - - C. B. - - -The assignment of her brother David to duty in the vicinity of -Charleston was the event which decided her to ask for a transfer to -that field, or rather for permission to go there with supplies. - -It must be remembered that Miss Barton’s service was a voluntary -service. She was not an army nurse, and had no intention of becoming -one. The system of army nurses was under the direct supervision of -Dorothea Lynde Dix, a woman from her own county, and one for whom she -cherished feelings of the highest regard, but under whom she had no -intention of working. Indeed, it is one of the fine manifestations -of good sense on the part of Clara Barton that she never at any time -attempted what might have seemed an interference with Miss Dix, but -found for herself a field of service, and developed it according to a -method of her own. It will be well at this time to give some account -of Miss Dix, and a little outline of her great work in its relation to -that of Clara Barton. - -Dorothea Lynde Dix was born April 4, 1802, and died July 17, 1887. She -was twenty-nine years older than Clara Barton, and their lives had -many interesting parallels. Until the publication of her biography by -Francis Tiffany in 1890, it was commonly supposed that she was born in -Worcester County, Massachusetts, where she spent her childhood. But -her birth occurred in Maine. Unlike Clara Barton she had no happy home -memories. Her father was an unstable, visionary man, and it was on one -of his frequent and futile migrations that she was born. Her biographer -states that her childhood memories were so painful that “in no hour -of the most confidential intimacy could she be induced to unlock the -silence which, to the very end of life, she maintained as to all the -incidents of her early days.” She had no happy memories of association -with school or church, or sympathetic friends. The background of her -childhood memory was of poverty with a lack of public respect for a -father who, though of good family, led an aimless, shiftless, wandering -life. Unhappily, he was a religious fanatic, associated with no church, -but issuing tracts which he paid for with money that should have been -used for his children, and, to save expense, required her to paste or -stitch. She hated the employment and the type of religion which it -represented. She broke away from it almost violently and went to live -with her grandmother in Boston. - -There she fell under the influence of William Ellery Channing, and was -born again. To her through his ministry came the spirit that quickened -and gave life to her dawning hope and aspiration. - -How she got her education we hardly know, but she began teaching, as -Clara Barton did, when she was fifteen years of age. And like Clara -Barton she became a pioneer in certain forms of educational work. -Dorothea Dix opened a school “for charitable and religious uses,” above -her grandmother’s barn, and in time she inherited property which made -her independent, so that she was able to devote herself to a life of -philanthropy. - -In 1837, being then thirty-five years of age, and encouraged by her -pastor, Dr. Channing, in whose home she spent much of her time, she -launched forth upon her career of devotion to the amelioration of -the condition of convicts, lunatics, and paupers. In her work for the -insane she was especially effective. She traveled in nearly all of the -States of the Union, pleading for effective legislation to promote the -establishment of asylums for the insane. Like Clara Barton she found -an especially fruitful field of service in New Jersey; the Trenton -Asylum was in a very real sense her creation. The pauper, the prisoner, -and especially the insane of our whole land owe her memory a debt of -lasting gratitude. - -By 1861 her reputation was well established. She was then almost sixty -years of age and had gained the well-merited confidence of the medical -profession. She was on her way from Boston to Washington, and was -spending a few days at the Trenton Asylum, when the Sixth Massachusetts -was fired upon in Baltimore on April 19, 1861. Like Clara Barton she -hastened immediately to the place of service. On the very next day -she wrote to a friend: “I think my duty lies near military hospitals -for the present. This need not be announced. I have reported myself -and some nurses for free service at the War Department, and to the -Surgeon-General.” Her offer was accepted with great heartiness and -with ill-considered promptness. She was appointed “Superintendent of -Female Nurses.” She was authorized “to select and assign female nurses -to general or permanent military hospitals; they not to be employed -without her sanction and approval except in case of urgent need.” - -Whether the United States contained any woman better qualified to -undertake such a task as this than Dorothea Dix may be questioned. -Certainly none could have been found with more of experience or with a -higher consecration. It was an impossible task for any one, and, while -Miss Dix was possessed of some of the essential qualities, she did not -possess them all. Her biographer very justly says: - - The literal meaning, however, of such a commission as had thus been - hastily bestowed on Miss Dix--applying, as it did to the women nurses - of the military hospitals of the whole United States not in actual - rebellion--was one which, in those early days of the war, no one so - much as began to take in.... Such a commission--as the march of events - was before long to prove--involved a sheer, practical impossibility. - It implied, not a single-handed woman, nearly sixty and shattered - in health, but immense organized departments at twenty different - centers.”[8] - -The War Department acted upon what must have appeared a wise impulse -in turning this whole matter of women nurses over to the authority of -a woman known in all the States--as Miss Dix was known--and possessing -the confidence of the people of the whole country. But she was not only -sixty years of age and predisposed to consumption, and at that time -suffering from other ailments, but she had never learned to delegate -responsibility to her subordinates. It had been well for Clara Barton -if she had known better how to set others to work, but she knew how -better than Dorothea Dix and was twenty years younger. Indeed, Clara -Barton was younger at eighty than Dorothea Dix was at sixty, but she -herself suffered somewhat from this same limitation. Dorothea Dix could -not be everywhere, and with her system she needed to be everywhere, -just as Clara Barton under her system had to be at the very front in -direct management of her own line of activities. But Dorothea Dix, -besides needing to be simultaneously on twenty battle-fields, had to be -where she could examine and sift out and prepare for service the chosen -from among a great many thousand women applying for the privilege of -nursing wounded soldiers, and ranging all the way from sentimental -school-girls to sickly and decrepit grandmothers. Again, Mr. Tiffany -says: - - Women nurses were volunteering by the thousands, the majority of them - without the experience or health to fit them for such arduous service. - Who should pass on their qualifications, who station, superintend, and - train them? Now, under the Atlas weight of care and responsibilities - so suddenly thrust on Miss Dix, the very qualifications which had so - preëminently fitted her for the sphere in which she had wrought such - miracles of success began to tell against her. She was nearly sixty - years old, and with a constitution sapped by malaria, overwork, and - pulmonary weakness. She had for years been a lonely and single-handed - worker, planning her own projects, keeping her own counsel, and - pressing on, unhampered by the need of consulting others, toward her - self-chosen goal. The lone worker could not change her nature. She - tried to do everything herself, and the feat before long became an - impossibility. At length she came to recognize this, again and again - exclaiming in her distress, “This is not the work I would have my life - judged by.” - -By that, however, in part her life-work must be judged, and, in the -main, greatly to her advantage and wholly to her honor. We can see, -however, the inevitable limitations of her work. Up to that time, she -had dealt with small groups of subordinates from whom she could demand -and secure some approach to perfection of organization and discipline. -This she could not possibly secure in her present situation. Again we -quote the discriminating words of her biographer: - - But in war--especially in a war precipitately entered into by a raw - and inexperienced people--all such perfection of organization and - discipline is out of the question. If a good field hospital is not - to be had, the best must be made of a bad one. If a skillful surgeon - is not at hand, then an incompetent one must hack away after his own - butcher fashion. If selfish and greedy attendants eat up and drink - up the supplies of delicacies and wines for the sick, then enough - more must be supplied to give the sick the fag end of a chance. It - is useless to try to idealize war.... All this, however, Miss Dix - could not bring herself to endure. Ready to live on a crust, and to - sacrifice herself without stint, her whole soul was on fire at the - spectacles of incompetence and callow indifference she was doomed - daily to witness. She became overwrought, and lost the requisite - self-control.... Inevitably she became involved in sharp altercations - with prominent medical officials and with regimental surgeons.[9] - -It is necessary to recall this in order to understand Clara Barton’s -attitude toward the established military hospitals. She was not, in any -narrow or technical term, a hospital nurse. She stood ready to assist -the humblest soldier in any possible need, and to work in any hospital -at any task howsoever humble, if that was where she could work to -advantage. But she knew the hospitals in and about Washington too well -not to appreciate these infelicities. She had no intention whatever of -becoming a cog in that great and unmanageable machine. - -Clara Barton held Dorothea Dix in the very highest regard. In all her -diaries and letters and in her memoranda of conversations which her -diaries sometimes contain, there is no word concerning Dorothea Dix -that is not appreciative. In 1910 the New York “World” wired her a -request that she telegraph to that newspaper, at its expense, a list -of eight names of women whom she would nominate for a Woman’s Hall of -Fame. The eight names which she sent in reply to this request were -Abigail Adams, Lucretia Mott, Lucy Stone Blackwell, Harriet Beecher -Stowe, Frances Dana Gage, Maria Mitchell, Dorothea Dix, and Mary A. -Bickerdyke. It was a fine indication of her broad-mindedness that she -should have named two women, Dorothea Dix and Mother Bickerdyke, who -should have won distinction in her own field and might have been deemed -her rivals for popular affection. If Clara Barton was capable of any -kind of jealousy, it was not a jealousy that would have thought ever to -undermine or belittle a woman like Dorothea Dix. Few women understood -so well as Clara Barton what Dorothea Dix had to contend with. Her -contemporary references show how fully she honored this noble elder -sister, and how loyally she supported her. - -At the same time, Clara Barton kept herself well out from under the -administration and control of Miss Dix. In some respects the two women -were too much alike in their temperament for either one to have worked -well under the other. For that matter, neither one of them greatly -enjoyed working under anybody. It is at once to the credit of Clara -Barton’s loyalty and good sense that she went as an independent worker. - -But the hospitals in and about Washington were approaching more and -more nearly something that might be called system, and that system was -the system of Dorothea Dix. Clara Barton had all the room she wanted -on the battle-field. There was no great crowd of women clamoring to go -with her when under fire she crossed the bridge at Fredericksburg. But -by the spring of 1863 it began to be less certain that there was going -to be as much fighting as there had been in the immediate vicinity of -Washington. There was a possibility that actual field service with the -Army of the Potomac was going to be less, and that the base hospitals -with their organized system would be able to care more adequately for -the wounded than would the hospitals farther south where the next great -crisis seemed to be impending. - -These were among the considerations in the mind of Clara Barton when -she left the Army of the Potomac--“my own army,” as she lovingly called -it--and secured her transfer to Hilton Head, near Charleston. - -[8] Tiffany, _Life of Dorothea Lynde Dix_, 336, 337. - -[9] Tiffany, 338, 339. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -THE ATTEMPT TO RECAPTURE FORT SUMTER - - - I am confounded! Literally speechless with amazement! When I left - Washington every one said it boded no peace; it was a bad omen for - me to start; I never missed finding the trouble I went to find, and - was never late. I thought little of it. This P.M. we neared - the dock at Hilton Head and the boat came alongside and boarded us - instantly. The first word was, “The first gun is to be fired upon - Charleston this P.M. at three o’clock.” We drew out watches, - and the hands pointed three to the minute. I felt as if I should sink - through the deck. I am no fatalist, but it is so singular. - -Thus wrote Clara Barton in her journal on Tuesday night, April 7, -1863, the night of her arrival at Port Royal. She had become so expert -in learning where there was to be a battle that her friends looked -upon her as a kind of stormy petrel and expected trouble as soon as -she arrived. She had come to Hilton Head in order to be on hand when -the bombardment of Charleston should occur, and the opening guns of -the bombardment were her salute as her boat, the Arogo, warped up to -the dock. Everything seemed to indicate that she had come at the very -moment when she was needed. - -But the following Saturday the transports which had loaded recruits at -Hilton Head, ready to land and capture Charleston as soon as the guns -had done their work, returned to Hilton Head and brought the soldiers -back. Her diary that morning recorded that the Arogo returning would -stop off at Charleston for dispatches, but her entry that night said: - - In the P.M., much to the consternation of everybody, the - transports laden with troops all hove in sight. Soon the harbor - was literally filled with ships and boats, the wharf crowded with - disembarking troops with the camp equipage they had taken with them. - What had they returned for? was the question hanging on every lip. - Conjecture was rife; all sorts of rumors were afloat; but the one - general idea seemed to prevail that the expedition “had fizzled,” if - any one knows the precise meaning and import of that term. Troops - landed all the evening and perhaps all night, and returned to the old - camping grounds. The place is alive with soldiers. No one knows why he - is here, or why he is not there; all seem disappointed and chagrined, - but no one is to blame. For my part, I am rather pleased at the turn - it has taken, as I thought from the first that we had “too few troops - to fight and too many to be killed.” I have seen worse retreats if - this be one. - -“Fizzled” appears to have been a new word, but the country had abundant -opportunity to learn its essential meaning. The expedition against -Charleston was one of several that met this inglorious end, and the -flag was not raised over Sumter until 1865. - -Now followed an interesting chapter in Clara Barton’s career, but -one quite different from anything she had expected when she came to -Hilton Head. After the “fizzle” in early April, the army settled down -to general inactivity. Charleston must be attacked simultaneously by -land and sea and reduced by heavy artillery fire before the infantry -could do anything. There was nothing for Clara Barton to do but to wait -for the battle which had been postponed, but was surely coming. She -distributed her perishable supplies where they would do the most good, -and looked after the comfort of such soldiers as needed her immediate -ministration. But the wounded were few in number and the sick were -in well-established hospitals where she had no occasion to offer her -services. - -Moreover, she found the situation here very different from what she -had seen only a few miles from Washington. There were no muddy roads -between Hilton Head and New York Harbor. The Arogo was a shuttle moving -back and forward every few days, and in time another boat was added. -There was a regular mail service between New York and Hilton Head, and -every boat took officers and soldiers going upon, or returning from, -furloughs, and the boats from New York brought nurses and supplies. The -Sanitary Commission had its own dépôt of supplies and a liberal fund of -money from which purchases could be made of fruits and such other local -delicacies as were procurable. It is true, as Miss Barton was afterward -to learn, that the hospital management left something to be desired, -and that fewer delicacies were purchased than could have been. But -that was distinctly not her responsibility, nor did she for one moment -assume it to be such. She came into conflict with official red tape -quite soon enough in her own department, without intruding where she -did not belong. She settled down to await the time when she should be -needed for the special work that had brought her to Hilton Head. That -time came, but it did not come soon, and its delay was the occasion of -very mixed emotions on her part. - -Clara Barton came to Hilton Head with a reputation already established. -She no longer needed to be introduced, nor was there any difficulty in -her procuring passes to go where she pleased, excepting as she was -sometimes refused out of consideration for her own personal safety. -But not once while she was in Carolina was she asked to show her -passes. When she landed, she found provision made for her at regimental -headquarters. Colonel J. G. Elwell, of Cleveland, to whom she reported, -was laid up at this time with a broken leg. She had him for a patient -and his gratitude continued through all the subsequent years. Her -journal described him as a noble, Christian gentleman, and she found -abundant occasion to admire his manliness, his Christian character, his -affection for his wife and children, his courtesy to her, and later, -his heroism as she witnessed it upon the battle-field. The custody -of her supplies brought her into constant relations with the Chief -Quartermaster, Captain Samuel T. Lamb, for whom she cherished a regard -almost if not quite as high as that she felt for Colonel, afterward -General, Elwell. Her room was at headquarters, under the same roof with -these and other brave officers, who vied with each other in bestowing -honors and kindnesses upon her. As Colonel Elwell was incapacitated -for service, she saw him daily, and the care of her supplies gave her -scarcely less constant association with Captain Lamb. General Hunter -called upon her, paid her high compliments, issued her passes and -permits, and offered her every possible courtesy. Her request that her -cousin, Corporal Leander Poor, be transferred to the department over -which her brother David presided, met an immediate response. The nurses -from the hospital paid her an official call, and apparently spoke very -gracious words to her, for she indicates that she was pleased with -something they said or did. Different officers sent her bouquets; her -table and her window must have been rather constantly filled with -flowers. More than once the band serenaded her, and between the musical -numbers there was a complimentary address which embarrassed, even more -than it pleased her, in which a high tribute was paid “To Clara Barton, -the Florence Nightingale of America.” - -The officers at headquarters had good saddle horses, and invited her to -ride with them. If there was any form of exercise which she thoroughly -enjoyed, it was horseback riding. She procured a riding-skirt and -sent for her sidesaddle, which the Arogo in due time brought to her. -So far nothing could have been more delightful. The very satisfaction -of it made her uncomfortable. She hoped that God would not hold her -accountable for misspent time, and said so in her diary. - -Lest she should waste her time, she began teaching some negro boys to -read, and sought out homesick soldiers who needed comfort. Whenever -she heard of any danger or any likelihood of a battle anywhere within -reach, she conferred with Colonel Elwell about going there. He was a -religious man, and she discussed with him the interposition of Divine -Providence, and the apparent indication that she was following a Divine -call in coming to Hilton Head exactly when she did. But no field opened -immediately which called for her ministrations. She felt sometimes that -it would be a terrible mistake if she had come so far away from what -really was her duty, when she wrote: “God is great and fearfully just. -Truly it is a fearful thing to fall into His hands; His ways are past -finding out.” Still she could not feel responsible for the fact that -no great battle had occurred in her immediate vicinity. Each time the -Arogo dropped anchor, she wondered if she ought to return on her; but -each time it seemed certain that it was not going to be very long until -there was a battle. So she left the matter in God’s hands. She wrote: -“It will be wisely ordered, and I shall do all for the best in the end. -God’s will, not mine, be done. I am content. How I wish I could always -keep in full view the fact and feeling that God orders all things -precisely as they should be; all is best as it is.” - -On Sunday she read Beecher’s sermons and sometimes copied religious -poetry for Colonel Elwell, who, in addition to his own disability, -had tender memories of the death of his little children, and many -solicitous thoughts for his wife. - -In some respects she was having the time of her life. A little group -of women, wives of the officers, gathered at the headquarters, and -there grew up a kind of social usage. One evening when a group of -officers and officers’ wives were gathered together, one of the ladies -read a poem in honor of Clara Barton. One day, at General Hunter’s -headquarters and in his presence, Colonel Elwell presented her with -a beautiful pocket Bible on behalf of the officers. If she needed -anything to increase her fame, that need was supplied when Mr. Page, -correspondent of the New York “Tribune,” whom she remembered to have -met at the Lacy house during the battle of Fredericksburg, arrived -at Hilton Head, and he, who had seen every battle of the Army of the -Potomac except Chancellorsville, told the officers how he had heard -General Patrick, at the battle of Fredericksburg, remonstrate with -Miss Barton on account of her exposing herself to danger, saying -afterward that he expected to see her shot every minute. The band of -a neighboring regiment came over and serenaded her. Her windows were -filled with roses and orange blossoms, and she wrote in her diary: “I -do not deserve such friends as I find, and how can I deserve them? I -fear that in these later years our Heavenly Father is too merciful to -me.” - -It would have been delightful if she could only have been sure that she -was doing her duty. Surrounded by appreciative friends, bedecked with -flowers, serenaded and sung to, and with a saddled horse at her door -almost every morning and at least one officer if not a dozen eager for -the joy and honor of a ride with her, only two things disturbed her. -The first was that she still had no word from Stephen, and the other -was the feeling that, unless the Lord ordained a battle in her vicinity -before long, she ought to be back with what she called “my own army.” - -Clara Barton’s diary displays utter freedom from cant. She was not -given to putting her religious feelings and emotions down on paper. But -in this period she gave much larger space to her own reflections than -was her custom when more fully occupied. She was feeling in a marked -degree the providential aspects of her own life; she was discussing -with Christian officers their plans for what Colonel Elwell called his -“soldier’s church.” Her religious nature found expression in her diary -more adequately than she had usually had time to express. - -Toward the end of her period of what since has been termed her watchful -waiting, she received a letter from a friend, an editor, who felt that -the war had gone on quite long enough, and who wished her to use her -influence in favor of an immediate peace. Few people wanted peace more -than Clara Barton, but her letter in answer to this request shows an -insight into the national situation which at that time could hardly -have been expected: - - HILTON HEAD, S.C., June 24th, 1863 - - T. W. MEIGHAN, ESQ., - - My kind friend, your welcome letter of the 6th has been some days - in hand. I did not get “frightened.” I am a _U.S. soldier_, - you know, and therefore not supposed to be susceptible to - _fear_, and, _as I am_ merely a _soldier_, and - _not_ a _statesman_, I shall make no attempt at discussing - _political_ points with you. You have spoken openly and frankly, - and I have perused your letter and considered your sentiments with - interest, and, I believe, with sincerity and candor, and, while I - observe with pain the wide difference of _opinion_ existing - between us, I cannot find it in my heart to believe it _more_ - than a matter of _opinion_. I shall not take to myself more - of honesty of purpose, faithfulness of zeal, or patriotism, than I - award to you. I have not, aye! never shall forget _where I first - found you_. The soldier who has stood in the ranks of my country’s - armies, and toiled and marched and fought, and fallen and struggled - and risen, but to fall again more worn and exhausted than before, - until _my_ weak arm had greater strength than his, and could aid - him, and yet made no complaint, and only left the ranks of death when - he had no longer strength to stand up in them--is it for _me_ - to rise up in judgment and accuse _this man_ of a _want of - patriotism_? True, he does not see as I see, and works in a channel - _in_ which I have no confidence, _with_ which I have no - sympathy, and _through_ which I could not go; still, I must - believe that in the end the same _results_ which would gladden my - heart would rejoice his. - - Where you in prospective see _peace_, glorious, coveted - peace, and rest for our tired armies, and home and happiness and - firesides and friends for our war-worn heroes, _I_ see only the - _beginning of war_. If we should make overtures for “peace upon - any terms,” then, I fear, would follow a code of terms to which no - civilized nation could submit and present even an honorable existence - among nations. God forbid that _I_ should ask the useless - exposure of the life of _one_ man, the desolation of one more - home; I never for a moment lose sight of the mothers and sisters, - and white-haired fathers, and children moving quietly about, and - dropping the unseen, silent tear in those far-away saddened homes, - and I have too often wiped the gathering damp from pale, anxious - brows, and caught from ashy, quivering lips the last faint whispers - of home, not to realize the terrible cost of these separations; - nor has morbid sympathy been all,--out amid the smoke and fire and - thunder of our guns, with only the murky canopy above, and the bloody - ground beneath, I have wrought day after day and night after night, - my heart well-nigh to bursting with conflicting emotions, so sorry - for the necessity, so glad for the _opportunity_ of ministering - with my own hands and strength to the dying wants of the patriot - martyrs who fell for their country and mine. If my poor life could - have purchased theirs, how cheerfully and quickly would the exchange - have been made; more than this I could not do, deeper than this I - could not feel, and yet among it all it has never once been in my - heart, or on my lips, to sue to our enemies for peace. First, they - broke it without cause; last, they will not restore it without shame. - True, we _may_ never find peace by _fighting_, certainly we - never shall by _asking_. “Independence?” They always _had_ - their independence till they madly threw it away; if there _be_ - a chain on them to-day it is of their own riveting. I grant that our - Government has made mistakes, sore ones, too, in some instances, - but ours is a _human government_, and like _all_ human - operations liable to mistakes; only the machinery and plans of Heaven - move unerringly and we short-sighted mortals are, half our time, fain - to complain of these. I would that so much of wisdom and foresight and - strength and power fall to our rulers as would show them to-morrow - the path to victory and peace, but we shall never strengthen their - hands or incite their patriotism by deserting and upbraiding them. To - _my_ unsophisticated mind, the Government of my country _is_ - my country, and the _people_ of my country, the Government of - my country as nearly as a representative system will allow. I have - taught me to look upon our “Government” as the band which the people - bind around the bundle of sticks to hold it firm, where every patriot - hand must grasp the knot the tighter, and our “Constitution” as a - symmetrical framework unsheltered and unprotected, around which the - people must rally, and brace and stay themselves among its inner - timbers, and lash and bind and nail and rivet themselves to its outer - posts, till in its sheltered strength it bids defiance to every - elemental jar,--till the winds cannot rack, the sunshine warp, or - the rains rot, and I would to Heaven that so we rallied and stood - to-day. If our Government is “_too weak_” to act vigorously and - energetically, _strengthen it till it can_. Then comes the peace - we all wait for as kings and prophets waited,--and without which, like - them, we seek and never find. - - Pardon me, my good friend, I had never thought to speak at this - length, or, indeed, _any_ length upon this strangely knotted - subject, so entirely out of my line. My business is stanching blood - and feeding fainting men; my post the open field between the bullet - and the hospital. I sometimes discuss the application of a compress or - a wisp of hay under a broken limb, but not the bearing and merits of - a political movement. I make gruel--not speeches; I write _letters - home_ for wounded soldiers, not political addresses--and again I - ask you to pardon, not so much _what_ I have said, as the fact - of my having said anything in relation to a subject of which, upon the - very nature of things, I am supposed to be profoundly ignorant. - - With thanks for favors, and hoping to hear from you and yours as usual, - - I remain as ever - - Yours truly - - CLARA BARTON - - I am glad to hear from your wife and mother, and I am most thankful - for your cordial invitation to visit you, which I shall (if I have - not forfeited your friendship by my plainness of speech, which _I - pray_ I may not) accept most joyously, and I am even now rejoicing - in prospect over my anticipated visit. We are not suffering from heat - yet, and I am enjoying such horseback rides as seldom fall to the lot - of ladies, I believe. I don’t know but I should _dare ride with a - cavalry rider_ by and by, if I continue to practice. I could at - least take lessons. I have a fine new English leaping saddle on the - way to me. I hope _you will endeavor_ to see to it that the rebel - privateers shall not get hold of it. I could not sustain both the loss - and disappointment, I fear. - - Love to all. - - Yours - - C. B. - - -While Miss Barton was engaged in these less strenuous occupations she -issued a requisition upon her brother in the Quartermaster’s Department -for a flatiron. She said: “My clothes are as well washed as at home, -and I have a house to iron in if I had the iron. I could be as clean -and as sleek as a kitten. Don’t you want a smooth sister enough to send -her a flatiron?” - -In midsummer, hostilities began in earnest. On July 11 an assault -on Fort Wagner was begun from Morris Island, and was followed by a -bombardment, Admiral Dahlgren firing shells from his gunboats, and -General Gillmore opening with his land batteries. Then followed the -charge of the black troops under Colonel R. G. Shaw, and the long siege -in which the “swamp angel,” a two-hundred-pounder Parrott, opened fire -on Charleston. It was then that Clara Barton found what providential -leading had brought her to this place. Not from a sheltered retreat, -but under actual fire of the guns she ministered to the wounded and -the dying. All day long under a hot sun she boiled water to wash -their wounds, and by night she ministered to them, too ardent to -remember her need of sleep. The hot winds drove the sand into her -eyes, and weariness and danger were ever present. But she did her work -unterrified. She saw Colonel Elwell leading the charge, and he believed -that not only himself, but General Voris and Leggett would have died -but for her ministrations. - - Follow me, if you will, through these eight months [Miss Barton said - shortly afterward]. I remember eight months of weary siege--scorched - by the sun, chilled by the waves, rocked by the tempest, buried in the - shifting sands, toiling day after day in the trenches, with the angry - fire of five forts hissing through their ranks during every day of - those weary months. - - This was when your brave old regiments stood thundering at the gate - of proud rebellious Charleston.... There, frowning defiance, with - Moultrie on her left, Johnson on her right, and Wagner in front, she - stood hurling fierce death and destruction full in the faces of the - brave band who beleaguered her walls. - - Sumter, the watch-dog, that stood before her door, lay maimed and - bleeding at her feet, pierced with shot and torn with shell, the tidal - waves lapping his wounds. Still there was danger in his growl and - death in his bite.”[10] - - One summer afternoon our brave little army was drawn up among the - island sands and formed in line of march. For hours we watched. Dim - twilight came, then the darkness for which they had waited, while the - gloom and stillness of death settled down on the gathered forces of - Morris Island. Then we pressed forward and watched again. A long line - of phosphorescent light streamed and shot along the waves ever surging - on our right. - - I remember so well these islands, when the guns and the gunners, the - muskets and musketeers, struggled for place and foothold among the - shifting sands. I remember the first swarthy regiments with their - unsoldierly tread, and the soldierly bearing and noble brows of the - patient philanthropists who volunteered to lead them. I can see again - the scarlet flow of blood as it rolled over the black limbs beneath - my hands and the great heave of the heart before it grew still. And I - remember Wagner and its six hundred dead, and the great-souled martyr - that lay there with them when the charge was ended and the guns were - cold. - -Vividly she went on to describe the siege of Fort Wagner from Morris -Island, thus: - - I saw the bayonets glisten. The “swamp angel” threw her bursting - bombs, the fleet thundered its cannonade, and the dark line of blue - trailed its way in the dark line of belching walls of Wagner. I saw - them on, up, and over the parapets into the jaws of death, and heard - the clang of the death-dealing sabers as they grappled with the foe. - I saw the ambulances laden down with agony, and the wounded, slowly - crawling to me down the tide-washed beach, Voris and Cumminger gasping - in their blood. And I heard the deafening clatter of the hoofs of - “Old Sam” as Elwell madly galloped up under the walls of the fort for - orders. I heard the tender, wailing fife, the muffled drum and the - last shots as the pitiful little graves grew thick in the shifting - sands. - -Of this experience General Elwell afterward wrote: - - I was shot with an Enfield cartridge within one hundred and fifty - yards of the fort and so disabled that I could not go forward. I was - in an awful predicament, perfectly exposed to canister from Wagner - and shell from Gregg and Sumter in front, and the enfilade from James - Island. I tried to dig a trench in the sand with my saber, into which - I might crawl, but the dry sand would fall back in place about as fast - as I could scrape it out with my narrow implement. Failing in this, on - all fours I crawled toward the lee of the beach, which was but a few - yards off.... A charge of canister all around me aroused my reverie - to thoughts of action. I abandoned the idea of taking the fort and - ordered a retreat of myself, which I undertook to execute in a most - unmartial manner on my hands and knees spread out like a turtle. - - After working my way for a half-hour and making perhaps two hundred - yards, two boys of the 62d Ohio found me and carried me to our first - parallel, where had been arranged an extempore hospital. After resting - awhile I was put on the horse of my lieutenant-colonel, from which he - had been shot that night, and started for the lower end of the island - one and a half miles off, where better hospital arrangements had been - prepared. Oh, what an awful ride that was! But I got there at last, by - midnight. I had been on duty for forty-two hours without sleep under - the most trying circumstances and my soul longed for sleep, which I - got in this wise: an army blanket was doubled and laid on the soft - side of a plank with an overcoat for a pillow, on which I laid my - worn-out body. - - And such a sleep! I dreamed that I heard the shouts of my boys in - victory, that the rebellion was broken, that the Union was saved, and - that I was at my old home and that my dear wife was trying to soothe - my pain.... - - My sleepy emotions awoke me and a dear, blessed woman was bathing my - temples and fanning my fevered face. Clara Barton was there, an angel - of mercy doing all in mortal power to assuage the miseries of the - unfortunate soldiers. - -While she was still under fire, but after the stress of the first -assault, she found time to send a little note which enables us to -identify with certainty her headquarters. Her work was not done in -the shelter of any of the base hospitals in the general region of -Charleston, it was with the advance hospital and under fire. - -The midsummer campaign left Clara Barton desperately sick. She came -very near to laying down her life with the brave men for whose sake -she had freely risked it. What with her own sickness and the strenuous -nature of her service, there is only a single line in her diary (on -Thanksgiving Day) between July 23 and December 1. On July 22 she -personally assisted at two terrible surgical operations as the men were -brought directly in from the field. The soldiers were so badly wounded -she wanted to see them die before the surgeon touched them. But the -surgeons did their work well, and, though it was raining and cold, -she covered them with rubber blankets and was astonished to find how -comfortable they came to be. She returned to see them in the evening -and they were both sleeping soundly. On the following day, the day of -her last entry for the summer, she reported the wounded under her care -as doing well; also, that she had now a man detailed to assume some -of the responsibility for the food of the wounded. Fresh green corn -was available, and she was having hominy cooked for men who had had -quite too much of salt pork. She was arranging the meals, but had other -people to serve them. - -Then Clara Barton dropped; her strength gave out. Overcome with fatigue -and sick with fever, she lay for several weeks and wrote neither -letters nor in her journal. - -By October she was ready to answer Annie Childs’s thoughtful inquiry -about her wardrobe. There were two successive letters two weeks apart -that consisted almost wholly of the answers she made to the question -wherewithal she should be clothed. Lest we should suppose Clara Barton -to be an institution and not a wholly feminine woman, it is interesting -to notice her concern that these dresses be of proper material and -suitably made. - -The dresses arrived with rather surprising promptness, and they fitted -with only minor alterations which she described in detail to Annie. -Toward the end of October she had occasion to write again to Annie -thanking the friends who had remembered her so kindly, and expressing -in her letter the feeling, which she so often recorded in her diary, -that she was not doing as much as she ought to merit the kindness of -her friends. In another letter a few days later, she told of one use -she was making of her riding-skirt; she was furnishing a hospital at -Fort Mitchell, seven miles away, and her ride to that hospital combined -both business and pleasure. - -About this time she gathered some trophies and sent to Worcester for -the fair. They were exhibited and sold to add to the resources of the -good people who were providing in various ways for the comfort of the -soldiers. At this time she wrote to other organizations who had sent -her supplies, telling of the good they had done. - -But again she fell upon a time of relative inactivity. There were no -more battles to be fought immediately. She again wondered if she had -any right to stay in a place where everything was so comfortable, -especially as Annie Childs had written to her that the Worcester and -Oxford women would not permit her to bear any part of the expense for -the new clothes that had been made for her. - -About this time her brother David received a letter from Stephen which -showed that it was useless for her to stay where she was with any -present expectation of securing his relief. He was still remaining -with his property unmolested by both sides, and thought it better to -continue there than run what seemed to him the larger risks of leaving. - -One of the most interesting and in its way pathetic entries in her -diary at this season, is a long one on December 5, 1863. Miss Barton -had collided with official arrogance, and had unhappy memories of it. -She probably would have said nothing about it had she not been appealed -to by one of the women at the headquarters to do something to improve -conditions at the regular hospital. And that was something which Clara -Barton simply could not do. She knew better than almost any one else -how much those hospitals lacked of perfection. She herself did not -visit them, excepting as she went there to return official calls. -She had made it plain to those in charge that she had not come to -interfere with any form of established work, but to do a work of her -own in complete sympathy and coöperation with theirs. She knew that -Dorothea Dix had undertaken an impossible task. She saw some nurses -near to where she was who were much more fond of spending pleasant -evenings at headquarters than they were of doing the work for which -they were supposed to have come down. But she also knew that even such -work as she was doing was looked upon by some of them with feelings of -jealousy, as work outside of the general organization, yet receiving -from the public a confidence and recognition not always accorded their -own. One night, after one of the officer’s wives had poured out her -soul to Clara Barton, she poured out her soul to her diary. It is a -very long entry, but it treats of some highly important subjects: - - I moved along to the farther end of the piazza and found Mrs. D., who - soon made known to me the subject of her desires. As I suspected, the - matter was hospitals. She has been visiting the hospital at this place - and has become not only interested, but excited upon the subject; the - clothing department she finds satisfactory, but the storeroom appears - empty and a sameness prevailing through food as provided which seems - to her appalling for a diet for sick men. She states that they have - no delicacies such as the country at the North are flooding hospitals - with; that the food is all badly cooked, served cold, and always the - same thing--dip toast, meat cooked dry, and tea without milk, perhaps - once a week a potato for each man, or a baked apple. She proposed - to establish a kitchen department for the serving of proper food to - these men, irrespective of the pleasure of the “Powers that Be.” She - expects opposition from the surgeons in charge and Mrs. Russell, the - matron appointed and stationed by Miss Dix, but thinks to commence - by littles and work herself in in spite of opposition, or make - report direct to Washington through Judge Holt, and other influential - friends and obtain a _carte blanche_ from Secretary Stanton to - act independently of all parties. She wished to know if I thought it - would be possible to procure supplies sufficient to carry on such a - plan, and people to cook and serve if it were once established and - directed properly. She had just mailed a letter to Miss Dame calling - upon her to stir people at the North and make a move if possible in - the right direction. She said General Gillmore took tea with her the - evening previous and inquired with much feeling, “_How are my poor - boys?_” She desired me to attend church at the hospital to-morrow - (Sunday) morning; not with her, but go, pass through, and judge - for myself. In the meantime the Major came in and the subject was - discussed generally. I listened attentively, gave it as my opinion - that there would be no difficulty in obtaining supplies and means - of paying for the _preparation_ of them, but of the manner and - feasibility of delivering and distributing them among the patients I - said nothing. _I had nothing to say._ I partly promised to attend - church the next morning, and retired having said very little. What I - have _thought_ is quite another thing. I have no doubt but the - patients lack many luxuries which the country at large endeavors to - supply them with, and supposes they have, no doubt; but men suffer and - die for the lack of the nursing and provisions of the loved ones at - home. No doubt but the stately, stupendous, and magnificent indolence - of the “officers in charge” embitters the days of the poor sufferers - who have become mere machines in the hands of the Government to be - ruled and oppressed by puffed-up, conceited, and self-sufficient - superiors in position. No doubt but a good, well-regulated kitchen, - presided over with a little good common sense and womanly care, would - change the whole aspect of things and lengthen the days of some, and - brighten the last days of others of the poor sufferers within the thin - walls of this hospital. I wish it might be, but what can _I_ - do? First it is not _my_ province; I should be out of place - there; next, Miss Dix is supreme, and her appointed nurse is matron; - next, the surgeons will not brook any interference, and will, in my - opinion, resent and resist the smallest effort to break over their - own arrangements. What _others_ may be able to do I am unable to - conjecture, but I feel that _my_ guns are effectually silenced. - My sympathy is not destroyed, by any means, but my _confidence_ - in my ability to accomplish anything of an alleviating character in - _this_ department is completely annihilated. I _went_ with - all I had, to work where I thought I saw greatest need. A man can - _have_ no greater need than to be saved from death, and after - six weeks of unremitting toil I was driven from my own tents by the - selfish _cupidity_ or _stupidity_ of a pompous staff surgeon - with a little accidental temporary authority, and I by the means - thrown upon a couch of sickness, from which I barely escaped with - my life. After four weeks of suffering most intense, I rose in my - weakness and repaired again to my post, and scarcely were my labors - recommenced when, through the _same_ influence or _no_ - influence brought to bear upon the General Commanding, I was made - the subject of a general order, and commanded to leave the island, - giving me three hours in which to pack, remove, and ship four tons - of supplies with no assistance that _they_ knew of but one old - female negro cook. I complied, but was remanded to _Beaufort_ - to labor in the hospitals there. With this portion of the “order” - I failed to comply, and went home to Hilton Head and wrote the - Commanding General a full explanation of my position, intention, - proposed labors, etc., etc., which brought a rather sharp response, - calling my humanity to account for not being willing to comply - with his specified request, viz. to labor in Beaufort hospitals; - insisting upon the plan as gravely as if it had been a possibility - to be accomplished. But for the extreme ludicrousness of the thing - I should have felt hurt at the bare thought of such a charge against - _me_ and from such a quarter. The hospitals were supplied by - the Sanitary Commission, Miss Dix holding supremacy over all female - attendants by authority from Washington, Mrs. Lander _claiming_, - and endeavoring to enforce the same, and scandalizing through the - Press--each hospital labeled, _No Admittance_, and its surgeons - bristling like porcupines at the bare sight of a proposed visitor. How - in reason’s name was I “to labor there”? Should I prepare my food and - thrust it against the outer walls, in the hope it might strengthen the - patients inside? Should I tie up my bundle of clothing and creep up - and deposit it on the doorstep and slink away like a guilty mother, - and watch afar off to see if the master of the mansion would accept or - reject the “foundling”? If the Commanding General in his wisdom, when - he assumed the direction of my affairs, and commanded me _where_ - to labor, had opened the doors for me to enter, the idea would have - _seemed_ more practical. It did not occur to me at the moment - how I was to effect an entrance to these hospitals, but I have since - thought that I might have been _expected_ to watch my opportunity - some _dark night_, and STORM them, although it must be - confessed that the popularity of this mode of attack was rather on the - decline in this department at that time, having reached its height - very soon after the middle of July. - -One other uncomfortable experience Clara Barton had at this time. When -she first began her work for the relief of the soldiers, she went forth -from Washington as a center and still kept up her work in the Patent -Office. When she found that this work was to take all her time, she -approached the Commissioner of Patents and asked to have her place -kept for her, but without salary. He refused this proposal, and said -her salary should continue to be paid. The other clerks, also, were -in hearty accord with this proposal, and offered to distribute her -work among them. But as the months went by, this grew to be a somewhat -laborious undertaking. The number of women clerks in the Patent Office -had increased as so many of the men were in the army. There were twenty -of these women clerks, some of whom had never known Clara Barton, and -they did not see any reason why she should be drawing a salary and -winning fame for work which they were expected to do. Moreover, the -report became current that she was drawing a large salary for her war -work in addition. The women in the Patent Office drew up a “round -robin” demanding that her salary cease. This news, with the report that -the Commissioner had acted upon the request, came to her while she had -other things to trouble her. Had the salary ceased because she was no -longer doing the work, it would have been no more than she had herself -proposed. But when her associates, having volunteered to do the work -for her that her place might be kept and her support continued, became -the agents for the dissemination of a false report, she was hurt and -indignant. - -To the honor of Judge Holloway and his associates in the Patent Office, -be it recorded that she received a letter from Judge Holloway that she -had been misinformed about the termination of her salary; there had, -indeed, been such a rumor and request, but he would not have acted on -it without learning the truth, and did not credit it. Her desk would -await her return if he continued as Commissioner. - -A few days before Christmas another pleasant event occurred. Her nephew -Stephen, whom she had continued to call “Bub,” arrived in uniform. -Though hardly fifteen, he had enlisted in the telegraph corps, and was -sent to be with her. He became her closest friend in an intimacy of -relation that did not cease until her eyes closed in death; and then, -in her perfect confidence in him, she appointed him her executor. - -A letter in this month reviews the experiences of her sojourn at Hilton -Head: - - HILTON HEAD, S.C. - Wednesday, December 9th, 1863 - - MR. PARKER, - - MY DEAR KIND FRIEND: - - It would be impossible for me to tell how many times I have commenced - to write you. Sometimes I have put my letter by because we were doing - so little there was nothing of interest to communicate; at other - times, because there was so much I had not time to tell it, until - some greater necessity drew me away, and my half-written letter - became “rubbish” and was destroyed. And now I have but one topic - which is of decided interest to _me_, and that is so peculiarly - so that I will hasten to speak of it at once. After _almost_ a - year’s absence, I am beginning to _think_ about once more coming - _home_, once more meeting the scores of kind friends I have - been from so long; and the nearer I bring this object to my view, - the brighter it appears. The nearer I fancy the meeting, the dearer - the faces and the kinder the smiles appear to me and the sweeter the - welcome voices that fall upon my ear. Not that I have not found good - friends here. None could have been kinder. I came with one brother, - loving, kind, and considerate; I have met others here scarcely less - so, and those, too, with whom rested the power to make me comfortable - and happy, and I have yet to recall the first instance in which they - have failed to use their utmost endeavor to render me so, and while a - tear of joy glistens in my eye at the thought of the kind friends I - hope so soon to meet, there will still linger one of regret for the - many of those I leave. - - Eight months and two days ago we landed at the dock in this harbor. - When nations move as rapidly as ours moves at present, that is a - long time, and in it as a nation we have done much, gained much, - and suffered much. Still much more remains to be done, much more - acquired, and I fear much more suffered. Our brave and noble old - Army of Virginia still marches and fights and the glorious armies of - the West still fight and conquer; our soldiers still die upon the - battle-field, pine in hospitals, and languish in prison; the wives and - sisters and mothers still wait, and weep and hope and toil and pray, - and the little child, fretting at the long-drawn days, asks in tearful - impatience, “_When will my papa come?_” - - The first sound which fell upon my ear in this Department was the - thunder of our guns in Charleston Harbor, and still the proud city - sits like a queen and dictates terms to our army and navy. Sumter, - the watch-dog that lay before her door, fell, maimed and bleeding, it - is true; still there is defiance in his growl, and death in his bite, - and pierced and prostrate as he lies with the tidal waves lapping his - wounds, it were worth _our_ lives, and more than _his_, to - go and take him. - - We have captured one fort--Gregg--and one charnel house--Wagner--and - we have built one cemetery, Morris Island. The thousand little - sand-hills that glitter in the pale moonlight are a thousand - headstones, and the restless ocean waves that roll and break upon the - whitened beach sing an eternal requiem to the toil-worn, gallant dead - who sleep beside. - -As the year drew to a close, the conviction grew stronger that her work -in this field was done. Charleston still resisted attempts to recapture -it. Sumter, though demolished, was in the hands of the Confederates. -There was no prospect of immediate battle, and unless there was -fresh bloodshed there was no imperative call for her. Moreover, -little jealousies and petty factions grew up around the hospitals and -headquarters, where there were few women and many men, and there were -rumors of mismanagement which she must hear, but not reply to. She had -many happy experiences to remember, and she left a record of much good -done. But her work was finished at that place. In her last entries in -her diary she is disposing of her remaining stores, packing her trunk, -and when, after a rather long interval, we hear from her again, she is -in Washington. - -[10] Fort Sumter, fiercely bombarded July 24, repulsed an assault -against it on September 8, and was not completely silenced until -October 26. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -FROM THE WILDERNESS TO THE JAMES - -IN THE YEAR 1864 - - -Clara Barton returned from Port Royal and Hilton Head sometime in -January, 1864. On January 28 she was in Worcester, whence she addressed -a letter to Colonel Clark in regard to the forthcoming reunion of -veterans in Worcester. She did not expect to be present, as her stay in -Massachusetts was to be brief. - -On Sunday, February 14, she was in Brooklyn, and, as usual, went to -hear Henry Ward Beecher. He preached on “Unwritten Heroism,” and -related some heroic incidents in the life of an Irish servant girl who, -all unknown to fame, was still a heroine. Clara meditated on the sermon -and regretted that she herself was not more heroic. - -Before many days she was in Washington. It was rainy and cold. She -found very little that was inspiring. Her room was cheerless, though -she does not say so, but the little touches which she gave to it, as -recorded, show how bare and comfortless it must have been. Her salary -at the Patent Office continued, but it now becomes apparent that the -arrangement whereby the other women in the Patent Office were to do -her work had not continued indefinitely. She was hiring a partially -disabled man to do her writing and was dividing her salary with him. -Out of the balance she paid the rent of her room, eighty-four dollars a -year, payable a year in advance. It was not exorbitant rent considering -the demand for space in Washington. But it was a cheerless place, and -she did not occupy it much. Principally, it was a storehouse for her -supplies, with a place partitioned off for her own bedroom. She had -many callers, however, Senator Wilson coming to see her frequently, -and aiding her in every possible way. More than once she gave him -information which he, as chairman of the Committee on Military Affairs -of the United States Senate, utilized with far-reaching results. -Sometimes she told him in the most uncompromising manner of what she -regarded as abuses which she had witnessed. There were times when men -seemed to her very cowardly, and the Government machinery very clumsy -and ineffective. On the evening of April 13, 1864, she was fairly well -disgusted with all mankind. She thus wrote her opinion of the human -race, referring particularly to the masculine part of it: - - I am thinking very busily about the result of the investigation into - the Florida matter. Is General Seymour to be sacrificed when so many - hundred people and the _men_ know it to be all based on falsehood - and wrong? Is there no manly justice in the world? Is there not one - among them all that _dares_ risk the little of military station - he may possess to come out and speak the truth, and do the right? Oh, - pity! O Lord, what is man that thou art mindful of him! - -The next day was not a cheerful day for her. She was still brooding -on some of these same matters. She tried in those days to escape from -these unhappy reflections by going where she would be compelled to -think of something else. But not even in church could she always keep -her mind off of them. She wrote at length in her diary on the morning -of the 14th, and that evening, when Senator Wilson called, she told -him what she thought of the United States Army, the United States -Senate, and of people and things in general: - - _Thursday, April 14th, 1864._ This was one of the most - down-spirited days that ever came to me. All the world appeared - selfish and treacherous. I can get no hold on a good noble sentiment - _anywhere_. I have scanned over and over the whole moral horizon - and it is all dark, the night clouds seem to have shut down, so - stagnant, so dead, so selfish, so calculating. Is there no right? - Are there no consequences attending wrong? How shall the world move - on in all this weight of dead, morbid meanness? Shall lies prevail - forevermore? Look at the state of things, both civil and military, - that curse our Government. The pompous air with which little dishonest - pimps lord it over their betters. Contractors ruining the Nation, - and oppressing the poor, and no one rebukes them. See a monkey-faced - official, not twenty rods from me, oppressing and degrading poor women - who come up to his stall to feed their children, that he may steal - with better grace and show to the Government how much his economy - saves it each month. Poor blind Government never feels inside his - pockets, pouching with ill-gotten gain, heavy with sin. His whole - department know it, but it might not be quite _wise_ for them to - speak--they will tell it freely enough, but will not, dare not affirm - it--COWARDS! Congress knows it, but no one can see that it - will make votes for him at home by meddling with it, so it is winked - at. The Cabinet know it, but people that live in glass houses must - not throw stones. So it rests, and the women live lighter and _sink - lower_, God help them. And next an ambitious, dishonest General - lays a political plot to be executed with human life. He is to create - a Senator, some memberships, a Governor, commissions, and all the - various offices of a state, and the grateful recipients are to repay - the favor by gaining for him his confirmation as Major-General. So the - poor rank and file are marched out to do the job, a leader is selected - known to be _brave_ to rashness if need be, and given the command - in the dark, that he may never be able to claim any portion of the - glory--so that he cannot say _I_ did it. Doomed, and he knows it, - he is sent on, remonstrates, comes back and explains, is left alone - with the responsibility on his shoulders, forces divided, animals - starving, men suffering, enemy massing in front, and still there he - is. Suddenly he is attacked, defeated as he expected he must be, - and the world is shocked by the tales of his rashness and procedure - contrary to orders. He cannot speak; he is a subordinate officer and - must remain silent; the thousands with him know it, but _they_ - must not speak; Congress does _not_ know it, and refuses to be - informed; and the doomed one is condemned and the guilty one asks - for his reward, and the admiring world claims it for him. He has had - a battle and _only lost_ two thousand men and gained nothing. - Surely, this deserved something. And still the world moves on. No - wonder it looks dark, though, to those who do not wear the tinsel. And - so my day has been weary with these thoughts, and my heart heavy and I - cannot raise it--I doubt the justice of _almost_ all I see. - - Evening. At eight Mr. Wilson called. I asked him if the investigation - was closed. He replied yes, and that General Seymour would leave the - Department in disgrace. This was too much for my fretted soul, and I - poured out the vials of my indignation in no stinted measure. I told - him the facts, and what I thought of a Committee that was too imbecile - to listen to the truth when it was presented to them; that they had - made themselves a laughing-stock for even the privates in the service - by their stupendous inactivity and gullibility; that they were all - a set of dupes, not to say knaves, for I knew Gray of New York had - been on using all his blarney with them that was possible to wipe - over them. When I had freed my mind, and it was some time, he looked - amazed and called for a written statement. I promised it. He left. I - was anxious to possess myself of the most reliable facts in existence - and decide to go to New York and see Colonel Hall and Dr. Marsh again; - make my toilet ready, write some letters, and at three o’clock retired. - -From all of this it will appear that Clara Barton had a rather gloomy -time of it after her return to Washington. Old friends called on her -and she was amid pleasant surroundings, but she was ill at ease. The -Army of the Potomac had failed to hold its old position north of -the Rappahannock. She anticipated the same old round which she had -witnessed, marching and counter-marching with ineffective fighting, -great suffering, and no permanent results. Nor did she see how she -was henceforth to be of much assistance. The Sanitary and Christian -Commissions were doing increasingly effective work in the gathering and -distribution of supplies. The hospitals were approaching what ought to -have been a state of efficiency. There seemed little place for her. She -went to the War Department to obtain blanket passes, permitting herself -and friend to go wherever she might deem it wise to go, and to have -transportation for their supplies. She could hardly ask for anything -less if she were to ask for anything, but it was a larger request than -Secretary Stanton was at that time ready to grant. Her attempts to -secure what she deemed necessary through the Medical Department were -unavailing. The Medical Department thought itself competent to manage -its own affairs. But she knew that there was desperate need of the kind -of service which she could render. - -For a time she questioned seriously whether she should not give up -the whole attempt to return to the front. She even considered the -possibility of asking for her old desk at the Patent Office, and -letting the doctors and nurses take care of the wounded in the way they -thought best. - -The national conventions were approaching. A woman in Ohio who had -worked with her on the battle-field wrote asking Miss Barton for whom -she intended to vote. She replied at considerable length. She intended -to vote for the Republican candidate whoever he might be, because in so -doing she would vote for the Union. She would not vote for McClellan -nor for any other candidate nominated by his party. For three years -she had been voting for Abraham Lincoln. She thought she still would -vote for him; she trusted him and believed in him. But still if the -Republicans should nominate Frémont, she would not withhold her -approval. There was in Washington and in the army so much incompetence, -so much rascality, it was possible that another President--especially -one with military experience--would push the war to a speedier finish, -and rout out some of the rascality she saw in Washington. She thought -that Frémont might possibly have some advantage over Lincoln in this -respect. But she rather hoped Lincoln would be renominated. He was so -worthy, so honest, so kind, and the people could trust him. Though the -abuses which had grown up under his administration were great, they -were mostly inevitable. And so she rather thought she would vote for -Lincoln, even in preference to the very popular hero, Frémont. Frémont -had, indeed, seen, sooner than Lincoln, the necessity of abolition, -and she thought would have a stronger grip on military affairs. But her -heart was with Lincoln. - -While she was waiting for a new call to service and was busy every day -with a multitude of cares, she heard a lecture by the Reverend George -Thompson, which is of interest because it enables us to discover how -she now had come to feel about “Old John Brown.” It will be remembered -that she had not wholly approved the John Brown raid, nor shared in -the public demonstrations that followed his execution. She had come, -however, to a very different feeling with regard to him. On April 6, -1864, George Thompson, the abolitionist, gave an address in Washington. -The address was delivered in the hall of the House of Representatives, -and the President and Cabinet were among those who attended. Clara -Barton was present, and close beside her in the gallery sat John -Brown’s brother. - -For a few days previous she had been reading “No Name,” by Wilkie -Collins. She compared his style to that of Dickens with some -discriminating comments on the literary work of each. But she -discontinued “No Name” when near the end of it, in order to read in -preparation for the lecture by George Thompson. It will be well to -quote her entry in her diary for the 5th and 6th of April: - - _Washington, April 5th, 1864, Tuesday._ Rained all day just as if - it had not rained every other day for almost two weeks, and I read as - steadily indoors as it rained out; am nearly through with “No Name.” - Until 4 o’clock P.M. I had no disturbance, and then a most - pleasant one. Mr. Brown came in to bring me letters from Mary Norton - and Julia, and next to ask me to mend a little clothing, and next to - present me a beautiful scrapbook designed for _my own_ articles. - It is a very beautiful article and I prize it much. Then my friend, - Mr. Parker, called for a chat, and I read to him some two hours, in - order to prepare his mind for George Thompson’s lecture which is to - occur to-morrow night. Then a call from Senator W., and next Dr. - Elliott which lasted till just now, and it is almost eleven o’clock, - and I have set my fire out and apparently passed the day to little - purpose; still, I think it has glided away very innocently, and with a - few minutes’ preparation I shall retire with a grateful heart for the - even, pleasant days which run so smoothly in my course. - - _Washington, April 6th, 1864, Wednesday._ There are signs of - clear weather, although it is by no means an established fact yet. I - laid my reading aside, and took up my pen to address a letter to Mr. - Wilson. I wrote at greater length than I had expected and occupied - quite a portion of the day. The subject woke up the recollection of - a train of ills and wrongs submitted to and borne so long that I - suffered intensely in the reproduction of them, but I did reproduce, - whether to any purpose or not time will reveal. It is not to be - supposed that any decided revolution is to follow, as this is never - to be looked for in my case. I have done expecting it, and done, I - trust, with my efforts in behalf of others. I must take the little - remnant of life that may remain to me as my own special property, and - appropriate it accordingly. I had asked an appointment, as before - referred to. I find I cannot make the use of it I had desired, and - I have asked to recall the application. I have said I could not - afford to make it. This was the day preceding the night of Mr. George - Thompson’s lecture in the Hall of Representatives. I went early - with Mr. Brown. We went into the gallery and took a front seat in a - side gallery. The House commenced to fill very rapidly with one of - the finest-looking audiences that could be gathered in Washington. - Conspicuous among them were Mr. Chase, Governor Sprague, Senator - Wilson, Governor Boutwell and lady, Speaker Colfax, Thad. Stevens, - and, to cap all, the brother of “Old John Brown” came and sat with us. - At eight the orator of the evening entered the Hall in the same group - with President Lincoln, Vice-President Hamlin, Rev. Mr. Pierpont, and - others whom I did not recognize. Preliminary remarks were made by - Mr. Pierpont. Next followed Mr. Hamlin, who introduced Mr. Thompson, - who arose under so severe emotions that he could scarce utter a - word. It seemed for a time that he would fall before the audience - he had come to address. The contrast was evidently too great to be - contemplated with composure; his sensitive mind reverted doubtless to - his previous visits to this country, when he had seen himself hung - and burnt in effigy, been mobbed, stoned, and assailed with “filthy - missiles,” and now he stood, almost deafened with applause, in the - Hall of Representatives of America, America “free” from the shackles - of slavery, and to address the President, and great political heads - of the Nation. No wonder he was overcome, no wonder that the air - felt thick, and his words came feebly, and his body bent beneath - the weight of the contrast, the glorious consummation of all he had - so earnestly labored and so devoutly prayed for. But by degrees his - strength returned, and the rich melody of his voice filled every inch - of the vast hall, and delighted every loyal, truth-loving ear. It - would be useless for me to attempt a description of his address--it - is so far immortal as to be always found, I trust, among the records - of the glorious doings and sayings of our country’s supporters. His - endorsement of the President was one of the most touching and sublime - things I have ever heard uttered, and the messages from England to him - breathed a spirit of friendship which I was not prepared to listen - to. Surely we are not to growl at and complain of England as jealous - and hostile when her working-people, deprived of their daily labor - and the support of their families through our difficulties, bid us - Godspeed, and never to yield till our purpose has been accomplished, - and congratulate us upon having achieved our independence in the War - of the Revolution, and ask us now to go on and achieve a still greater - independence, which shall embrace the whole civilized world. Surely - these words show a nobler spirit in England than we had any reason or - real right to expect. His remarks touching John Brown were strong, - and, sitting as I was, watching the immediate effect upon the brother - at my side, and when in a few minutes the band struck up the familiar - air dedicated to him the world over, I truly felt that John Brown’s - Soul _was_ marching on, and that the mouldering in the grave was - of little account; the brother evidently felt the same. There was a - glistening of the eye and a compression of the lip which spoke it all - and more; he was evidently proud of the gallows rope that hung Old - John Brown, “Old Hero Brown!” - - On leaving the Hall, Mr. Parker joined us, and we all took a cream at - Simmod’s and returned, and I made good my escape to my room. - -Since her return from Hilton Head, she had been furnished no passes. -Official Washington had forgotten her in her year of absence. But there -came a day when Clara Barton had no difficulty in obtaining passes, and -when all Washington was willing enough to have her go to the front. -That was when the battle of Spotsylvania occurred, May 8, 1864. It took -Washington a day or two to realize the gravity of the situation; and -Clara Barton was begging and imploring the opportunity to hasten at the -sound of the first gun. There was refusal and delay; then, when it was -realized that more than 2700 men had been killed and more than 13,000 -wounded, her passes came. General Rucker, who had been endeavoring to -secure them for her, obtained them, and sent them in haste by special -messenger; and Clara Barton was back on the boat, landing, as so often -before, at Acquia Creek, and wading through the red mud to where the -wounded were. - -They were everywhere; and most of all they were in wagons sunk to the -hub in mud, and stalled where they could not get out, while men groaned -and died and maggots crawled in their wounds. Bitterly she lamented the -lost hours while she had been clamoring for passes; but now she set -herself to work with such facilities as she could command, first for -the relief of the wounded men in wagons: - - The terrible slaughter of the Wilderness and Spotsylvania turned all - pitying hearts and helping hands once more to Fredericksburg [she - wrote afterward]. And no one who reached it by way of Belle Plain, - while this latter constituted the base of supplies for General Grant’s - army, can have forgotten the peculiar geographical location, and - the consequent fearful condition of the country immediately about - the landing, which consisted of a narrow ridge of high land on the - left bank of the river. Along the right extended the river itself. - On the left, the hills towered up almost to a mountain height. The - same ridge of high land was in front at a quarter of a mile distant, - through which a narrow defile formed the road leading out, and on to - Fredericksburg, ten miles away, thus leaving a level space or basin of - an area of a fourth of a mile, directly in front of the landing. - - Across this small plain all transportation to and from the army must - necessarily pass. The soil was red clay. The ten thousand wheels - and hoofs had ground it to a powder, and a sudden rain upon the - surrounding hills had converted the entire basin into one vast - mortar-bed, smooth and glassy as a lake, and much the color of light - brick dust. - - The poor, mutilated, starving sufferers of the Wilderness were pouring - into Fredericksburg by thousands--all to be taken away in army wagons - across ten miles of alternate hills, and hollows, stumps, roots, and - mud! - - The boats from Washington to Belle Plain were loaded down with fresh - troops, while the wagons from Fredericksburg to Belle Plain were - loaded with wounded men and went back with supplies. The exchange was - transacted on this narrow ridge, called the landing. - - I arrived from Washington with such supplies as I could take. It - was still raining. Some members of the Christian Commission had - reached an earlier boat, and, being unable to obtain transportation - to Fredericksburg, had erected a tent or two on the ridge and were - evidently considering what to do next. - - To nearly or quite all of them the experience and scene were entirely - new. Most of them were clergymen, who had left at a day’s notice, by - request of the distracted fathers and mothers who could not go to the - relief of the dear ones stricken down by thousands, and thus begged - those in whom they had the most confidence to go for them. They went - willingly, but it was no easy task they had undertaken. It was hard - enough for old workers who commenced early and were inured to the life - and its work. - - I shall never forget the scene which met my eye as I stepped from the - boat to the top of the ridge. Standing in this plain of mortar-mud - were at least two hundred six-mule army wagons, crowded full of - wounded men waiting to be taken upon the boats for Washington. They - had driven from Fredericksburg that morning. Each driver had gotten - his wagon as far as he could, for those in front of and about him had - stopped. - - Of the depth of the mud, the best judgment was formed from the fact - that no entire hub of a wheel was in sight, and you saw nothing of - any animal below its knees and the mass of mud all settled into place - perfectly smooth and glassy. - - As I contemplated the scene, a young, intelligent, delicate gentleman, - evidently a clergyman, approached me, and said anxiously, but almost - timidly: “Madam, do you think those wagons are filled with wounded - men?” - - I replied that they undoubtedly were, and waiting to be placed on the - boats then unloading. - - “How long must they wait?” he asked. - - I said that, judging from the capacity of the boats, I thought they - could not be ready to leave much before night. - - “What can we do for them?” he asked, still more anxiously. - - “They are hungry and must be fed,” I replied. - - For a moment his countenance brightened, then fell again as he - exclaimed: “What a pity; we have a great deal of clothing and reading - matter, but no food in any quantity, excepting crackers.” - - I told him that I had coffee and that between us I thought we could - arrange to give them all hot coffee and crackers. - - “But where shall we make our coffee?” he inquired, gazing wistfully - about the bare wet hillside. - - I pointed to a little hollow beside a stump. “There is a good place - for a fire,” I explained, “and any of this loose brush will do.” - - “Just here?” he asked. - - “Just here, sir.” - - He gathered the brush manfully and very soon we had some fire and a - great deal of smoke, two crotched sticks and a crane, if you please, - and presently a dozen camp-kettles of steaming hot coffee. My helper’s - pale face grew almost as bright as the flames and the smutty brands - looked blacker than ever in his slim white fingers. - - Suddenly a new difficulty met him. “Our crackers are in barrels, and - we have neither basket nor box. How can we carry them?” - - I suggested that aprons would be better than either, and, getting - something as near the size and shape of a common tablecloth as I could - find, tied one about him and one about me, fastened all four of the - corners to the waist, and pinned the sides, thus leaving one hand for - a kettle of coffee and one free, to administer it. - - Thus equipped we moved down the slope. Twenty steps brought us to the - abrupt edge which joined the mud, much as the bank of a canal does the - black line of water beside it. - - But here came the crowning obstacle of all. So completely had the - man been engrossed in his work, so delighted as one difficulty after - another vanished and success became more and more apparent, that he - entirely lost sight of the distance and difficulties between himself - and the objects to be served. - - If you could have seen the expression of consternation and dismay - depicted in every feature of his fine face, as he imploringly - exclaimed, “How are we to get to them?” - - “There is no way but to walk,” I answered. - - He gave me one more look as much as to say, “Are you going to step - in there?” I allowed no time for the question, but, in spite of all - the solemnity of the occasion, and the terribleness of the scene - before me, I found myself striving hard to keep the muscles of my - face all straight. As it was, the corners of my mouth would draw into - wickedness, as with a backward glance I saw the good man tighten his - grasp upon his apron and take his first step into military life. - - But thank God, it was not his last. - - I believe it is recorded in heaven--the faithful work performed by - that Christian Commission minister through long weary months of rain - and dust and summer suns and winter snows. The sick soldier blessed - and the dying prayed for him, as through many a dreadful day he stood - fearless and firm among fire and smoke (not made of brush), and walked - calmly and unquestioningly through something redder and thicker than - the mud of Belle Plain. - - No one has forgotten the heart-sickness which spread over the entire - country as the busy wires flashed the dire tidings of the terrible - destitution and suffering of the wounded of the Wilderness whom I - attended as they lay in Fredericksburg. But you may never have known - how many hundredfold of these ills were augmented by the conduct of - improper, heartless, unfaithful officers in the immediate command of - the city and upon whose actions and indecisions depended entirely the - care, food, shelter, comfort, and lives of that whole city of wounded - men. One of the highest officers there has since been convicted a - traitor. And another, a little dapper captain quartered with the - owners of one of the finest mansions in the town, boasted that he had - changed his opinion since entering the city the day before; that it - was in fact a pretty hard thing for refined people like the people of - Fredericksburg to be compelled to open their homes and admit “these - dirty, lousy, common soldiers,” and that he was not going to compel it. - - This I heard him say, and waited until I saw him make his words good, - till I saw, crowded into one old sunken hotel, lying helpless upon - its bare, wet, bloody floors, five hundred fainting men hold up their - cold, bloodless, dingy hands, as I passed, and beg me in Heaven’s name - for a cracker to keep them from starving (and I had none); or to give - them a cup that they might have something to drink water from, if - they could get it (and I had no cup and could get none); till I saw - two hundred six-mule army wagons in a line, ranged down the street - to headquarters, and reaching so far out on the Wilderness road that - I never found the end of it; every wagon crowded with wounded men, - stopped, standing in the rain and mud, wrenched back and forth by the - restless, hungry animals all night from four o’clock in the afternoon - till eight next morning and how much longer I know not. The dark spot - in the mud under many a wagon, told only too plainly where some poor - fellow’s life had dripped out in those dreadful hours. - - I remembered one man who would set it right, if he knew it, who - possessed the power and who would believe me if I told him [says - Miss Barton in describing this experience]. I commanded immediate - conveyance back to Belle Plain. With difficulty I obtained it, and - four stout horses with a light army wagon took me ten miles at an - unbroken gallop, through field and swamp and stumps and mud to Belle - Plain and a steam tug at once to Washington. Landing at dusk I sent - for Henry Wilson, chairman of the Military Committee of the Senate. A - messenger brought him at eight, saddened and appalled like every other - patriot in that fearful hour, at the weight of woe under which the - Nation staggered, groaned, and wept. - - He listened to the story of suffering and faithlessness, and hurried - from my presence, with lips compressed and face like ashes. At ten he - stood in the War Department. They could not credit his report. He must - have been deceived by some frightened villain. No official report of - unusual suffering had reached them. Nothing had been called for by the - military authorities commanding Fredericksburg. - - Mr. Wilson assured them that the officers in trust there were not to - be relied upon. They were faithless, overcome by the blandishments - of the wily inhabitants. Still the Department doubted. It was then - that he proved that my confidence in his firmness was not misplaced, - as, facing his doubters he replies: “One of two things will have - to be done--either you will send some one to-night with the power - to investigate and correct the abuses of our wounded men at - Fredericksburg, or the Senate will send some one to-morrow.” - - This threat recalled their scattered senses. - - At two o’clock in the morning the Quartermaster-General and staff - galloped to the 6th Street wharf under orders; at ten they were in - Fredericksburg. At noon the wounded men were fed from the food of the - city and the houses were opened to the “_dirty, lousy_ soldiers” - of the Union Army. - - Both railroad and canal were opened. In three days I returned with - carloads of supplies. - - No more jolting in army wagons! And every man who left Fredericksburg - by boat or by car owes it to the firm decision of one man that his - grating bones were not dragged ten miles across the country or left to - bleach in the sands of that city. - -Yes, they owed it all to Senator Wilson. And he owed it to Clara Barton. - -Why was there such neglect, and why did no one else report it? - -The surgeons on the front were busy, and they did not see it. The -surgeons and nurses in the base hospitals were busy, and they knew -nothing of it. Military commanders only knew that the roads were bad, -and that it was difficult to move troops to the front or wounded -men back to the rear, but supposed that the best was being made of -a bad matter. But Clara Barton knew that, if some one in authority -could realize that thousands of men were suffering needless agony and -hundreds were dying who might be saved, something would be done. - -Something was done; and many a soldier who lived and regained his -health had reason, without knowing it, to bless the name of Clara -Barton. - -At the close of the Wilderness campaign, Clara Barton found time to -answer some letters and acknowledge some remittances. In one of these -letters she answered the question why, being as she was in close -touch and entire sympathy with the work of the Sanitary and Christian -Commissions, she still continued to do her work independently. It is a -thoroughly characteristic letter: - - May 30, 1864 - - ... The question would naturally arise with strangers, why I, feeling - so in unison with the Commission and among whose members I number my - best friends, should maintain a separated organization. To those who - know me it is obvious. Long before either commission was in the field, - or had even an existence, I was laboring by myself for the little I - might be able to accomplish and, gathering such helpers about me as - I was best able to do, toiled in the front of our armies wherever I - could reach, and thus I have labored on up to the present time. Death - has sometimes laid his hand upon the active forces of my co-workers - and stilled the steps most useful to me, but others have risen up to - supply the place, and now it does not seem wise or desirable, after - all this time, to change my course. If I have by practice acquired - any skill, it belongs to me to use untrammeled, and I might not work - as efficiently, or labor as happily, under the direction of those - of less experience than myself. It is simply just to all parties - that I retain my present position, and through all up to the present - time I have been always able to meet my own demands with such little - supplies as came voluntarily from my circle of personal friends, - which fortunately was not small. But the necessities of the present - campaign were well-nigh overwhelming, and my duty required that I - gather all I could, even if I shouted aloud to strangers for those - who lay fainting and speechless by the wayside or moaning in this - wilderness. I did so and such responses as yours have been the reply. - Dearly do I think God poured his blessing on my little work, for the - friends He has raised up to aid me, for the uninterrupted health and - unfailing strength He has given me, and more and more with each day’s - observation do I stand overawed by the great lessons He is teaching - us His children, grand and stern as the earthquake’s shock, judgments - soft and terrible as the lightning stroke. He is leading us back to - a sense of justice and duty and humanity, while our thousand guns - flash freedom and our martyrs die. It is a terrible sacrifice which - He requires at our hands and in obedience the Nation has builded its - altar and uplifted its arm of faith and the knife gleams above the - child. He who commands it alone knows when His angel shall call from - heaven to stay our hands and bid us no longer slay our own. Then may - we find hidden in the peaceful thicket the appropriate sacrifice that - in blessing He may bless us, that our young men return together, that - our seed shall possess the gates of our enemies, and that all the - nations of the earth be blessed. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -TO THE END OF THE WAR - - -At the end of May, 1864, Clara Barton was in Washington. She wrote to -her brother David informing him of her return to the city on the night -of May 24. There had been, she told him, a series of terrible battles; -she doubted if history had ever known men to be mowed down in regiments -as in these battles. Victory had been won, but it was incomplete, and -the cost had been terrible. She had seen nine thousand Confederate -prisoners. - -As to her future plans, she thought she would not go out from -Washington a great deal during the excessively hot weather. She -remembered her sickness of the previous summer, and did not wish to -repeat it. But as for keeping her away in case there should be a -battle, she would not count a kindness on anybody’s part to attempt -that. She said: “I suppose I should feel about as much benefited as -my goldfish would if some kind-hearted person should take him out of -his vase where he looked so wet and cold, and wrap him up in warm, dry -flannel. We can’t live out of our natural element, can we? I’ll keep -quiet when the war is over.” - -She was not permitted to stay in Washington and guard her health. She -was appointed Superintendent of the Department of Nurses for the Army -of the James. She was under the authority of Surgeon McCormack, Chief -Medical Director. The army was commanded by General B. F. Butler. She -entered this new field of service June 18, 1864. We have a letter which -she wrote concerning a celebration, such as it was, of the 4th of July. - - POINT OF ROCKS, VA., July 5, 1864 - General Butler’s Department - - MY MOST ESTEEMED AND DEAR FRIEND: - - Here in the sunshine and dust and toil and confusion of camp life, - the mercury above a hundred, the atmosphere and everything about - black with flies, the dust rolling away in clouds as far as the - eye can penetrate, the ashy ground covered with scores of hospital - tents shielding nearly all conceivable maladies that _soldier_ - “flesh” is heir to, and stretching on beyond the miles of - bristling fortifications, entrenchments, and batteries encircling - Petersburg,--all ready to _blaze_,--just here in the midst of all - this your refreshing letter dropped in upon me. - - NEW YORK! It seemed to me that in the very postmark I could - see pictured nice Venetian blinds, darkened rooms where never a fly - dared enter, shady yards with cool fountains throwing their spray - almost in at the open windows, watered streets flecked with the - changing shadows of waving trees, bubbling soda fountains and water - ices and grottoes and pony gallops in Central Park and cool drives - at evening, and much more I have not time to enumerate, and for an - instant I fear human selfishness triumphed, and, before I was aware, - the mind had instinctively drawn a contrast, and the sun’s rays glowed - hotter and fiercer, and the dust rolled heavier, and my wayward heart - complained to me that I was ever in the sun or dust or mud or frost, - and impatiently asked if all the years of my life should pass and I - never know again a season of quiet rest; and I confess it with shame. - I trust that the suddenness with which it was rebuked may atone for - its wickedness in some degree, and when I remembered the thousands who - would so gladly come and share the toils with us, if only they could - be free to do so, I gave thanks anew for my great privileges, and - broke the seal of the welcome missive. - - And you find hot weather even there, and have time among all the - business of that driving city to remember the worn-out sufferers who - are lying so helpless about us, many of whom have fought the last - fight, kept the last watch, and, standing at the outer post, only wait - to be relieved. The march has been toilsome, but the relief comes - speedily at last--sometimes almost before we are aware. Yesterday in - passing through a ward (if wards they might be termed) filled mostly - from the U.S. Colored Regiments I stopped beside a sergeant who had - appeared weak all day, but made no complaint, and asked how he was - feeling then. Looking up in my face, he replied, “Thank you, Miss, - a little better, I hope.” “Can I do anything for you?” I asked. “A - little water, if you please.” I turned to get it, and that instant he - gasped and was gone. Men frequently reach us at noon and have passed - away before night. For such we can only grieve, for there is little - opportunity to labor in their cases. I find a large number of colored - people, mostly women and children, left in this vicinity, the stronger - having been taken by their owners “up country.” In all cases they are - destitute, having stood the sack of two opposing armies--what one army - left them, the other has taken. - - On the plantation which forms the site of this hospital is a colored - woman, the house servant of the former owner, with thirteen children, - eight with her and five of her oldest taken away. The rebel troops had - taken her bedding and clothing and ours had taken her money, forty - dollars in gold, which she had saved, she said, and I do not doubt - her statement in the least. I gave her all the food I had that was - suitable for her and her children and shall try to find employment for - her. - - For the last few days we have been constantly meeting and caring for - the wounded and broken-down from Wilson’s cavalry raid; they have - endured more than could be expected of men, and are still brave and - cheerful under their sufferings. - - I hope I shall not surprise you by the information that we celebrated - the Fourth (yesterday) by giving an extra dinner. We invited in the - lame, the halt, and the blind to the number of some two hundred or - more to partake of roast beef, new potatoes, squash, blancmange, - cake, etc., etc. We had music, not by the band, but from the - vicinity of Petersburg, and, if not so sweet and perfectly timed as - that discoursed by some of your excellent city bands, it must be - acknowledged as both startling and thrilling, and was received with - repeated “_bursts_.” - - I thank you much for your kind solicitude for my health. I beg to - assure you that I am perfectly well at present and, with the blessing - of Heaven, I hope to remain so. - - Of the length of the campaign I have no adequate idea, and can form - none. I should be happy to write you pages of events as they transpire - every day, but duty must not be neglected for mere gratification. - - Thus far I have remained at the Corps (which is, in this instance, - only an overburdened and well-conducted field) hospital. This point, - from its peculiar location, is peculiarly adapted to this double - duty service, situated as it is at one terminus of the line of - entrenchments. - -This part of Clara Barton’s war experience is least known of all that -she performed. Her diaries were unkept and as her war lectures were -mostly occupied with her earlier service in the field, they make almost -no reference to this important part of her work. It is through her -letters that we know something of what she experienced and accomplished -in the closing months of 1864, and the early months of 1865. There -is less material here of the kind that makes good newspaper copy or -lecture material than was afforded by her earlier work in the open -field, and it is probably on this account that this period has fallen -so much into the shadow of forgetfulness that it has sometimes been -said that Clara Barton retired from active service after the Wilderness -campaign. Two letters, one to Frances Childs Vassall, and the other -to Annie Childs, give somewhat intimate pictures of her life in this -period, and may be selected out of her correspondence for that purpose. - - TENTH ARMY CORPS HOSPITAL - September 3rd, 1864 - - MY DARLING SIS FANNIE: - - It is almost midnight, and I ought to go to bed this minute, and I - want to speak to you first, and I am going to indulge my inclination - just a little minute till this page is down, if no more; but it will - be all egotism, so be prepared, and don’t blame me. I know you are - doing well and living just as quietly and happily as you deserve to - do. I hear from no one, and indeed I scarce write at all; and no one - would wonder if they could look in upon my family and know besides - that we had _moved_ this week--yes, _moved_ a family of - fifteen hundred sick men, and had to keep our housekeeping up all the - time; and no one to be ready at hand and ask us to take tea the first - night either. - - I have never told you how I returned--well, safely, and got off from - City Point and my goods off its dock _just in time_ to avoid that - terrible catastrophe. I was not blown to atoms, but might have been - and no one the wiser. I found my “sick family” somewhat magnified on - my return, and soon the Corps (10th) was ordered to cross the James, - and make a feint while the Weldon Railroad was captured, and this - move threw all the sick in Regimental Hospital into our hospital, - five hundred in one night. Only think of such an addition to a family - between supper and breakfast and no preparation; and just that morning - our old cook John and his assistant Peter both came down sick, one - with inflammation of the lungs and the other with fever. It was - all the surgeons, stewards, and clerks could do to keep the names - straight and manage the official portion of the reception; and, would - you believe it, I stepped into the gap and assumed the responsibility - of the kitchen and feeding of our twelve hundred, and I held it and - kept it straight till I selected a new boss cook and got him regularly - installed and then helped him all the time up to the present day. I - wish I had some of my bills of fare preserved as they read for the - day. The variety is by no means so striking as the quantity. Say for - breakfast seven hundred loaves of bread, one hundred and seventy - gallons of hot coffee, two large wash-boilers full of tea, one barrel - of apple sauce, one barrel of sliced boiled pork, or thirty hams, one - half barrel of corn-starch blancmange, five hundred slices of butter - toast, one hundred slices of broiled steak, and one hundred and fifty - patients, to be served with chicken gruel, boiled eggs, etc. For - dinner we have over two hundred gallons of soup, or boiled dinner of - three barrels of potatoes, two barrels of turnips, two barrels of - onions, two barrels of squash, one hundred gallons of minute pudding, - one wash-boiler full of whiskey sauce for it, or a large washtub full - of codfish nicely picked, and stirred in a batter to make one hundred - and fifty gallons of nice home codfish, and the Yankee soldiers cry - when they taste it (I prepared it just the old home way, and so I - have everything cooked), and the same toasts and corn starch as for - breakfast. And then for supper two hundred gallons of rice, and twenty - gallons of sauce for it, two hundred gallons of tea, toast for a - thousand, and some days I have made with my own hands ninety apple - pies. This would make a pie for some six hundred poor fellows who had - not tasted pie for months, it might be years, sick and could not eat - much. I save all the broken loaves of bread from transportation and - make bread puddings in large milk pans; about forty at once will do. - The patients asked for _gingerbread_, and I got extra flour and - molasses and make it by the score. I have all the grease preserved - and clarified, and to-morrow, if our new milk comes, we are to - commence to make doughnuts. I have a barrel of nice lard ready (they - had always burned it before to get it out of the way). - - Last Saturday night we learned that we were to change with the - Eighteenth Corps, and go up in front of Petersburg, and their first - loads of sick came with the order. At dark I commenced to cook - puddings and gingerbread, as I could carry them best. At two o’clock - A.M. I had as many of these as I could carry in an ambulance, - and packed my own things in an hour, and at three A.M. in the - dark, started over the pontoon bridge across the Appomattox to our new - base, about four miles. Got there a little before day, and got some - breakfast ready about 8.30 for four hundred men that had crossed the - night previous, nearly one hundred officers. The balance followed, and - in eighteen hours from the receipt of the order we were all moved--but - a poor change for us. Since dark forty wounded men have been brought - in, many of which will prove mortal, one with the shoulder gone, a - number of legs off, one with both arms gone, some blown up with shells - and terribly burned, some in the breast. By request of the surgeons, - I made a pail full of nice thick eggnog (eggs beaten separately and - seasoned with brandy), and carried all among them, to sleep on, and - chicken broth, and I have left them all falling asleep, and I have - stolen away to my tent, which is as bare as a cuckoo’s nest--dirt - floor, just like the street, a narrow bed of straw, and a three-legged - stand made of old cracker boxes, and a wash dish. A hospital tent - without any fly constitutes my apartment and furnishing. And here it - is one o’clock, damp and cold, one little fellow from the 11th Maine - dying, whose groans have echoed through the camp for hours. Another - noble Swiss boy, I fear mortally wounded, who thinks he shall not live - till morning, and has gained a promise from me that I will see him - and be with him when he dies (I have still hopes of his recovery). - Oh, what a volume it would make if I could only write you what I have - seen, known, heard, and done since I first came to this department, - June 18th. The most surprising of all of which is (tell Sally) that I - should have _turned cook_. Who would have “thunk it”? - - I am writing on bits of paper for want of whole sheets. I am entirely - out. My dresses are equal to the occasion; the skirt is finished, but - not worn yet. I am choice of it. The striped print gets soiled and - washes nicely, all just right, and I have plenty, and I bless you - every day for it. I want so to write Annie a good long letter, but how - can I get time? Please give her from this, if you please, an idea of - what I am doing, and she will not blame me so much. - - Tell Sally that our purchases of tinware were just the thing, and but - for them this hospital could not be kept comfortable a single day, - not a meal. I wish I had as much more, and a nice stove of my own, - with suitable stove furniture besides. And I think I could do as much - good with it as some missionaries are supposed to do. Our spices and - flavorings were Godsends when I got them here. I wish I had boxes of - them. I need to use so much in my big cooking. There, I said it would - be all egotism, but I am too stupid to think of anybody but myself, so - forgive me. Give my love to all and write your loving Sis, - - CLARA - - -From letters such as this we are able to rescue from oblivion a full -year of war service of Clara Barton. Contrary to all her previous -intent, she was a head-nurse, in charge of the hospitals of an entire -army corps. Not only so, but she was on occasion chief cook and -purveyor of pie and gingerbread, and picked codfish and New England -boiled dinners so like what the soldiers loved at home that they -sometimes cried for joy. But she did not relinquish her purpose to be -at the front. The front was very near to her. Another of her letters -must be quoted: - - BASE HOSPITAL, 10TH ARMY CORPS - BROADWAY LANDING, VA. - Sept. 14th, 1864 - - MY DEAR SIS ANNIE: - - Your excellent and comforting letter reached me some time ago, and, - like its one or two abused predecessors, has vainly waited a reply. - I cannot tell how badly I have wanted to write you, how impossible I - found it to get the time. But often enough an attack of illness has - brought me a leisure hour, and I am almost glad that I can make it - seem right for me to sit down in daylight and pen a letter. - - For once in my life I am at a loss where to commence. I have been your - debtor so long, and am so full of unsaid things, that I don’t know - which idea to let loose first. Perhaps I might as well speak of the - weather. Well, it _rains_, and that is good for my conscience - again, for I couldn’t get out in that if I were well enough. Rain - here means mud, you must understand, but I am sheltered. Why, I have - a _whole_ house of my own, first and second floors, two rooms - and a flight of stairs, and a great big fireplace, a bright fire - burning, a west window below, a south one above, an east door, with - a soldier-built frame arbor of cedar, twelve feet in front of it and - all around it, so close and green that a cat couldn’t look in, unless - at my side opening. It was the negro house for the plantation, and - was dirty, of course, but ten men with brooms and fifty barrels of - water made it all right, and they moved me into it one night when I - was sick, and here I have lain and the winds have blown and the rains - descended and beat upon my house, and it fell not, and for hours in - the dark night I have listened to the guy ropes snapping and the tent - flies flapping in the wind and rain, and thunder and lightning. All - about me are the frail habitations of my less fortunate neighbors. - One night I remembered a darling little Massachusetts boy, sick of - fever and chronic diarrhœa, a mere skeleton, and I knew he was lying - at the very edge of his ward, tents, of course,--delicate little - fellow, about fifteen,--and I couldn’t withstand the desire to shield - him, and sent through the storm and had him brought, bed and all, - and stored in my lower room, and there he lay like a little kitten, - so happy, till about noon the next day, when his father, one of the - wealthy merchants of Suffolk, came for him. He had just heard of his - illness, had searched through the damp tents for him and finally - traced him to me. The unexpected sight of his little boy, sheltered, - warm, and fed, nearly deprived him of speech, but when those pale lips - said, “Auntie--father--this is _my_ Auntie; doesn’t she look like - mother?” It was _too much_. Women’s and children’s tears amount - to little, but the convulsive sobs of a strong man are not forgotten - in an hour. - - Well, I have made a queer beginning of this letter. One would have - supposed I should have made it my first duty to speak of the nice - _box_ that came to me, from you, by Mrs. Rich, and how choice I - was of it, and did not take it with me the first time I went for fear - I might not find the most profitable spot to use it in just then till - I had found my field. As good luck would have it, it did not take long - to find my field of operations; and nothing but want of time to write - has prevented me from acknowledging the box many times, and expressing - the desire that others might follow it. I can form no estimate of what - I would and should have made use of during the campaign thus far, if - I had had it to use. I doubt if you at home could _realize_ the - necessities if I could describe every one accurately, and now the cold - weather approaches, they will increase in some respects. The army - is filling up with new troops to a great degree and the nights are - getting cold.... - - I was rejoiced to hear from Lieutenant Hitchcock and that he is - doing well. You are favored in so pleasant a correspondent as I know - he must be, and what a comfort to his wife to have him home so soon. - I hope his wound will not disable him very much. Please give my love - and congratulations to them when you write. Poor fellows! how sorry - I was to see them lying there under the trees, so cut and mangled. - Poor Captain Clark! Do you know if he is alive? the surgeons told me - he couldn’t survive. I went up again to see them, a day or two after - they all left. Colonel Gould had gone the day before. Yes! I lost one - friend. Poor Gardner! He fought bravely and died well, they said, and - laid his mangled body at the _feet of his foe_. I feel sad when I - think of it all. “Tired a little”--not tired of the war, but tired of - our sacrifices. - - I passed a most pleasant hour with Lieutenant Hitchcock. It seemed so - comfortable and withal so quaint and strange to sit down under the - sighing pines of Virginia away out in the woods in the war of the - guns and talk of _you_. I have asked a great many times for Mr. - Chamberlain and only heard twice--he was well each time, but this - was not lately. I shall surely go to him if I get near the dear old - regiment (21st regiment)--that is more than I ever said of any other - regiment in the service. I am a stranger to them now, I know, after - all their changes; few of them ever heard of me, and yet the very - mention of the number calls up all the old-time love and pride I ever - had. I would divide the last half of my last loaf with any soldier in - that regiment, though I had never seen him. I honor him for joining - it, be he who he may; for he knew well if he marched and fought with - _that_ regiment he had undertaken no child’s play, and those who - measured steel with them knew it as well. - - The Oxford ladies at work for me again!! I am very glad if they have - the confidence to do so. I had thought, perhaps, my style of labor - was not approved by them; but I could not help it. I knew it was - _rough_, but I thought it none the less necessary. If they do - so far approve as to send me the proceeds of some of their valuable - labors, it will be an additional stimulant to me to persevere. - - Do you know I am thinking seriously of remaining “out” the winter - unless the campaign should come to a sudden and decisive stand, and - nothing be done and no one exposed. - - _You_ know that my range here is very extended; this department - is large, and I am invited by General Butler to visit every part of - it, and all medical and other officers within the department are - directed to afford me every facility in their power. But so little - inclination do they display to thwart me that I have _never_ - shown my “pass and order” to an officer since I have been in the - department. I have had but one trouble since I came, and that has been - to extend my labor without having the point that I leave miss me. - - We have now in the 10th Corps two main hospitals and no regimental - hospital; the “base,” where I am at present, about four miles from the - extreme front, and the “Flying” Hospital three miles farther up--in - the rear of the front line of works. The most skillful operators - are always here, and all the surgeons at that post are my old-time - personal friends. Dr. Barlow I worked with at Cedar Mountain and - through Pope’s retreat, and again on Morris Island; and he says, if - I am going to desert my old friends _now_, _just say so_, - that’s all. And I have stood by Dr. Porter all summer, and Porter says - he will share me some with the upper hospital, but I must not leave - the Corps on any condition whatever. And yet the surgeon in charge of - one of the largest corps in General Grant’s army at City Point came - for me one day last week and would hardly be denied; wanted me to help - him “run” his hospital--“not to touch a bit of the work.” I begin to - think I can “keep a hotel,” but I didn’t think so a year ago. Well, I - have told you all this to show you how probable it is that I shall - find it difficult to get off the field this fall or even winter. - - And thank you many times for your sisterly invitation to spend some - portion of the winter with you. I should be most happy to do so, but - it is a little doubtful if I get north of Washington this winter, - unless the war ends suddenly, and I am beginning to study _my - duty_ closely. I can go to the Flying Hospital, and be just along - with the active army; and then, if I had a sufficient quantity of - good suitable supplies, I could keep the needy portion of a whole - corps comfortably supplied; and being connected with the hospital and - convalescent camp, conversant with the men, surgeons, and nurses, I - could meet their wants more timely and surely than any stranger or - outside organization of men could do. And ladies, most of the summer - workers, will draw off, with the cool nights; men who have been - accustomed to feather beds, will seek them if they can when the frost - comes. Nevertheless the troops will need the same care--good warm - shirts, socks, drawers, and mittens, and the sick will need the same - good, well-cooked diet that they did in summer; and yet it would try - me dreadfully to be among them in the cold and nothing comfortable - to give them. And this corps especially never passed a winter north - of South Carolina and they _will nearly freeze_, I fear. I have - scraped together and given already the last warm article I have just - for the few frosty nights we have had. I haven’t a pair of socks - or shirts or drawers for a soldier in my possession. I shall look - with great anxiety now for anything to reach me, for I shall require - it both on account of the increased severity of the weather and my - proposed extended field of labor. I have the 4th Massachusetts Cavalry - on hand, and they have a hospital of their own and a good many sick. - I gave them, one day last week, the last delicacy I possessed; it - was but little--some New York and New Jersey fruits; nothing from - Massachusetts for them. I was sorry; I wish I had. If I go to the - Flying Hospital it will be entirely destitute of all but soldier’s - blankets and rations, not a bedsack or pillow, sheet or pillowcase, - or stove or tin dishes, except cups and plates. Now, I should want - some of all these things, and if I go I must write to some of the - friends of the soldiers the wants I see, and if they are disposed - they can place it in my power to make them comfortable, independent - of army regulations. You know this front hospital is for operations - in time of battle, and subject to move at an hour’s notice, or when - the shot might reach it, or the enemy press too near, and must not - be encumbered with baggage. Ask Lieutenant Hitchcock to explain it - to you, and he will also tell you how useful a _private_ supply - connected with it might be, what comfort there would be in it, and how - I could distribute from such a point to the troops along the front. - Now, with my best regards to the good ladies of Oxford, I am done - about soldiers and hospitals. - - Oh, if I had time to write! I have material enough, “dear knows,” but - I cannot get time to half acknowledge favors received. If some one - would come and act as scribe for me, I might be the means of relating - some interesting incidents; but I have not even a cook or orderly, - not to say a clerk. I do not mean that I cannot have the two former, - but I do not use them myself at all when I hold them in detail. I - immediately get them at work for some one who I think needs them more. - I am glad you see my Worcester friends. You visited at Mr. Newton’s, I - suppose. I hope they are well. Please give my love to them.... - - We are firing a salute for something at this minute, don’t yet know - what. We fired one over the fall of Atlanta; solid shot and shell - with the guns pointed toward Petersburg. Funny salutes we get up - here. Yesterday morn we had terrible firing along the whole line, but - it amounted to only an artillery duel. Yet it brought us fourteen - wounded, three or four mortally. What a long letter I have written - you and I am not going to apologize and I know _you_ are not - tired even if it is long, you are glad of it, and so am I, although it - is not very interesting. - - Please give my kindly and high regards to Miss Sanford and Mrs. - Burleigh, Colonel De Witt, also, and all inquiring friends and write - soon to your affectionate - - Sis - - CLARA - - -This letter was copied by Annie Childs, and bears this note in the -handwriting of Annie Childs: - - I have my friend Clara’s permission to show any portion of her “poor - scrawls” that I think would interest the excellent ladies who are - laboring so faithfully for the good and comfort of the soldiers, and - trust to their charity to overlook imperfections. Many portions of the - above are copied for the benefit of persons in Worcester and other - places, as I could not get time to write many copies like this, which - is three fourths of my letter from her. - - ANNIE E. CHILDS - - -It must have been something of a relief to Clara Barton to be working -in a definite sphere under military authority, and not as a volunteer -worker. Not that she regretted for a moment the method of her previous -activity. She would never have worked cheerfully as a part of the -organization commanded by Miss Dix. She had too clear ideas of her own, -and saw the possibilities of too large a work for her to be content -with any sort of long-range supervision. All the women who really -achieved large success at the front were individualists. “Mother” -Bickerdyke, for instance, took no orders from any one. General Sherman -was accustomed to say of her that she ranked him. But Miss Barton’s -field for volunteer service was now limited. The war was closing -in, and nearing its end. Clara Barton wisely accepted a definite -appointment and took up her work with the army of General Butler. How -highly he esteemed her service is shown by his lifelong friendship -for her, and his appointment of her to be matron of the Massachusetts -Reformatory for Women. - -Clara Barton knew, before she went to the Army of the James, how -impossible it was to obtain ideal conditions in a military hospital. -She must have been very glad that she had refused to criticize the -hospitals at Hilton Head, even when she knew that things were going -wrong. She had her own experience with headstrong surgeons and -incompetent nurses. But on the whole her experience in the closing days -of the war was satisfactory. - -One incident which she had looked forward to with eager longing, and -had almost given up, occurred while she was with the Army of the James. -Her brother Stephen was rescued. - -It was a pathetic rescue. He was captured by the Union army, and robbed -of a considerable sum of money which had been in his possession. When -he was brought within the Union lines, he was sick, and he suffered -ill treatment after his capture. The date of his capture was September -25, 1864. It was some days before Miss Barton learned about it. She -then reported the matter to General Butler, and it was at once ordered -that Stephen be brought to his headquarters with all papers and other -property in his possession at the time of his capture. The prisoner -was sent and such papers as had been preserved, but the money was -not recovered. Two long letters, written by Stephen Barton from the -hospital, tell the story of his life within the Confederate lines, and -it is a pathetic story. - -Stephen Barton was treated with great kindness while he remained in -the hospital at Point of Rock. He was there during the assault on -Petersburg, and well toward the end of the campaign against Richmond. -Then he was removed to Washington, where, on March 10, 1865, he died. -Miss Barton had the satisfaction of ministering to him during those -painful days, and she afterward wrote down her recollection of a prayer -he offered one night after a battle in front of Richmond: - - An hour with my dear noble brother Stephen, during a night after a - battle in front of Richmond. - - CLARA BARTON - - _My brother Stephen, when with me in front of Richmond_ - - Hearing a voice I crept softly down my little confiscated stairway - and waited in the shadows near his bedside. He had turned his face - partly into his pillow and, resting it upon his hands, was at prayer. - The first words which my ear caught distinctly were, “O God, whose - children we all are, look down with thine eye of justice and mercy - upon this terrible conflict, and weaken the wrong and strengthen the - right till this unequal contest close. O God, save my Country. Bless - Abraham Lincoln and his armies.” A sob from me revealed my presence. - He started, and, raising his giant skeleton form until he rested upon - his elbow, he said, “I thought I was alone.” Then, turning upon me a - look of mingled anxiety, pity, and horror, which I can never describe, - he asked hastily, “Sister, what are those incessant sounds I hear? - The whole atmosphere is filled with them; they seem like the mingled - groans of human agony. I have not heard them before. Tell me what it - is.” I could not speak the words that would so shock his sensitive - nature, but could only stand before him humbled and penitent as if - I had something to do with it all, and feel the tears roll over my - face. My silence confirmed his secret suspicions, and raising himself - still higher, and every previous expression of his face intensifying - tenfold, he exclaimed, “Are these the groans of wounded men? Are - they so many that my senses cannot take them in?--that my ear cannot - distinguish them?” And raising himself fully upright and clasping his - bony hands, he broke forth in tones that will never leave me. “O our - God, in mercy to the poor creatures thou hast called into existence, - send down thine angels either in love or wrath to stay this strife and - bid it cease. Count the least of these cries as priceless jewels, each - drop of blood as ruby gems, and let them buy the Freedom of the world. - Clothe the feet of thy messengers with the speed of the lightning and - bid them proclaim, through the sacrifices of a people, a people’s - freedom, and, through the sufferings of a nation, a nation’s peace.” - And there, under the guns of Richmond, amid the groans of the dying, - in the darkling shadows of the smoky rafters of an old negro hut by - the rude chimney where the dusky form of the bondman had crouched for - years, on the ground trodden hard by the foot of the slave, I knelt - beside that rough couch of boards and sobbed “Amen” to the patriot - prayer that rose above me. - - * * * * * - - The stolen money was never restored. Stephen struggled on a few - weeks longer, alternating, hoping, and despairing, suffering from - the physical abuse he had received, crushed in spirit, battling with - disease and weakness as only a brave man can, worrying over his - unprotected property and his debts in the old home he never reached, - watching the war, and praying for the success of the Union armies, - and died without knowing--and God be praised for this--that the - reckless torches of that same Union army would lay in ashes and ruins - the result of the hard labor of his own worn-out life and wreck the - fortunes of his only child. - - Although doubting and fearing, we had never despaired of his recovery, - until the morning when he commenced to sink and we saw him rapidly - passing away. He was at once aware of his condition and spoke of his - business, desiring that, first of all, when his property could be - reached, his debts should be faithfully paid. A few little minutes - more and there lay before us, still and pitiful, all that remained to - tell of that hard life’s struggle and battle, which had failed most - of all through a great-hearted love for humanity, his faithfulness to - what he conceived to be his duty, and his readiness to do more for - mankind than it was willing to do for itself. - -Clara Barton did not long continue in hospital service after the -immediate need was passed. With the firing of the last gun she returned -to Washington. One chapter in her career was closed. Another and -important work was about to open, and she already had it in mind. But -the work she had done was memorable, and its essential character must -not be forgotten. - -Clara Barton was more and other than a hospital nurse. She was not -simply one of a large number of women who nursed sick soldiers. She did -that, hastening to assist them at the news of the very first bloodshed, -and continuing until Richmond had fallen. Hers was the distinction of -doing her work upon the actual field of battle; of following the cannon -so as to be on the ground when the need began; of not waiting for the -wounded soldier to be brought to the hospital, but of conveying the -hospital to the wounded soldier. Others followed her in this good work; -others accompanied her and were her faithful associates, but she was, -in a very real sense, the soul and inspiration of the movement which -carried comfort to wounded men while the battle was still in progress. -She was not, in any narrow sense, a hospital nurse; she was, as she has -justly been called, “the angel of the battle-field.” - -One characteristic of Clara Barton during these four years deserves -mention and emphasis because her independent position might have made -it easy for her to assume a critical attitude toward those who worked -under the regular organization or through different channels. In all -her letters, in all the entries in her diaries, there is found no -hint of jealousy toward any of the women who worked as nurses in the -hospitals, or under the Sanitary or Christian Commission. - -Clara Barton from her childhood was given to versifying. She was once -called upon to respond to a toast to the women who went to the front. -She did it in rhyme as follows: - - -TOAST - -“THE WOMEN WHO WENT TO THE FIELD” - - The women who went to the field, you say, - The _women_ who went to the field; and pray - What did they go for? just to be in the way!-- - They’d not know the difference betwixt work and play, - What did they know about _war_ anyway? - What could they _do_?--of what _use_ could they be? - They would scream at the sight of a gun, don’t you see? - Just fancy them round where the bugle notes play, - And the long roll is bidding us on to the fray. - Imagine their skirts ’mong artillery wheels, - And watch for their flutter as they flee ’cross the fields - When the charge is rammed home and the fire belches hot;-- - They never will wait for the answering shot. - They would faint at the first drop of blood, in their sight. - What fun for us boys,--(ere we enter the fight;) - They might pick some lint, and tear up some sheets, - And make us some jellies, and send on their sweets, - And knit some soft socks for Uncle Sam’s shoes, - And write us some letters, and tell us the news. - And thus it was settled by common consent, - That husbands, or brothers, or whoever went, - That the place for the women was in their own homes, - There to patiently wait until victory comes. - But later, it chanced, just how no one knew, - That the lines slipped a bit, and some ’gan to crowd through; - And they went,--where did they go?--Ah; where did they not? - Show us the battle,--the field,--or the spot - Where the groans of the wounded rang out on the air - That her ear caught it not, and her hand was not there, - Who wiped the death sweat from the cold clammy brow, - And sent home the message;--“’Tis well with him now”? - Who watched in the tents, whilst the fever fires burned, - And the pain-tossing limbs in agony turned, - And wet the parched tongue, calmed delirium’s strife - Till the dying lips murmured, “My Mother,” “My Wife”! - And who were they all?--They were many, my men; - Their record was kept by no tabular pen: - They exist in traditions from father to son. - Who recalls, in dim memory, now here and there one.-- - A few names were writ, and by chance live to-day; - But’s a perishing record fast fading away. - Of those we recall, there are scarcely a score, - Dix, Dame, Bickerdyke,--Edson, Harvey, and Moore, - Fales, Whittenmeyer, Gilson, Safford and Lee, - And poor Cutter dead in the sands of the sea; - And Frances D. Gage, our “Aunt Fanny” of old, - Whose voice rang for freedom when freedom was sold. - And Husband, and Etheridge, and Harlan and Case, - Livermore, Alcott, Hancock, and Chase, - And Turner, and Hawley, and Potter, and Hall. - Ah! the list grows apace, as they come at the call: - Did these women quail at the sight of a gun? - Will some soldier tell us of one he saw run? - Will he glance at the boats on the great western flood, - At Pittsburg and Shiloh, did they faint at the blood? - And the brave wife of Grant stood there with them then, - And her calm, stately presence gave strength to his men. - And _Marie of Logan_; she went with them too; - A bride, scarcely more than a sweetheart, ’tis true. - Her young cheek grows pale when the bold troopers ride. - Where the “Black Eagle” soars, she is close at his side, - She staunches his blood, cools the fever-burnt breath, - And the wave of her hand stays the Angel of Death; - She nurses him back, and restores once again - To both army and state the brave leader of men. - - She has smoothed his black plumes and laid them to sleep, - Whilst the angels above them their high vigils keep: - And she sits here _alone_, with the snow on her brow-- - Your cheers for her comrades! Three cheers for her now. - And these were the women who went to the war: - The women of question; what _did_ they go for? - Because in their hearts God had planted the seed - Of pity for woe, and help for its need; - They saw, in high purpose, a duty to do, - And the armor of right broke the barriers through. - Uninvited, unaided, unsanctioned ofttimes, - With pass, or without it, they pressed on the lines; - They pressed, they implored, till they ran the lines through, - And _this_ was the “running” the men saw them do. - ’Twas a hampered work, its worth largely lost; - ’Twas hindrance, and pain, and effort, and cost: - But through these came knowledge,--knowledge is power.-- - And never again in the deadliest hour - Of war or of peace, shall we be so beset - To accomplish the purpose our spirits have met. - And what would they do if war came again? - The _scarlet cross floats_ where all was blank then. - They would bind on their “_brassards_” and march to the fray, - And the man liveth not who could say to them nay; - They would stand with you now, as they stood with you then, - The nurses, consolers, and saviors of men. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -ANDERSONVILLE AND AFTER - - -Clara Barton’s name continued on the roll of clerks in the Patent -Office until August, 1865. She drew her salary as a clerk throughout -the period of the Civil War, and it was the only salary that she drew -during that time. Out of it she paid the clerk who took her place -during the latter months of her employment, and also the rent of the -room in Washington, where she stored her supplies and now and then -slept. When she was at the front, she shared the rations of the army. -Most of the time her food was the food of the officers of the division -where she was at work. Much of the time it was the humble fare of -the common soldier. Mouldy and even wormy hardtack grew to be quite -familiar to her, and was eaten without complaint. - -As the end of the war drew near, she discovered a field of service in -which her aid was greatly needed. Every battle in the Civil War had, in -addition to its list of known dead and wounded, a list of “missing.” -Some of these missing soldiers were killed and their bodies not found -or identified. Of the 315,555 graves of Northern troops, only 172,400 -were identified. Almost half of the soldiers buried in graves known -to the quartermaster of the Federal army were unidentified; 143,155 -were buried in graves known to be the graves of soldiers, but with no -soldier’s name to mark them. Besides these there were 43,973 recorded -deaths over and above the number of graves. The total of deaths -recorded was 359,528, while the number of graves, as already stated, -was 315,555. As a mere matter of statistics, this may not seem to mean -very much, but it actually means that nearly two hundred thousand homes -received tidings of the death of a father, son, or brother, and did not -know where that loved one was buried. This added to grief the element -of uncertainty, and in many cases of futile hope. - -Moreover, there were many other thousands of men reported missing -of whom no certain knowledge could be obtained at the close of the -Civil War. Some were deserters, some were bounty-jumpers, some were -prisoners, some were dead. Clara Barton received countless letters of -inquiry. From all over the country letters came asking whether in any -hospital she had seen such and such a soldier. - -Clearly foreseeing that the end of the war was in sight, Clara Barton, -who had gone from City Point, where she was serving with General -Butler’s army, to Washington, where she witnessed the death of her -brother Stephen, brought to the attention of President Lincoln the -necessity of instituting some agency for the finding of missing -soldiers. She knew what her own family had suffered in the anxious -months when Stephen was immured within the Confederate lines, and his -relatives did not know whether he was living or dead. President Lincoln -at once approved her plan, and issued a letter advising the friends of -missing soldiers to communicate with Miss Barton at Annapolis, where -she established her headquarters. President Lincoln’s letter was dated -March 11, 1865, the day following the death of her brother Stephen. -This was followed, March 25, by a letter from General Hitchcock: - - WASHINGTON, D.C., March 25, 1865 - - FOR THE COMMANDING OFFICER AT ANNAPOLIS, MD. - - SIR: - - The notice, which you have doubtless seen, over the name of Miss - Barton, of Massachusetts, proffering her services in answering - inquiries with respect to Union officers and soldiers who have been - prisoners of war (or who remain so), was made by my authority under - the written sanction of His Excellency the President. - - The purpose is so humane and so interesting in itself that I beg - to recommend Miss Barton to your kind civilities, and to say that - any facilities which you may have it in your power to extend to her - would be properly bestowed, and duly appreciated, not only by the - lady herself, but by the whole country which is interested in her - self-appointed mission. - - With great resp. your obt. servant - - (Signed) E. A. HITCHCOCK - Maj. Gen’l. Vols. - - -Although she was backed by the authority of the President, it took -the War Department two months to establish Clara Barton in her work -at Annapolis with the title “General Correspondent for the Friends -of Paroled Prisoners.” A tent was assigned her, with furniture, -stationery, clerks, and a modest fund for postage. By the time she -was established at Annapolis, she found bushels of mail awaiting her, -and letters of inquiry came in at the rate of a hundred a day. To -bring order out of this chaos, and establish a system by which missing -soldiers and their relatives could be brought into communication with -each other, called for swift action and no little organizing skill. For -a time difficulties seemed to increase. Discharged prisoners returned -from the South by thousands. In some cases there was no record, in -others the record was defective. Inquiries came in much faster than -information in response to them. - -Notwithstanding all the difficulties, Clara Barton had a long list of -missing men ready for publication by the end of May. Then the question -rose how she was to get it published. It was not wholly a matter of -expense, though this was an important item. There was only one printing -office in Washington which had type enough, and especially capitals -enough, to set up such a roll as at that time she had ready. In this -emergency she appealed directly to the President of the United States, -asking that the roll be printed at the Government Printing Office. Her -original letter to President Johnson is in existence, together with a -series of endorsements, the last of them by Andrew Johnson himself. -General Rucker was the first official to endorse it, Major-General -Hitchcock added his commendation, General Hoffman followed, then came -General Grant, and last of all the President: - - WASHINGTON, D.C., May 31st, 1865 - - HIS EXCELLENCY - PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES - - SIR: - - May I venture to enclose for perusal the within circular in the hope - that it may to a certain extent explain the object of the work in - which I am engaged. The undertaking having at its first inception - received the cordial and written sanction of our late beloved - President, I would most respectfully ask for it the favor of his - honored successor. - - The work is indeed a large one; but I have a settled confidence that - I shall be able to accomplish it. The fate of the unfortunate men - failing to appear under the search which I shall institute is likely - to remain forever unrevealed. - - My rolls are now ready for the press; but their size exceeds the - capacity of any private establishment in this city, no printer in - Washington having forms of sufficient size or a sufficient number of - capitals to print so many names. - - It will be both inconvenient and expensive to go with my rolls to some - distant city each time they are to be revised. In view of this fact I - am constrained to ask our honored President, when he shall approve my - work, as I must believe he will, to direct that the printing may be - done at the Government Printing Office. - - I may be permitted to say in this connection that the enclosed - printed circular appealing for pecuniary aid did not originate in - any suggestion of mine, but in the solicitude of personal friends, - and that thus far, in whatever I may have done, I have received no - assistance either from the Government or from individuals. A time - may come when it will be necessary for me to appeal directly to the - American People for help, and in that event, such appeal will be made - with infinitely greater confidence and effect, if my undertaking shall - receive the approval and patronage of Your Excellency. - - I have the honor to be, Sir - - Most respectfully - - Your obedient servant - - CLARA BARTON - - -_Official endorsements on back of her letter_ - - CHIEF QUARTERMASTER’S OFFICE - DEPOT OF WASHINGTON - - June 2, 1865 - - I most heartily concur in the recommendations on this paper. I have - known Miss Barton for a long time and it gives me great pleasure to - aid her in her good works. - - F. H. RUCKER - Brig. Gen’l & Chf. Q.M. - - -[Illustration: [Facsimile] - -LETTER TO PRESIDENT JOHNSON] - - The undersigned, with a full understanding of the benevolent purpose - of Miss Barton and of its deep interest for the public, most cordially - commends it to the approval of the President of the United States. - - E. A. HITCHCOCK - Maj. Gen. Vol. - - - June 2, 1865 - - I most heartily concur in the foregoing recommendations. - - W. HOFFMAN - - Com. Gen’l Pris. - - - Respectfully recommended that the printing asked for be authorized at - the Government Printing Office. The object being a charitable one, - to look up and ascertain the fate of officers and soldiers who have - fallen into the hands of the enemy and have never been restored to - their families and friends, is one which Government can well aid. - - U. S. GRANT - - L.G. - - June 2d, 1865. - - - June 3d, 1865 - - Let this printing be done as speedily as possible consistently with - the public interest. - - ANDREW JOHNSON - Prest. U.S. - - TO MR. DEFREES - - Supt. Pub. Printing - -[Illustration: [Facsimile] - -ENDORSEMENTS ON MISS BARTON’S LETTER TO PRESIDENT JOHNSON] - - -On the same date, June 2, 1865, Miss Barton received a pass from -General Grant commending her to the kind consideration of all officers -and instructing them to give her all facilities that might be necessary -in the prosecution of her mission. By General Grant’s order, there was -also issued to her transportation for herself and two assistants on all -Government railroads and transports: - - HEADQUARTERS ARMIES OF THE UNITED STATES - - WASHINGTON, D.C., June 2d, 1865 - - The bearer hereof, _Miss Clara Barton_, who is engaged in making - inquiries concerning the fate of soldiers reported as missing in - action, is commended to the kind consideration of all officers of the - military service, and she will be afforded by commanders and others - such facilities in the prosecution of her charitable mission as can - properly be extended to her. - - U. S. GRANT - Lieut. General Comdg. - - - HEADQUARTERS ARMIES OF THE UNITED STATES - - WASHINGTON, D.C., June 2nd, 1865 - - Miss _Clara Barton_, engaged in making inquiries for soldiers - reported as missing in action, will be allowed, until further orders, - with her assistants, not to exceed two in number, free transportation - on all Government railroads and transports. - - By Command of Lieut.-General Grant - - T. S. BRECK - Asst. Adjt. Gen’l. - - -Clara Barton had learned the value of publicity. She knew that the -Press could be counted upon to assist an undertaking so near to the -hearts of all readers of the papers. She therefore arranged her lists -by States, and sent the list of each State to every newspaper in the -State with the request for its free publication. Before long she had -established definite connections with scores of newspapers which -responded favorably to her request. No one read these lists more -eagerly than recently discharged men, including prisoners and men -released from hospitals. In innumerable instances these men wrote to -her to give information of the death or survival, with location, of -some comrade whose name had been published in one of her lists. - -Sometimes she succeeded not only beyond her own expectation, but beyond -the desire of the man who was sought. Occasionally a soldier who went -into voluntary obscurity at the end of the war found himself unable -to remain in as modest a situation as he had chosen for himself. A -few letters are found of men who indignantly remonstrated against -being discovered by their relatives. One such case will serve as an -illustration. The first of the following letters is from the sister of -a missing soldier. The second, six months later, is a protest from the -no longer missing man, and the third is Clara’s indignant reply to him: - - LOCKPORT, N.Y., April 17th, 1865 - - MISS CLARA BARTON - DEAR MADAM: - - Seeing a notice in one of our village papers stating that you can - give information concerning soldiers in the army or navy, you will - sincerely oblige me if you can give any intelligence of my brother, - Joseph H. H----, who was engaged in the 2nd Maryland Regiment under - General Goldsborough, and from whom we have not heard in nearly two - years. His mother died last winter, to whom his silent absence was, I - assure you, a _great grief_, and to whom I promised to make all - inquiries in my power, so that I might if possible learn my brother’s - fate. I would most willingly remunerate you for all trouble. - - Yours respectfully - - E---- H---- - - - SPRINGFIELD, ILLS., Oct. 16, 1865 - - MISS CLARA BARTON, - Washington, D.C. - - MADAM: - - I have seen my name on a sheet of paper somewhat to my mortification, - for I would like to know what I have done, so that I am worthy to have - my name _blazoned_ all over the country. If my friends in New - York _wish_ to know where I am, let them wait _until_ I see - fit to write them. As you are anxious of my welfare, I would say that - I am just from New Orleans, discharged, on my way North, but unluckily - taken with _chills_ and _fever_ and could proceed no farther - for some time at least. I shall remain here for a month. - - Respectfully, your obt. servt. - - J---- H. H---- - - - MR. J---- H. H---- - - SIR:-- - - I enclose copies of two letters in my possession. The writer of the - first I suppose to be your sister. The lady for whose death the letter - was draped in mourning I suppose to have been _your mother_. Can - it be possible that you were aware of that fact when you wrote that - letter? _Could_ you have spoken thus, knowing all? - - The cause of your name having been “blazoned all over the country” - was your unnatural concealment from your nearest relatives, and the - great distress it caused them. “What you have done” to render this - necessary _I_ certainly _do not_ know. It seems to have been - the misfortune of your family to think more of you than you did of - them, and probably more than you deserve from the manner in which you - treat them. They had already waited until a son and brother possessing - common humanity would have “seen fit” to write them. _Your mother - died waiting_, and the result of your sister’s faithful efforts - to comply with her dying request “_mortify_” you. I cannot - apologize for the part I have taken. You are mistaken in supposing - that I am “anxious for your welfare.” I assure you I have no interest - in it, but your accomplished sister, for whom I entertain the deepest - respect and sympathy, I shall inform of your existence lest you should - not “see fit” to do so yourself. - - I have the honor to be, sir - - CLARA BARTON - - -Such letters as the foregoing remind us that not all the cases of -missing soldiers were purely accidental. There were instances where -men went to war vowing loyalty to the girls they left behind them, and -who formed other ties. There were cases where men formed wholly new -associations and deliberately chose to begin anew and let the past be -buried. But there were thousands of instances in which the work of -Clara Barton brought her enduring gratitude. In very large proportion -these missing men were dead. The testimony of a comrade who had -witnessed the death on the battle-field or in prison set at rest any -suspicion of desertion or any other form of dishonor. In other cases, -where the soldier was alive, but had grown careless about writing, her -timely reminder secured a prompt reunion and saved a long period of -anxiety. Letters like the following came to her to the end of her life: - - GREENFIELD, MASS., Sept. 25, 1911 - - MISS CLARA BARTON - Oxford, Mass. - - MY DEAR MISS BARTON: - - I am a stranger to you, but you are far from being a stranger to me. - As a member of the old Vermont Brigade through the entire struggle, - I was familiar with your unselfish work at the front through those - years when we were trying to restore a broken Union, and being a - prisoner of war at Andersonville at its close, my mother, not knowing - whether I was alive, appealed to you for information. - - Two letters bearing your signature (from Annapolis, Maryland) are in - my possession, the pathos of one bearing no tidings, and the glad - report of my arrival about the middle of May, 1865. - - The thankful heart that received them has long been stilled, but the - letters have been preserved as sacred relics. - - I also have a very vivid recollection of your earnest appeal to us to - notify our friends of our arrival by first mail for their sake. - - If to enjoy the gratitude of a single heart be a pleasure, to enjoy - the benediction of a grateful world must be sweet to one’s declining - years. To have earned it makes it sublime. - - I have also another tie which makes Oxford seem near to me. An old - tent-mate, a member of our regimental quartette, a superb soldier - and a very warm friend, lies mouldering there these many years. He - survived, I think, more than thirty battles only to die of consumption - in January, 1870. Whenever I can I run down from Worcester to lay a - flower on George H. Amidon’s grave. - - I write not to tax you with a reply, but simply to wish for you all - manner of blessings. - - Yours truly - - F. J. HOSMER - Co. I, 4th Vt. - - -Her headquarters at this time was theoretically at Arlington where she -had a tent. Arlington was the headquarters receiving and discharging -returned prisoners. But much of her work was in Washington, and the -constant journeys back and forth caused her to ask for a conveyance. -She made her application to General William Hoffman, Commissary-General -of prisoners, on June 16, 1865. Her request went the official rounds, -and by the 25th of October a horse was promised as soon as a suitable -one could be found. It is to be hoped that within a year or two a horse -either with sidesaddle or attached to a wheeled conveyance was found -tethered in front of her bare lodging on the third floor of No. 488½ -7th Street, between D and E: - - WASHINGTON, D.C., June 16th, 1865 - - BRIG.-GEN’L. WM. HOFFMAN - COMMSY. GEN’L OF PRISONERS - - GENERAL: - - It would not appear so necessary to explain to you the nature of my - wants, as to apologize for imposing them upon you, but your great - kindness to me has taught me not to fear the abuse of it in any - request which seems needful. - - If I say that in my present undertaking I find the duties of each - day quite equal to my strength, and often of a character which some - suitable mode of conveyance at my own command like the daily use of a - Government wagon would materially lighten, I feel confident that you - would both comprehend and believe me, but if I were to desire you to - represent my wishes to the proper authorities and aid in obtaining - such a facility for me, I may have carried my request to a troublesome - length and could only beg your kind pardon for the liberty taken which - I would most humbly and cheerfully do. - - With grateful respect, - - I am, General - - Very truly yours - - CLARA BARTON - - - HEADQUARTERS MILITARY DISTRICT OF WASHINGTON - - WASHINGTON, D.C., October 25, 1865 - - MISS CLARA BARTON: - - I have conferred with General Wadsworth on the subject of obtaining a - horse for your use, and he has directed that I place a horse at your - disposal as soon as a suitable one can be found. - - Very respectfully - - Yr. Obt. Svt. - - JOHN P. SHERBURNE - - Asst. Adjt. Gen’l. - - -For four years Clara Barton carried on this important work for missing -soldiers. She spared neither her time nor her purse. At the outset -there was no appropriation that covered the necessary expenses of such -a quest, and the work was of a character that would not wait. From -the beginning of the year 1865 to the end of 1868 she sent out 63,182 -letters of inquiry. She mailed printed circulars of advice in reply to -correspondents to 58,693 persons. She wrote or caused to be written -41,855 personal letters. She distributed to be posted on bulletin -boards and in public places 99,057 slips containing printed rolls. -According to her estimate at the end of this heavy task, she succeeded -in bringing information, not otherwise obtainable, to not less than -22,000 families of soldiers. - -How valuable this work was then believed to be is shown in the fact -that Congress, after an investigation by a committee which examined in -detail her method and its results and the vouchers she had preserved of -her expenses, appropriated to reimburse her the sum of $15,000. - -It soon became evident that one of the most important fields for -investigation was such record as could be found of the Southern -prisons, especially Andersonville. To Andersonville her attention -was directed through a discharged prisoner, Dorence Atwater, of -Connecticut. He was in the first detachment transferred, the latter -part of February, 1864, to the then new prison of Andersonville, and -because of his skillful penmanship was detailed to keep a register of -deaths of the prisoners. He occupied a desk next to that of General -Wirz, the Confederate officer commanding the prison. Here, at the -beginning of 1865, he made up a list of nearly thirteen thousand Union -prisoners who died in that year, giving the full name, company and -regiment, date and cause of death. Besides the official list he made -another and duplicate list, which he secreted in the lining of his -coat, and was able to take with him on his discharge. - -At the close of the war he returned to his home in Terryville, -Connecticut, where he was immediately stricken with diphtheria. -Weakened and emaciated by his imprisonment, he nearly died of this -acute attack. Before he was fully recovered, he was summoned to -Washington, and his rolls were demanded by the Government. He gave -them up and they were copied in Washington, but were not published. He -wrote to Clara Barton informing her of these rolls and affirmed that -by means of them he could identify almost every grave in Andersonville -Prison. Clara Barton was greatly interested, and proposed to Secretary -Stanton that she be sent to Andersonville and that Dorence Atwater -accompany her. She proposed that there should go with them a number of -men equipped with material for enclosing the cemetery with a fence, and -for the marking of each grave with a suitable headboard. - -Secretary Stanton received this suggestion not only with approval, but -with enthusiasm. Miss Barton wrote the account of her interview with -him on some loose sheets for her diary. The sheets were at least three -in number, and only the second sheet is preserved. This sheet, however, -covers the personal interview with Secretary Stanton. It was written at -the time, and manifests his keen interest in her enterprise and desire -to carry it through promptly and effectively: - - On entering General Hardy’s room, he asked my business. I said, “I - didn’t know, sir. I supposed I had some, as the Secretary sent for - me.” “Oh,” he said, “you are Miss Barton. The Secretary is very - anxious to see you,” and sent a messenger to announce me. Mr. Stanton - met me halfway across the room with extended hand, and said he had - taken the liberty to send for me to thank me for what I had done both - in the past, and in my present work; that he greatly regretted that - he had not known of me earlier, as from all he now learned he feared - I had done many hard things which a little aid from him would have - rendered comparatively easy, but that especially now he desired to - thank me for helping him _to think_; that it was not possible - for him to think of everything which was for the general good, and no - one knew how grateful he was to the person who put forth, among all - the impracticable, interested, wild, and selfish schemes which were - continually crowded upon him, one good, sensible, practical, unselfish - idea that he could take up and act upon with safety and credit. You - may believe that by this time my astonishment had not decreased. In - the course of the next twenty minutes he informed me that he had - decided to invite me (for he could not order _me_) to accompany - Captain Moore, with Atwater and his register, to Andersonville, - and see my suggestions carried out to my entire satisfaction; that - unlimited powers as quartermaster would be given Captain Moore to - draw upon all officers of the Government in that vicinity for whatever - would be desired; that a special boat would be sent with ourselves and - corps of workmen, and to return only when the work was satisfactorily - accomplished. To call the next day and consult with him farther in.... - -If Miss Barton’s horse, which she had asked for in June, had gotten to -her door more promptly than is customary in such matters of official -routine, he might have grown hungry waiting for her return. As we have -already noticed, permission to have the horse assigned was granted in -October, which left the summer free for the Andersonville expedition. -Fortunately, no long interval elapsed after Secretary Stanton’s -approval of the plan before the starting of the expedition. On July 8 -the propeller Virginia, having on board headboards, fencing material, -clerks, painters, letterers, and a force of forty workmen, under -command of Captain James M. Moore, Quartermaster, left Washington for -Andersonville, by way of Savannah. On board also were Dorence Atwater -and Clara Barton. They reached Savannah on July 12, and remained there -seven days, arriving at Andersonville on July 25. - -Her first impressions were wholly favorable. The cemetery was in much -better condition than she had been led to fear. As the bodies had been -buried in regular order, and Dorence Atwater’s lists were minute as to -date and serial number, the task of erecting a headboard giving each -soldier’s name, state, company, regiment, and date of death, appeared -not very difficult. On the second night of her stay in Andersonville -she wrote to Secretary Stanton of the success of the undertaking and -suggested that the grounds be made a national cemetery. She assured -him that for his prompt and humane action in ordering the marking of -these graves the American people would bless him through long years to -come. She was correct in her prediction. But for her proposal and Mr. -Stanton’s prompt coöperation and Dorence Atwater’s presence with the -list, hundreds if not thousands of graves now certainly are identified -at Andersonville which would have needed to be marked “Unknown”: - - HON. E. M. STANTON - SEC’Y. OF WAR, UNITED STATES - - SIR: - - It affords me great pleasure to be able to report to you that we - reached Andersonville safely at 1 o’clock P.M. yesterday, - 25th inst. Found the grounds undisturbed, the stockade and hospital - quarters standing protected by order of General Wilson. - - We have encountered no serious obstacle, met with no accident, our - entire party is well, and commenced work this morning. Any misgivings - which might have been experienced are happily at an end; the original - plan for identifying the graves is capable of being carried out to - the letter. We can accomplish fully all that we came to accomplish, - and the field is wide and ample for much more in the future. If - _desirable_, the grounds of Andersonville can be made a National - Cemetery of great beauty and interest. Be assured, Mr. Stanton, that - for this prompt and humane action of yours, the American people will - bless you long after your willing hands and mind have ceased to toil - for them. - - With great respect, - - I have the honor to be, Sir - - Your very obedient servant - - CLARA BARTON - - ANDERSONVILLE, GA. - - July 26th, 1865 - - -The remaining period of her work in Andersonville was fruitful in -the accomplishment of all the essential results for which she had -undertaken the expedition, but it resulted in strained relations -between one of the officers of the expedition and Dorence Atwater, and -Clara Barton came to the defense of Atwater. During her absence at -Andersonville, two letters were published in a Washington paper, over -her signature, alleged to have been written by her to her Uncle James. -She had no Uncle James, and wrote no such letters; and she attributed -the forgery, correctly or incorrectly, to this officer. Her official -report to the Secretary of War contains a severe arraignment of that -officer, whom she never regarded with any favor. - -This is all that need be recorded of Clara Barton’s great work at -Andersonville, of which a volume might easily be made. She saw the -Union graves marked. Out of the almost thirteen thousand graves of -Union soldiers at Andersonville four hundred and forty were marked -“Unknown” when she finished her work, and they were unknown only -because the Confederate records were incomplete. She saw the grounds -enclosed and protected, and with her own hands she raised the United -States flag for the first time since their death above these men who -had died for it. - -But this expedition involved trouble for Atwater. When he handed over -his rolls to the Government it was with the earnest request that steps -be taken immediately to mark these graves. His request and the rolls -had been pigeonholed. Then he had learned of Clara Barton’s great work -for missing soldiers and wrote her telling her that the list he had -made surreptitiously and preserved with such care was gathering dust, -while thirteen thousand graves were fast becoming unidentifiable. She -brought this knowledge to Secretary Stanton as has already been set -forth, and Stanton ordered the rolls to be produced and sent on this -expedition for Atwater’s use in identification. - -Dorence Atwater had enlisted at the age of sixteen in the year 1862. -He was now under twenty, but he was resolute in his determination that -the lists which he had now recovered should not again be taken from -him. On his return from Andersonville the rolls which he had made -containing the names of missing soldiers disappeared. He was arrested -and questioned, and replied that the rolls were his own property. He -was sent to prison in the Old Capital, was tried by a court-martial, -adjudged guilty of larceny, and sentenced to be confined for eighteen -months at hard labor in the State Prison at Auburn, New York, fined -three hundred dollars, and ordered to stand committed until the rolls -were returned. - -Atwater made no defense, but issued a statement which Clara Barton -probably prepared for him: - - I am charged with and convicted of theft, and sentenced to eighteen - months’ imprisonment, and after that time until I shall have paid my - Government three hundred dollars. I have called no witnesses, made no - appeal, adduced no evidence. A soldier, a prisoner, an orphan, and - a minor, I have little with which to employ counsel to oppose the - Government of the United States. - - Whatever I may have been convicted of, I deny the charge of theft. I - took my rolls home with me that they might be preserved; I considered - them mine; it had never been told or even hinted to me that they were - not my own rightful, lawful property. I never denied having them, and - I was not arrested for stealing my rolls, but for having declared my - intention of appealing to higher authority for justice. I supposed - this to be one of the privileges of an American citizen, one of - the great principles of the Government for which we had fought and - suffered; but I forgot that the soldier who sacrificed his comforts - and risked his life to maintain these liberties was the only man in - the country who would not be allowed to claim their protection. - - My offense consists in an attempt to make known to the relatives and - friends the fate of the unfortunate men who died in Andersonville - Prison, and if this be a crime I am guilty to the fullest extent of - the law, for to accomplish it I have risked my life among my enemies - and my liberty among my friends. - - Since my arrest I have seen it twice publicly announced that the - record of the dead of Andersonville would be published very soon; one - announcement apparently by the Government, and one by Captain James M. - Moore, A.G.M. No such intimation was ever given until after my arrest, - and if it prove that my imprisonment accomplishes that which my - liberty could not, I ought, perhaps, to be satisfied. If this serves - to bring out the information so long and so cruelly withheld from the - people, I will not complain of my confinement, but when accomplished, - I would earnestly plead for that liberty so dear to all, and to which - I have been so long a stranger. - - I make this statement, which I would confirm by my oath if I were at - liberty, not as appealing to public sympathy for relief, but for the - sake of my name, my family, and my friends. I wish it to be known - that I am not sentenced to a penitentiary as a common thief, but for - attempting to appeal from the trickery of a clique of petty officers. - - DORENCE ATWATER - - -On September 25, 1865, just one month from the day when he returned -from Andersonville from the marking of the soldiers’ graves, Dorence -Atwater, as Clara Barton records, “was heavily ironed, and under -escort of a soldier and captain as guard, in open daylight, and in the -face of his acquaintances, taken through the streets of Washington -to the Baltimore depot, and placed upon the cars, a convict bound to -Auburn State Prison.” - -Clara Barton had moved heaven and earth to save Dorence from -imprisonment; had done everything excepting to advise him to give up -the rolls. She knew so well what the publication of those names meant -to thirteen thousand anxious homes, she was willing to see Dorence go -to prison rather than that should fail. Secretary Stanton was out of -Washington when Dorence was arrested. She followed him to West Point -and had a personal interview, which she supplemented by a letter: - - ROE’S HOTEL, WEST POINT, September 5th, 1865 - - HON. E. M. STANTON - SEC’Y. OF WAR, U.S.A. - - MY HONORED FRIEND: - - Please permit me before leaving to reply to the one kind interrogatory - made by you this morning, viz: “What do you desire me to do in the - case?” Simply this, sir,--do nothing, believe nothing, sanction - nothing in this present procedure against Dorence Atwater until all - the facts with their antecedents and bearings shall have been placed - before you, and this upon your return (if no one more worthy offer) I - promise to do, with all the fairness, truthfulness, and judgment that - in me lie. - - There is a noticeable haste manifested to dispose of the case in your - absence which leads me to fear that there are those who, to gratify a - jealous whim, or serve a personal ambition, would give little heed to - the dangers of unmerited public criticism they might thus draw upon - you, while young Atwater, honest and simple-hearted, both loving and - trusting you, has more need of your protection than your censure. - - With the highest esteem, and unspeakable gratitude, - - I am, sir - - CLARA BARTON - - -Failing to secure the release of Dorence by appeal to Secretary -Stanton, who was not given to interference with military courts, Clara -Barton tried the effect of public opinion and also sought to arouse the -military authority of the State of Connecticut. Two letters of hers are -preserved addressed to friends in the newspaper world, but they did not -immediately accomplish the release of Dorence. - -Clara Barton was not a woman to desist in an effort of this kind. She -had set about to procure the release of Dorence Atwater; she had the -support of Senator Henry Wilson and of General B. F. Butler, and she -labored day and night to enlarge the list of influential friends who -should finally secure his freedom. She surely would have succeeded. -While the Government saw no convenient way of issuing him a pardon -until he returned the missing rolls, public sentiment in his favor grew -steadily under her insistent propaganda. At the end of two months’ -imprisonment, he was released under a general order which discharged -from prison all soldiers sentenced there by court-martial for crimes -less than murder. Even after the issue of the President’s general -order, Atwater was detained for a little time until Clara Barton made a -personal visit to Secretary Stanton and informed him that Dorence was -still in prison and secured the record of his trial for future use. - -Then she set herself to work to secure the publication of his rolls. -He must copy them and rearrange them by States and in alphabetical -order, a task of no light weight, and must then arrange with some -responsible newspaper to undertake to secure their publication. -Moreover, this must be done quickly and quietly, for she believed that -Dorence still had an enemy who would thwart the effort if known. - -The large task of copying the rolls and rearranging the names required -some weeks. When it was finished, Clara Barton, who had previously -thought of the New York “Times” as a possible medium of publicity on -account of an expression of interest which it had published, and even -had considered the unpractical idea of simultaneous publication in a -number of papers, turned instead to Horace Greeley. She wrote to him in -January, 1866, and then went to New York and conferred with him. - -Greeley told her that the list was quite too long for publication in -the columns of any newspaper. The proper thing to do, as he assured -her, was to bring it out in pamphlet form at a low price, and, on the -day of publication, to exploit it as widely as possible through the -columns of the “Tribune.” To get the list in type, read the proof, -print the edition, and have it ready for delivery required some days if -not weeks. Valentine’s Day was fixed as that upon which the list was to -appear. On February 14, 1866, the publication occurred. - -Horace Greeley was a good advertiser. All through the advertising -pages of the “Tribune” on that day appeared the word “ANDERSONVILLE” -in a single line of capitals, varied here and there by “ANDERSONVILLE; -See Advertisement on 8th page.” No one who read that day’s “Tribune” -could escape the word “Andersonville.” The editorial page contained the -following paragraph: - - We have just issued a carefully compiled _List of the Union - Soldiers Buried at Andersonville_--arranged alphabetically under - the names of their respective States, and containing every name that - has been or can be recovered. Aside from the general and mournful - interest felt in these martyrs personally, this list will be of great - importance hereafter in the settlement of estates, etc. A copy should - be preserved for reference in every library, however limited. It - constitutes a roll of honor wherein our children’s children will point - with pride to the names of their relatives who died that their country - might live. See advertisement. - -The eighth page contained a half-page article by Clara Barton, telling -in full of the marking of the Andersonville graves. This article was -hailed with nation-wide interest, and the pamphlet had an enormous -circulation, bringing comfort to thousands of grief-stricken homes. - -Dorence Atwater never recovered from his treatment at the hands -of the United States Government. For many years the record of the -court-martial stood against him, and his status was that of a released -prisoner still unpardoned. His spirit became embittered, and he said -that the word “soldier” made him angry, and the sight of a uniform -caused him to froth at the mouth. The Government gave him a consulship -in the remote Seychelles Islands, and later transferred him to the -Society Islands in the South Pacific. He died in November, 1910, and -his monument is erected near Papeete on the Island of Tahiti. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -ON THE LECTURE PLATFORM - - -At the close of the Civil War, Clara Barton wanted to write a book. -Other women who had engaged in war work were writing books, and the -books were being well received. She had as much to tell as any other -one woman, and she thought she would like to tell it. - -In this respect she was entirely different from Miss Dorothea Dix. She -met Miss Dix now and then during the war, and made note of the fact -in her diary, but either because these meetings occurred in periods -when she was too busy to make full record, or because nothing of large -importance transpired between them, she gives no extended account of -them. Miss Dix was superintendent of female nurses, and Miss Barton was -doing an independent work, so there was little occasion for them to -meet. But all her references to Miss Dix which show any indication of -her feeling manifest a spirit of very cordial appreciation of Dorothea -Dix’s work. Miss Dix managed her work in her own line, insisting that -nurses whom she appointed should be neither young nor good-looking, and -fighting her valiant battles with quite as much success as in general -could have been expected. But Dorothea Dix had no desire for publicity. -She shrank from giving to the world any details of her own life, partly -because of her unhappy childhood memories, and partly because she did -not believe in upholding in the mind of young women the successful -career of an unmarried woman. Accepting as she did her own lonely -career, and making it a great blessing to others, she did not desire -that young women should emulate it or consider it the ideal life. She -wished instead that they should find lovers, establish homes, and -become wives and mothers. - -Clara Barton, too, had very high regard for the home, and she saw quite -enough of the folly of sentimental young women who were eager to rush -to the hospitals and nurse soldiers, but she did not share Miss Dix’s -fear of an attractive face, and she knew rather better than Miss Dix -the value of publicity. Timid as she was by nature, she had discovered -the power of the Press. She had succeeded in keeping up her supply of -comforts for wounded soldiers largely by the letters which she wrote to -personal friends and to local organizations of women in the North. She -made limited but effective use of the newspaper for like purposes. At -first she did not fully realize her own gift as a writer. Once or twice -she bemoaned in her diary the feebleness of her descriptive effort. If -she could only make people see what she had actually seen, she could -move their hearts, and the supply of bandages and delicacies for her -wounded men would be unfailing. - -Her search for missing soldiers led her to a larger utilization of the -Press, and gave her added confidence in her own descriptive powers. -Her name was becoming more and more widely known, and she thought a -book by her, if she could procure means to publish it, would afford -her opportunity for self-expression and quite possibly be financially -profitable. - -On this subject she wrote two letters to Senator Henry Wilson. They are -undated, and it is probable that she never sent either of them, but -they show what was in her heart. One of these reads as follows: - - MY ALWAYS GOOD FRIEND: - - Among all the little trials, necessities, and wants, real or - imaginary, that I have from time to time brought and laid down at - your feet, or even upon your shoulders, your patience has never once - broken, or if it did your broad charity concealed the rent from me, - and I come now in the hope that this may not prove to be the last - feather. It is not so much that I want you to _do_ anything as to - listen and advise, and it may be all the more trying as I desire the - advice to be plain, candid, and honest even at the risk of wounding my - pride. - - Perhaps no previous proposition of mine, however wild, has ever so - completely astonished you as the present is liable to do. Well, to - end suspense. _I am desirous of writing a book._ You will very - naturally ask two questions--what for and what of. In reply to the - first. The position which I have assumed before the public renders - some general exposition necessary. They require to be made acquainted - with me, or perhaps I might say they should either be made to know - more of me or less. As it is, every one knows my name and something of - what I am or have been doing, but not one in a thousand has any idea - of the manner in which I propose to serve them. Out of six thousand - letters lying by me, probably not two hundred show any tolerably clear - idea of the writer as to what use I am to make of that very letter. - People tell me the color of the hair and eyes of the friends they have - lost, as if I were expected to go about the country and search them. - They ask me to send them full lists of the lost men of the army; they - tell me that they have looked all through my list of missing men and - the name of their son or husband or somebody’s else is not on it, and - desire to be informed why he is made an exception. They suppose me - a part of the Government and it is my duty to do these things, or - that I am carrying on the “business” as a means of revenue and ask - my price, as if I hunted men at so much per head. But all suppose me - either well paid or abundantly able to dispense with it; and these are - only a few of the vague ideas which present themselves in my daily - mail. A fair history of what I have done and desire to do, and a plain - description of the practical working of my system, would convince - people that I am neither sorceress nor spiritualist and would appall - me with less of feverish hope and more of quiet, potent faith in the - final result. - - Then there is all of Andersonville of which I have never written a - word. I have not even contradicted the base forgeries which were - perpetrated upon me in my absence. I need not tell you how foully I - am being dealt by in this whole matter and the crime which has grown - out of the wickedness which overshadows me. I need to tell some plain - truths in a most inexpensive manner, that the whole country shall not - be always duped and honest people sacrificed that the ambition of one - man be gratified. I do not propose controversy, but I have a truth to - speak; it belongs to the people of our country and I desire to offer - it to them. - - And lastly, if a suitable work were completed and found salable and - any share of proceeds fell to me, I need it in the prosecution of the - work before me. - - Next--What of? The above explanation must have partially answered that - I would give the eight months’ history of my present work, and I think - I might be permitted by the writers to insert occasionally a letter - sent me by some noble wife or mother, and there are no better or more - touching letters written. - - I would show how the expedition to Andersonville grew out of this - very work; how inseparably connected the two were; and how Dorence - Atwater’s roll led directly to the whole work of identifying the - graves of the thirteen thousand sleeping in that city of the dead. - - I would endeavor to insert my report of the expedition now with the - Secretary. I have some materials from which engravings could be made, - I think, of the most interesting features of Andersonville, and my - experiences with the colored people while there I believe to have - been of _exceeding_ interest. I would like to relate this. You - recollect I have told you that they came from twenty miles around to - see me to know if Abraham Lincoln was dead and if they were free. - This, if well told, is a little book of itself. And if still I lack - material I might go back a little and perhaps a few incidents might - be gleaned from my last few years’ life which would not be entirely - without interest. I think I could glean enough from this ground to eke - out my work, which I would dedicate to the survivors of Andersonville - and the friends of the missing men of the United States Army. I don’t - know what title I would give it. - - Now, first, I want your yes or no. If the former, I want your advice - still further. Who can help me do all this? I have sounded among my - friends, and all are occupied; numbers can write well, but have no - knowledge of _book_-making which I suppose to be a trade in - itself and one of which I am entirely ignorant. I never attempted any - such thing myself and have no conceit of my own ability as a writer. - I _don’t think_ I can write, but I would try to do something at - it; might do more if there were time, but this requires to be done - at once. I want a truthful, easy, and I suppose touching rather than - logical book, which it appears to me would sell among the class of - persons to whom I should dedicate it, and their name is legion. Now, - it is no wonder that I have found no one ready to take hold and help - me carry this on when it is remembered that I have not ten thousand - dollars to offer them in advance, but must ask that my helper wait - and share his remuneration out of the profits. If he _knew me_, - he would know that I would not be illiberal, especially as pecuniary - profit is but a secondary consideration. It is of greater importance - to me that I bring before the country and establish the facts that I - desire than that I make a few thousand dollars out of it, but I would - like to do both if I could, but the first if not the last. But I want - to stand as the author and it must be my book, and it should be in - very truth if I had the time to write it. I want no person to reap - a laurel off it (dear knows I have had enough of that of late), but - the man or woman who could and would take hold and work side by side - with me in this matter, making it a heart interest, and having my - interest at heart, be unselfish and noble with me as I think I would - be with them, should reap pecuniary profit if there were any to reap. - An experienced book-maker or publisher would understand if such a work - would sell--it seems to me that it would. - - Now, can you point me to any person who could either help me do this - or be so kind as to inform me that I must not attempt it? - -It will be noted that in this letter she indicates her present lack of -means to publish such a book as she had in mind. She had not always -lacked means for such an object. While her salary as a teacher had -never been large, she had always saved money out of it. The habit -of New England thrift was strong upon her, and her investments were -carefully made so that her little fund continually augmented. Her -salary in the Patent Office was fourteen hundred dollars, and for a -time sixteen hundred dollars, and though she paid a part of it to -her substitute during the latter portion of the war, she was able to -keep up the rental of her lodging and meet her very modest personal -expenses without drawing upon her savings. The death of her father -brought to her a share in his estate, and this was invested in Oxford, -conservatively and profitably. When she began her search for missing -soldiers, therefore, she had quite a little money of her own. She began -that work of volunteer service, expecting it to be supported as her -work in the field had been supported, by the free gifts of those who -believed in the work. When a soldier or a soldier’s mother or widow -sent her a dollar, she invariably returned it. - -As the work proceeded, she was led to believe that Congress would make -an appropriation to reimburse her for her past expenditures, and add a -sufficient appropriation for the continuance of the work. She had two -influential friends at court, Senator Henry Wilson, her intimate and -trusted friend, Chairman of the Committee on Military Affairs of the -Senate, and General Benjamin F. Butler, with whose army she had last -served in the field. - -She knew very well how laws were passed and official endorsements -secured. She frequently interceded with her friends in high places -on behalf of people or causes in whom she believed. She, in common -with Miss Dix, had altercations with army surgeons, yet her diary -shows her working hard to secure for them additional recognition and -remuneration. On Sunday, January 29, 1865, she attempted to attend -the third anniversary of the Christian Commission, but the House of -Representatives was packed; thousands, she says, were turned away. That -afternoon or evening Senator Wilson called on her and she talked with -him concerning army surgeons: “I spoke at length with Mr. Wilson on the -subject of army surgeons. I think their rank will be raised. I believe -I will see Dr. Crane in the morning and make an effort to bring Dr. -Buzzell here to help frame the bill.” - -She did exactly what she believed she would do; saw Dr. Crane, got -her recommendation that Dr. Buzzell be allowed to come, and then went -to the Senate. The thing she labored for was accomplished, though it -called for considerable added effort. - -About this same time she had a visit from a woman who was seeking to -obtain the passage of a special act for her own benefit. She shared -Clara Barton’s bed and board, with introduction to Senator Wilson -and other influential people, until the bill passed both houses, and -still as Miss Barton’s guest continued in almost frantic uncertainty, -awaiting the President’s signature. It happened at the very time Clara -Barton was very desirous of getting her work for missing soldiers under -way. The idea came to her in the night of February 19, 1865: - - Thought much during the night, and decided to invite Mr. Brown to - accompany me to Annapolis and to offer my services to take charge of - the correspondence between the country and the Government officials - and prisoners at that point while they continued to arrive. - -Mr. Brown called upon her that very day and they agreed to go to -Annapolis the next day, which they did. She nursed her brother Stephen, -accomplished a large day’s work, did her personal washing at nine -o’clock at night, and the next day went to Annapolis. There she met -Dorothea Dix; found a captain who deserved promotion, and resolved -to get it for him; assisted in welcoming four boatloads of returned -prisoners, and defined more clearly in her own mind the kind of work -that needed to be done. - -The next Sunday Senator Wilson called on her again, and she told him -she had offered her services for this work, and wanted the President’s -endorsement in order that she might not be interfered with. Senator -Wilson offered to go with her to see President Lincoln, and they went -next day, but did not succeed in seeing him. She went again next day, -this time without Senator Wilson, for he was busy working on the bill -for the lady who was her guest, so she sought to obtain her interview -with President Lincoln through the Honorable E. B. Washburne, of -Illinois. Mr. Washburne agreed to meet her at the White House, and did -so, but the President was in a conference preceding a Cabinet meeting, -and the Cabinet meeting, which was to begin at noon, was likely to last -the rest of the day, so Mr. Washburne took her paper and said he would -see the President and obtain his endorsement. She saw Senator Wilson -that afternoon, and reported that her papers were still unendorsed, -and General Hitchcock was advising her to go on without any formal -authority. She was not disposed to do it, for she felt sure that she -would no sooner get established than Secretary Stanton would interfere. -The difficulty was to get at the President in those crowded days just -before his second inaugural, when events both in Washington and in the -field were crowding tremendously. - -[Illustration: [_Facsimile_] - - Washington - Feb. 28th, 1865. - - To President Lincoln - - Dear Sir, - - Miss Barton calls on you for a humane object and I hope you will grant - her request. It will cost nothing. She has given three years to the - cause of our soldiers and is worthy of entire confidence. - - Ever Yours - - H. Wilson - -SENATOR HENRY WILSON’S LETTER TO PRESIDENT LINCOLN] - -Senator Wilson was still interested in what she wanted to do, but was -preoccupied. “He had labored all night on Miss B.’s bill.” In fact -Clara Barton read the probable fate of her own endeavor. Senator Wilson -had given himself with such ardor to the cause of her guest that he -had no time to help her. She had borrowed a set of furs to wear when -she went to the President. She took them back that afternoon and wrote -in her diary: “Very tired; could not reconcile my poor success; I find -that some hand above mine rules and restrains my progress; I cannot -understand, but try to be patient, but still it is hard. I was never -more tempted to break down with disappointment.” - -On Thursday, March 2, two days before the inauguration, she went again -to see the President. Just as she reached the White House in the rain, -she saw Secretary Stanton go in. She waited until 5.15, and Stanton did -not come out. She returned home “still more and more discouraged.” Her -guest, also, had been out in the rain, but was overjoyed. Her bill had -passed the Senate without opposition, and would go to the House next -day, if not that very night. Miss Barton wrote in her diary: “I do not -tell her how much I am inconvenienced by her using all my power. I have -no helper left, and I am discouraged. I could not restrain the tears, -and gave up to it.” - -It is hardly to be wondered that she almost repented of her generosity -in loaning Senator Wilson to her friend when she herself had so much -need of him. Nor need she be blamed for lying awake and crying while -her guest slept happily on the pillow beside her. She did not often cry. - -Just at this time she was doubly anxious, for Stephen, her brother, was -nearing his end, and Irving Vassall, her nephew, was having hemorrhages -and not long for this world, and her day’s journal shows a multiplicity -of cares crowding each day. - -Stephen died Friday, March 10. She was with him when he died and -mourned for her “dear, noble brother.” She believed he had gone to -meet the loved ones on the other side, and she wondered whether her -mother was not the first to welcome him. His body was embalmed, and a -service was held in Washington, and another in Oxford. Between the time -of Stephen’s death and her departure with his body, she received her -papers with the President’s endorsement. General Hitchcock presented -them to her. She wrote: - - We had a most delightful interview. He aided me in drawing up a - proper article to be published; said it would be hard, but I should - be sustained through such a work, he felt, and that no person in the - United States would oppose me in my work; he would stand between me - and all harm. The President was there, too. I told him I could not - commence just yet, and why, and he said, “Go bury your dead, and then - care for others.” How kind he was! - -President Johnson later endorsed the work and authorized the printing -of whatever matter she required at the Government Printing Office. -Her postage was largely provided by the franking privilege. Her work -was a great success and the time came in the following October, when -it seemed certain her department was to have official status with the -payment of all its necessary expenses by the Government. On Wednesday, -October 4, she wrote: - - Of all my days, this, I suspect, has been my greatest, and I hope my - best. About six P.M. General Butler came quickly into my room - to tell me that my business had been presented to both the President - and Secretary of War, and fully approved by both; that it was to be - made a part of the Adjutant-General’s department with its own clerks - and expenses, and that I was to be at the head of it, exclusively - myself; that he made that a _sine qua non_, on the ground that it - was proper for parents to bring up their own children; that he wished - me to make out my own programme of what would be required; and on his - return he would overlook it and I could enter at once upon my labor. - Who ever heard of anything like this--who but General Butler? He left - at 7.30 for home. I don’t know how to comport me. - -On that same night she had a very different call, and the only one -which the author has found referred to in all her diaries where any -man approached her with an improper suggestion. Mingling as she did -with men on the battle-field, living alone in a room that was open -to constant calls from both men and women, she seems to have passed -through the years with very little reason to think ill of the attitude -of men toward a self-respecting and unprotected woman. That evening she -had an unwelcome call, but she promptly turned her visitor out, went -straight to two friends and told them what had been said to her, and -wrote it down in her diary as a wholly exceptional incident, and with -this brief comment, “Oh, what a wicked man!” - -The plan to make her department an independent bureau seemed humanly -certain to succeed. When, a few days later, General Butler left -Washington without calling to see her, she was surprised, but thought -it explained, a few days later, when the Boston “Journal” published -an editorial saying that General Butler was to be given a seat in the -Cabinet and to make his home in Washington. - -But General Butler’s plans failed. He fell into disfavor, and all that -he had recommended and was still pending became anathema to the War -Department. The bureau was not created, and Clara Barton’s official -appointment did not come. - -During all this time she had been supporting her work of correspondence -out of her own pocket. The time came when she invested in it the very -last dollar of her quick assets. Her old friend Colonel De Witt, -through whom she had obtained her first Government appointment, had -invested her Oxford money. At her request he sent her the last of -it, a check for $228. She wrote in her diary: “This is the last of -my invested money, but it is not the first time in my life that I -have gone to the bottom of my bag. I guess I shall die a pauper, but -I haven’t been either stingy or lazy, and if I starve I shall not be -alone; others have. Went to Mechanics’ Bank and got my check cashed.” - -She certainly had not been lazy, and she never was stingy with any one -but herself. Keeping her own expenses at the minimum and living so -frugally that she was sometimes thought parsimonious, she saw her last -dollar of invested money disappear, and recorded a grim little joke -about her poverty and the possibility of starvation. But she shed no -tears. In the few times when she broke down and wept, the occasion was -not her own privation or personal disappointment, but the failure of -some plan through which she sought to be of service to others. - -This is a rather long retrospect, but it explains why Clara Barton, -when she wanted to publish a book, contemplated the cost of it as an -item beyond her personal means. She could have published the book at -her own expense had it not been for the money she had spent for others. - -Congress did not permit her to lose the money which she had expended. -In all her diary and correspondence no expression of fear has been -found as to her own remuneration. She thought it altogether likely she -could get her money back, but there is no hint that she would have -mourned, much less regretted what she had done, if she had never seen -her money again. - -Sad days came for Clara Barton when she found that General Butler was -worse than powerless to aid her work. Heartily desirous of assisting -her as he was, his name was enough to kill any measure which he -sponsored. When Senator Wilson came to see her, just before Christmas, -and told her that the plan was hopeless, she was already prepared for -it. He suspected that she was nearly out of money, and tried to make -her a Christmas gift of twenty dollars, but she declined. She wakened, -on these mornings, “with the deepest feeling of depression and despair -that I remember to have known.” But this feeling gave place to another. -Waking in the night and thinking clearly, she was able to outline the -programme of the next day’s task so distinctly and unerringly that she -began to wonder whether the spirit of her noble brother Stephen was not -guiding her. She did not think she was a Spiritualist, but it seemed to -her that some influence which he was bringing to her from her mother -helped to shape her days aright. It was such a night’s meditation that -made plain to her that Dorence Atwater, released but not pardoned, must -get his list published immediately, and that he must do it without a -cent of compensation so that no one should ever be able to say that he -had stolen the list in order to profit by it. She found that she did -not need many hours’ sleep. If she could rest with an untroubled mind, -she could waken and think clearly. - -Gradually, her plan to publish a book changed. Instead she would write -a lecture. She went to hear different women speakers, and was gratified -whenever she found a woman who could speak in public effectively. A -woman preacher came to Washington, and she listened to her. Even in the -pulpit a woman could speak acceptably. When she traveled on the train, -she was surprised and gratified to find how many people knew her, and -she came to believe that the lecture platform offered her a better -opportunity than the book. - -There was one other consideration,--a book would cost money for its -publication and the getting of it back was a matter of uncertainty. But -the lecture platform promised to be immediately remunerative. - -She conferred with John B. Gough. She read to him a lecture which -she prepared. Said he, “I never heard anything more touching, more -thrilling, in my life.” He encouraged her to proceed. - -Thus encouraged, Clara Barton laid out her itinerary, and prepared for -three hundred nights upon the platform. Her rates were one hundred -dollars per night, excepting where she spoke under the auspices of the -Grand Army Post, when her charge was seventy-five. - -She took Dorence Atwater with her to look after her baggage and see -to her comfort, and exhibit a box of relics which he had brought from -Andersonville. She paid his expenses and a salary besides. Sometimes -she thought he earned it, and sometimes she doubted it, for he was -still a boy and exhibited a boy’s limitations. But she cherished a very -sincere affection for him and to the end of her life counted him as one -of her own kin. - -During this period she had abundant time to write in her diary; -for, while there were long journeys, the ordinary distance from one -engagement to another was not great. She lectured in the East in -various New England cities, in Cooper Institute in New York, and in -cities and moderate-sized towns through Indiana, Ohio, Illinois, -Iowa, Kansas, and Nebraska. She had time to record and did record all -the little incidents of her journey, together with the exact sum she -received for each lecture, with every dime which she expended for -travel, hotel accommodation, and incidental expenses. It was a hard -but varied and remunerative tour. It netted her some twelve thousand -dollars after deducting all expenses. - - A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers; - There was lack of woman’s nursing, there was dearth of woman’s tears; - But a comrade stood beside him, as the life-blood ebbed away, - And bent with pitying glances to hear what he might say; - The dying soldier faltered,--as he took that comrade’s hand,-- - And said, “I never more shall see my own--my native land. - Take a message and a token to some distant friend of mine, - For I was born at Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine.” - -With this quotation from the familiar but effective poem of Mrs. -Norton, Clara Barton opened her first public lecture, which she -delivered at Poughkeepsie, on Thursday evening, October 25, 1866. The -lecture was an hour and a quarter in length as she read it aloud in -her room, but required about an hour and a half as she delivered it -before a public audience. It was, as she recorded in her diary, “my -first lecture,” and “the beginning of remunerative labor” after a long -period in which she had been without salary. She knew that it was her -first lecture, but the audience did not. She returned from it to the -house of Mr. John Mathews, where she was entertained, ate an ice-cream, -went to bed and slept well. She received her first fee of one hundred -dollars. On Saturday night she spoke in Schenectady, where she received -fifty dollars, and found, what many a lecturer has learned, that it -was not profitable to cut prices. A diminished fee means less local -advertising. The audience was smaller and less appreciative. On Monday -evening she spoke in Brooklyn. Theodore Tilton presided and introduced -her. There she had an ovation. Mr. Tilton accompanied her to her hotel -after the lecture, and she told him that she was just beginning, and -asked for his criticism. He told her the lecture contained no flaw for -him to mend. She went back to Washington enthusiastic over the success -of her new venture. She had spoken three times, and two of the lectures -had been a pronounced success. Her expenses had been less than fifty -dollars, and she was two hundred dollars to the good. - -She found awaiting her in Washington a large number of requests to -lecture in different places, and she arranged a New England tour. She -began with Worcester and Oxford. She did this with many misgivings, -not forgetting the lack of honor for a prophet in his own country. She -spoke in Mechanic’s Hall in Worcester, before a full house. She got -her hundred dollars, but was not happy over the lecture. In Oxford, -however, things went differently. She had a good house, and “the -pleasantest lecture I shall ever deliver. Raced home all happy and at -rest. My best visit at home.” Here she refused to receive any fee, -placing the proceeds of the lecture in the hands of the overseers of -the poor. - -She lectured at Salem, at Marlborough, and then at Newark, and again -returned to Washington convinced that her plan was a success. - -Her next tour took her to Geneva and Lockport, New York, Cleveland and -Toledo, Ohio, Ypsilanti and Detroit, Michigan, and on the return trip -to Ashtabula, Ohio, Rochester and Dansville, New York. Her fee was a -hundred dollars in every place excepting Dansville, but her lecture at -this last place proved to be of importance. There she learned about -the water cure, which later was to have an important influence upon -her life. All these lectures on her third trip left a pleasant memory, -except the one at Ashtabula, which for some reason did not go well. - -She now arranged for a much longer trip. She bought her ticket for -Chicago, stopping to lecture at Laporte, Indiana. She reshaped her -lecture somewhat for this trip, telling how her father had fought -near that town under “Mad” Anthony Wayne. She lectured in Milwaukee, -Evanston, Kalamazoo, Detroit, Flint, Galesburg, Des Moines, Rock -Island, Muscatine, Washington, Iowa, Dixon, Illinois, Decatur, and -Jacksonville. On her way north from Jacksonville, she was in a train -wreck in which several people were injured. She also had an experience -in an attempt to rob her, and she resolved never to travel by sleeper -again when she had to go alone. She was very nearly as good as her -word. Very rarely did she make use of a sleeping-car; she traveled by -day when she could, and, when unable to do so, sat up in a corner of -the seat and rested as best she could. - -She lectured at Mount Vernon, Aurora, Belvidere, Rockford, and other -Illinois cities, and at Clinton, Iowa. - -In most of these cities she was entertained in the homes of -distinguished people, Dorence Atwater sometimes staying at the hotel. - -In Chicago she had good visits with John B. Gough and Theodore Tilton, -both of whom were on the lecture platform, and she herself lectured in -the Chicago Opera House. - -Other lectures followed in Illinois, Michigan, Indiana, Ohio, New York, -and so on back to Washington. Then she took another tour through New -England. She lectured in New Haven and found the people unresponsive, -but she had a good time at Terryville, Connecticut. There Dorence -Atwater was at home. It was characteristic of Clara Barton that at this -lecture she insisted that Dorence should preside; not only so, but she -called it his lecture and gave him the entire proceeds of that and the -lecture at New Haven. It was a proud night for this young man, released -from his two imprisonments, and she records that he presided well. She -lectured again in Worcester and with better results than before, then -extended her tour all over New England. - -After this she made other long tours through Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, -and States farther west. Now and then she records a disappointing -experience, but in the main the results were favorable. She had no -difficulty in making a return engagement; everywhere she was hailed -as the Florence Nightingale of America. The press comments were -enthusiastic; her bank account grew larger than it had ever been. - -Clara Barton was now forty-seven years old. For eight years, beginning -with the outbreak of the Civil War, she had lived in rooms on the -third floor of a business block. The two flights of stairs and the -unpretentiousness of the surroundings had not kept her friends away. -Her daily list of callers was a long one, and her evenings brought her -so many friends that she spoke humorously of her “levees.” But she had -begun to long for a home of her own, which she now was well able to -afford. Since the appropriation of Congress of fifteen thousand dollars -and her earnings from her lectures, all of which she had carefully -invested, she possessed not less than thirty thousand dollars in good -interest-bearing securities. She had brought from Andersonville a -colored woman, Rosa, who now presided over her domestic affairs. She -spent a rather cheerless Christmas on her forty-seventh birthday in her -old room on 7th Street, and determined not to delay longer. She bought -a house. On the outside it looked old and shabby, but inside it was -comfortable. On Tuesday, December 29, 1868, she packed her belongings. -Next day she records: - - December 30, 1868, Wednesday. Moved. Mr. Budd came early with five - men. Mr. Vassall, Sally, and myself all worked, and in the midst of - a fearful snowstorm and a good deal of confusion, I broke away from - my old rooking of eight years and launched out into the world all by - myself. Took my first supper in my own whole house at the corner of - Pennsylvania Avenue and Capitol Hill. - -She had engaged her movers at a stipulated price of six dollars, but -she was so happy with the result that she paid them ten dollars, which -for a woman of Clara Barton’s careful habits indicated a very large -degree of satisfaction. - -The next day, assisted by her colored woman Rosa and her negro man -Uncle Jarret, and with some help from two kindly neighbors, she set -things to rights. It was a stormy day and she was tired, but happy to -be in her home. She wrote in her diary: “This is the last day of the -year, and I sometimes think it may be my last year. I am not strong, -but God is good and kind.” - -It is pathetic that the joy of her occupancy of her new home should -have been clouded by any forebodings of this character. Her premonition -that it might be her last year came very near to being true. Heavy -had been the strain upon her from the day when the war began, and the -events of the succeeding years had all drawn upon her vitality. What -occurred at the height of her success in Bordentown came again to her -at the height of her career upon the lecture platform. She rode one -night to address a crowded house, and she stood before them speechless. -Her voice utterly failed. Her physicians pronounced it nervous -prostration, prescribed three years of complete rest, and ordered her -to go to Europe. - - -END OF VOLUME I - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - -In a couple of places, obvious errors in punctuation have been -corrected and inconsistent hyphenization was standardized. - -Illustrations have been relocated to more appropriate places in the -text and the list of illustrations has been updated accordingly. - -Page 38: “but this brief vacational” changed to “but this brief -vocational” - -Page 49: “were conscious charletans” changed to “were conscious -charlatans” - -Page 57: “according to predecent” changed to “according to precedent” - -Page 125: “our authority must be spected” changed to “our authority -must be respected” - -Page 167: “Clara Barton had two large” changed to “Clara Barton had -too large” - -Page 243: “in addiion to his own disability” changed to “in addition to -his own disability” - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF CLARA BARTON (VOL. -1 OF 2) *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Barton</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Life of Clara Barton (Vol. 1 of 2)</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em;'>Founder of the American Red Cross</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: William E. Barton</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 25, 2022 [eBook #67505]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: MWS and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF CLARA BARTON (VOL. 1 OF 2) ***</div> - - - - - -<h1><big>THE LIFE OF CLARA BARTON</big><br /> -IN TWO VOLUMES</h1> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center p0"><big>VOLUME I</big> -</p> -<p class="center p0 p2"><span class="figcenter" id="img000"> - <img src="images/000.jpg" class="w50" alt="Clara Barton" /> -</span></p> -<p class="center p0 caption"><em>Clara Barton</em><br /></p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - - - -<h2 class="center p0 p2">THE LIFE OF<br /> - <big>CLARA BARTON</big></h2> - -<p class="center p0"> FOUNDER OF<br /> - THE AMERICAN RED CROSS</p> - -<p class="center p0 p2"> BY</p> - -<p class="center p0"><big>WILLIAM E. BARTON</big></p> - -<p class="center p0"><small>AUTHOR OF “THE SOUL OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN”<br /> - “THE PATERNITY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN,” ETC.</small></p> - -<p class="center p0 p2"> <em>With Illustrations</em></p> - - -<p class="center p0 p2"> VOLUME I</p> - -<p class="center p0 p2"><span class="figcenter" id="icon"> - <img src="images/icon.jpg" class="w10" alt="Decorative image" /> -</span></p> - -<p class="center p0 p2"> BOSTON AND NEW YORK</p> - -<p class="center p0"> HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY</p> - -<p class="center p0"> The Riverside Press Cambridge</p> - -<p class="center p0"> 1922 -</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - - -<p class="center p0"><small>COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY WILLIAM E. BARTON</small></p> - -<p class="center p0"><small>ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</small></p> - -<p class="center p0 p2"><small> The Riverside Press<br /> - CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS <br /> - PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.</small> -</p> - -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="center p0"> TO</p> - -<p class="center p0"> STEPHEN E. BARTON</p> - -<p class="center p0"> HER TRUSTED NEPHEW; MY KINSMAN AND FRIEND -</p> - -</div> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="center p0">CONTENTS</p> -<p class="center p0">VOLUME I</p> -<table class="autotable"> -<tr> -<td> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap"><a href="#INTRODUCTION">Introduction</a></span> -</td> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#Page_xi">xi</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_I">I.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">Her First Attempt at Autobiography</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_1">1</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II">II.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">The Birth of Clara Barton</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_6">6</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III">III.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">Her Ancestry</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_9">9</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">Her Parentage and Infancy</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_16">16</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V">V.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">Her Schools and Teachers</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_22">22</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">The Days of Her Youth</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_36">36</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">Her First Experience as a Teacher</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_50">50</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">Leaves from Her Unpublished Autobiography</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_56">56</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">The Heart of Clara Barton</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_76">76</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X">X.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">From Schoolroom to Patent Office</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_89">89</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">The Battle Cry of Freedom</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_107">107</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">Home and Country</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_131">131</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">Clara Barton to the Front</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_172">172</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">Harper’s Ferry to Antietam</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_191">191</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">Clara Barton’s Change of Base</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_225">225</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">XVI.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">The Attempt to Recapture Sumter</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_238">238</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">XVII.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">From the Wilderness to the James</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_263">263</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">XVIII.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">To the End of the War</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_282">282</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">XIX.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">Andersonville and After</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_304">304</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">XX.</a> -</td> -<td> -<span class="smcap">On the Lecture Platform</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr page"> -<a href="#Page_328">328</a> -</td> -</tr> -</table> - -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="ILLUSTRATIONS">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> -</div> - - -<ul class="index"> -<li class="ifrst"><span class="smcap"><a href="#img000">Clara Barton at the Time of the Civil - War</a></span></li> -<li class="ifrst"> - <span class="smcap"><a href="#img001">Mother and Father of Clara Barton</a></span></li> -<li class="ifrst"> - - <span class="smcap"><a href="#img002">Birthplace of Clara Barton</a></span></li> -<li class="ifrst"> - - <span class="smcap"><a href="#img003">Stone Schoolhouse where she first Taught</a></span></li> -<li class="ifrst"> - - <span class="smcap"><a href="#img004">Clara Barton at Eighteen</a></span></li> -<li class="ifrst"> - - <span class="smcap"><a href="#img005">Miss Fannie Childs (Mrs. Bernard Vassall)</a></span></li> -<li class="ifrst"> - - <span class="smcap"><a href="#img006">The Schoolhouse at Bordentown</a></span></li> -<li class="ifrst"> - - <span class="smcap"><a href="#img007">Facsimile of Senator Henry Wilson’s Letter - to President Lincoln</a></span></li> -<li class="ifrst"> - - <span class="smcap"><a href="#img008">Facsimile of Letter of Clara Barton to President - Johnson with Indorsements by the - President, General Grant, and Others</a></span></li> -</ul> - - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</h2><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</span> -</div> - - -<p>The life of Clara Barton is a story of unique and permanent interest; -but it is more than an interesting story. It is an important chapter in -the history of our country, and in that of the progress of philanthropy -in this country and the world. Without that chapter, some events of -large importance can never be adequately understood.</p> - -<p>Hers was a long life. She lived to enter her tenth decade, and when she -died was still so normal in the soundness of her bodily organs and in -the clarity of her mind and memory that it seemed she might easily have -lived to see her hundredth birthday. Hers was a life spent largely in -the Nation’s capital. She knew personally every president from Lincoln -to Roosevelt, and was acquainted with nearly every man of prominence in -our national life. When she went abroad, her associates were people of -high rank and wide influence in their respective countries. No American -woman received more honor while she lived, either at home or abroad, -and how worthily she bore these honors those know best who knew her -best.</p> - -<p>The time has come for the publication of a definitive biography of -Clara Barton. Such a book could not earlier have been prepared. The -“Life of Clara Barton,” by Percy H. Epler, published in 1915, was -issued to meet the demand which rose immediately after her death for a -comprehensive biography, and it was published with the full approval -of Miss Barton’s relatives and of her literary executors, including -the author of the present work. But,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</span> by agreement, the two large -vaults containing some tons of manuscripts which Miss Barton left, -were not opened until after the publication of <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Epler’s book. It -was the judgment of her literary executors, concurred in by <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Epler, -that this mine of information could not be adequately explored within -any period consistent with the publication of a biography such as he -contemplated. For this reason, the two vaults remained unopened until -his book was on the market. The contents of these vaults, containing -more than forty closely packed boxes, is the chief source of the -present volume, and this abundant material has been supplemented by -letters and personal reminiscences from Clara Barton’s relatives and -intimate friends.</p> - -<p>Clara Barton considered often the question of writing her own -biography. A friend urged this duty upon her in the spring of 1876, and -she promised to consider the matter. But the incessant demands made -upon her time by duties that grew more steadily imperative prevented -her doing this.</p> - -<p>In 1906 the request came to her from a number of school-children that -she would tell about her childhood; and she wrote a little volume of -one hundred and twenty-five pages, published in 1907 by Baker and -Taylor, entitled, “The Story of my Childhood.” She was gratified by the -reception of this little book, and seriously considered using it as the -corner stone of her long contemplated autobiography. She wrote a second -section of about fifteen thousand words, covering her girlhood and her -experiences as a teacher at home and in Borden town, New Jersey. This -was never published, and has been utilized in this present biography.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</span></p> - -<p>Beside these two formal and valuable contributions toward her -biography, she left journals covering most of the years from her -girlhood until her death, besides vast quantities of letters received -by her and copies of her replies. Her personal letters to her intimate -friends were not copied, as a rule, but it has been possible to gather -some hundreds of these. Letter-books, scrap-books, newspaper clippings, -magazine articles, records of the American Red Cross, and papers, -official and personal, swell the volume of material for this book to -proportions not simply embarrassing, but almost overwhelming.</p> - -<p>She appears never to have destroyed anything. Her temperament and the -habits of a lifetime impelled her to save every scrap of material -bearing upon her work and the subjects in which she was interested. -She gathered, and with her own hand labeled, and neatly tied up her -documents, and preserved them against the day when she should be able -to sift and classify them and prepare them for such use as might -ultimately be made of them. It troubled her that she was leaving these -in such great bulk, and she hoped vainly for the time when she could go -through them, box by box, and put them into shape. But they accumulated -far more rapidly than she could have assorted them, and so they were -left until her death, and still remained untouched, until December, -1915, when the vaults were opened and the heavy task began of examining -this material, selecting from it the papers that tell the whole story -of her life, and preparing the present volumes. If this book is large, -it is because the material compelled it to be so. It could easily have -been ten times as thick.</p> - -<p>The will of Clara Barton named as her executor her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</span> beloved and trusted -nephew, Stephen E. Barton. It also named a committee of literary -executors, to whom she entrusted the use of her manuscripts for such -purpose, biographical or otherwise, as they should deem best. The -author of these volumes was named by her as a member of that committee. -The committee elected him as its chairman, and requested him to -undertake the preparation of the biography. This task was undertaken -gladly, for the writer knew and loved his kinswoman and held her in -honor and affection; but he knew too well the magnitude of the task -ahead of him to be altogether eager to accept it. The burden, however, -has been measurably lightened by the assistance of Miss Saidee F. -Riccius, a grand-niece of Miss Barton, who, under the instruction of -the literary executors, and the immediate direction of Stephen E. -Barton and the author, has rendered invaluable service, without which -the author could not have undertaken this work.</p> - -<p>In her will, written a few days before her death, Miss Barton virtually -apologized to the committee and to her biographer for the heavy task -which she bequeathed to them. She said:</p> - -<p>“I regret exceedingly that such a labor should devolve upon my friends -as the overlooking of the letters of a lifetime, which should properly -be done by me, and shall be, if I am so fortunate as to regain a -sufficient amount of strength to enable me to do it. I have never -destroyed my letters, regarding them as the surest chronological -testimony of my life, whenever I could find the time to attempt to -write it. That time has never come to me, and the letters still wait my -call.”</p> - -<p>They still were there, undisturbed, thousands of them,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</span> when the -vaults were opened, and none of them have been destroyed or mutilated. -They are of every sort, personal and official; and they bear their -consistent and cumulative testimony to her indefatigability, her -patience, her heroic resolution, and most of all to her greatness of -heart and integrity of soul.</p> - -<p>Interesting and valuable in their record of every period and almost -every day and hour of her long and eventful life, they are the -indisputable record of the birth and development of the organization -which almost single-handed she created, the American Red Cross.</p> - -<p>Among those who suggested to Miss Barton the desirability of her -writing the story of her own life, was <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Houghton, senior partner in -the firm of Houghton, Mifflin and Company. He had one or more personal -conferences with her relating to this matter. Had she been able to -write the story of her own life, she would have expected it to be -published by that firm. It is to the author a gratifying circumstance -that this work, which must take the place of her autobiography, is -published by the firm with whose senior member she first discussed the -preparation of such a work.</p> - -<p>The author of this biography was a relative and friend of Clara Barton, -and knew her intimately. By her request he conducted her funeral -services, and spoke the last words at her grave. His own knowledge -of her has been supplemented and greatly enlarged by the personal -reminiscences of her nearer relatives and of the friends who lived -under her roof, and those who accompanied her on her many missions of -mercy.</p> - -<p>In a work where so much compression was inevitable, some incidents may -well have received scant mention<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</span> which deserved fuller treatment. The -question of proportion is never an easy one to settle in a work of this -character. If she had given any direction, it would have been that -little be said about her, and much about the work she loved. That work, -the founding of the American Red Cross, must receive marked emphasis -in a Life of Clara Barton: for she was its mother. She conceived the -American Red Cross, carried it under her heart for years before it -could be brought forth, nurtured it in its cradle, and left it to her -country and the world, an organization whose record in the great World -War shines bright against that black cloud of horror, as the emblem of -mercy and of hope.</p> - -<p>Wherever, in America or in lands beyond, the flag of the Red Cross -flies beside the Stars and Stripes, there the soul of Clara Barton -marches on.</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">First Church Study</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oak Park</span>, <em>July 16, 1921</em></span><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_LIFE_OF_CLARA_BARTON">THE LIFE OF CLARA BARTON</h2> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I"><big>CHAPTER I</big><br /> -HER FIRST ATTEMPT AT AUTOBIOGRAPHY -</h2> -</div> - - - - -<p>Though she had often been importuned to furnish to the public some -account of her life and work, Clara Barton’s first autobiographical -outline was not written until September, 1876, when Susan B. Anthony -requested her to prepare a sketch of her life for an encyclopædia of -noted women of America. Miss Barton labored long over her reply. She -knew that the story must be short, and that she must clip conjunctions -and prepositions and omit “all the sweetest and best things.” When she -had finished the sketch, she was appalled at its length, and still was -unwilling that any one else should make it shorter; so she sent it with -stamps for its return in case it should prove too long. “It has not an -adjective in it,” she said.</p> - -<p>Her original draft is still preserved, and reads as follows:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="center p0"> - -<span class="smcap">For Susan B. Anthony</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Sketch for Cyclopædia</span></p> -<p class="right p0"> -<span class="smcap">September, 1876</span> -</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Barton, Clara</span>; her father, <abbr title="Captain">Capt.</abbr> Stephen Barton, a -non-commissioned officer under “Mad Anthony Wayne,” was a farmer -in Oxford, Mass. Clara, youngest child,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span> finished her education at -Clinton, <abbr title="New York">N.Y.</abbr> Teacher, popularized free schools in New Jersey.</p> - -<p>First woman appointed to an independent clerkship by Government at -Washington.</p> - -<p>On outbreak of Civil War, went to aid suffering soldiers. Labored in -advance and independent of commissions. Never in hospitals; selecting -as scene of operations the battle-field from its earliest moment, -’till the wounded and dead were removed or cared for; carrying her own -supplies by Government transportation.</p> - -<p>At the battles of Cedar Mountain, Second Bull Run, Chantilly, South -Mountain, Falmouth and “Old Fredericksburg,” Siege of Charleston, -Morris Island, Wagner, Wilderness, Fredericksburg, The Mine, Deep -Bottom, through sieges of Petersburg and Richmond under Butler and -Grant.</p> - -<p>At Annapolis on arrival of prisoners.</p> - -<p>Established search for missing soldiers, and, aided by Dorence -Atwater, enclosed cemetery, identified and marked the graves of -Andersonville.</p> - -<p>Lectured on Incidents of the War in 1866-67. In 1869 went to Europe -for health. In Switzerland on outbreak of Franco-Prussian War; -tendered services. Was invited by Grand Duchess of Baden, daughter -of Emperor William, to aid in establishing her hospitals. On fall of -Strassburg entered with German Army, remained eight months, instituted -work for women which held twelve hundred persons from beggary and -clothed thirty thousand.</p> - -<p>Entered Metz on its fall. Entered Paris the day succeeding the fall of -Commune; remained two months, distributing money and clothing which -she carried. Met the poor of every besieged city of France, giving -help.</p> - -<p>Is representative of the “Comité International of the Red Cross” of -Geneva. Honorary and only woman member of Comité de Strasbourgoes. Was -decorated with the Gold Cross of Remembrance by the Grand Duke and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span> -Duchess of Baden and with the “Iron Cross” by the Emperor and Empress -of Germany.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Miss Anthony regarded the sketch with the horror of offended modesty.</p> - -<p>“For Heaven’s sake, Clara,” she wrote, “put some flesh and clothes on -this skeleton!”</p> - -<p>Thus admonished, Miss Barton set to work to drape the bones of her -first attempt, and was in need of some assistance from Miss Anthony and -others. The work as completed was not wholly her own. The adjectives, -which had been conspicuously absent from the first draft together with -some characterizations of Miss Barton and her work, were supplied by -Miss Anthony and her editors. It need not here be reprinted in its -final form; for it is accessible in Miss Anthony’s book. As it finally -appeared, it is several times as long as when Clara Barton wrote it, -and is more Miss Anthony’s than Miss Barton’s.</p> - -<p>In the foregoing account, mention is made of her being an official -member of the International Committee of the Red Cross. In that -capacity she did not at that time represent any American organization -known as the Red Cross, for there was no such body. Although such an -organization had been in existence in Europe from the time of our Civil -War, and the Reverend <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Henry W. Bellows, late of the Christian -Commission, had most earnestly endeavored to organize a branch of it -in this country, and to secure official representation from America -in the international body, the proposal had been met not merely by -indifference, but by hostility.</p> - -<p>Clara Barton wrote her autobiographical sketch from a sanitarium. -She had not yet recovered from the strain of her service in the -Franco-Prussian War. One reason<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span> why she did not recover more rapidly -was that she was bearing on her heart the burden of this as yet unborn -organization, and as yet had found no friends of sufficient influence -and faith to afford to America a share in the honor of belonging to the -sisterhood of nations that marched under that banner.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The outbreak of the World War found America unprepared save only in -her wealth of material resources, her high moral purpose, and her -ability to adapt her forms of organized life to changed and unwelcome -conditions. The rapidity with which she increased her army and her -navy to a strength that made it possible for her to turn the scale, -where the fate of the world hung trembling in the balance, was not more -remarkable than her skill in adapting her institutions of peace to the -exigencies of war. Most of the agencies, which, under the direction of -civilians, ministered to men in arms had either to be created out of -hand or adapted from institutions formed in time of peace and for other -objects. But the American Red Cross was already organized and in active -service. It was a factor in the fight from the first day of the world’s -agony, through the invasion of Belgium, and the three years of our -professed neutrality; and by the time of America’s own entrance into -the war it had assumed such proportions that everywhere the Red Cross -was seen floating beside the Stars and Stripes. Every one knew what it -stood for. It was the emblem of mercy, even as the flag of our Nation -was the symbol of liberty and the hope of the world.</p> - -<p>The history of the American Red Cross cannot be written apart from the -story of its founder, Clara Barton.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span> For years before it came into -being, her voice almost alone pleaded for it, and to her persistent and -almost sole endeavor it came at length to be established in America. -For other years she was its animating spirit, its voice, its soul. -Had she lived to see its work in the great World War, she would have -been humbly and unselfishly grateful for her part in its beginnings, -and overjoyed that it had outgrown them. The story of the founding and -of the early history of the American Red Cross is the story of Clara -Barton.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II"><big>CHAPTER II</big><br /> -THE BIRTH OF CLARA BARTON</h2> -</div> - - - - -<p>Clara Barton was a Christmas gift to the world. She was born December -25, 1821. Her parents named her Clarissa Harlowe. It was a name with -interesting literary associations.</p> - -<p>Novels now grow overnight and are forgotten in a day. The paper mills -are glutted with the waste of yesterday’s popular works of fiction; and -the perishability of paper is all that prevents the stopping of all the -wheels of progress with the accumulation of obsolete “best-sellers.” -But it was not so in 1821. The novels of Samuel Richardson, issued -in the middle of the previous century, were still popular. He wrote -“Pamela; or, Virtue Rewarded,” a novel named for its heroine, a pure -and simple-minded country girl, who repelled the dishonorable proposals -of her employer until he came to respect her, and married her, and -they lived happily ever after. The plot of this story lives again in -a thousand moving-picture dramas, in which the heroine is a shop girl -or an art student; but Richardson required two volumes to tell the -story, and it ran through five editions in a year. He also wrote “Sir -Charles Grandison,” and it required six volumes to portray that hero’s -smug priggishness; but the Reverend <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Finney, president of Oberlin -College, who was also the foremost evangelist of his time, and whose -system of theology wrought in its day a revolution, was not the only -distinguished man who bore the name of Charles Grandison.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p> - -<p>But Richardson’s greatest literary triumph was “Clarissa Harlowe.” -Lady Mary Wortley Montagu was not far wrong when she declared that -the chambermaids of all nations wept over Pamela, and that all the -ladies of quality were on their knees to Richardson imploring him to -spare Clarissa. Clarissa was not a servant like Pamela: she was a lady -of quality, and she had a lover socially her equal, but morally on a -par with a considerable number of the gentry of his day. His name, -Lovelace, became the popular designation of the gentleman profligate. -Clarissa’s sorrows at his hands ran through eight volumes, and, as the -lachrymose sentiment ran out to volume after volume, the gentlewomen -of the English-reading world wept tears that might have made another -flood. Samuel Richardson wrote the story of “Clarissa Harlowe” in 1748, -but the story still was read, and the name of the heroine was loved, in -1821.</p> - -<p>But Clarissa Harlowe Barton did not permanently bear the incubus of so -long a name. Among her friends she was always Clara, and though for -years she signed her name “Clara H. Barton,” the convenience and rhythm -of the shorter name won over the time-honored sentiment attached to the -title of the novel, and the world knows her simply as Clara Barton.</p> - -<p>He who rides on the electric cars from Worcester to Webster will pass -Bartlett’s Upper Mills, where a weather-beaten sign at the crossroads -points the way “<span class="smcap">To Clara Barton’s Birthplace</span>.” About a mile -from the main street, on the summit of a rounded hill, the visitor -will find the house where she was born. It stands with its side to the -road, a hall dividing it through the middle. It is an unpretentious -home, but comfortable,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span> one story high at the eaves, but rising with -the rafters to afford elevation for chambers upstairs. In the rear -room, on the left side, on the ground floor, the children of the Barton -family were born. Clara was the fifth and youngest child, ten years -younger than her sister next older. The eldest child, Dorothy, was born -October 2, 1804, and died April 19, 1846. The next two children were -sons, Stephen, the third to bear the name, born March 29, 1806, and -David, born August 15, 1808. Then came another daughter, Sarah, born -March 20, 1811. These four children followed each other at intervals of -a little more than two years; but Clara had between her and the other -children the wide gap of more than a decade. Her brothers were fifteen -and thirteen, respectively, and her sister was “going on eleven” when -she arrived. She came into a world that was already well grown up and -fully occupied with concerns of its own. Had there been between her and -the other children an ascending series of four or five graduated steps -of heads, the first a little taller than her own, and the others rising -in orderly sequence, the rest of the universe would not have been -quite so formidable; but she was the sole representative of babyhood -in the home at the time of her arrival. So she began her somewhat -solitary pilgrimage, from a cradle fringed about with interested and -affectionate observers, all of whom had been babies a good while -before, but had forgotten about it, into that vast and vague domain -inhabited by the adult portion of the human race; and while she was not -unattended, her journey had its elements of solitude.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III"><big>CHAPTER III</big><br /> -HER ANCESTRY</h2> -</div> - - - - -<p>The Bartons of America are descended from a number of immigrant -ancestors, who have come to this country from England, Scotland, and -Ireland. The name, however, is neither Scotch nor Irish, but English. -While the several families in Great Britain have not as yet traced -their ancestry to a single source, there appears to have been such -a source. The ancestral home of the Barton family is Lancashire. -The family is of Norman stock, and came to England with William -the Conqueror, deriving their English surname from Barton Manor in -Lancashire. From 1086, when the name was recorded in the Doomsday Book, -it is found in the records of Lancashire.</p> - -<p>The derivation of the name is disputed. It is said that originally -it was derived from the Saxon <em>bere</em>, barley, and <em>tun</em>, a -field, and to mean the enclosed lands immediately adjacent to a manor; -but most English names that end with “ton” are derived from “town” -with a prefix, and it is claimed that <em>bar</em>, or defense, and -<em>ton</em>, or town, once meant a defended or enclosed town, or one who -protects a town. The name is held to mean “defender of the town.”</p> - -<p>In the time of Henry I, Sir Leysing de Barton, Knight, was mentioned -as a feudal vassal of lands between the rivers Ribbe and Mersey, -under Stephen, Count of Mortagne, grandson of William the Conqueror, -who later became King Stephen of England. Sir Leysing de Barton<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span> -was the father of Matthew de Barton, and the grandfather of several -granddaughters, one of whom was Editha de Barton, Lady of Barton Manor. -She inherited the great estate, and was a woman of note in her day. She -married Augustine de Barton, possibly a cousin, by whom she had two -children, John de Barton, who died before his mother, and a daughter -Cecilly.</p> - -<p>After the death of Augustine de Barton, his widow, Lady Editha, married -Gilbert de Notton, a landed proprietor of Lincolnshire, who also -had possessions in Yorkshire and Lancashire. He had three sons by a -previous marriage, one of whom, William, married Cecilly de Barton, -daughter of Editha and her first husband Augustine. Their son, named -for his uncle, Gilbert de Notton, inherited the Barton Manor and -assumed the surname Barton.</p> - -<p>The Barton estate was large, containing several villages and -settlements. The homestead was at Barton-on-Irwell, now in the -municipality of Eccles, near the city of Manchester.</p> - -<p>Other Barton families in England are quite possibly descended from -younger sons of the original Barton line.</p> - -<p>The arms of the Bartons of Barton were, <em>Argent</em>, <em>three boars’ -heads</em>, <em>armed</em>, <em>or</em>.</p> - -<p>In the Wars of the Roses the Bartons were with the house of Lancaster, -and the Red Rose is the traditional flower of the Barton family. Clara -Barton, when she wore flowers, habitually wore red roses; and whatever -her attire there was almost invariably about it somewhere a touch -of red, “her color,” she called it, as it had been the color of her -ancestors for many generations.</p> - -<p>In the seventeenth century there were several families<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> of Bartons -in the American colonies. The name is found early in Virginia, in -Pennsylvania, in Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Jersey, and other -colonies.</p> - -<p>Salem had two families of Bartons, probably related,—those of <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> -John Barton, physician and chirurgeon, who came from Huntingdonshire, -England, in 1672, and was prominent in the early life of Salem, and -Edward Barton, who arrived thirty-two years earlier, but, receiving a -grant of land on the Piscataqua, removed to Portsmouth, and about 1666 -to Cape Porpoise, Maine. On account of Indian troubles, the homestead -was deserted for some years, but Cape Porpoise continued to be the -traditional home of this branch of the Barton family.</p> - -<p>Edward’s eldest son, Matthew, returned to Salem, and lived there, at -Portsmouth, and at Cape Porpoise. His eldest son, born probably at -Salem in or about 1664, was Samuel Barton, founder of the Barton family -of Oxford.</p> - -<p>Not long after the pathetic witchcraft delusion of Salem, a number of -enterprising families migrated from Salem to Framingham, among them the -family of Samuel Barton. On July 19, 1716, as recorded in the Suffolk -County Registry of Deeds in Boston, Jonathan Provender, husbandman, of -Oxford, sold to Samuel Barton, <abbr title="senior">Sr.</abbr>, husbandman, of Framingham, a tract -of land including about one-thirtieth of the village of Oxford, as well -as a fourth interest in two mills, a sawmill and a gristmill.</p> - -<p>In 1720, Samuel Barton and a few of his neighbors met at the home -of John Towne, where, after prayer, “they mutually considered their -obligations to promote the kingdom of their Lord and Saviour, Jesus -Christ,” and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> covenanted together to seek to establish and build a -church of Christ in Oxford. On January 3, 1721, the church was formally -constituted, Samuel Barton and his wife bringing their letters of -dismission from the church in Framingham of which both were members, -and uniting as charter members of the new church in Oxford. The -Reverend John Campbell was their first pastor. For over forty years he -led his people, and his name lives in the history of that town as a man -of learning, piety, and rare capacity for spiritual leadership. Long -after his death, it was discovered that he was Colonel John Campbell, -of Scotland, heir to the earldom of Loudon, who had fled from Scotland -for political reasons, and who became a soldier of Christ in the new -world.</p> - -<p>Samuel Barton, son of Edward and Martha Barton, and grandson of Edward -and Elizabeth Barton, died in Oxford September 12, 1732. His wife, -Hannah Bridges, died there March 13, 1737. From them sprang the family -of the Oxford Bartons, whose most illustrious representative was Clara -Barton.</p> - -<p>The maternal side of this line, that of Bridges, began in America -with Edmund Bridges, who came to Massachusetts from England in 1635, -and lived successively at Lynn, Rowley, and Ipswich. His eldest son, -Edmund, Jr., was born about 1637, married Sarah Towne in 1659, lived -in Topsfield and Salem, and died in 1682. The fourth of their five -children was a daughter, Hannah, who, probably at Salem about 1690, -married Samuel Barton, progenitor of the Bartons of Oxford, to which -town he removed from Framingham in 1716.</p> - -<p>Edmund, youngest son of Samuel and Hannah Barton, was born in -Framingham, August 15, 1715. He married,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span> April 9, 1739, Anna Flint, -of Salem. She was born June 9, 1718, eldest daughter of Stephen Flint -and his wife, Hannah Moulton. Anna Flint was the granddaughter of John -Flint, of Salem Village (Danvers), and great-granddaughter of Thomas -Flint, who came to Salem before 1650.</p> - -<p>Edmund settled in Sutton, and owned lands there and in Oxford. He -and his wife became members of the First Church in Sutton, and later -transferred their membership to the Second Church in Sutton, which -subsequently became the First Church in Millbury. He served in the -French War, and was at Fort Edward in 1753. He died December 13, 1799, -and Anna, his wife, died March 20, 1795.</p> - -<p>The eldest son of Edmund and Anna Barton was Stephen Barton, born June -10, 1740, at Sutton. He studied medicine with <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Green, of Leicester, -and practiced his profession in Oxford and in Maine. He had unusual -professional skill, as well as great sympathy and charity. He married -at Oxford, May 28, 1765, Dorothy Moore, who was born at Oxford, April -12, 1747, daughter of Elijah Moore and Dorothy Learned. On her father’s -side she was the granddaughter of Richard, great-granddaughter of -Jacob, and great-great-granddaughter of John Moore. John Moore and his -wife, Elizabeth, daughter of Philemon Whale, bought a home in Sudbury -in 1642. Their son, Jacob, married Elizabeth Looker, daughter of Henry -Looker, of Sudbury, and lived in Sudbury. Their son Richard, born in -Sudbury in 1670, married Mary Collins, daughter of Samuel Collins, -of Middletown, Connecticut, and granddaughter of Edward Collins, of -Cambridge. Richard Moore was one of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> most capable and trusted -men in early Oxford. Dorothy Learned, wife of Elijah Moore, was the -daughter of Colonel Ebenezer Learned, the largest landowner in Oxford, -one of the original thirty proprietors. He was a man of superior -personality, for thirty-two years one of the selectmen, for many years -chairman of that body, and moderator of town meetings, a justice of the -peace, a representative in the Great and General Court, and an officer -in the militia from 1718 to 1750, beginning as Ensign and reaching the -rank of Colonel. He was active in the affairs of the town, the church, -and the military organization during his long and useful life. His -wife was Deborah Haynes, daughter of John Haynes, of Sudbury. He was -the son of Isaac Learned, Jr., of Framingham, who had been a soldier -in the Narraganset War, and his wife, Sarah Bigelow, daughter of John -Bigelow, of Watertown. Isaac Learned was the son of Isaac Learned, <abbr title="senior">Sr.</abbr>, -of Woburn and Chelmsford, and his wife, Mary Stearns, daughter of Isaac -Stearns, of Watertown. The parents of Isaac Learned, <abbr title="senior">Sr.</abbr>, were William -and Goditha Learned, members of the Charlestown Church in 1632, and of -Woburn Church in 1642.</p> - -<p>The Learned family shared with the Barton family in the formation -of the English settlement in Oxford, and were intimately related by -intermarriage and many mutual interests. Brigadier-General Ebenezer -Learned, a distinguished officer in the Revolution, was a brother of -Dorothy Learned Moore, the great-grandmother of Clara Barton.</p> - -<p><abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Stephen Barton and his wife, Dorothy Moore, had thirteen children. -Their sons were Elijah Moore, born October 12, 1765, and died June 13, -1769; Gideon, born<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span> March 29, 1767, and died October 27, 1770; Stephen, -born August 18, 1774; Elijah Moore, born August 10, 1784; Gideon, born -June 18, 1786; and Luke, born September 3, 1791. The first two sons -died at an early age; the four remaining sons lived to marry, and -three of them lived in Maine. The daughters of <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Stephen Barton and -Dorothy, his wife, were Pamela, Clarissa Harlowe, Hannah, Parthena, -Polly, and Dolly.</p> - -<p>It is interesting to note in the names of these daughters a departure -from the common New England custom of seeking Bible names, and the -naming of the first two daughters after the two principal heroines of -Samuel Richardson.</p> - -<p>Of this family, the third son, and the eldest to survive, was Stephen -Barton, Jr., known as Captain Stephen Barton, father of Clara Barton.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV"><big>CHAPTER IV</big><br /> -HER PARENTAGE AND INFANCY</h2> -</div> - - -<p>Captain Stephen Barton won his military title by that system of -<em xml:lang="la" lang="la">post-bellum</em> promotion familiar in all American communities. He -was a non-commissioned officer in the wars against the Indians. He was -nineteen when he enlisted, and marched on foot with his troop from -Boston to Philadelphia, which at that time was the Nation’s capital. -The main army was then at Detroit under command of General Wayne, whom -the soldiers lovingly knew as “Mad Anthony.” William Henry Harrison -and Richard M. Johnson, later President and Vice-President of the -United States, were then lieutenants, and Stephen Barton fought side -by side with them. He was present when Tecumseh was slain, and at the -signing of the treaty of peace which followed. His military service -extended over three years. At the close of the war he marched home -on foot through northern Ohio and central New York. He and the other -officers were greatly charmed by the Genesee and Mohawk valleys, and -he purchased land somewhere in the vicinity of Rochester. He had some -thought of establishing a home in that remote region, but it was so far -distant from civilization that he sold his New York land and made his -home in Oxford.</p> - -<p>In 1796, Stephen Barton returned from the Indian War. He was then -twenty-two years of age. Eight years later he married Sarah Stone, who -was only seventeen. They established their home west of Oxford, near -Charlton,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> and later removed to the farm where Clara Barton was born.</p> - -<p class="center p0 p2"><span class="figcenter" id="img001"> - <img src="images/001.jpg" class="w75" alt="MOTHER AND FATHER OF CLARA BARTON" /> -</span></p> -<p class="center p0 caption">MOTHER AND FATHER OF CLARA BARTON<br /></p> - -<p>It was a modest home, and Stephen Barton was a hardworking man, though -a man of influence in the community. He served often as moderator of -town meetings and as selectman for the town. He served also as a member -of the Legislature. But he wrought with his own hands in the tillage of -his farm, and in the construction of most of the articles of furniture -in his home, including the cradle in which his children were rocked.</p> - -<p class="center p0 p2"><span class="figcenter" id="img002"> - <img src="images/002.jpg" class="w75" alt="BIRTHPLACE OF CLARA BARTON" /> -</span></p> -<p class="center p0 caption">BIRTHPLACE OF CLARA BARTON<br /></p> - -<p>Stephen Barton combined a military spirit with a gentle disposition -and a broad spirit of philanthropy. Sarah Stone was a woman of great -decision of character, and a quick temper. She was a housewife of -the good old New England sort, looking well to the ways of her -household and eating not the bread of idleness. From her father Clara -Barton inherited those humanitarian tendencies which became notably -characteristic, and from her mother she derived a strong will which -achieved results almost regardless of opposition. Her mother’s hot -temper found its restraint in her through the inherited influence of -her father’s poise and benignity. Of him she wrote:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>His military habits and tastes never left him. Those were also strong -political days—Andrew Jackson Days—and very naturally my father -became my instructor in military and political lore. I listened -breathlessly to his war stories. Illustrations were called for and -we made battles and fought them. Every shade of military etiquette -was regarded. Colonels, captains, and sergeants were given their -proper place and rank. So with the political world; the President, -Cabinet, and leading officers of the government were learned by -heart, and nothing gratified<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span> the keen humor of my father more than -the parrot-like readiness with which I lisped these difficult names. -I thought the President might be as large as the meeting-house, and -the Vice-President perhaps the size of the schoolhouse. And yet, when -later I, like all the rest of our country’s people, was suddenly -thrust into the mysteries of war, and had to find and take my place -and part in it, I found myself far less a stranger to the conditions -than most women, or even ordinary men for that matter. I never -addressed a colonel as captain, got my cavalry on foot, or mounted my -infantry!</p> - -<p>When a little child upon his knee he told me that, as he lay helpless -in the tangled marshes of Michigan the muddy water oozed up from the -track of an officer’s horse and saved him from death by thirst. And -that a mouthful of a lean dog that had followed the march saved him -from starvation. When he told me how the feathered arrow quivered in -the flesh and the tomahawk swung over the white man’s head, he told me -also, with tears of honest pride, of the great and beautiful country -that had sprung up from those wild scenes of suffering and danger. How -he loved these new States for which he gave the strength of his youth!</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Two sons and two daughters were born to Stephen and Sarah Barton in -their early married life. Then for ten years no other children were -born to them. On Christmas, 1821, their eldest daughter, Dorothy, was -as old as her mother had been at the time of their marriage. Their -eldest son, Stephen, was fifteen, the younger son, David, was thirteen, -and the daughter, Sally, was ten. The family had long considered itself -complete, when the household received Clara as a Christmas present. -Her brothers and sisters were too old to be her playmates. They were -her protectors, but not her companions. She was a little child in the -midst of a household of grown-up<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span> people, as they seemed to her. In her -little book entitled “The Story of my Childhood,” she thus describes -her brothers and sisters:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>I became the seventh member of a household consisting of the father -and mother, two sisters and two brothers, each of whom for his and her -intrinsic merits and special characteristics deserves an individual -history, which it shall be my conscientious duty to portray as far -as possible as these pages progress. For the present it is enough -to say that each one manifested an increasing personal interest in -the newcomer, and, as soon as developments permitted, set about -instructing her in the various directions most in accord with the -tastes and pursuits of each.</p> - -<p>Of the two sisters, the elder was already a teacher. The younger -followed soon, and naturally my book education became their first -care, and under these conditions it is little to say, that I have no -knowledge of ever learning to read, or of a time that I did not do my -own story reading. The other studies followed very early.</p> - -<p>My elder brother, Stephen, was a noted mathematician. He inducted me -into the mystery of figures. Multiplication, division, subtraction, -halves, quarters, and wholes, soon ceased to be a mystery, and no toy -equaled my little slate. But the younger brother had entirely other -tastes, and would have none of these things. My father was a lover -of horses, and one of the first in the vicinity to introduce blooded -stock. He had large lands, for New England. He raised his own colts; -and Highlanders, Virginians, and Morgans pranced the fields in idle -contempt of the solid old farm-horses.</p> - -<p>Of my brother, David, to say that he was fond of horses describes -nothing; one could almost add that he was fond of nothing else. He was -the Buffalo Bill of the surrounding country, and here commences his -part of my education. It was his delight to take me, a little girl -of five years old, to the field, seize a couple of those beautiful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span> -young creatures, broken only to the halter and bit, and gathering the -reins of both bridles firmly in hand, throw me upon the back of one -colt, spring upon the other himself, and catching me by one foot, and -bidding me “cling fast to the mane,” gallop away over field and fen, -in and out among the other colts in wild glee like ourselves. They -were merry rides we took. This was my riding-school. I never had any -other, but it served me well. To this day my seat on a saddle or on -the back of a horse is as secure and tireless as in a rocking-chair, -and far more pleasurable. Sometimes, in later years, when I found -myself suddenly on a strange horse in a trooper’s saddle, flying for -life or liberty in front of pursuit, I blessed the baby lessons of the -wild gallops among the beautiful colts.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>One of the bravest of women, Clara Barton was a child of unusual -timidity. Looking back upon her earliest recollections she said, “I -remember nothing but fear.” Her earliest memory was of her grief in -failing to catch “a pretty bird” when she was two and a half years old. -She cried in disappointment, and her mother ran to learn what was the -trouble. On hearing her complaint, that “Baby” had lost a pretty bird -which she had almost caught, her mother asked, “Where did it go, Baby?” -“Baby” indicated a small round hole under the doorstep, and her mother -gave a terrified scream. That scream awoke terror in the mind of the -little girl, and she never quite recovered from it. The “bird” she had -almost caught was a snake.</p> - -<p>Her next memory also was one of fear. The family had gone to a funeral, -leaving her in the care of her brother David. She told of it afterward -as follows:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span></p><blockquote> - -<p>I can picture the large family sitting-room with its four open -windows, which room I was not to leave, and my guardian was to remain -near me. Some outside duty called him from the house and I was left to -my own observations. A sudden thunder-shower came up; massive rifts -of clouds rolled up in the east, and the lightning darted among them -like blazing fires. The thunder gave them language and my terrified -imagination endowed them with life.</p> - -<p>Among the animals of the farm was a huge old ram, that doubtless -upon some occasion had taught me to respect him, and of which I had -a mortal fear. My terrors transformed those rising, rolling clouds -into a whole heaven full of angry rams, marching down upon me. Again -my screams alarmed, and the poor brother, conscience-stricken that he -had left his charge, rushed breathless in, to find me on the floor in -hysterics, a condition of things he had never seen; and neither memory -nor history relates how either of us got out of it.</p> - -<p>In these later years I have observed that writers of sketches, in -a friendly desire to compliment me, have been wont to dwell upon -my courage, representing me as personally devoid of fear, not even -knowing the feeling. However correct that may have become, it is -evident I was not constructed that way, as in the earlier years of my -life I remember nothing but fear.</p> -</blockquote> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V"><big>CHAPTER V</big><br /> -HER SCHOOLS AND TEACHERS</h2> -</div> - - - - -<p>Clara Barton’s education began at her cradle. She was not able to -remember when she learned to read. When three years old she had -acquired the art of reading, and her lessons in spelling, arithmetic, -and geography began in her infancy. Both of her sisters and her eldest -brother were school-teachers. Recalling their efforts, she said: “I -had no playmates, but in effect six fathers and mothers. They were a -family of school-teachers. All took charge of me, all educated me, each -according to personal taste. My two sisters were scholars and artistic, -and strove in that direction. My brothers were strong, ruddy, daring -young men, full of life and business.”</p> - -<p>Before she was four years old she entered school. By that time she was -able to read easily, and could spell words of three syllables. She -told the story of her first schooling in an account which must not be -abridged:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>My home instruction was by no means permitted to stand in the way -of the “regular school,” which consisted of two terms each year, -of three months each. The winter term included not only the large -boys and girls, but in reality the young men and young women of the -neighborhood. An exceptionally fine teacher often drew the daily -attendance of advanced scholars for several miles. Our district had -this good fortune. I introduce with pleasure and with reverence the -name of Richard Stone; a firmly set, handsome young man of twenty-six -or seven, of commanding figure and presence, combining all the -elements of a teacher with a discipline never questioned.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span> His -glance of disapproval was a reprimand, his frown something he never -needed to go beyond. The love and respect of his pupils exceeded even -their fear. It was no uncommon thing for summer teachers to come -twenty miles to avail themselves of the winter term of “Colonel” -Stone, for he was a high militia officer, and at that young age was a -settled man with a family of four little children. He had married at -eighteen.</p> - -<p>I am thus particular in my description of him, both because of my -childish worship of him, and because I shall have occasion to refer to -him later. The opening of his first term was a signal for the Barton -family, and seated on the strong shoulders of my stalwart brother -Stephen, I was taken a mile through the tall drifts to school. I have -often questioned if in this movement there might not have been a -touch of mischievous curiosity on the part of these not at all dull -youngsters, to see what my performance at school might be.</p> - -<p>I was, of course, the baby of the school. I recall no introduction -to the teacher, but was set down among the many pupils in the by no -means spacious room, with my spelling book and the traditional slate, -from which nothing could separate me. I was seated on one of the low -benches and sat very still. At length the majestic school-master -seated himself, and taking a primer, called the class of little ones -to him. He pointed the letters to each. I named them all, and was -asked to spell some little words, “dog,” “cat,” etc., whereupon I -hesitatingly informed him that I did “not spell there.” “Where do you -spell?” “I spell in ‘Artichoke,’” that being the leading word in the -three syllable column in my speller. He good naturedly conformed to -my suggestion, and I was put into the “artichoke” class to bear my -part for the winter, and read and “spell for the head.” When, after a -few weeks, my brother Stephen was declared by the committee to be too -advanced for a common school, and was placed in charge of an important -school himself, my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> unique transportation devolved upon the other -brother, David.</p> - -<p>No colts now, but solid wading through the high New England drifts.</p> - -<p>The Reverend <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Menseur of the Episcopal church of Leicester, -Massachusetts, if I recollect aright, wisely comprehending the -grievous inadaptability of the schoolbooks of that time, had compiled -a small geography and atlas suited to young children, known as -Menseur’s Geography. It was a novelty, as well as a beneficence; -nothing of its kind having occurred to makers of the schoolbooks of -that day. They seemed not to have recognized the existence of a state -of childhood in the intellectual creation. During the winter I had -become the happy possessor of a Menseur’s Geography and Atlas. It is -questionable if my satisfaction was fully shared by others of the -household. I required a great deal of assistance in the study of my -maps, and became so interested that I could not sleep, and was not -willing that others should, but persisted in waking my poor drowsy -sister in the cold winter mornings to sit up in bed and by the light -of a tallow candle, help me to find mountains, rivers, counties, -oceans, lakes, islands, isthmuses, channels, cities, towns, and -capitals.</p> - -<p>The next May the summer school opened, taught by Miss Susan Torrey. -Again, I write the name reverently, as gracing one of the most perfect -of personalities. I was not alone in my childish admiration, for her -memory remained a living reality in the town long years after the -gentle spirit fled. My sisters were both teaching other schools, -and I must make my own way, which I did, walking a mile with my one -precious little schoolmate, Nancy Fitts. Nancy Fitts! The playmate of -my childhood; the “chum” of laughing girlhood; the faithful, trusted -companion of young womanhood, and the beloved life friend that the -relentless grasp of time has neither changed, nor taken from me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p> - -<p>On entering the wide-open door of the inviting schoolhouse, armed -with some most unsuitable reader, a spelling book, geography, atlas, -and slate, I was seized with an intense fear at finding myself with -no member of the family near, and my trepidation became so visible -that the gentle teacher, relieving me of my burden of books, took -me tenderly on her lap and did her best to reassure and calm me. At -length I was given my seat, with a desk in front for my atlas and -slate, my toes at least a foot from the floor, and that became my -daily, happy home for the next three months.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>All the members of Clara Barton’s household became her teachers, except -her mother, who looked with interest, and not always with approval, -on the methods of instruction practiced by the others. Captain Barton -was teaching her military tactics, David was teaching her to ride -horseback, Sally, and later Dorothy, established a kind of school at -home and practiced on their younger sister, and Stephen contributed his -share in characteristic fashion. Sarah Stone alone attempted nothing -until the little daughter should be old enough to learn to do housework.</p> - -<p>“My mother, like the sensible woman that she was, seemed to conclude -that there were plenty of instructors without her,” said Miss Barton. -“She attempted very little, but rather regarded the whole thing as a -sort of mental conglomeration, and looked on with a kind of amused -curiosity to see what they would make of it. Indeed, I heard her remark -many years after that I came out of it with a more level head than she -would have thought possible.”</p> - -<p>Clara Barton’s first piece of personal property was a sprightly, -medium-sized white dog, with silky ears and a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span> short tail. His name was -Button. Her affection for Button continued throughout her life. Of him -she said:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>My first individual ownership was “Button.” In personality (if the -term be admissible), Button represented a sprightly, medium-sized, -very white dog, with silky ears, sparkling black eyes and a very -short tail. His bark spoke for itself. Button belonged to me. No -other claim was instituted, or ever had been. It was said that on my -entrance into the family, Button constituted himself my guardian. He -watched my first steps and tried to pick me up when I fell down. One -was never seen without the other. He proved an apt and obedient pupil, -obeying me precept upon precept, if not line upon line. He stood on -two feet to ask for his food, and made a bow on receiving it, walked -on three legs when very lame, and so on, after the manner of his crude -instruction; went everywhere with me through the day, waited patiently -while I said my prayers and continued his guard on the foot of the bed -at night. Button shared my board as well as my bed.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>After her first year’s instruction at the hands of Colonel Stone, -that gentleman ceased his connection with the common schools, and -established what was known as the Oxford High School, an institution of -great repute in its day. This left the district school to be taught by -the members of the Barton household. For the next three years Clara’s -sisters were her public school-teachers in the autumn and spring, and -her brother Stephen had charge of the school in the winter terms. Two -things she remembered about those years. One was her preternatural -shyness. She was sensitive and retiring to a degree that seemed to -forbid all hope of her making much progress in study with other -children. The other was that she had a fondness for writing verses, -some of which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> her brothers and sisters preserved and used to tease her -with in later years. One thing she learned outside the schoolroom, and -she never forgot it. That was how to handle a horse. She inherited her -mother’s sidesaddle, and though she protested against having to use -it, she learned at an early age to lift and buckle it, and to ride her -father’s horses.</p> - -<p>Meantime her brothers grew to be men and bought out her father’s -two large farms. Her father purchased another farm of three hundred -acres nearer the center of the town, a farm having upon it one of the -forts used for security against the Indians by the original Huguenot -settlers. She now became interested in history, and added that to her -previous accomplishments.</p> - -<p>At the age of eight, Clara Barton entered what was called high school, -which involved boarding away from home. The arrangement met with only -partial success on account of her extreme timidity:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>During the preceding winter I began to hear talk of my going away -to school, and it was decided that I be sent to Colonel Stone’s -High School, to board in his family and go home occasionally. This -arrangement, I learned in later years, had a double object. I was what -is known as a bashful child, timid in the presence of other persons, a -condition of things found impossible to correct at home. In the hope -of overcoming this undesirable <em xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">mauvais honte</em>, it was decided to -throw me among strangers.</p> - -<p>How well I remember my advent. My father took me in his carriage with -a little dressing-case which I dignified with the appellation of -“trunk”—something I had never owned. It was April—cold and bare. -The house and schoolrooms adjoined, and seemed enormously large. The -household was also large. The long family table with the dignified -preceptor, my loved and feared teacher<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> of three years, at its head, -seemed to me something formidable. There were probably one hundred and -fifty pupils daily in the ample schoolrooms, of which I was perhaps -the youngest, except the colonel’s own children.</p> - -<p>My studies were chosen with great care. I remember among them, -ancient history with charts. The lessons were learned, to repeat by -rote. I found difficulty both in learning the proper names and in -pronouncing them, as I had not quite outgrown my lisp. One day I -had studied very hard on the Ancient Kings of Egypt, and thought I -had everything perfect, and when the pupil above me failed to give -the name of a reigning king, I answered very promptly that it was -“Potlomy.” The colonel checked with a glance the rising laugh of the -older members of the class, and told me, very gently, that the P was -silent in that word. I had, however, seen it all, and was so overcome -by mortification for my mistake, and gratitude for the kindness of my -teacher, that I burst into tears and was permitted to leave the room.</p> - -<p>I am not sure that I was really homesick, but the days seemed very -long, especially Sundays. I was in constant dread of doing something -wrong, and one Sunday afternoon I was sure I had found my occasion. -It was early spring. The tender leaves had put out and with them -the buds and half-open blossoms of the little cinnamon roses, an -unfailing ornamentation of a well-kept New England home of that day. -The children of the family had gathered in the front yard, admiring -the roses and daring to pick each a little bouquet. As I stood holding -mine, the heavy door at my back swung open, and there was the colonel, -in his long, light dressing-gown and slippers, direct from his study. -A kindly spoken, “Come with me, Clara,” nearly took my last breath. -I followed his strides through all the house, up the long flights -of stairs, through the halls of the schoolrooms, silently wondering -what I had done more than the others. I knew he was by no means wont -to spare his own children.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span> I had my handful of roses—so had they. -I knew it was very wrong to have picked them, but why more wrong for -me than for the others? At length, and it seemed to me an hour, we -reached the colonel’s study, and there, advancing to meet us, was the -Reverend <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Chandler, the pastor of our Universalist Church, whom -I knew well. He greeted me very politely and kindly, and handed the -large, open school reader which he held, to the colonel, who put it -into my hands, placed me a little in front of them, and pointing to -a column of blank verse, very gently directed me to read it. It was -an extract from Campbell’s “Pleasures of Hope,” commencing, “Unfading -hope, when life’s last embers burn.” I read it to the end, a page or -two. When finished, the good pastor came quickly and relieved me of -the heavy book, and I wondered why there were tears in his eyes. The -colonel drew me to him, gently stroked my short cropped hair, went -with me down the long steps, and told me I could “go back to the -children and play.” I went, much more easy in mind than I came, but it -was years before I comprehended anything about it.</p> - -<p>My studies gave me no trouble, but I grew very tired, felt hungry -all the time, but dared not eat, grew thin and pale. The colonel -noticed it, and watching me at table found that I was eating little -or nothing, refusing everything that was offered me. Mistrusting that -it was from timidity, he had food laid on my plate, but I dared not -eat it, and finally at the end of the term a consultation was held -between the colonel, my father, and our beloved family physician, <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> -Delano Pierce, who lived within a few doors of the school, and it was -decided to take me home until a little older, and wiser, I could hope. -My timid sensitiveness must have given great annoyance to my friends. -If I ever could have gotten entirely over it, it would have given far -less annoyance and trouble to myself all through life.</p> - -<p>To this day, I would rather stand behind the lines of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> artillery at -Antietam, or cross the pontoon bridge under fire at Fredericksburg, -than to be expected to preside at a public meeting.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Again Clara’s instruction fell to her brothers and sisters. Stephen -taught her mathematics, her sisters increased her knowledge of -the common branches, and David continued to give her lessons in -horsemanship. Stephen Barton, her father, was the owner of a fine black -stallion, whose race of colts improved the blooded stock of Oxford and -vicinity. When she was ten years old she received a present of a Morgan -horse named Billy. Mounted on the back of this fine animal, she ranged -the hills of Oxford completely free from that fear with which she was -possessed in the schoolroom.</p> - -<p>When she was thirteen years of age, her education took a new start -under the instruction of Lucian Burleigh, who taught her grammar, -composition, English literature, and history. A year later Jonathan -Dana became her instructor, and taught her philosophy, chemistry, and -writing. These two teachers she remembered with unfaltering affection.</p> - -<p>While Clara Barton’s brother Stephen taught school, his younger -brother, David, gave himself to business. He, no less than Stephen, -was remembered affectionately as having had an important share in -her education. He had taught her to ride, and she had become his -nurse. When he grew well and strong, he took the little girl under -his instruction, and taught her how to do things directly and with -expedition. If she started anywhere impulsively, and turned back, he -reproved her. She was not to start until she knew where she was going, -and why, and having started, she was to go ahead and accomplish<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> what -she had undertaken. She was to learn the effective way of attaining -results, and having learned it was to follow the method which promoted -efficiency. He taught her to despise false motions, and to avoid -awkward and ineffective attempts to accomplish results. He showed her -how to drive a nail without splitting a board, and she never forgot how -to handle the hammer and the saw. He taught her how to start a screw so -it would drive straight. He taught her not to throw like a girl, but -to hurl a ball or a stone with an under swing like a boy, and to hit -what she threw at. He taught her to avoid “granny-knots” and how to tie -square knots. All this practical instruction she learned to value as -among the best features of her education.</p> - -<p>One of her earliest experiences, in accomplishing a memorable piece of -work with her own hands, came to her after her father had sold the two -hill farms to his sons and removed to the farm on the highway nearer -the village. It gave her her opportunity to learn the art of painting. -This was more than the ability to dip a brush in a prepared mixture -and spread the liquid evenly over a plane surface; it involved some -knowledge of the art of preparing and mixing paints. She found joy in -it at the time, and it quickened within her an aspiration to be an -artist. In later years and as part of her education, she learned to -draw and paint, and was able to give instruction in water-color and -oil painting. It is interesting to read her own account of her first -adventure into the field of art:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>The hill farms—for there were two—were sold to my brothers, who, -entering into partnership, constituted the well-known firm of S. & -D. Barton, continuing mainly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span> through their lives. Thus I became the -occupant of two homes, my sisters remaining with my brothers, none of -whom were married.</p> - -<p>The removal to the second home was a great novelty to me. I became -observant of all changes made. One of the first things found -necessary, on entering a house of such ancient date, was a rather -extensive renovation, for those days, of painting and papering. The -leading artisan in that line in the town was <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Sylvanus Harris, a -courteous man of fine manners, good scholarly acquirements, and who, -for nearly half a lifetime, filled the office of town clerk. The -records of Oxford will bear his name and his beautiful handwriting as -long as its records exist.</p> - -<p><abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Harris was engaged to make the necessary improvements. Painting -included more then than in these later days of prepared material. The -painter brought his massive white marble slab, ground his own paints, -mixed his colors, boiled his oil, calcined his plaster, made his -putty, and did scores of things that a painter of to-day would not -only never think of doing, but would often scarcely know how to do.</p> - -<p>Coming from the newly built house where I was born, I had seen nothing -of this kind done, and was intensely interested. I must have persisted -in making myself very numerous, for I was constantly reminded not -to “get in the gentleman’s way.” But I was not to be set aside. My -combined interest and curiosity for once overcame my timidity, and, -encouraged by the mild, genial face of <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Harris, I gathered the -courage to walk up in front and address him: “Will you teach me to -paint, sir?” “With pleasure, little lady; if mamma is willing, I -should very much like your assistance.” The consent was forthcoming, -and so was a gown suited to my new work, and I reported for duty. -I question if any ordinary apprentice was ever more faithfully and -intelligently instructed in his first month’s apprenticeship. I was -taught how to hold my brushes, to take care of them, allowed to help<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span> -grind my paints, shown how to mix and blend them, how to make putty -and use it, to prepare oils and dryings, and learned from experience -that boiling oil was a great deal hotter than boiling water, was -taught to trim paper neatly, to match and help to hang it, to make -the most approved paste, and even varnished the kitchen chairs to the -entire satisfaction of my mother, which was triumph enough for one -little girl. So interested was I, that I never wearied of my work for -a day, and at the end of a month looked on sadly as the utensils, -brushes, buckets and great marble slabs were taken away. There was -not a room that I had not helped to make better; there were no longer -mysteries in paint and paper. I knew them all, and that work would -bring calluses even on little hands.</p> - -<p>When the work was finished and everything gone, I went to my room, -lonesome in spite of myself. I found on my candle stand a box -containing a pretty little locket, neatly inscribed, “To a faithful -worker.” No one seemed to have any knowledge of it, and I never gained -any.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>One other memory of these early days must be recorded as having an -immediate effect upon her, and a permanent influence upon her life. -While she was still a little girl, she witnessed the killing of an -ox, and it seemed so terrible a thing to her that it had much to do -with her lifelong temperance in the matter of eating meat. She never -became an absolute vegetarian. When she sat at a table where meat was -served, and where a refusal to eat would have called for explanation, -and perhaps would have embarrassed the family, she ate what was set -before her as the Apostle Paul commanded, but she ate very sparingly of -all animal food, and, when she was able to control her own diet, lived -almost entirely on vegetables. Things that grew out of the ground, she -said, were good enough for her:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>A small herd of twenty-five fine milch cows came faithfully home each -day with the lowering of the sun, for the milking and extra supper -which they knew awaited them. With the customary greed of childhood, I -had laid claim to three or four of the handsomest and tamest of them, -and believing myself to be their real owner, I went faithfully every -evening to the yards to receive and look after them. My little milk -pail went as well, and I became proficient in an art never forgotten.</p> - -<p>One afternoon, on going to the barn as usual, I found no cows there; -all had been driven somewhere else. As I stood in the corner of the -great yard alone, I saw three or four men—the farm hands—with one -stranger among them wearing a long, loose shirt or gown. They were all -trying to get a large red ox onto the barn floor, to which he went -very reluctantly. At length they succeeded. One of the men carried -an axe, and, stepping a little to the side and back, raised it high -in the air and brought it down with a terrible blow. The ox fell, I -fell too; and the next I knew I was in the house on a bed, and all the -family about me, with the traditional camphor bottle, bathing my head -to my great discomfort. As I regained consciousness, they asked me -what made me fall? I said, “Some one struck me.” “Oh, no,” they said, -“no one struck you.” But I was not to be convinced, and proceeded to -argue the case with an impatient putting away of the hurting hands, -“Then what makes my head so sore?” Happy ignorance! I had not then -learned the mystery of nerves.</p> - -<p>I have, however, a very clear recollection of the indignation of my -father (my mother had already expressed herself on the subject), on -his return from town and hearing what had taken place. The hired men -were lined up and arraigned for “cruel carelessness.” They had “the -consideration to keep the cattle away,” he said, “but allowed that -little girl to stand in full view.” Of course, each protested he -had not seen me. I was altogether too<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span> friendly with the farm hands -to hear them blamed, especially on my account, and came promptly to -their side, assuring my father that they had not seen me, and that it -was “no matter,” I was “all well now.” But, singularly, I lost all -desire for meat, if I had ever had it—and all through life, to the -present, have only eaten it when I must for the sake of appearance, or -as circumstances seemed to make it the more proper thing to do. The -bountiful ground has always yielded enough for all my needs and wants.</p> -</blockquote> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI"><big>CHAPTER VI</big><br /> -THE DAYS OF HER YOUTH</h2> -</div> - - -<p>So large a part of the schooling of Clara Barton was passed under the -instruction of her own sisters and her brother Stephen that she ceased -to feel in school the diffidence which elsewhere characterized her, and -which she never fully overcame. Not all of her education, however, was -accomplished in the schoolroom. While her mother refrained from giving -to her actual instruction as she received from her father and brothers -and sisters, her knowledge of domestic arts was not wholly neglected. -When the family removed to the new home, her two brothers remained upon -the more distant farm, and the older sisters kept house for them. Into -the new home came the widow of her father’s nephew, Jeremiah Larned, -with her four children, whose ages varied from six to thirteen years. -She now had playmates in her own household, with frequent visits to the -old home where her two brothers and two sisters, none of them married, -kept house together. Although her mother still had older kitchen -help, she taught Clara some of the mysteries of cooking. Her mother -complained somewhat that she never really had a fair chance at Clara’s -instruction as a housekeeper, but Clara believed that no instruction -of her youth was more lasting or valuable than that which enabled her, -on the battle-field or elsewhere, to make a pie, “crinkly around the -edges, with marks of finger-prints,” to remind a soldier of home.</p> - -<p>Two notable interruptions of her schooling occurred.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span> The first was -caused by an alarming illness when she was five years of age. Dysentery -and convulsions came very near to robbing Captain and Mrs. Barton of -their baby. Of this almost mortal illness, she preserved only one -memory, that of the first meal which she ate when her convalescence -set in. She was propped up in a huge cradle that had been constructed -for an adult invalid, with a little low table at the side. The meal -consisted of a piece of brown bread crust about two inches square, -a tiny glass of homemade blackberry cordial, and a wee bit of her -mother’s well-cured cheese. She dropped asleep from exhaustion as she -finished this first meal, and the memory of it made her mouth water as -long as she lived.</p> - -<p>The other interruption occurred when she was eleven. Her brother -David, who was a dare-devil rider and fearless climber, ascended to -the ridge-pole on the occasion of a barn-raising. A board broke under -his feet, and he fell to the ground. He fell upon solid timbers and -sustained a serious injury, especially by a blow on the head. For two -years he was an invalid. For a time he hung between life and death, and -then was “a sleepless, nervous, cold dyspeptic, and a mere wreck of his -former self.” After two years of suffering, he completely recovered -under a new system of steam baths; but those two years did not find -Clara in the schoolroom. She nursed her brother with such assiduity as -almost permanently to injure her own health. In his nervous condition -he clung to her, and she acquired something of that skill in the care -of the sick which remained with her through life.</p> - -<p>Clara Barton was growing normally in her twelfth year when she became -her brother’s nurse. Not until that long vigil was completed was it -discovered that she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span> had ceased to grow. Her height in her shoes, with -moderately high heels, was five feet and three inches, and was never -increased. In later life people who met her gave widely divergent -reports of her stature. She was described as “of medium height,” and -now and then she was declared to be tall. She had a remarkable way of -appearing taller than she was. As a matter of fact in her later years, -her height shrank a little, and she measured in her stocking-feet -exactly sixty inches.</p> - -<p>Clara was an ambitious child. Her two brothers owned a cloth-mill where -they wove satinet. She was ambitious to learn the art of weaving. Her -mother at first objected, but her brother Stephen pleaded for her, -and she was permitted to enter the mill. She was not tall enough to -tend the loom, so a raised platform was arranged for her between a -pair of looms and she learned to manage the shuttle. To her great -disappointment, the mill burned down when she had been at work only -two weeks; but this brief vocational experience served as a basis of a -pretty piece of fiction at which she always smiled, but which annoyed -her somewhat—that she had entered a factory and earned money to pay -off a mortgage on her father’s farm. The length of her service in the -mill would not have paid a very large mortgage, but fortunately there -was no mortgage to pay off. Her father was a prosperous man for his -time, and the family was well to do, possessing not only broad acres, -but adding to the family income by manufacture and trade. They were -among the most enterprising, prosperous, and respected families in a -thrifty and self-respecting community.</p> - -<p>One of the enterprises on the Barton farm afforded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span> her great joy. -The narrow French River ran through her father’s farm. In places it -could be crossed by a foot-log, and there were few days when she did -not cross and recross it for the sheer joy of finding herself on a -trembling log suspended over a deep stream. This river ran the only -sawmill in the neighborhood. Here she delighted to ride the carriage -which conveyed the logs to the old-fashioned up-and-down saw. The -carriage moved very slowly when it was going forward and the saw was -eating its laborious way through the log, but it came back with violent -rapidity, and the little girl, who remembered nothing but fear of her -earliest childhood, was happy when she flaunted her courage in the face -of her natural timidity and rode the sawmill carriage as she rode her -high-stepping blooded Billy.</p> - -<p>She went to church every Sunday, and churches in that day had no -fires. Her people had been brought up in the orthodox church, but, -revolting at the harsh dogmatism of the orthodox theology of that day, -they withdrew and became founders of the first Universalist Church -in America. The meeting-house at Oxford, built for the Universalist -Society, is the oldest building in existence erected for this -communion. Hosea Ballou was the first minister—a brave, strong, -resolute man. Though the family liberalized their creed, they did not -greatly modify the austerity of their Puritan living. They kept the -Sabbath about as strictly as they had been accustomed to do before -their break with the Puritan church.</p> - -<p>Once in her childhood Clara broke the Sabbath, and it brought a painful -memory:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>One clear, cold, starlight Sunday morning, I heard a low whistle -under my open chamber window. I realized<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span> that the boys were out for -a skate and wanted to communicate with me. On going to the window, -they informed me that they had an extra pair of skates and if I could -come out they would put them on me and “learn” me how to skate. It -was Sunday morning; no one would be up till late, and the ice was so -smooth and “glare.” The stars were bright; the temptation was too -great. I was in my dress in a moment and out. The skates were fastened -on firmly, one of the boy’s wool neck “comforters” tied about my -waist, to be held by the boy in front. The other two were to stand -on either side, and at a signal the cavalcade started. Swifter and -swifter we went, until at length we reached a spot where the ice had -been cracked and was full of sharp edges. These threw me, and the -speed with which we were progressing, and the distance before we could -quite come to a stop, gave terrific opportunity for cuts and wounded -knees. The opportunity was not lost. There was more blood flowing than -any of us had ever seen. Something must be done. Now all of the wool -neck comforters came into requisition; my wounds were bound up, and I -was helped into the house, with one knee of ordinary respectable cuts -and bruises; the other frightful. Then the enormity of the transaction -and its attendant difficulties began to present themselves, and how -to surround (for there was no possibility of overcoming) them was the -question.</p> - -<p>The most feasible way seemed to be to say nothing about it, and we -decided to all keep silent; but how to conceal the limp? I must have -no limp, but walk well. I managed breakfast without notice. Dinner not -quite so well, and I had to acknowledge that I had slipped down and -hurt my knee a little. This gave my limp more latitude, but the next -day it was so decided, that I was held up and searched. It happened -that the best knee was inspected; the stiff wool comforter soaked off, -and a suitable dressing given it. This was a great relief, as it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span> -afforded pretext for my limp, no one observing that I limped with the -wrong knee.</p> - -<p>But the other knee was not a wound to heal by first intention, -especially under its peculiar dressing, and finally had to be -revealed. The result was a surgical dressing and my foot held up -in a chair for three weeks, during which time I read the Arabian -Nights from end to end. As the first dressing was finished, I heard -the surgeon say to my father: “That was a hard case, Captain, but -she stood it like a soldier.” But when I saw how genuinely they all -pitied, and how tenderly they nursed me, even walking lightly about -the house not to jar my swollen and fevered limbs, in spite of my -disobedience and detestable deception (and persevered in at that), my -Sabbath-breaking and unbecoming conduct, and all the trouble I had -caused, conscience revived, and my mental suffering far exceeded my -physical. The Arabian Nights were none too powerful a soporific to -hold me in reasonable bounds. I despised myself, and failed to sleep -or eat.</p> - -<p>My mother, perceiving my remorseful condition, came to the rescue, -telling me soothingly, that she did not think it the worst thing that -could have been done, that other little girls had probably done as -badly, and strengthened her conclusions by telling me how she once -persisted in riding a high-mettled, unbroken horse in opposition to -her father’s commands, and was thrown. My supposition is that she had -been a worthy mother of her equestrian son.</p> - -<p>The lesson was not lost on any of the group. It is very certain -that none of us, boys or girls, indulged in further smart tricks. -Twenty-five years later, when on a visit to the old home, long left, -I saw my father, then a gray-haired grandsire, out on the same little -pond, fitting the skates carefully to the feet of his little twin -granddaughters, holding them up to make their first start in safety, -I remembered my wounded knees, and blessed the great<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span> Father that -progress and change were among the possibilities of His people.</p> - -<p>I never learned to skate. When it became fashionable I had neither -time nor opportunity.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Another disappointment of her childhood remained with her. She wanted -to learn to dance, and was not permitted to do so. It was not because -her parents were wholly opposed to dancing, but chiefly because the -dancing-school was organized while a revival of religion was in -progress in the village, and her parents felt that her attendance at -dancing-school at such a time would be unseemly. Of this she wrote:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>I recall another disappointment which, though not vital, was still -indicative of the times. During the following winter a dancing-school -was opened in the hall of the one hotel on Oxford Plain, some three -miles from us. It was taught by a personal friend of my father, a -polished gentleman, resident of a neighboring town, and teacher of -English schools. By some chance I got a glimpse of the dancing-school -at the opening, and was seized with a most intense desire to go and -learn to dance. With my peculiar characteristics it was necessary for -me to want a thing very much before mentioning it; but this overcame -me, especially as the cordial teacher took tea with us one evening -before going to his school, and spoke very interestingly of his -classes. I even went so far as to beg permission to go. The dance was -in my very feet. The violin haunted me. “Ladies change” and “All hands -round” sounded in my ears and woke me from my sleep at night.</p> - -<p>The matter was taken up in family council. I was thought to be very -young to be allowed to go to a dancing-school in a hotel. Dancing at -that time was at a very low ebb in good New England society, and, -besides, there was an active revival taking place in both of the -orthodox<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> churches (or, rather, one a church and the other a society -without a church), and it might not be a wise, nor even a courteous, -thing to allow. Not that our family, with its well-known liberal -proclivities, could have the slightest objection on that score; still, -like Saint Paul, if meat were harmful to their brethren, they would -not eat it, and thus it was decided that I could not go. The decision -was perfectly conscientious, kindness itself, and probably wise; but I -have wondered, if they could have known (as they never did) how severe -the disappointment was, the tears it cost me in my little bed in the -dark, the music and the master’s voice still sounding in my ears, if -this knowledge would have weighed in the decision.</p> - -<p>I have listened to a great deal of music since then, interspersed -with very positive orders, and which generally called for “All hands -round,” but the dulcet notes of the violin and the “Ladies change” -were missing. Neither did I ever learn to dance.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>As she looked back over her childhood, she was unable to recall many -social events which could have been characterized as thrilling. By -invitation she once wrote out for a gathering of women her recollection -of a party which she attended on election day just after she was ten -years old. It is worth reading, and may well remind us that happy -childhood memories do not always gather about events which seem to be -intrinsically great:</p> - - -<p class="center p0">A CHILD’S PARTY</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>It is the “reminiscence of a happy moment” which my beloved friends of -the Legion of Loyal Women ask of me—some moment or event so happy as -to be worth the telling. That may not be an easy thing in a life like -mine, but there are few things the “Legion” could ask of me that I -would not at least try to do. But, dear sisters, I fear I must ask of -you patiently to travel far back with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span> me to the little childhood days -which knew no care. Patiently, I say, for that was long ago.</p> - -<p>I lived in the country, a mile or more from the village. Olivia Bruce, -my favorite friend, lived in the village.</p> - -<p>Olivia had “made a party,” and invited twelve little girls, -schoolmates and playmates, herself making the thirteenth (we had never -learned that there could be bad luck in numbers).</p> - -<p>It was May, and the party was to be held on “Old Election Day.” Care -and thought were given to the occasion.</p> - -<p>Each guest was to learn a little poem to recite for the first time, as -a surprise to the others.</p> - -<p>There was some effort at costume. We were all to wear aprons alike, -from the village store—white, with a pretty vine, and cozy, little, -brown birds in the corners. Embroidered? Oh, no! just stamped; but -what embroidery has since ever borne comparison with that?</p> - -<p>Our ages must conform—no one under ten, or over twelve. How glad I -was that I had been ten the Christmas before!</p> - -<p>At length arrangements were completed, and nothing to be wished for -but a pleasant day.</p> - -<p>The morning came, heavy and dark. The thunder rolled, the clouds -gathered and broke, and the lightning as if in cruel mockery darted in -and out among them, lighting up their ragged edges, or enveloping the -whole mass in quivering flame. The rain came down in torrents, and I -fear there were torrents of tears as well. Who could give comfort in a -disappointment and grief like that? Who, but old Morgan, the gardener, -with his poetic prophecy—</p> - -<p>“Rain before seven, be clear before ’leven.”</p> - -<p>I watched the clouds, I watched the clock, but most of all I watched -the hopeful face of old Morgan. How long and how dark the morning was! -At length, as the clock pointed half-past ten, the clouds broke again, -but this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span> time with the bright, clear sun behind them, and the high -arching rainbow resting on the tree-tops of the western woods.</p> - -<p>It was long to wait, even for dinner, and the proper time to go. -Finally, all traces of tears were washed away, the toilet made even -to the apron and hat, the mother’s kiss given upon the cheek of her -restless child with the gentle admonition “Be a good girl!” and, as I -sprang from the doorstep striving hard to keep at least one foot on -the ground, who shall say that the happiness and joy of that little -bit of humanity was not as complete as ever falls to the lot of -humanity to be?</p> - -<p>The party was a success. The thirteen little girls were there; each -wore her pretty apron and the knot of ribbon in her hair; each recited -her little poem unknown to the others.</p> - -<p>We danced—played ring plays.</p> - -<p class="poetry p0"> -“The needle’s eye that can supply<br /> -The thread that runs so truly.”<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poetry p0"> -“For no man knows<br /> -Where oats, peas, beans, or barley grows.”<br /> -</p> - -<p>We “chased the squirrel,” “hunted the slipper,” trimmed our hats with -wild flowers and stood in awe before the great waterwheel of the busy -mill.</p> - -<p>At five o’clock a pretty tea was served for us, and dark-eyed Olivia -presided with the grace and gravity of a matron; and, as the sun was -sinking behind the western hills, we bade good-bye, and each sped away -to the home awaiting her, I to be met by a mother’s approving kiss, -for I had been “a good girl,” and gladly sought the little bed, and -the long night of unbroken sleep that only a child may know.</p> - -<p>Long, long years ago the watchful mother went to that other world; -one after another the guests of the little party followed her—some -in girlhood, some in young womanhood, some in weary widowhood. One by -one,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> I believe, she has met and welcomed them—welcomed each of the -twelve, and waits</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara Barton</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>Another formative influence which must not be overlooked was that of -phrenology. This now discredited science had great influence in the -early part of the nineteenth century. Certain men, among whom the -Fowler brothers were most conspicuous, professed to be able to read -character and to portray mental aptitude by a tactual examination of -the head. The perceptive faculties, according to this theory, were -located in the front part of the brain, the moral faculties in the -top of it, and the faculties that governed the animal nature in the -back. They professed to be able by feeling over the “bumps” or “organs -of the brain,” to discover what vocation a person was good for and -what undesirable tendencies he ought to guard against. The mother of -Clara Barton was greatly troubled by the abnormal sensitiveness of -this little child. She asked L. W. Fowler, who was then staying at the -Barton home, what this little girl ought to do in life. <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Fowler -answered: “The sensitive nature will always remain. She will never -assert herself for herself; she will suffer wrong first. But for others -she will be perfectly fearless. Throw responsibility upon her.”</p> - -<p>He advised that she should become a school-teacher. School-teaching -scarcely seemed a suitable vocation for a child of so shrinking a -nature. Clara was fifteen at the time, and still diffident. She was -lying in bed with the mumps, and overheard her mother’s question and -the answer. Her mother was impressed by it, and so was Clara. Years -afterward she looked back upon that experience as the turning-point -in her life. Long after she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span> had ceased to have very much faith in -phrenology, she blessed the day that sent a phrenologist into her home. -When asked in later years what book had influenced her most, she wrote -the following reply:</p> - - -<p class="center p0">THE BOOK WHICH HAS MOST INFLUENCED ME</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Superlatives are difficult to deal with, the comparative is always so -near.</p> - -<p>That which interests most, may influence little. Most books interest -in a greater or less degree, and possibly have a temporary influence. -The yellow-covered literature which the boy from twelve to sixteen -reads, surely interests him, and only too often creates an involuntary -influence, the results of which mark his entire life. He adopts -methods and follows courses which he otherwise would not have done, -and reaps misfortune for a harvest.</p> - -<p>And so with the girl of like age who pores and weeps over some tender, -unwholesome, love-lorn picture of impossible personages, until they -become real to her, and, while she can never personate them, they -stand in the way of so much which she really does need, it may well be -said that the results influence her entire life.</p> - -<p>Not alone the character of what is read, but the period in life of the -reader, may and will have much to do with the potency of results. The -little girl who is so fortunate as to clasp her child fingers around a -copy of “Little Women,” or “Little Men” (Bless the memory of my friend -and co-worker Louisa M. Alcott!), is in small danger from the effects -of the literature she may afterwards meet. Her tastes are formed for -wholesome food.</p> - -<p>And the boy! Ah, well; it will require a great deal of prodding to -curb and root the wild grass out of his nature! But what a splendid -growth he makes, once it is done!</p> - -<p>All of these conditions of character, circumstances, and time may -be said to have found place in the solution of the little problem -now before me; viz: “What book most influenced me?” If it had read -“interested” rather<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> than “influenced,” I should have made a wide -range—“The Fables of Æsop,” “Pilgrim’s Progress,” “Arabian Nights,” -“The Ballads of Scott,” “The Benign Old Vicar,” “The Citizens of the -World,” and mainly the mass of choice old English classics—for who -can select?—The glorious “Idylls of the King.” In fancy I should have -sat at the round table with Arthur’s knights, searched for the Holy -Grail with Sir Galahad, roamed Africa with Livingstone and Stanley, -breakfasted with the Autocrat, and dropped the gathering tear for the -loved Quaker poet, so dear to us all.</p> - -<p>How grateful I am for all this; and to these writers immortal! How -they have sweetened life! But they really changed no course, formed no -character, opened no doors, “influenced” nothing.</p> - -<p>In a little children’s booklet I have explained my own nature—timid, -sensitive, bashful to awkwardness—and that at this period of a dozen -years or so I chanced to make the acquaintance of L. W. Fowler, of -the “Fowler Brothers,” the earliest, and then only, exponents of -Phrenology in the country.</p> - -<p>I had at that time read much of the literatures above cited which then -existed. <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Fowler placed in my hands their well-written book and -brochures on Phrenology, “The Science of the Mind.” This carried me -to another class of writers, Spurzheim, and Combe—“The Constitution -of Man.” These became my exemplars and “Know thyself” became my text -and my study. A long life has passed, and so have they, but their -influence has remained. In every walk of life it has gone with me. -It has enabled me to better comprehend the seeming mysteries about -me; the course of those with whom I had to deal, or come in contact; -not by the studying of their thoughts, or intentions, for I abhor the -practice of reading one’s friends; but to enable me to excuse, without -offense, many acts which I could in no other way have accounted -for. It has enabled me to see, not only that,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span> but why it was their -nature, and could not be changed. They “could no other, so help them -God.” It has enriched my field of charitable judgment; enlarged my -powers of forgiveness, made those things plain that would have been -obscure to me, easy, that would have been hard, and sometimes made -possible to endure, without complaint, that which might otherwise -have proved unendurable. “Know thyself” has taught me in any great -crisis to put myself under my own feet; bury enmity, cast ambition to -the winds, ignore complaint, despise retaliation, and stand erect in -the consciousness of those higher qualities that made for the good of -human kind, even though we may not clearly see the way.</p> - -<p class="poetry p0"> -“I know not where His Islands lift<br /> -Their fronded palms in air;<br /> -I only know I cannot drift<br /> -Beyond His love and care.”<br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>Even though phrenology be now regarded as a scientific error, it must -not be supposed that all the men who practiced it were conscious -charlatans, or that all who believed in it were ignorant dupes. It -was in its day what popularized psychology has become in the present -day. Apart from the exploded idea that the brain contains separate -“organs” which act more or less independently in the development and -manifestation of character, it dealt with the study of the human mind -in more nearly practical fashion than anything which up to that time -had become popularly available. The phrenologist would now be called -a psychologist, and would make no pretense of reading character by -manipulating the skull. But some of those men taught people to consider -their own mental possibilities, and to determine to realize all that -was potentially best within them. This was the effect of phrenology -upon Clara Barton.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII"><big>CHAPTER VII</big><br /> -HER FIRST EXPERIENCE AS A TEACHER</h2> -</div> - - - - -<p>The avenues which open into life are many now, and the feet of young -people who leave home or school are set at the intersection of many -highways. But it was not so in the early part of the nineteenth -century. For those who had aspirations for something else than the farm -or shop, the most common and convenient path to larger knowledge and a -professional career lay through the teaching of the district school. -When <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Fowler advised that responsibility be laid upon Clara to -develop her self-reliance and overcome her shyness, there were not many -kinds of work which could easily have been recommended. School-teaching -followed almost inevitably, and as something foreordained. She belonged -to a generation of teachers, and to a family which was quite at -home in the schoolroom. Her elder sister Dorothy developed symptoms -of invalidism, never married, and in time had to give up teaching, -and her younger sister Sally married and became Mrs. Vassall. Her -brother Stephen had graduated from the work of teaching, and he and -David were associated in farm, gristmill, sawmill, cloth-mill, and -other enterprises. There was no difficulty in securing for Clara -the opportunity to teach in the district where her married sister -lived. Bearing in mind the advice of <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Fowler, she did up her hair, -lengthened her skirts, and prepared for her first work as a teacher.</p> - -<p class="center p0 p2"><span class="figcenter" id="img003"> - <img src="images/003.jpg" class="w75" alt="STONE SCHOOLHOUSE WHERE SHE FIRST TAUGHT" /> -</span></p> -<p class="center p0 caption">STONE SCHOOLHOUSE WHERE SHE FIRST TAUGHT<br /></p> -<blockquote> - -<p>At the close of the second term of school, the advice was acted -upon, and it was arranged that I teach<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span> the school in District <abbr title="Number">No.</abbr> -9. My sister resided within the district. How well I remember the -preparations—the efforts to look larger and older, the examination by -the learned committee of one clergyman, one lawyer, and one justice -of the peace; the certificate with “excellent” added at the close; -the bright May morning over the dewy, grassy road to the schoolhouse, -neither large nor new, and not a pupil in sight.</p> - -<p>On entering, I found my little school of forty pupils all seated -according to their own selection, quietly waiting with folded hands. -Bright, rosy-cheeked boys and girls from four to thirteen, with the -exception of four lads, as tall and nearly as old as myself. These -four boys naturally looked a little curiously at me, as if forming -an opinion of how best to dispose of me, as rumor had it that on the -preceding summer, not being <em xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">en rapport</em> with the young lady -teacher, they had excluded her from the building and taken possession -themselves. All arose as I entered, and remained standing until -requested to sit. Never having observed how schools were opened, I was -compelled, as one would say, to “blaze my own way.” I was too timid -to address them, but holding my Bible, I said they might take their -Testaments and turn to the Sermon on the Mount. All who could read, -read a verse each, I reading with them in turn. This opened the way -for remarks upon the meaning of what they had read. I found them more -ready to express themselves than I had expected, which was helpful -to me as well. I asked them what they supposed the Saviour meant by -saying that they must love their enemies and do good to them that -hated and misused them? This was a hard question, and they hesitated, -until at length a little bright-eyed girl with great earnestness -replied: “I think He meant that you must be good to everybody, and -mustn’t quarrel or make nobody feel bad, and I’m going to try.” An -ominous smile crept over the rather hard faces of my four lads, -but my response was so prompt, and my approval so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> hearty, that it -disappeared and they listened attentively, but ventured no remarks. -With this moderate beginning the day progressed, and night found us -social, friendly, and classed for a school. Country schools did not -admit of home dinners. I also remained. On the second or third day an -accident on their outside field of rough play called me to them. They -had been playing unfairly and dangerously and needed teaching, even -to play well. I must have thought they required object lessons, for -almost imperceptibly, either to them or to myself, I joined in the -game and was playing with them.</p> - -<p>My four lads soon perceived that I was no stranger to their sports or -their tricks; that my early education had not been neglected, and that -they were not the first boys I had seen. When they found that I was -as agile and as strong as themselves, that my throw was as sure and -as straight as theirs, and that if they won a game it was because I -permitted it, their respect knew no bounds. No courtesy within their -knowledge was neglected. Their example was sufficient for the entire -school. I have seen no finer type of boys. They were faithful to me in -their boyhood, and in their manhood faithful to their country. Their -blood crimsoned its hardest fields, and the little bright-eyed girl -with the good resolve has made her whole life a blessing to others, -and still lives to follow the teaching given her. Little Emily has -“made nobody feel bad.”</p> - -<p>My school was continued beyond the customary length of time, and its -only hard feature was our parting. In memory I see that pitiful group -of children sobbing their way down the hill after the last good-bye -was said, and I was little better. We had all been children together, -and when, in accordance with the then custom at town meetings, the -grades of the schools were named and <abbr title="Number">No.</abbr> 9 stood first for discipline, -I thought it the greatest injustice, and remonstrated, affirming that -there had been no discipline, that not one scholar had ever been -disciplined.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span> Child that I was, I did not know that the surest test -of discipline is its absence.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Clara Barton was now embarked upon what seemed likely to be a life -vocation. Her success in teaching was marked, and her reputation -increased year by year. For twenty years the schoolroom was her home. -She taught in district schools near Oxford, and established a school of -her own, which she conducted for ten years. Then she stopped teaching -for a time, in order to complete her own education, as completion then -was accepted and understood. She did a memorable piece of school work -in Bordentown, New Jersey, and, but for the failure of her voice, might -have continued a teacher to the end of her life.</p> - -<p>Her experiences during the years when she was teaching and pursuing -further studies were recorded by her in 1908, in a manuscript which -has never been published. She had already written and printed a little -book entitled “The Story of my Childhood,” which was well received and -brought her many expressions of pleasure from its readers. She thought -of continuing her autobiography in sections, and publishing these -separately. She hoped then to revise and unify them, supplement them -with adequate references to her record, and make a complete biography. -But she got no farther than the second installment, which must appear -as a chapter in this present work.</p> - -<p>Before turning to this narrative which marks the beginning of her life -away from the parental roof, we may listen to the story of her first -journey away from home. It occurred at the end of her first term of -school, when her brother David set out on a journey to the State of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> -Maine to bring home his bride, and asked her to accompany him.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>One day, early in September, my brother David, now one of the active, -popular business men of the town, nearly took my breath away by -inviting me to accompany him on a journey to the State of Maine, to -be present at his wedding and with him bring back the wife who was to -grace his home and share his future life.</p> - -<p>There was now more lengthening of skirts, and a rush of dressmaking -such as I had never known before; and when, two weeks later, I found -myself with my brother and a rather gay party of ladies and gentlemen, -friends of his, at one of the most elegant hotels in Boston (where I -had never been), waiting the arrival of a delayed steamer, I was so -overcome by the dread of committing some impropriety or indiscretion -which might embarrass my brother that I begged him to permit me to -go back home. I was not distressed about what might be thought of -<em>me</em>. I did not seem to care much about that; but how it might -reflect upon my brother, and the mortification that my awkwardness -could not fail to inflict on him.</p> - -<p>I had never set foot on a vessel or seagoing craft of any kind, -and when, in the glitter of that finely equipped steamer, I really -crossed over a corner of the great Atlantic Ocean, the very waves -of which touched other continents as well, I felt that my world was -miraculously widening.</p> - -<p>It was another merry party, and magnificent spans of horses that met -and galloped away with us over the country to our destination.</p> - -<p>But the crowning astonishment came when I was informed that it was the -desire and decision of all parties, that I act as bridesmaid; that I -assist in introducing the younger of the guests, and stand beside the -tall, handsome young bride who was to be my sister, while she pledged -her troth to the brother dearer to me than my own life.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span></p> - -<p>This responsibility seemed to throw the whole world wide open to me. -How well I remember the tearful resolution with which I pledged myself -to try to overcome my troublesome propensities and to strive only for -the courage of the right, and for the fearlessness of true womanhood -so much needed and earnestly desired, and so painfully lacking.</p> - -<p>November found us home again. Under the circumstances, there must -naturally be a share of social gayeties during the winter, and some -preparations for my new school duties; and I waited with more or less -apprehension for what would be my first life among strangers, and the -coming of my anticipated “First of May.” With slight variation I could -have joined truthfully in the dear old child refrain:</p> - -<p class="poetry p0"> -“Then wake and call me early,<br /> - Call me early, mother dear,”<br /> -For that will be the veriest day<br /> - “Of all the glad New Year.”<br /> -</p> -</blockquote> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span></p> - - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII"><big>CHAPTER VIII</big><br /> -LEAVES FROM HER UNPUBLISHED AUTOBIOGRAPHY</h2> -</div> - - - -<p>When Clara Barton began to teach school, she was only a little girl. -To her family, she seemed even younger and more tiny than she was. But -she had taken the words of <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Fowler to heart, and she determined to -teach and to teach successfully. Mrs. Stafford, formerly Mamie Barton, -remembers hearing her mother tell how seriously Clara took the edict of -the phrenologist. To her it was nothing less than predestination and -prophecy. In her own mind she was already a teacher, but she realized -that in the mind of her household she was still a child. She stood -beside the large stone fireplace, looking very slender and very small, -and with dignity asked, “But what am I to do with only two little old -waifish dresses?”</p> - -<p class="center p0 p2"><span class="figcenter" id="img004"> - <img src="images/004.jpg" class="w50" alt="CLARA BARTON AT EIGHTEEN" /> -</span></p> -<p class="center p0 caption">CLARA BARTON AT EIGHTEEN<br /></p> - -<p>Julia, David Barton’s young bride, was first to discern the pertinence -of the question. If Clara was to teach school, she must have apparel -suitable for her vocation. The “two little old waifish dresses,” which -had been deemed adequate for her home and school life, were replaced by -new frocks that fell below her shoe-tops, and Clara Barton began her -work.</p> - -<p>She was a quick-tempered little teacher, dignified and self-possessed. -Little and young though she was, she was not to be trifled with. She -flogged, and on occasion expelled, but she won respect at the outset -and very soon affection. Then floggings ceased almost altogether.</p> - -<p>At first she was teacher only of the spring and autumn<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span> school nearest -her home; then she taught in districts in Oxford farther away; then -came the incontrovertible certificate of success in her invitation to -teach the winter school, which according to precedent must be managed -by a man capable of whipping the entire group of big boys. And in all -this experience of teaching she succeeded.</p> - -<p>In 1908 she wrote the second installment of her autobiography, and in -that she related how she finished her teaching in Oxford and went for -further education to Clinton Institute:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Hard, tiresome years were these, with no advancement for me. Some, I -hoped, for others. Little children grew to be large, and mainly “well -behaved.” Boys grew to manhood, and continued faithfully in their -work, or went out and entered into business, seeking other vocations. -A few girls became teachers, but more continued at their looms or set -up housekeeping for themselves, but whatever sphere opened to them, -they were all mine, second only to the claims and interests of the -real mother. And so they have remained. Scattered over the world, -some near, some far, I have been their confidant, standing at their -nuptials if possible, lent my name to their babies, followed their -fortunes to war’s gory fields, staunched their blood, dressed their -wounds, and closed their Northern eyes on the hard-fought fields of -the Southland; and yet, all this I count as little in comparison with -the faithful, grateful love I hold to-day of the few survivors of my -Oxford schools.</p> - -<p>I shall have neglected a great, I could almost say a holy, duty, -if I fail to mention the name, and connect the presence, of the -Reverend Horatio Bardwell with this school. Reverend <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Bardwell, -an early India missionary, and for over twenty years pastor of the -Congregational Church of Oxford, where his memory lovingly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span> lingers -to-day, as if he had passed from them but yesterday, or indeed had not -passed at all.</p> - -<p><abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Bardwell was continuously on the School Board of the town, and his -custom was to drop in upon a school, familiarly, at a most unexpected -moment. I recall the amusing scenes, when, by some unusual sound -behind me, my attention would be called from the class I had before -me, to see my entire school, which had risen unbidden, standing with -hands resting on the desk before them, heads reverently bent, and <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> -Bardwell midway of the open door, with hands upraised in mute wonder -and admiration. At length he would find voice, with, “What a sight, -what a multitude!” The school reseated itself when bidden and prepared -for the visit of a half-hour of pleasant conversation, anecdotes, and -advice that even the smallest would not willingly have missed. It -was the self-reliant, self-possessed, and unbidden courtesy of these -promiscuous children that won the Doctor’s admiration. He saw in these -something for a future to build upon.</p> - -<p>It is to be remembered that I am not writing romance, nor yet ancient -history, where I can create or vary my models to suit myself. It is, -in fact, semi-present history, with most notable characters still -existing, who can, at any moment, rise up and call me to order. To -avoid such a contingency, I may sometimes be more explicit than I -otherwise would be at the risk of prolixity. This possibility leads me -to state that a few times in the years I was borrowed, for a part of -a winter term, by some neighboring town, where it would be said there -was trouble, and some school was “not getting on well.” I usually -found that report to have been largely illusive, for they got on very -well with me. Probably it was the old adage of a “new broom,” for -I did nothing but teach them. I recall one of these experiences as -transpiring in Millbury, the grand old town where the lamented and -honored mother of our President-elect Judge Taft has just passed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span> to -a better land. That early and undeserved reputation for “discipline” -always clung to me.</p> - -<p>Most of this transpired during years in which I should have been in -school myself, using time and opportunities for my own advancement -which could not be replaced. This thought grew irresistibly upon me, -until I decided that I must withdraw and find a school, the object -of which should be to teach <em>me</em> something. The number of -educational institutions for women was one to a thousand as compared -with to-day. I knew I must place myself so far away that a “run of bad -luck” in the home school could not persuade me to return—it would be -sure to have one.</p> - -<p>Religiously, I had been educated in the liberal thought of my family, -and preferring to remain in that atmosphere, I decided upon the -“Liberal Institute,” of Clinton, New York.</p> - -<p>I recall with pain even now the regret with which my family, -especially my brothers, heard my announcement. I had become literally -a part, if not a partner, of them in school and office. My brother -Stephen was school superintendent, thus there was no necessity for -making my intentions public, and I would spare both my school and -myself the pain of parting. I closed my autumn term, as usual, on -Friday night. On Monday night the jingling cutter of my brothers (for -it was early sleighing), took me to the station for New York. This was -in reality going away from home. I had left the smothered sighs, the -blessings, and the memories of a little life behind me. My journey -was made in silence and safety, and the third day found me installed -as a guest in the “Clinton House” of Clinton, Oneida County, New -York—a typical old-time tavern. My hosts were <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> and Mrs. Samuel -Bertram—and again the hand rests, and memory pauses, to pay its -tribute of grateful, loving respect to such as I shall never know -again this side the Gates Eternal.</p> - -<p>It was holiday season. The Institute was undergoing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> a transfer from -old to new buildings. These changes caused a delay of some weeks, -while I became a part and parcel of the family I had so incidentally -and fortunately fallen among.</p> - -<p>Clinton was also the seat of Hamilton College. The sisters and -relatives of the students of Hamilton contributed largely to the -personnel of the Institute. Reverend <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Sawyer presided over -Hamilton, and Miss Louise Barker with a competent corps of assistants -presided over the Institute.</p> - -<p>It was a cold, blustering winter day that assembled us in the almost -as cold schoolrooms of the newly finished and sparsely furnished -building. Even its clean new brick walls on its stately eminence -looked cold, and the two-plank walk with a two-foot space between, -leading up from town, was not suggestive of the warmest degree -of sociability, to say the least of it. My introduction to our -Preceptress, or President, Miss Barker, was both a pleasure and a -surprise to me. I found an unlooked-for activity, a cordiality, and an -irresistible charm of manner that none could have foreseen—a winning, -indescribable grace which I have met in only a few persons in a whole -lifetime. Those who remember the eminent <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Lucy Hall Brown, of -Brooklyn, who only a year ago passed out through California’s “Golden -Gate,” will be able to catch something of what I mean, but cannot -describe. Neither could they. To no one had I mentioned anything of -myself, or my past. No “certificate of character” had been mentioned, -and no recommendation from my “last place” been required of me. There -was no reason why I should volunteer my history, or step in among that -crowd of eager pupils as a “school-marm,” expected to know everything.</p> - -<p>The easiest way for me was to keep silent, as I did, and so well kept -that I left that Institute at the close without a mistrust on the part -of any one that I had ever taught school a day.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></p> - -<p>The difficulty to be met lay mainly in the assignment of studies. The -prescribed number was a cruel limit. I was there for study. I required -no rudiments, and wanted no allowance for waste time; I would use -it all; and diffidently I made this fact known at the head, asking -one more and one more study until the limit was stretched out of all -reasonable proportions. I recall, with amusement, the last evening -when I entered with my request. The teachers were assembled in the -parlor and, divining my errand, as I had never any other, Miss Barker -broke into a merry laugh—with “Miss Barton, we have a few studies -left; you had better take what there are, and we will say nothing -about it.” This broke the ice, and the line. I could only join in the -laugh, and after this studied what I would, and “nothing was said.”</p> - -<p>I would by no means be understood as crediting myself with superior -scholarship. There were doubtless far more advanced scholars there -than I, but I had a drilled rudimentary knowledge which they had never -had, and I had the habit of study, with a burning anxiety to make the -most of lost time. So true it is that we value our privileges only -when we have lost them.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Miss Barton spent her vacations at the Institute. A few teachers were -there, and a small group of students; and she pursued her studies and -gave her reading wider range. She wanted to go home, but the distance -seemed great, and she was there to learn.</p> - -<p>Her mother died while she was at Clinton. Her death occurred in July, -but before the term had ended. Clara could not reach home in time for -the funeral and her family knew it and sent her word not to undertake -the journey.</p> - -<p>She finished her school year and her course, made a visit to her home, -and then journeyed to Bordentown,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> New Jersey, to visit her friends, -the Norton family. There the opportunity came to her of teaching the -winter term of the Bordentown school.</p> - -<p>“Public schools of that day,” she wrote, “ceased with the southern -boundary of New England and New York. Each pupil was assessed a certain -fee, the aggregate of which formed the teacher’s salary.”</p> - -<p class="center p0 p2"><span class="figcenter" id="img006"> - <img src="images/006.jpg" class="w75" alt="THE SCHOOLHOUSE AT BORDENTOWN" /> -</span></p> -<p class="center p0 caption">THE SCHOOLHOUSE AT BORDENTOWN<br /></p> - -<p>She undertook the school on the fee basis, but in a short time changed -it to a public school, open to all the children of school age in -Bordentown. It was that town’s first free school. The School Board -agreed to give her the opportunity to try the experiment. She tells -how it came about. She looked over the little group who attended her -subscription school, and then saw the much larger number outside, and -she was not happy:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>But the boys! I found them on all sides of me. Every street corner -had little knots of them idle, listless, as if to say, what shall -one do, when one has nothing to do? I sought every inconspicuous -occasion to stop and talk with them. I saw nothing unusual in them. -Much like other boys I had known, unusually courteous, showing special -instruction in that line, and frequently of unusual intelligence. -They spoke of their banishment or absence from school with far less -of bravado or boasting than would have been expected, under the -circumstances, and often with regret. “Lady, there is no school for -us,” answered a bright-faced lad of fourteen, as he rested his foot on -the edge of a little park fountain where I had accosted him. “We would -be glad to go if there was one.” I had listened to such as this long -enough, and, without returning to my hotel, I sought <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Suydam, as -chairman of the School Committee, and asked for an interview.</p> - -<p>By this time, in his capacity of postmaster, we had formed a tolerable -acquaintance. Now, for the first time,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span> I made known my desire to open -a public school in Bordentown, teaching it myself.</p> - -<p>Surprise, discouragement, resistance, and sympathy were all pictured -on his manly face. He was troubled for terms in which to express the -mental conflict, but in snatches something like this.</p> - -<p>These boys were renegades, many of them more fit for the penitentiary -than school—a woman could do nothing with them. They wouldn’t go to -school if they had the chance, and the parents would never send them -to a “pauper school.” I would have the respectable sentiment of the -entire community against me; I could never endure the obloquy, not to -call it disgrace that I should meet; and to crown all, I should have -the bitter opposition of all the present teachers, many of whom were -ladies of influence in society and would contend vigorously for their -rights. A strong man would quail and give way under what he would -be compelled to meet, and what could a woman—a young woman, and a -stranger—do?</p> - -<p>He spoke very kindly and appreciatingly of the intention, -acknowledging the necessity, and commending the nature of the -effort, but it was ill-timed, and had best be at once abandoned as -impracticable.</p> - -<p>With this honest effort, and, wiping the perspiration from his -forehead, he rested. After a moment’s quiet and seeing that he did not -resume, I said with a respect, which I most sincerely felt, “Thank -you, <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Suydam, shall I speak?” “Certainly, Miss Barton,” and with a -little appreciative laugh, “I will try to be as good a listener as you -have been.”</p> - -<p>I thanked him again for the evident sincerity of his objections, -assuring him that I believed them drawn entirely in my interest, and -his earnest desire to save me from what seemed to him an impossible -undertaking, with only failure and humiliation as sure and logical -results. A few of these I would like to answer, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span> throwing off -the mask I had worn since Clinton, told him plainly that I was, and -had been for years, a teacher of the public schools of New England. -That was my profession, and that, if entered in the long and honored -competitive list of such, I did not suppose that in either capacity, -experience, or success I should stand at the foot. I had studied the -character of these boys, and had intense pity for, but no fear of, -them. As for exclusion from society, I had not sought society, and -could easily dispense with it, if they so willed; I was not here for -that. As for reputation, I had brought with me all I needed, and that -of a character that a bit of village gossip could not affect. With all -respect for the prejudices of the people, I should try not to increase -them. My only desire was to open and teach a school in Bordentown, -to which its outcast children could go and be taught; and I would -emphasize that desire by adding that I wished no salary. I would open -and teach such a school without remuneration, but my effort must have -the majesty of the law, and the power vested in its offices behind it -or it could not stand. If I secured a building and proceeded to open -a school, it would be only one more private school like the score -they already had; that the School Board, as officers of the law, with -accepted rights and duties, must so far connect themselves with the -effort as to provide quarters, the necessary furnishings, and to give -due and respectable notice of the same among the people. In fact, it -must stand as by their order, leaving the work and results to me.</p> - -<p>I was not there for necessity. Fortunately I needed nothing of -them—neither as an adventuress. I had no personal ambitions to -serve, but as an observer of unwelcome conditions, and, as I thought, -harmful as well, to try, so far as possible, the power of a good, -wise, beneficent, and established state law, as against the force of -ignorance, blind prejudice, and the tyranny of an obsolete, outlived -public opinion. I desired to see them both<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> fairly placed upon their -merits before an intelligent community, leaving the results to the -winner. If the law, after trial, were not acceptable, or of use to the -people serving their best interest, abolish or change it—if it were, -enforce and sustain it.</p> - -<p>My reply was much longer than the remarks that had called for it, but -the pledge of good listening was faithfully kept.</p> - -<p>When he spoke again, it was to ask if I desired my proposition to -be laid before the School Board? I surely did. He would speak with -the gentlemen this evening, and call a meeting for to-morrow. Our -interview had consumed two hours, and we parted better friends than we -commenced.</p> - -<p>The following afternoon, to my surprise, I was most courteously -invited to sit with the School Board in its deliberations, and I made -the acquaintance of two more, plain, honest-minded gentlemen. The -subject was fairly discussed, but with great misgivings, a kind of -tender sympathy running through it all. At length <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Suydam arose, -and, addressing his colleagues, said, “Gentlemen, we feel alike, I -am sure, regarding the hazardous nature of this experiment and its -probable results, but situated as we are, officers of a law which we -are sworn to obey and enforce, can we legally decline to accede to -this proposition, which is in every respect within the law. From your -expressed opinions of last evening I believe we agree on this point, -and I put the vote.”</p> - -<p>It was a unanimous yea, with the decision that the old closed -schoolhouse be refitted, and a school commenced.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>The school speedily outgrew its quarters, and Clara sent word to Oxford -that she must have an assistant. Her brother Stephen secured the -services of Miss Frances Childs, who subsequently became Mrs. Bernard -Barton Vassall. Frances had just finished her first term as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span> teacher of -a school in Oxford, and she proved a very capable assistant. Letters -from, and personal interviews with, her have brought vividly before me -the conditions of Clara’s work in Bordentown.</p> - -<p class="center p0 p2"><span class="figcenter" id="img005"> - <img src="images/005.jpg" class="w50" alt="MISS FANNIE CHILDS (MRS. BERNARD VASSALL) At the time she taught school with Miss Barton at Bordentown, N.J." /> -</span></p> -<p class="center p0 caption">MISS FANNIE CHILDS (MRS. BERNARD VASSALL) <br />At the time she taught school<br /> with Miss Barton at Bordentown, N.J.<br /></p> - - -<p>She thus writes me of her happy memories:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>When Clara’s school in Bordentown had become so pronounced a success -that she could not manage it alone, she sent for me. I had a separate -schoolroom, the upstairs room over a tailor shop. I had about sixty -pupils. Clara and I boarded and roomed together. The editor of the -Bordentown “Gazette” roomed at the same place. He frequently commented -on the fact that when Clara and I were in our room together, we were -always talking and laughing. It was a constant wonder to him. He could -not understand how we found so much to laugh at.</p> - -<p>Clara was so sensitive, she felt it keenly when any pupil had to be -punished, or any parent was disappointed, but she did not indulge very -long in mourning or self-reproach, she knew she had done her best and -she laughed and made the best of it. Clara had an unfailing sense of -humor. She said to me once that of all the qualities she possessed, -that for which she felt most thankful was her sense of humor. She said -it helped her over many hard places.</p> - -<p>Clara had quick wit, and was very ready with repartee and apt reply. -I remember an evening when she brought to a close a rather lengthy -discussion by a quick reply that set us all to laughing. We spent -an evening at the home of the Episcopalian minister, who was one of -the School Committee. The discussion turned to phrenology. Clara -had great faith in it. The minister did not believe in it at all. -They had quite an argument about it. He told Clara of a man who had -suffered an injury to the brain which had resulted in the removal of -a considerable part of it. He argued that if there was anything in -phrenology, that man would have been deprived of a certain group of -mental capabilities, but that he got on very well with only a part of -a brain. Clara replied quickly, “Then there’s hope for me.” So the -discussion ended in a hearty laugh.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>As a school-teacher, Clara Barton was a pronounced success. We are not -dependent wholly upon her own account of her years as a teacher. From -many and distant places her pupils rose up and called her blessed. -Nothing pleased her more than the letters which she received from time -to time, in after years, from men and women who had been pupils of hers -and who wrote to tell her with what satisfaction and gratitude they -remembered her instruction. Some of these letters were received by -her as early as 1851, when she was at Clinton Institute. Her answers -were long, appreciative, and painstaking. In those days Clara Barton -was something of an artist, and had taught drawing and painting. One -or two of her letters of this period have ornamented letterheads with -birds and other scroll work. Her letters always abounded in good cheer, -and often contained wholesome advice, though she did not preach to her -pupils. Some of these letters from former pupils continued to reach -her after she had become well known. Men in business and in political -life wrote reminding her that they had been bad boys in her school, and -telling of her patience, her tact, and the inspiration of her ideals.</p> - -<p>Her home letters in the years before the war are the letters of a -dutiful daughter and affectionate sister. She wrote to her father, her -brothers, and especially to Julia, the wife of David Barton, who was -perhaps the best correspondent in the family. She bore on her heart<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span> -all the family anxieties. If any member of the family was sick, the -matter was constantly on her mind. She wanted to know every detail, -in what room were they keeping him? Was the parlor chimney drawing -well? And was every possible provision made for comfort? She made many -suggestions as to simple remedies, and more as to nursing, hygiene, -and general comfort. Always when there was sickness she wished that -she were there. She wanted to assist in the nursing. She sent frequent -messages to her brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews. The messages -were always considerate, affectionate, and unselfish. She was not often -homesick; in general she made the best of her absences from home, and -busied herself with the day’s task. But whenever there was anything -at home which suggested an occasion for anxiety or an opportunity for -service, then she wished herself home. She visualized the home at such -times, and carried a mental picture of the house, the room, the bedside -of the patient. One of these letters, written from Washington to Julia -Barton, when her father was dangerously ill, may here be inserted as an -illustration of her devotion to her parents and to all members of her -family:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Washington, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr></span>, 29th Dec., 1860</p> -<p> -<span class="smcap">Dear Sister</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I don’t know what to say or how to write you, I am so uncertain of the -scenes you may be passing through. In thought and spirit I am in the -room with you every moment—that it is sad and <em>painful</em>, or sad -and <em>desolate</em> I know. I can <em>almost</em> see, and <em>almost</em> -hear, and <em>almost</em> know, how it all is—between us seems to be -only the “veil so thin so strong,” there are moments when I think I -can brush it away with my hand and look upon that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span> dear treasured -form and face, the earliest loved and latest mourned of all my life. -Sometimes I am certain I hear the patient’s feeble moan, and at others -above me the <em>clouds</em> seem to divide, and, in the opening up -among the blue and golden, that loved face, smiling and pleasant, -looks calmly down upon me; then I think it is all past, and my poor -father is at rest. Aye! more that he has learned the password to the -Mystic Lodge of God and entered in: that the Providences and mysteries -he has loved so much to contemplate are being made plain to him; that -the inquiries of his intelligent soul are to be satisfied and that the -God he has always worshiped he may now adore.</p> - -<p>And in spite of all the grief, the agony of parting, there is pleasure -in these reflections, and consolation in the thought that while we may -have one the less tie upon earth, we shall have one more treasure in -Heaven.</p> - -<p>And yet again, when I look into my own heart, there is underlying the -whole a little of the old-time hope—hope that he may yet be spared to -us a little longer; that a few more months or years may be given us in -which to prove the love and devotion of our hearts; that we may again -listen to his wise counsels and kind admonitions, and hourly I pray -Heaven that, if it be consistent with Divine arrangement, the cup may -pass from him. But God’s will, not mine, be done.</p> - -<p>If my father still lives and realizes, will you tell him how much I -love him and regret his sufferings, and how <em>much</em> rather I would -endure them myself if <em>he</em> could be saved from them?</p> - -<p>With love and sympathy to all,</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -I am, your affectionate sister</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Her letters to members of her family are seldom of great importance. -They concern themselves with the trivial details of her and their daily -life; thoughtful answers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span> to all their inquiries, and expressions of -affection and interest in all their concerns. In some respects the -letters are more interesting which she wrote when she was temporarily -in Oxford. One of these was addressed to her brother David, who had -gone South to visit Stephen, then a resident of North Carolina. It was -written at the time when she had been removed from her position in the -Patent Office, and for a while was at home. David had written Julia -in some concern lest he should not have provided in advance for her -every possible want before his leaving her to go South. Clara replied -to this letter, making merry over the “destitute” condition in which -David had left his wife, and giving details about business affairs and -home life. It is a thoroughly characteristic letter, full of fun and -detail and neighborhood gossip and sisterly good-will. If her brothers -were to stay in the South in hot weather, she wanted to be with them. -She had already proposed to Stephen that he let her go South and look -after him, and Stephen had sought to dissuade her, telling her that the -conditions of life were uncomfortable, and that she would be shocked by -seeing the almost nude condition of the negro laborers. None of these -things frightened her. The only things she was afraid of were things -about which she had told David, and we cannot help wishing we knew what -they were. It is good to know that by this time the objects of her -fear made rather a short list, for she was by nature timid and easily -terrified, but had become self-reliant and strong.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">North Oxford</span>, June 17th, 1858</p> -<p> -<span class="smcap">Dear Brother</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>This is an excessively warm day, and Julia scarcely thinks she can get -her courage up to the sticking point<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span> to sit down to letter-writing, -but I will try it, for the weather is all alike to me, only just -comfortably warm, and I can as well scribble letters as anything. -We are rejoiced to hear such good reports from Stephen. It cannot -be, however, that he was ready to return with you? For his sake I -hope he could, but should be frightened if I knew he attempted it. -We are all well; received your short letter in due time. Julia has -discoursed considerably upon the propriety of that word “destitute” -which you made use of. She says you left her with a barrel and a half -of flour, a barrel and a half of crackers, a good new milch cow, -fish, ham, dried beef, a barrel of pork, four good hogs in the pen, -a field of early potatoes just coming on, a good garden, plenty of -fowls, a good grain crop in and a man to take care of them, a good -team, thirty cords of wood at the door and a horse and chaise to ride -where she pleased. This she thinks is one of the last specimens of -destitution. Can scarcely sleep at night through fear of immediate -want—and beside we have not mentioned the crab apples. I shouldn’t -wonder if we have fifty bushels of them; this only depends upon the -size they attain, there are certainly enough in number. The hoeing is -all done once, and the piece out by <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Baker’s gone over the second -time. Uncle Joe helped. The taxes are paid, yours, Colonel Davis’s, -and Brine’s. The two latter I have charged to them and pasted the -receipts in the books. I have put down Brine’s<span class="fnanchor" id="fna1"><a href="#fn1">[1]</a></span> time for last week -and made out a new time page for July. Brine has gone to Worcester -with old Eb to-day, and I have put that down and carried his account -to a new page. Whitlock has not paid yet, but the 2´-40´´ man on -the hill has paid .75. Old Mrs. Collier is going to pay before she -gets herself a new pair of shoes, and Sam avers that she is not -only in need of shoes, but stockings, to which fact he is a living -eye-witness. Johnson “hasn’t a cent—will pay next week—” This, I -believe, finishes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> up the schedule of money matters until we report -next time. <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Samuel Smith is dead. Was buried Thursday, I think. I -have just written to the Colonel at Boston and to Cousin Ira<span class="fnanchor" id="fna2"><a href="#fn2">[2]</a></span> the -intelligence from Stephen when we first learned that he was really -better, and had hardly sent the letters away before the Judge came in. -He was anxious to hear from us and also to attend the funeral, so took -the morning train and came out, took dinner, and then he and father -took Dick and the chaise and went to the funeral, came back, stayed -to supper, and I went and carried him to the depot. We had a most -delightful visit from him. Every time I see Cousin Ira, I think he is -a better and better cousin. It is hardly possible for us to esteem him -enough. I forgot to tell you about the garden. Julia has hoed it all -over, set out the cabbage plants, waters them almost every day; they -are looking finely. She has weeded all the beds, and Sam says he will -help her some about the garden. Brine doesn’t seem to take an interest -in the fine arts. Julia says she hopes you will not take a moment’s -trouble about us, for we are getting on finely and shall do so, but -you must take care of yourself. We—i.e. Julia and I—shall ride down -to the Colonel’s this evening after sundown. I should like to see him -and know he would like to hear from you again. I have not heard where -Stephen is or how since you wrote, but trust he is no worse, and I -also hope you may be able to favor and counsel him so as to keep him -up when he gets back. I feel as much solicitude on your account as -his, for I know how liable you are to get out of fix. I wish every -day that I was there to see that both of you had what you needed to -take and to be done for you. I was earnest in what I wished you to say -to Stephen, that I was ready to go to Carolina or anywhere else if I -could serve him; not that I want a job, as I should insist on putting -my labor against my board, but earnestly if you are both going to try -to summer there and Stephen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> so feeble as he is, I shall be glad to be -with you. Still, if not proper or acceptable, I, of course, shall not -urge myself or feel slighted, but I feel afraid to have you both there -by yourselves; while you go away on business, he will be obliged to do -something at home to get sick, and maybe I could do it for him if I -were there, or at least take care of him in time. I am not afraid of -naked negroes or rough houses, and you know the only things in all the -world I should fear, for I told you—nothing else aside from these. I -have no precaution or care for anything there could be there, but I -have said enough and too much. Stephen may think I am willing to make -myself more plenty than welcome, but I have obeyed the dictates of my -feelings and judgment and can do no more, and I could not have done -it and done less, so I leave it. If I can serve you, tell me. I have -seen neither of the Washington tourists yet, and I went to the depot -this morning to meet Irving<span class="fnanchor" id="fna3"><a href="#fn3">[3]</a></span> if he was there, but he did not come. -Please tell me if <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Vassall talks of going to Carolina this summer, -or will he come North? I have offered Julia this space to fill up, -but she says I have told all the news and declines, and it is almost -time to get ready to ride; so good-bye, and write a word or two often. -Don’t trouble to send long letters, it is hot work to write. Sleep all -you can, don’t drink ice water, be careful about grease, don’t expose -yourself to damp evenings or mornings if too misty, or you will get -the chills. Love to Stephen. Will he ever write me, I wonder?</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -From your affectionate sister</p><p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>Great as was Clara Barton’s success in Bordentown, she did not move -forward without opposition. Although she had built up the public -school to a degree of efficiency which it had not before known, she -met the resolute<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span> opposition of those who objected to a woman’s -control of a school as important as this had now grown to be. It was -rather pathetic that her very success should have been used as an -occasion of opposition. The school was alleged to be too large for a -woman to manage. A woman had made it large and had managed it while -it was in process of becoming large, and was continuing to manage it -very well. However, the demand for a male principal grew very strong, -and, against the wishes of a large majority of the pupils, a male -principal was chosen. Clara Barton would not remain and occupy a -second place. Moreover, it was time for her to leave the schoolroom. -For almost twenty years she had been constantly teaching, and her work -at Bordentown, never easy, had ended in a record of success which -brought its own reaction and disappointment. Suddenly she realized -that her energy was exhausted. Her voice completely failed. A nervous -collapse, such as came to her a number of times later in life, laid her -prostrate. She left her great work at Bordentown and went to Washington -to recuperate. She did not know it, but she was leaving the schoolroom -behind her forever.</p> - -<p>In those days Clara Barton was much given to writing verse. She -never entirely gave it up. The most of her poetical writing during -this period is of no especial interest, but consists of verses for -autograph albums, and other ephemeral writing. Once, while she was at -Bordentown, she tried a rhymed advertisement. At least twice while she -was teaching in that village, she made a round trip to Philadelphia on -the steamboat John Stevens. On the second occasion the steamboat had -been redecorated, and she scribbled a jingle concerning its attractions -in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span> the back of her diary. She may have had some idea that her Pegasus -could be profitably harnessed to the chariot of commerce, and it is -possible that she offered this little jingle to the proprietors of the -boat or to the editor of the Bordentown “Gazette,” who roomed at the -house where she boarded. The files of that enterprising publication -have not been searched, but they probably would show that now and then -Clara Barton handed to the editor some poetical comment on passing -events. So far as is known, however, these lines about the beauty of -the rejuvenated John Stevens have not appeared in print before, and -it is now too late for them to be of value in increasing the business -of her owners. It is pleasant, however, to have this reminder of her -occasional outings while she was teaching school, and to know that she -enjoyed them as she did her river journey to Philadelphia and back:</p> - - -<p class="center p0">ADVERTISEMENT</p> - -<p class="center p0"><em>Written on board the John Stevens between Bordentown and -Philadelphia March 12, 1853</em></p> - -<p class="poetry p0"> -You’ve not seen the John Stevens since her new dress she donned?<br /> -Why, you’d think she’d been touched by a fairy’s wand!<br /> -Such carpets, such curtains, just sprang into light,<br /> -Such mirrors bewildering the overcharged sight.<br /> -Such velvets, such cushions, such sofas and all,<br /> -Then the polish that gleams on her glittering wall.<br /> -Now if it be true that you’ve not seen her yet,<br /> -We ask you, nay! <em>urge</em> you, implore and beset,<br /> -That you will no longer your interests forget,<br /> -But at once <em>take a ticket</em> as we have to-day,<br /> -And our word as a warrant—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">You’ll find it will pay.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span></p> - -<p class="footnote p2" id="fn1"><a href="#fna1">[1]</a> Brine Murphy, a faithful hired man.</p> - -<p class="footnote" id="fn2"><a href="#fna2">[2]</a> Judge Ira M. Barton of Worcester.</p> - -<p class="footnote" id="fn3"><a href="#fna3">[3]</a> Irving S. Vassall, her nephew.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX"><big>CHAPTER IX</big><br /> -THE HEART OF CLARA BARTON</h2> -</div> - - -<p>When Clara Barton left the schoolroom for the life of a clerk in -Washington, she was well past thirty years of age. When the war -broke out, and she left the Patent Office for the battle-field, she -was forty. Why was not she already married? Her mother married at -seventeen; her sister married early: why was she single and teaching -school at thirty, or available for hospital service at forty? And why -did she not marry some soldier whom she tended? Did any romance lie -behind her devotion to what became her life-work? Had she suffered any -disappointment in love before she entered upon her career?</p> - -<p>The question whether Clara Barton was ever in love has been asked -by every one who has attempted anything approaching a sketch of her -career. <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Epler’s biography contained a chapter on this subject, but -later it was found so incomplete and unsatisfactory it was thought -best to omit it and to await the opening of her personal and official -papers. These now are available, as well as the personal recollections -of those of her relatives whose knowledge of her life includes any -possibility of affairs of the heart.</p> - -<p>On the subject of her personal affections, Clara Barton was very -reticent. To the present writer she said that she chose, somewhat early -in life, the course which seemed to her more fruitful of good for her -than matrimony. In her girlhood she was shy, and, when she found her -life vocation, as she then esteemed it, as a teacher,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> she was so much -interested in her school that she gave little thought to matrimony, -and was satisfied that on the whole it would be better in her case if -she lived unmarried. She had little patience, however, with women who -affect to despise men. Always loyal to her own sex, and proud of every -woman who accomplished anything notable, she was no man-hater, but, on -the contrary, enjoyed the society of men, trusted their judgment, and -liked their companionship.</p> - -<p>Her nephew, Stephen E. Barton, furnishes me this paragraph:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>My aunt said to me at one time that I must not think she had never -known any experience of love. She said that she had had her romances -and love affairs like other girls; but that in her young womanhood, -though she thought of different men as possible lovers, no one of them -measured up to her ideal of a husband. She said to me that she could -think of herself with satisfaction as a wife and mother, but that on -the whole she felt that she had been more useful to the world by being -free from matrimonial ties.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>So far as her diaries and letters show, she remained heart-whole -through the entire period of her girlhood in Oxford. There was, -however, a young man of about her own age, born in Oxford, and a very -distant relative between whom and herself there existed something -approaching affection. The families were long-time friends, and the -young people had interests in common. A lady who remembers him well -says: “She was fond of him and he of her. He was a handsome young -fellow, and Clara once said to me that she should not want the man to -have all the good looks in the family.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span></p> - -<p>This friendship continued for many years, and developed on the part -of the young man a very deep affection, and on Clara’s part sincere -respect. He visited her when she was a student in Clinton Institute, -and was of real service to her there, making fine proof of his faithful -friendship, but she could not be sure that she loved him.</p> - -<p>She had another ardent admirer in Oxford, who followed her to -Bordentown and there pressed his suit. Clara had long corresponded -with him, and for a time was uncertain how much she cared for him. -This young man had come to know her while she was a teacher in Oxford -and she was boarding in the family where he lived. In 1849 he went to -California in search of gold, and on his return was eager to take her -out of the schoolroom and establish her in a home. For this purpose he -visited her in Bordentown. She welcomed him, and sincerely wished that -she could love him, but, while she held him in thorough respect, she -did not see in him the possibilities of a husband, such as she would -have chosen. He pressed his suit, and she sorrowfully declined. They -remained firm friends as long as he lived.</p> - -<p>A third young man is known to have made love to her while she was at -Clinton Institute. He was the brother of one of the young women in the -school whom she cherished as a dear friend. He was a young man of fine -character, but her heart did not respond to him.</p> - -<p>Two or more of these affairs lay heavy on her heart and conscience -about the time of her leaving Clinton Institute and of her teaching in -Bordentown. She was then in correspondence with three young men who -loved her, and in a state of some mental uncertainty. If letters were -delayed she missed them, and recorded in her diary:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Rather melancholy. Don’t know why, I received no intelligence from -certain quarters.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>In the spring of 1852 she had a brief period of depression, growing, -in part at least, out of her uncertainty in these matters. On Tuesday, -March 2, 1852, she wrote in her diary:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Morning cold and icy. Walked to school. Dull day and unpleasant, -cheerless indoors and out. Cannot see much in these days worth living -for; cannot but think it will be a quiet resting-place when all these -cares and vexations and anxieties are over, and I no longer give or -take offense. I am badly organized to live in the world, or among -society; I have participated in too many of its unpleasant scenes; -have always looked on its most unhappy features and have grown weary -of life at an age when other people are enjoying it most.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>On Thursday, March 13, she wrote:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>I have found it extremely hard to restrain the tears to-day, and would -have given almost anything to have been alone and undisturbed. I have -seldom felt more friendless, and I believe I ever feel enough so. I -see less and less in the world to live for, and in spite of all my -resolution and reason and moral courage and every thing else, I grow -weary and impatient. I know it is wicked and perhaps foolish, but I -cannot help it. There is not a living thing but would be just as well -off without me. I contribute to the happiness of not a single object; -and often to the unhappiness of many and always of my own, for I am -never happy. True, I laugh and joke, but could weep that very moment, -and be the happier for it.</p> - -<p> -“There’s many a grief lies hid, not lost,<br /> -And smiles the least befit who wear them most.”<br /> -</p> - -<p>How long I can endure such a life I do not know, but often wish that -more of its future path lay on the other<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> side of the present. I am -grateful when so many of the days pass away. But this repining is of -no use, and I would not say or write it for any ear or eye but my own. -I cannot help thinking it, and it is a relief to say it to myself; but -I will indulge in such useless complaints no more, but commence once -more my allotted task.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>The mood did not last long. Its immediate occasion had been a not -very cheerful letter from friends in Oxford, and a discussion with -the mother of a dull pupil who was troubled because her daughter was -not learning faster. Three days later she was seeking to account for -her depression by some possible telepathic influence from home; for -she had word of the burning of Stephen’s factory. Far from being the -more depressed by this really bad news, she was much relieved to know -that he had not rushed into the burning building, as would have been -just like him, and have been killed or injured in trying to save the -property or to help some one else.</p> - -<p>On Friday night she had finished a reasonably good week, and had a -longer letter than usual from the lover whom she had known longest. It -“of course pleased me in proportion to its length.” She adds, “I am -puzzled to know how I can manage one affair, and fear I cannot do it -properly.”</p> - -<p>The reader of these yellow pages, after seventy years and more, knows -better than she knew then what was troubling her most, and can smile at -what caused her so much concern.</p> - -<p>By the following Tuesday she resolved to “begin to think earnestly of -<em>immediate</em> future. Have not made any definite plans.”</p> - -<p>This necessity of planning for the immediate future<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span> brought back her -bad feelings. She wrote on Wednesday, March 24:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Think I shall not write as much in future. Grow dull and I fear -selfish in my feelings and care less what is going on. Not that I -think less of others, but less of myself, and am more and more certain -every day that there is no such thing as true friendship, at least -for me; and I will not dupe and fool myself with the idle, vain hobby -any longer. It is all false; in fact, the whole world is false. This -brings me to my old inquiry again, what is the use of living in it? -I can see no possible satisfaction or benefit arising from my life; -others may from theirs.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>A week later she wrote that she had no letters, but had “grown -indifferent and did not care either to write or to receive letters.”</p> - -<p>She had resolved not to write so much, but she went on:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>I am thinking to-night of the future, and what my next move must be. -Wish I had some one to advise me, or that I could speak to some one -of it. Had ever one poor girl so many strange, wild thoughts, and no -one to listen or share one of them, or even to realize that my head -contains one idea beyond the present foolish moment?</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>But she resolves to stop this vain and moody introspection:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>I will not allow myself any more such grumbling! I know it is wicked. -But how can I make myself happy and contented under such circumstances -as I am ever placed in?</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Her diary then grew irregular, with no entries between April 20 and May -25. Within that time she solved a part of her love-problem:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Have kept no journal for a month or more. Had nothing to note, but -some things are registered where they will never be effaced in my -lifetime.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>But she finished her school successfully; went to Trenton and bought -a silk dress. She filled the back of this book with a list of the -English poets with the dates of their birth and death, and a sentence -or two descriptive of each of the more prominent. She had this habit -of writing, in the back of her journal, things that belonged to no -one day. The volume previous contained a sentimental poem of a tragic -parting of lovers, and a lachrymose effusion entitled “A Prayer for -Death.”</p> - -<p>These entries and incidents are cited because they are wholly -exceptional. While she was ever morbidly sensitive, to the day of her -death, and under strain of criticism or lack of appreciation given to -great and wholly disproportionate depression of spirits, these entries, -made when she had no less than three possible matrimonial entanglements -in prospect, and was not sure whether she wanted any, must be the -sole documentary evidence of a strain from which both she and the men -concerned wholly recovered. All of the men are known by name, and -they married and left families, and were little if any the worse, and -quite possibly were the better, for having loved Clara Barton. Nor, -though the perplexities of having too many lovers, mingled as these -perplexities were with the daily problems of the schoolroom and a long -absence from home, during which her home letters made her homesick, did -the experience do her any permanent harm. Not long did she wish to die.</p> - -<p>Indeed, her mood was soon a very different one. The entries that have -been cited were made at Hightstown.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span> Next year she was at Bordentown, -and there she throve so well she had to send back to her home town for -an assistant. She still had one love affair, already referred to, but -it had ceased to depress her seriously.</p> - -<p>A young woman of thirty is not to be blamed for stopping to consider -that she may not always be bothered by three simultaneous offers of -marriage. On the other hand, while all of these were worthy men, there -was not one of them so manifestly stronger than she that she felt she -was safe in giving her heart to him. The vexations of the schoolroom -suggested the quiet of a home as a pleasant contrast, but which should -she choose, and were there any of the men to whom she could forever -look up with affection and sustained regard?</p> - -<p>For each one of these three young men she appears to have had a genuine -regard. She liked them, all of them, and it was not easy for her to see -them go out of her life. The time came when each of them demanded to -know where he stood in her affections; and each time this occurred she -had a period of heart-searching, and thought herself the most miserable -young woman alive. In each case, however, she came to the sane and -commendable decision, not to bestow her hand where her heart could not -go utterly.</p> - -<p>From one who knew her intimately in those days I have this statement:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Clara Barton had many admirers, and they were all men whom she admired -and some whom she almost loved. More men were interested in her than -she was ever interested in; some of them certainly interested her, yet -not profoundly. I do not think she ever had a love affair that stirred -the depths of her being. The truth is,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span> Clara Barton was herself so -much stronger a character than any of the men who made love to her -that I do not think she was ever seriously tempted to marry any of -them. She was so pronounced in her opinions that a man who wanted a -submissive wife would have stood somewhat in awe of her. However good -a wife she might have made to a man whom she knew to be her equal, and -for whom she felt real admiration, she would not have been an ideal -wife for a man to whom she could not look up, not only in regard to -moral character, which in every case was above reproach, but also as -to intellect, education, and ambition.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Clara Barton’s diaries did not ordinarily indulge in self-analysis. -She recorded the events of the day briefly, methodically, and without -much comment. She indicated by initials the young men to whom she wrote -and from whom she received letters, relatives being spoken of by their -first names. The passages quoted from her diaries are exceptional. -While she was highly sensitive, and morbidly conscientious, her usual -moods were those of quiet and sensible performance of her day’s work.</p> - -<p>For ten years after she began to teach, she was shut out from any real -opportunity for love. Her elevation to the teacher’s platform, while -still a child, shut out her normal opportunity for innocent flirtation. -Love hardly peeped in at her during her teens, or in her early -twenties. By the time it came to her, other interests had gained a long -start. She was ambitious, she was determined to find out what she was -good for, and to do something worth while in life. Had some young man -come into her life as worthy as those who made love to her, and who was -her equal or superior in ability and education, she might have learned -to love him. As it was,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> she decided wisely both for herself and for -the men who sought her hand.</p> - -<p>Having thus chosen, she did not mourn her fate. She enjoyed her -friendships with men and with women, and lived her busy, successful, -and happy life. She did not talk of these affairs, nor did she write of -them. She retained the personal friendship of the men whom she refused; -and two of them, who lived not far from her in New England, made their -friendship manifest in later years. Few people knew that they had ever -been rejected lovers of hers; they were esteemed and lifelong friends.</p> - -<p>There were times when her heart cried out for something more than this. -From the day of her birth she was too isolated. Her public career -began before her shy childhood had ended. She was too solitary; she -had “strange, wild thoughts,” and no one to whom to confide them. She -could have welcomed the love of a strong, true man. She was always -over-sensitive. She was cut to the very heart by experiences which -she ought to have treated as almost negligible. She met opposition, -criticism, injustice with calm demeanor, but she bled within her armor, -and covered herself with undeserved reproaches and unhappy reflections -that she seemed doomed to give and to suffer pain. In some respects she -was peculiarly unfitted to meet the world alone. But she met it and -conquered it. She turned her loneliness into a rich companionship of -friendships; she forgot her solitude in unselfish ministry. Spite of -her shrinking nature, her natural timidity, her over-sensitiveness, she -lived a full and happy life. Those who knew her remember few laments -and fewer tears, but many a constant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span> smile, a quick and unfailing -sense of humor, a healthy and hearty laugh, a ready sympathy and a -generous spirit. The love which she was forbidden to bestow upon any -one man, she gave to the world at large, and the world loved her in -return.</p> - -<p>The most direct reference to affairs of the heart which Clara Barton -appears to have made in her letters is in a letter written by her to -her cousin, Judge Robert Hale, on August 16, 1876.</p> - -<p>When Clara Barton went abroad in search of health in 1869, she hardly -expected to return. She took two thousand dollars’ worth of bonds which -belonged to her and deposited them with a friend, with instructions -that if she died, the money was to be used for the improvement of the -Barton lot in the Oxford cemetery. It was a large lot on the brow of a -hill, and had been heavily washed by the rains. She wished it properly -graded and cared for, and this was likely to be, and proved to be, an -expensive undertaking.</p> - -<p>This friend did not keep the bonds separate from his own property, and -in time of financial stress he sold them and applied the money to his -own needs. When she returned and learned of this, she was displeased. -To her it seemed hardly less than a criminal action. She had no purpose -of prosecuting him, but, on the other hand, she wished him to realize -that this was something more than an ordinary debt. She put the matter -in the hands of her cousin, Judge Hale, who accepted a note in lieu of -the bonds. This did not please her, and she wrote her cousin a letter -which caused him to chide her as being a rather importunate creditor.</p> - -<p>She replied that this was not true, but that she herself<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span> had kept all -her money for French relief separate from her own money, and she always -kept trust funds separate from her own money, and she expected people -dealing with her to do the same. She said:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>I am not, as I seem to you, a “relentless creditor.” On the contrary, -I would give him that debt rather than break him down in his business, -or if the gift would keep him from going down. I am less grieved about -the loss than I am about the manner of his treating my trust. I was -his teacher and he was one of my boys. I have always dealt straight -and plain with my boys. I am not a lawyeress, nor a diplomat, only -a woman artless to simplicity; but I am as square as a brick, and I -expect my boys to be square.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>In some way Judge Hale had gotten the idea that this former pupil of -hers had been a youthful lover, and that that fact had influenced her -in the loan of the money. It is in reply to this suggestion that she -said:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>It seems very ludicrous to me, the idea which has fastened itself upon -you, relative to my supposed love affair. I, poor I, who never had -a love affair in all my born days, and really don’t much expect one -after this date! My dear cousin, I trust this letter will show you -clearly that my pecuniary affairs and my heart affairs are not at all -mixed; and I beg you to believe that, if in the future I should be -stricken by the tender malady, I shall never attempt to facilitate or -perpetuate the matter by the loaning of money. My observation has not -been favorable to such a course of procedure.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Whether she ultimately recovered the two thousand dollars or not, her -biographer does not know, but she lived to put the cemetery lot in good -order, and in her will she left a fund of sixteen hundred dollars for -its perpetual<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> maintenance. She also kept her financial transactions -free from any heart complications. Her letter is a pretty certain -indication that no love affair had ever taken very strong hold of her -in the first fifty years of her life.</p> - -<p>The war might easily have brought to Clara Barton a husband if she had -inclined toward one, but she found other interests, and was happy in -them. Later in life she had on more than one occasion to consider the -possibility of a home; and we shall have occasion to make brief mention -of one or two of these incidents. What is essential now is to know that -Clara Barton did not enter upon her life-work by reason of a broken -heart. Her relations with men were wholesome and enjoyable, but none -of them brought her such complete assurance of a happy home as to win -her from what she came to feel was her life-work. Some possibilities -of matrimony gave her deep concern at the time; but she was able to -tell Judge Hale in 1876, when she was fifty-five years of age, that -she had never had a love affair, and did not expect to have one; but -that if she had, she would keep it wholly separate from her financial -interests; which was a very sensible resolution, and one to which she -lived up faithfully.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X"><big>CHAPTER X</big><br /> -FROM SCHOOLROOM TO PATENT OFFICE</h2> -</div> - - -<p>Clara Barton’s work in Bordentown was a marked success. But it involved -strenuous labor and not a little mental strain. When it was over, she -found her reserve force exhausted. In the latter part of 1854 her voice -gave out, and she gave up teaching, for a time as she supposed, and -went to Washington.</p> - -<p>She did not know it, but she was leaving the schoolroom forever. Yet -she continued to think of herself as a teacher, and to consider her -other work as of a more or less temporary character. Twenty years -later, she still reminded herself and others that “fully one fifth of -my life has been passed as a teacher of schools.” The schoolroom had -become temporarily impracticable, and she wanted to see Washington and -to spend time enough in the capital of the Nation to know something -about it. Washington became her home and the center of her life plans -for the next sixty years.</p> - -<p>Clara Barton did not long remain idle in Washington. At the request of -Colonel Alexander De Witt, the representative in Congress from her home -district, she received an appointment as clerk in the Patent Office -at a salary of $1400 a year. She was one of the first, and believed -herself to have been the very first, of women appointed to a regular -position in one of the departments, with work and wages equal to that -of a man. Her appointment was made under President Pierce, in 1854. -The records when searched in later years were found to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> be imperfect, -but the following letter from the Honorable Alexander DeWitt to the -Honorable Robert McClelland, Secretary of the Interior, shows clearly -her status at the time of its date, September 22, 1855:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Having understood the Department had decided to remove the ladies in -the Patent Office on the first of October, I have taken the liberty to -address a line on behalf of Miss Clara Barton, a native of my town and -district, who has been employed in the past year in the Patent Office, -and I trust to the entire satisfaction of the Commissioner.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>She had, indeed, performed her work to the entire satisfaction of the -Commissioner. There had been serious leaks in the Patent Office, some -dishonest clerks selling secrets to their own financial advantage and -to the scandal of the department and injury of owners of patents. She -became confidential clerk to the Honorable Charles Mason,—“Judge -Mason” he was called,—the Superintendent of Patents. That official -himself had a hard time under the Secretary of the Interior, Robert -McClelland.</p> - -<p>At different periods in her life, Clara Barton had several different -styles of handwriting. There is a marked contrast between the clear, -strong penmanship which she used when she left the schoolroom and -the badly deteriorated form which she employed after her more -serious nervous breakdowns. When she was lecturing, she wrote a very -large hand, easy to read from manuscript, and that affected her -correspondence. Some of her lectures are written in characters nearly a -half-inch in height. Then she reverted to the “copper-plate” style of -her young womanhood, and in that clear,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> fine, strong penmanship she -wrote till the end of her life.</p> - -<p>Handwriting such as hers was a joy to the head of the Patent -Department. It was clear, regular, easily read, and accurate. The -characters were well formed, and the page, when she had done with it, -was clean and clear as that of an old missal.</p> - -<p>She was not long in rousing the jealousy of men in the department who -loafed and smoked and drew their pay. Some of them were anything but -polite to her. They blew smoke in her face, and otherwise affronted -her. But she attended strictly to her business. She was removed, -but Judge Mason gave her a “temporary appointment,” and she worked, -sometimes in the office, and sometimes, when political affairs were -such that her presence there gave rise to criticism, at home. She waded -through great volumes and filled other great volumes. A letter to her -brother Stephen in the autumn of 1856 gives some idea of what was -happening in Washington:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -Monday Morning, Sept. 28, 1856</p> -<p> -<span class="smcap">Dear Brother</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I don’t know why I have not written you before, only I suppose -I thought you had enough to occupy your attention without my -uninteresting scrawls. I have been hearing of late that you were -better than when you first came home, but I have not heard a word when -you expect to return.</p> - -<p>We are having a remarkably fine fall, cool and clean, and I have not -seen more than a dozen mosquitoes this summer.</p> - -<p>The city has just been somewhat disturbed, i.e., the official -portions of it (and this is the greater portion at this particular -time), in consequence of the resignation of Judge Mason, which was -tendered to the President some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span> eight days ago, and no notice whatever -taken of it until day before yesterday morning, the Judge in the -meantime drawing his business to a close, packing his library, and -Mrs. Mason packing their wardrobes, and on Friday evening, when I -called on them, they were all ready to leave for Iowa next Tuesday -at three o’clock. They both explained particularly the nature of the -circumstances which induced them to leave. You have known before that -Congress guaranteed to the Commissioner of Patents the exclusive right -of making all temporary appointments in his department, and that -Secretary McClelland had previously interfered in and claimed the -same. He commenced upon the most vulnerable points, something like a -year ago, when he removed us ladies, and, partially succeeding in his -attempts, has been enlarging his grasp ever since, and a few weeks ago -sent a note to Judge Mason forbidding him to appoint any temporary -clerk unless subject to his decision and concurrence, giving to the -Judge the right to <em>nominate</em>, reserving to himself the privilege -of <em>appointing</em>. Then Congress having voted some $70,000 to be -used by the Commissioner of Patents in procuring sugar-cane slips -(if so they might be termed) from South America for the purpose of -restoring the tone of the sugar growth in the South, which is becoming -exhausted, and the Commissioner having procured his agent to go for -them, the Secretary interfered, said it was all useless to send an -agent, the military could attend to it; he had the agent discharged, -and delayed the matter until it was too late to obtain the cuttings -this year, and the Commissioner, being thus deprived of the privilege -of complying with the directions received from Congress, and thereby -unable to acquit himself creditably, resigned, but at the last moment -the President came to his room, and invested him with power to act as -he pleased in all matters over which the law gave him jurisdiction, -and he promised to remain until the Secretary should return from -Michigan, and see<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span> how he behaved then. The Secretary is making -himself extremely odious; he may have, and doubtless has, friends and -admirers, but I never met with one of them.</p> - -<p>Fannie writes me that little Mary has burned her arm; is it badly -burned? Does father still think of coming South this winter? Hobart -was a slippery stick, wasn’t he, and what did he mean? How do you -arrange with Fisher? Some way I hope that will last so that he can’t -slip his halter and leave poor Dave to chase after him, with a -measure of oats in one hand and a cudgel in the other, as he has all -summer. You will come to Washington, I am <em>sure</em>, on your way to -Carolina; it is best that you should—I want so much to see you. I -want to talk a good long talk with you that I cannot write. I have so -many things to say, all <em>very important</em>, of course. But write me -soon and tell me when you will return. I must go over to the city and -look what I can do to make ready for the comers.</p> - -<p>Please give my love to all inquiring friends; write and come and see -us.</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Your affectionate sister</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>How stand politics, and who is going to be President? The Democrats -are looking pale in this quarter.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Buchanan was elected, and Clara Barton continued in the Patent -Office for a time unmolested. But the election lost her one of her -best friends in Washington, Colonel De Witt, a resident of Oxford, -and representative from her home district, through whom her first -appointment had come, and who had been her constant friend. Just before -the inauguration of President Buchanan, she wrote her home letter to -Julia, and sent it by the hand of the retiring representative, who -volunteered to take her letter to her home:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Washington, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr></span>, Mar. 3rd, 1857</p> -<p> -<span class="smcap">Dear Sister Julia</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Our good friend Colonel De Witt has kindly offered to become the -bearer and deliverer of any despatches which I may wish to send to -Yankee Land, and knowing from good authority that a call upon you -might not be a hard medicine for him to take, I avail myself of the -opportunity to tell you that we are all engaged in making a president; -intend, if no bad luck follow, to finish him off and send him home -to-morrow. I hope he may finally give satisfaction, for there has been -a great deal of pains taken in fitting and making him up, but there -are so many in the family to wear him that it is scarcely possible -that he should be an exact fit for them all....</p> - -<p>We are at our same old tricks yet here in the capitol, i.e., killing -off everybody who doesn’t just happen to suit us or our peculiar humor -at the moment; we have indeed some shocking occurrences at times. You -have probably seen some account of the homicide which took place in -the Pension Office the other day; if not I think the Colonel will be -so kind as to give you some of the first points and relieve me from -the disagreeable task of reciting so abrupt and melancholy a matter. -My opinion of the matter is that the man who gave the offense, and -from whom the apology was due, remained doggedly at his office, armed, -and shot down his adversary who came to make the very explanation -which the offender should have sought. Colonel Lee (I think), instead -of sitting there at his desk hugging a concealed pistol to his -unchristian and unmanly breast, should at that very moment have been -on his way to Alexandria to apologize to <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> House for the previous -night’s offense. The man may perhaps meet the sympathy of the world at -large, but at present he has not mine.</p> - -<p>And last night a terrible thing occurred within the district. It -appears that the almshouse and workhouse are, or rather were, both -the same building, very large,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span> new and fine. Last night, curiosity -or something else equally powerful caused the keepers of the -establishment all to leave the premises and come up to the city, -a distance of three miles, I suppose, locking the building very -securely, fastening in all the inmates, I have no idea how many, but -the house took fire, and burned down, consuming a great portion of its -inhabitants, old, lame, and sick men and women and helpless infants. -Only such were saved as could force an escape through the barred -windows—was not that <em>horrible</em>? Now it would seem to me that -in both these cases there was room left for reflection on the part of -some one. I think there would be for me if I were in either of their -places.</p> - -<p>I would attempt to tell you something how sorry I am that the Colonel -is going home to return to us no more, but if I wrote all night I -should not have half expressed it. I am sorry for myself, that I shall -have no good friend left to whom I can run with all my annoyances, and -find always a sympathizer and benefactor, and especially am I sorry -for our (generally) old State. I pity their folly; they have cut off -their own hands after having blocked all their wheels; they cannot -stir a peg after the Colonel leaves; they have not a man on the board -they can move; and who is to blame but their own poor foolish selves? -Well, I <em>am</em> sorry, and if crying would do any good I would cry a -week, steadily. I don’t know but I shall as it is....</p> - -<p>Remember me especially to “Grandpa,” and tell Dave I like him a leetle -particularly since he didn’t sign that petition.</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -From your affectionate sister</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>For a time after the election, political matters settled down, and -Clara continued her work unmolested. She was home for a time in the -spring of 1857, but back in Washington through the summer, and in that -time went<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span> through huge volumes of technical description and copied -the essential parts into record books for the purpose of reference and -preservation.</p> - -<p>It would make this volume more consecutive in its connections if out -of her letters were culled only such items as related to particular -topics; but her letters must be read as she wrote them, with news, -gossip, inquiry about home matters, answers to questions, and all just -as she thought of them and wrote about them. In the early autumn of -1857 she wrote to Julia:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Washington, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr></span>, Sept. 6th, 1857</p> -<p> -<span class="smcap">Dear Sister Julia</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I dare not ask you to excuse me for neglecting you so badly, but -still I have a kind of indefinable hope that you will do so, when you -remember how busy I am and that this is summer with its long weary -days and short sleepy nights; and then the “<em>skeeters</em>!” Just -as soon as you try to write a letter in the evening to anybody, they -must come in flocks to “stick their bills.” In vain have I placarded -myself all over on every side of me, “Stick no bills here”—it doesn’t -do a bit of good, and but for the gallant defense of a couple of -well-fitted nets at my windows, I should long ere this have been -pasted, scarred, and battered as the wooden gateway to an old theater, -or the brick wall adjacent to an eleven-penny-bit lecture-room. I -should, however, have written out of selfishness just to hear from -you, only that by some means intelligence gets to us that father is -better, and the rest of you well. My health is much better than when -I was at home. I have been gaining ever since Miss Haskell came. She -relieves me many ways. The yellow has almost gone off of my forehead, -else it has grown yellow all alike; but it looks <em>better</em>, let it -be which way it may; it isn’t so spotted. Bernard has been home and -got cured of the chills and fever, and gone back again; expect<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> Vest. -home soon. I am not much better settled than ever; liable to pick up -my traps and start any day. I am glad you found my mits, for I began -to think I must have had a crazy fit and destroyed my things while I -was at home. To pay for losing my parasol, I made myself carry one -that cost <em>fifty-six cents</em>! Did you ever hear of such a thing? -Well, it is the best I have had all summer, and I walked to church -under it to-day; so much to pay for carelessness. I also left a large -bottle of some kind of drugs, I guess in your parlor cupboard. Please -give it closet room awhile, and I will come sometime between this and -the middle of January at farthest and relieve you of it. I may spend -Christmas with you, cannot tell yet, but I shall be home while the -snow is on the ground if I live, and maybe before it comes, but if -I do I shall stay until it is there, for I am determined to have a -sleigh-ride with old Dick. Oh, I am so glad every time I think of it, -that he beat <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Newton, blast his saucy picture! Will try it again -when the snow comes.</p> - -<p>I have written “a heap” since my return; let me see, seven large -volumes, the size of ledgers, I have read all through and collected -and transferred something off of every page—3500 pages of dry lawyer -writing is something to wade through in three months; and out of them -I have filled a <em>great</em> volume almost as heavy as I can lift. -My arm is tired, and my poor thumb is all calloused holding my pen. -I begin to feel that my Washington life is drawing to a close, and I -think of it without regret, not that I have not prized it, not that it -has not on the whole been a great blessing to me. I realize all this, -but if I could tell you in detail all I have gone through along with -it, you would agree with me that it had not been <em>all</em> sunshine. -I look back upon it as a weary pilgrimage which it was necessary for -me to accomplish. I have nearly done, so it has been a sturdy battle, -hard-fought, and I trust well won.</p> - -<p>But how do you all do? How are Grandfather and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> Dave, and the little -ones? How I do want to see you all! Has father’s leg got so he can use -it well again? Does it pain him? Do the children go to school? How are -Mary’s<span class="fnanchor" id="fna4"><a href="#fn4">[4]</a></span> congress gaiters?—a perfect fit, I hope. Tell her to be a -good girl and learn to read, for I shall want to hear her when I come -home. Wash Bubby’s<span class="fnanchor" id="fna5"><a href="#fn5">[5]</a></span> eyes in <em>bluing</em> water; it may improve the -color. Please give my love to Cousin Vira, Mrs. Aborn, and after this -according to discretion. Is Martha in New Worcester? I should like to -see her. We have had a fine summer thus far—very few hot days.</p> - -<p>Please tell father that I was not silent so long because I had -forgotten him, but I had scarce time to write, and I get so tired of -writing. Please write me soon and tell me all the news. I will bring -your jewelry when I come. I feel guilty to have taken it away.</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Your sister, most affectionately &c &c &c</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>The Democrats had some reason to look pale, for no one could predict -just how well John C. Fremont would run. But he was not elected. The -Democrats returned to power, with James Buchanan as their successful -candidate. As the election approached, it became evident that this was -to be the result, and the Democratic chief clerk of the Pension Office, -certain that he was to succeed Judge Mason, desired Clara Barton to -be as good a Democrat as possible that she might not fail to be his -confidential clerk: but she was already a “Black Republican.” Her -father had been an old-time Jackson Democrat, and the administration -under which she was appointed was Democratic; but she heard Charles -Sumner’s great speech on the “Crime Against Kansas” and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> she was -convinced. “Freedom is national; slavery is sectional,” he said, and -she believed him.</p> - -<p>She was not yet sure that slavery ought to be interfered with where it -was, but she was with the party that opposed its further extension, and -this imperiled her future as a clerk if James Buchanan was elected. -Just before the November election, she wrote to Julia, David’s wife:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Washington, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr></span>, Nov. 2nd, 1856<br /> -Sunday Evening</p> -<p> -<span class="smcap">Dear Sister Julia</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Your looked-for letter came safe to hand; you may well suppose we -were anxious to hear from you considering the alarming nature of the -one which had preceded it. Stephen must have had a very distressing -time, but I am so glad to know that he is relieved and has decided to -let some one else be his judge in reference to getting out. I hope he -will continue firm in the faith and venture <em>nothing</em>; it is of -no use to strive against nature; he must have time to recruit and he -has no idea of the time and care it will require to rid his system of -the troublesome disease which has fastened upon him. I am glad you -have found a physician there who knew how to name his disease. I have -known all the time, since the first time he wrote me of his illness -in Carolina, what the trouble was, and said when I was at home that -he had the dumb chills, but no one would believe an ignoramus like -me. I have no doubt but he had had his ague fits regularly since his -first attack without ever once mistrusting the real cause of his bad -feelings. People say there are two classes of community that the -shaking ague never attacks, viz., those who are too lazy to shake -and those who will not stop. Stephen belongs to the latter and I to -the former, so we must have dumb ague if any. I am glad that father -is better, and hope I shall not hear of David’s getting down again -this winter; he must keep well enough<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span> to come out and see us. We are -all very well, only that I have a slight cold, which will wear off, -I guess. The weather is delightful, but getting quite cool. We saw a -few flakes of snow last Friday, but one would never mistrust it by the -Indian summer haze which is spread over the city this evening.</p> - -<p>We are all dreading the confusion of day after to-morrow night, when -the election returns are made. There will be such an excitement, but -the Democrats are the most certain set of men that I ever saw; their -confidence of success in the approaching contest is unbounded. Judge -Mason has gone to Iowa to vote, and <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Stugert (our chief clerk) -will leave the city to-morrow night in order to reach Pennsylvania in -time the next day. He is one of <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Buchanan’s most intimate friends. -He called to take me to Georgetown one evening last week, and during -the evening he conversed respecting the approaching election. His -spirits were unbounded, and his confidence in the right results of the -election as unbounded. He wished me to say I would be commissioner -and chief clerk for him until his return, but I declined the honor, -declaring myself a <em>Freemonter</em>. This he would not hear a word -of and walked all around the parlors in company with the Reverend -<abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Halmead assuring all the company that I was an “old school -Loco,” “dyed in the wool,” and my father before me was the same, and -requested them to place no confidence in anything I might say on the -present occasion, as the <em>coffee</em> was exceedingly strong and he -passed my cup up <em>five</em> times. I thought this latter three fifths -of a mistake, but could not quite tell.</p> - -<p>Lo, Bubby [Stephen, her nephew] says he will come to Washington. -Well, he must go and ask Colonel De Witt to make him a page, and if -the Colonel can do it, Bub can come and stay; he is large enough to -carry letters and papers about the House, and do little errands for -the Members. I guess he had best ask the Colonel<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> and see what he -says about it. Irving is getting ready to take our mail to the office -and I must hasten to close my scrawl for the present. I had intended -to write to Stephen to-day, but it is rather late; I may get time -the first of the week, although I have a heavy week’s business in -contemplation. How I wish I could drop in and see you all to-night, -but that cannot be just yet. Please give my love to “Grandpa” [her -father] and then all the others in succession as they come along, down -to <em>Dick</em> [the horse]; is he as nice as ever? I want to see him -too. Please remember me to Elvira and Mrs. Aborn, and write me soon -again.</p> - -<p>Tell Stephen he is a nice fellow to mind so well, and he must keep -doing so. Irving is ready.</p> - -<p>So good-bye.</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Your affectionate sister</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>The country was steadily drifting toward war, and Clara Barton felt -the danger of it. Although she was convinced that slavery ought not -to be extended further, she was not yet an abolitionist, and she felt -that violent agitators were taking upon themselves a serious risk -in bringing the Nation to the very brink of bloodshed. She did not -approve of the John Brown raid, and she was greatly concerned about the -meetings that were held that seemed to her calculated to induce riot. -She had her convictions, and was never afraid to speak them boldly, but -she said, “It will be a strange pass when the Bartons get fanatical, -and cannot abide by and support the laws they live under.” A neighbor -who had been with Stephen in Carolina was driven away on account of -utterances that followed the John Brown raid. She wrote to her brother -Stephen at this time—the letter is not dated—and gave the fullest -account of her own feelings<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span> and convictions concerning the issues then -before the country, having in special mind the duty of Northern people -resident in the South to be considerate of the conditions under which -Southern people had to live. It is a very interesting letter, and the -author of this volume could wish that it had been in his possession -while Clara Barton was living, that he might have asked her to what -extent her views changed in the years that followed:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>I have not seen <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Seaver since his return, and regret exceedingly -that there should have been any necessity for such a termination -to his residence in the South. I should not have supposed that -he would have felt it his <em>duty</em> to uphold such a cause as -“Harper’s Ferry,” and if he <em>did</em> not, it is a pity he had the -misfortune to make it appear so. Of course I could not for a moment -believe him a dangerous man, hostile to either human life, rights, or -interests, or antagonistic to the community among whom he resided, -but if <em>they</em> felt him to be so, I do not by any means blame -them for the course they took. Situated as they are, they have a -<em>right</em> to be cautious, and adopt any measures for safety and -quiet which their own judgment may suggest. They have a right even to -be <em>afraid</em>, and it is not for the North, who in no way share in -the danger, to brand them as cowards; they are the same that people -the world over are and would be under the circumstances. Unorganized -men <em>everywhere</em> are timid, easy and quick to take alarm. It is -only when bodies of men are organized and disciplined, and prepared -to defend themselves against <em>expected</em> dangers, that they -stand firm and unshrinking, and face death unmoved. Occasionally we -hear that <em>you</em> have been or will be requested to leave—this -<em>amuses me</em>. It would be singular, indeed, if in all this time -your Southern friends had not learned <em>you</em> well enough to -tolerate you. It will be a strange pass when the <em>Bartons</em> get -fanatical,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> and cannot abide by and support the laws they live under, -and mind their own business closely enough to remain anywhere they -may chance to be. I am grieved and ashamed of the course which our -Northern people have taken relative to the John Brown affair. Of their -relief societies, and mass meetings and sympathetic gatherings, I can -say nothing, for I have never witnessed one, and never shall. From -the first they seemed to me to be wrong and ill-advised, and had a -strained and forced appearance; and the longer they are persisted in, -and the greater extent to which they are carried, the more ridiculous -they become in my sight. If they represented the true sentiments -and feeling of the majority of candid thinking men at the North, it -would savor more of justice, but this I believe to be very far from -the facts. Their gatherings and speechifyings serve the purpose of -a few loud-mouthed, foaming, eloquent fanatics, who would be just -as ready in any other cause as this. They preach for notoriety and -oratorical praise, fearlessly and injudiciously, with characters long -stamped and nothing to lose. It matters little to them that every -rounded sentence which falls from their chiseled lips, every burst of -eloquence which “brings down the house,” drives home one more rivet in -slavery’s chain; if slavery be an evil, they are but helping it on; it -is only human nature that it should be so, and so plain a fact “that -the wayfaring man cannot err therein.” Nature, and cause and effect, -are, I suppose, much the same the world over, and if our Southern -neighbors clasp their rights all the firmer, when assailed, and plant -the foot of resistance toe to toe with the foot of aggression, it -is not for <em>us</em> to complain of it; what differently should we -ourselves do? That slavery be an evil I am neither going to affirm nor -deny; let those pass judgment whom greater experience and observation -have made capable of judging; but allowing the affirmative in its -most exaggerated form, could it <em>possibly</em> be equal to the -pitiful scene of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span> confusion, distrust, and national paralysis before -and around us at the present hour, with the prospect of all the -impending danger threatening our vast Republic? Men talk flippantly of -dissolving the Union. This may happen, but in my humble opinion never -till our very horses gallop in human blood.</p> - -<p>But I must hold or I shall get to writing politics to you, and you -might tell me, as old <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Perry of New Jersey did Elder Lampson when -he advised him to leave off drinking whiskey and join the Temperance -Society. After listening long and patiently until the Elder had -finished his remarks, he looked up very, very benignly with, “Well, -Elder, your opinions are very good, and probably worth as much to -yourself as anybody.”</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Lincoln was elected and duly inaugurated. Clara heard the inauguration -address and liked it. She witnessed nothing in the ceremony of -inauguration which seemed immediately threatening. So far as she could -discover, no one present had any objection to permitting the new -President to live. There were rumors that Eli Thayer, of Worcester, who -had done more than any other man to make Kansas a free State, was to be -Commissioner of Patents. That was delightful news for her. It meant not -only an assured position, but an opportunity of service undisturbed by -needless annoyances. She had an invitation to the inauguration ball, -but had to decline that dreary function on account of a cold. On the -day following the inauguration, she wrote to Annie Childs, sister of -Frances, her account of the day’s events:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Washington City</span>, March 5th, 1861</p><p> -<span class="smcap">My Dear Annie</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have just a few minutes before dinner for which I have no positive -call, and I am going to inflict them on you. Of course you will not -expect an elaborate letter,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> for I by no means feel competent to the -task to-day if I had the time.</p> - -<p>The 4th of March has come and gone, and we have a <em>live -Republican</em> President, and, what is perhaps singular, during -the whole day we saw no one who appeared to manifest the least -dislike to his living. We had a crowd, of course, but not so utterly -overwhelming as had been anticipated; everywhere seemed to be just -full, and no more, which was a very pleasant state of affairs. The -ceremony was performed upon the East Capitol steps facing Capitol -Hill, you remember. The inaugural address was first delivered in a -loud, fine voice, which was audible to many, or a majority of the -assemblage. Only a very few of the United States troops were brought -to the Capitol at all, but were in readiness at their quarters and -other parts of the city; they were probably not brought out, lest it -look like menace. Great pains appeared to be taken to avoid all such -appearances, and indeed a more orderly crowd I think I never saw and -general satisfaction expressed at the trend and spirit of the Address. -Of course, it will not suit your latitude quite as well, but I hope -they may find it endurable.</p> - -<p>It is said that the Cabinet is formed and has been or will be -officially announced to-day. And there is some prospect of the -Honorable Eli Thayer being appointed Commissioner of Patents. Only -think of it! Isn’t it nice if it is true? <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Suydam has been spending -the week with us; left this morning. Mrs. Suydam is better, he says. -<abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Starr is here.</p> - -<p>We have had the most splendid spring weather you ever saw for two -weeks past, no rain, but bright sunshine; it has been frightfully -dusty some of the time and this day is one apparently borrowed from -Arabia, by the clouds of sand.</p> - -<p>I hear from you sister sometimes, but not until I have almost lost -trace of her each time, but I am, of course, most to blame. I hope -your business has revived with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> the approach of spring, as it -doubtless has. You will not be surprised if I tell you that I am in a -hopeless state of semi-nudity, just clear the law and nothing more. -Sally told me on her return that you would have come out and stayed -with us some this winter if you had thought it could have been made to -pay, but as usual I knew nothing of this until it was too near spring -to think of your leaving your business. How glad I should have been to -have had you here a month or two, and I think I could have relieved -you of the most of expense to say the least of it, if you were not -doing much at home, and what a comfort it would have been to me to -<em>get right</em> in the clothing line. Will there ever be another time -that you would think you could leave, and come to Washington if I -should remain?</p> - -<p>Where is Fannie? Is she having a vacation now? Please give my love to -her, and all inquiring friends, reserving a large share for yourself, -and believe me,</p> - -<p class="center"> -As ever, your loving friend</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Everybody would send love if they knew I were writing. I cannot report -the Inauguration Ball personally, as I was not present; after a -delightful invitation could not go. I have been having a very bad cold -for a few days and a worse cough than I ever had, but I hope to get -over it soon. I did not attend the last Levee.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span></p> - -<p class="footnote p2" id="fn4"><a href="#fna4">[4]</a> Mary—Mrs. Mamie Barton Stafford, daughter of David.</p> - -<p class="footnote" id="fn5"><a href="#fna5">[5]</a> Bubby—Stephen E. Barton, son of David, Miss Barton’s brother.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI"><big>CHAPTER XI</big><br /> -THE BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM</h2> -</div> - - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Clara Barton’s first service to the soldiers was only incidentally to -the wounded. There were only thirty<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> 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:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Washington</span>, April 25th, 1861</p> -<p> -<span class="smcap">My Dear Will</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>As you will perceive, I wrote you on the 19th, but have not found it -<em>perfectly convenient</em> 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 <em>nothing</em> 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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span> etc., etc., have -filled the largest market basket in the house and it will go to them -in the next hour.</p> - -<p>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 <em>me</em> and my <em>audience</em> -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.</p> - -<p>Write us and tell our friends to write and I will answer when I can. -Love to all.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">C. H. Barton</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>She was still signing her formal letters Clara H. Barton<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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”:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -Feb. 2nd, 1861</p> -<p> -<span class="smcap">Dear Brother</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>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 <em>part</em> -of my salary for this month—<em>but all right in the end</em>. 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 <em>myself</em>, -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 <em>least</em> need of the remaining fifteen -dollars just say so to the Colonel and he will honor your draft <em>so -quick</em> you will never know you made it. You may want<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span> 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 -<em>very sorry</em>.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 “<abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> 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 <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Buchanan’s <em>big party</em>. It -was splendid—General Scott and the military; in fact, we are getting -decidedly military in this region. But we have no winter. <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> 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.</p> - -<p>But I haven’t said a word about Grandpa. I am so <em>glad</em> to know -that he is better and even gets <em>into the kitchen</em>; that is -splendid, and besides he has had <em>company</em> 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 <em>you</em> 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 <em>forgot</em> 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, <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> -Porter’s, etc.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>How are all the children? I must write to <em>somebody</em> 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 <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Smith, for I don’t wish to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span> 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</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Your affectionate sister</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>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.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>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:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Washington</span>, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr>, May 19, 1861</p> -<p> -<span class="smcap">My dear Annie</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>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 <em>business</em>, 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, <em>know</em> 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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span> longer or shorter, and pay you all you ask for your -services. If it were winter I should <em>hope</em> 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 <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> -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.</p> - -<p>For war news I must refer you to a letter I have written <em>your -sister</em> to-day; she will show it to you.</p> - -<p>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—<em>noble old regiment they</em>; every one admires, and no one -envies; there seems to be no jealousy towards them, all yield the -precedence without a word, and <em>their governor</em>! I have no words -<em>good enough to talk about him with</em>. Will this little scrap be -better than nothing from your</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Loving Coz</p><p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>I have not forgotten my debt, but have nothing small enough to -enclose. I will pay it.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>How deeply stirred Clara Barton was by the events, which now were -happening thick and fast, is shown by a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span> 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:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Our sympathies are more enlisted for the poor bereaved <em>Zouaves</em> -than aught else. They who of all men in the land most <em>needed</em> a -leader and <em>had</em> 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 <em>thought</em> to -govern them, and now, when I read of one of them breaking over and -committing some trespass and is called to account<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span> 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 “<em>Ellsworth dead</em>” were not worth more to our -cause than the life of <em>any</em> man could be. <em>I</em> could not -tell, but He who knows all things and ruleth all in wisdom hath done -all things well.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span></p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<em>Washington</em>, June 9th, 1861<br /> -Sunday afternoon</p> -<p> -<span class="smcap">My dear Cousin Vira</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>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 “<em>mine</em>” 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span> 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.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>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:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Washington, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr></span>, July 22nd, 1861<br /> -Monday evening, 6 o’clock, <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span></p> -<p> -<span class="smcap">My dear Father</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>It becomes my painful duty to write you of the disaster of yesterday. -Our army has been unfortunate. That the results amount to a -<em>defeat</em> 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; <em>if roused<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span> to madness, and revenge</em>, it will yet prove -<span class="allsmcap">VICTORY</span>. But <em>no mortal</em> 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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -July 26th, Friday noon<br /> -</p> - -<p>You will think it strange that I <em>commenced</em> 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 <em>so</em> 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 “<em>Forward Movement</em>” which has been -so loudly clamored for, and I am a living witness of a corresponding -<em>Backward</em> 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 -<em>me</em> never pleasant; where I fain would have given them a smile -and cheer, <em>the bitter tears would come</em>; 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.</p> - -<p>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 <em>intended</em> battle, and most conflicting -accounts of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span> 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 <em>knew</em> 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 <em>could not be</em>; 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.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span></p><blockquote> - -<p>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.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>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:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Washington, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr></span>, December 16, 1861</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">Mrs. Miller</span>, Sec.,<br /> - Ladies’ Relief Committee,<br /> - Worcester, Mass.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">Dear Madam</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Your letter, mailed to me on the 11th, came duly to hand at a moment -when I was <em>more</em> 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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span> The men were -looking splendidly, and I need not tell you that the 25th is a -“<em>live</em>” regiment from its <em>Colonel</em> and <em>Chaplain</em> -down. Worcester County has just cause for pride.</p> - -<p>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 <em>said</em>, 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 <em>New England</em> 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 <em>then</em> faster than you could make. But only a <em>small</em> -portion of our army, comparatively speaking, are <em>New England -troops</em>,—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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> 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 <em>dropping off at the joint</em>; 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 <em>perishing for want of nourishment</em>. -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 <em>hungry</em> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span> 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, <em>private</em>, -Camp Pierpont,” and this would have been the end. Whoever could have -mistrusted that this soldier had <em>starved to death</em> 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, -“<em>we have no need of nurses</em>” and “<em>our army is supplied</em>.” -How this can be so I fail to see; still again it is not for me to -gainsay. We are <em>loyal</em> 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 <em>more</em> nurses; if with plenty of -persons about who failed to care for them we should think they needed -<em>better</em>. 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.</p> - -<p>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 <em>our army cannot afford</em> that our ladies lay -down their needles and fold their hands; if their contributions<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> are -not needed just to-day, they may be to-morrow, and <em>somewhere</em> -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 <em>wants</em> of our soldiers. When the -<em>storehouse</em> of <em>any</em> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span> should -have no fear of unreliability; this to me would be no experiment, for -however dimly and slowly I discern <em>other</em> points, <em>this</em> -has been clear to me from the first, strengthened by eight months’ -daily observation.</p> - -<p>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 <em>know</em> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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 <em>not</em> from any commission or committee, -but from Abraham Lincoln and Simon Cameron, and when they no longer -need your labors they will tell you.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>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:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>I was strong and thought I might go to the rescue of the men who fell. -The first regiment of troops, the old 6th<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>In later years people used sometimes to address her in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span> 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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII"><big>CHAPTER XII</big><br /> -HOME AND COUNTRY</h2> -</div> - - - -<p>The family and home life of Clara Barton occupy of necessity a smaller -place in this narrative than they rightfully deserve. Reference has -been made in the early pages of this work to Clara Barton’s advent into -a home which for several years had believed itself complete. It must -not be inferred on that account that the little late arrival was other -than heartily welcome. Nor must the fact that her more than normal -shyness and introspection during her childhood made her a problem be -understood as indicating any lack of sympathy between her and any -member of her household. On the contrary, her childhood memories were -happy ones, and her affection for every member of the household was -sincere and almost unbounded. Nor yet again must it be supposed that -her long absences from home weaned her heart away from those who were -entitled to her love. Love of family and pride of family and sincere -affection for every member of the home group were manifest in all her -correspondence. She left her home and went out into the world while -she was still a child in her own thought and in the thought of her -family. She became a teacher while she was still wearing the “little -waifish” dresses of her childhood. She had to do a large part of her -thinking and planning apart from the companionship of those she loved -best. But she loved them deeply and sincerely. The members of her -family receive only incidental mention in this narrative, and, with her -advent into wider fields of service,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span> they must drop increasingly into -the background and out of view. In order, however, that we may have in -mind their incidental mention, let us here record the condition of her -immediate family at the time of the outbreak of the Civil War.</p> - -<p>Her eldest sister Dorothy, born October 2, 1804, became an invalid and -died unmarried April 19, 1846, aged forty-one.</p> - -<p>Her brother Stephen, born March 20, 1806, married November 24, -1833, Elizabeth Rich, and died in Washington, March 10, 1865, aged -fifty-nine years. At the outbreak of the Civil War he was living in -Hertford County, North Carolina, whither he had gone in 1854. He had -established a large sawmill there, and gathered about it a group of -industries which by 1861 had become the most important concern in the -village. Indeed, the village itself had grown up about his enterprise, -and took its name, Bartonville, from him. When the war broke out, -he was past the age for military service. At the beginning of the -struggle, however, he had no mind to leave the South. While he was a -Union man, and every one knew it, he had been long enough in the South -to appreciate the position of the Southern people and had no mind -needlessly to wound their feelings. His mill, his store, his blacksmith -shop, his lands, his grain, his cattle, had been accumulated by him -through years of toil, and he desired to stay where he was and protect -his property. He did not believe—no one believed—that the war was -going to last so long. There was no service which at the beginning he -could render to the Northern cause. So he remained. As the war went on, -his situation grew less and less tenable, and, in time, dangerous. He -sent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span> his helpers North, some twenty of them. They made their way amid -perils and hardship, reached Washington where Clara Barton rendered -them assistance, and ultimately the most of them entered the Union -army. But earlier than this, in 1861 and at the beginning of 1862, his -family was growing increasingly anxious about him, and very desirous, -if possible, that he should get away. He was warned and threatened; at -one time he suffered a night assault by a mob. Bruised and battered -though he was, he fought them off single-handed and remained in the -South.</p> - -<p>Her younger brother David, born August 15, 1808, married, September -30, 1829, Julia Ann Maria Porter, lived to the age of eighty, and died -March 12, 1888. At the outbreak of the war David and Julia Barton had -four children—their twin daughters Ada and Ida, born January 18, 1847, -the one son, Stephen Emery, born December 24, 1848, and in 1861 a lad -of twelve, and the daughter Mary, born December 11, 1851.</p> - -<p>With her brother David, his wife Julia and his four children, Clara was -in continuous correspondence. His family lived in the old home, and she -kept in constant touch with them. Her sister-in-law Julia was very dear -to her, and perhaps the best correspondent in the family.</p> - -<p>Her sister Sarah, born March 20, 1811, married, April 17, 1834, Vester -Vassall, and died in May, 1874. At the outbreak of the war both the -children of this marriage were living. The younger son Irving, died -April 9, 1865. The elder son, Bernard Barton Vassall, born October 10, -1835, married, October 26, 1863, Frances Maria Childs, and died March -23, 1894. Mrs. Vassall is still living.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span></p> - -<p>With this family Clara’s relations were those of peculiar intimacy. -Her sister and her sister’s children were very dear to her. Irving was -a young man of fine Christian character, not physically strong enough -to bear arms, and was in Washington in the service of the Government -during the war. Bernard married Clara’s dear friend and assistant at -Bordentown. He was a soldier and during the war his wife Fannie lived -for a considerable time in Washington.</p> - -<p>Clara Barton’s mother, Sarah or Sally Stone, born November 13, 1783, -died July 10, 1851, aged sixty-eight. Her death occurred while Clara -was studying at Clinton, and the expressions of solitude in Clara’s -diary at the time of her perplexities over her love affairs, were -induced in part, though perhaps unconsciously, by her loneliness after -her mother’s death.</p> - -<p>Clara’s relations to her father were always those of peculiar nearness -and sympathy. In her childhood he was more constantly her companion -than her mother ever was. When Clara was away from home, nothing more -surely gave her concern than news from her brother or sister that -“father,” or from her nieces and nephews that “grandpa,” was not as -well as usual. Her diaries and her letters are burdened with her -solicitude for him. In the latter part of 1861 his health gave occasion -for some concern, but he seemed to recover. She made a journey to -Worcester and Oxford in December, but returned to Washington before -Christmas, taking with her boxes and trunks of provisions for the -soldiers which she wished to deliver if possible at Arlington, so as -to be closer to the place of actual need. Her nephew, Irving Vassall, -was with her on the return journey. The letter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> which preserves the -account of this expedition is interesting as recording her account of a -Sunday spent with the army. What took her there was her determination -to deliver her goods to the place of need before she returned to her -home in Washington. She was still learning military manners and the -ways of camp life, and was giving herself unsparingly to the collection -of supplies. She was assisting in hospital work in Washington, and -definitely planning to have a hospital there assigned to herself. As -yet, apparently, she had no definite plan to go herself directly to the -battle-field.</p> - -<p>November and the early part of December were mild. Day by day she -thanked God for every ray of sunshine, and night by night she lifted up -her heart in thanksgiving that the boys, who were sleeping on the bare -ground with only single threads of white canvas above them, were not -compelled to suffer from the rigors of cold. On December 9, 1861, she -wrote the following which was a kind of prayer of thanksgiving for mild -weather:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -December 9, 1861<br /> -</p> - -<p>The streets are thronged with men bright with tinsel, and the -clattering hoofs of galloping horses sound continually in our ears. -The weather is bright and warm as May, for which blessing I feel -hourly to thank the great Giver of all good gifts, that upon this vast -army lying like so many thousand herds of cattle on every side of our -bright, beleaguered city, with only the soil, for which they peril -life, beneath, and the single threads of white canvas above, watching -like so many faithful dogs, held by bonds stronger than death, yet -patient and uncomplaining. A merciful God holds the warring, pitiless -elements in his firm, benignant grasp, withholds the rigors of early -winter, and showers down upon their heads the genial rays<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> of untimely -warmth changing the rough winds of December to the balmy breezes of -April. Well may we hold thanksgiving and our army unite in prayer and -songs of praise to God.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Her diary at this period is irregular, and I have not yet discovered -a definite record of her journey from Washington and back, except in -her letter to the wife of an army surgeon, which she wrote on the day -before Christmas, 1861:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Washington</span>, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr>, December 24th, 1861</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">My darling Cousin</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>How naughtily I have neglected your cheering little letter, but it has -been all my hands and none my heart which have done the naughty thing. -I have wanted so to write you all the time, and intruders <em>would</em> -come between us and would have all my time. It was not always people. -Oh, no,—work and care, and an o’ergrown correspondence intruded upon -me, but I always solace myself with the thought that, if my friends -will only have a <em>little patience</em> with me, it will all come -right, and their turn will come at last, and after a time the best of -them learn me, and then in my easy, hurrying, slipshod way we come -to be correspondents for aye. In the course of a year I say a great -deal of nonsense to my correspondents, but I cannot always say it -when my head and heart are the fullest of it. But first let me hasten -to tell you what <em>cannot fail of being exceedingly gratifying</em> -to you, viz., that I am in a “<em>habit</em>” of receiving <em>daily -visits from your husband</em>. But I was a long time in getting about -it, however. I sent twice to his hotel, the great Pandemonium wherein -he is incarcerated, before Sunday, but could get no tidings all the -time. I was fearful he <em>was</em> here and I missing him, and then -I was almost certain that he was <em>not able</em> to be here; but at -length I could risk it no longer and wrote a hurried little note and -dropped in the office<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span> for him, and sure enough it brought him. I -was so <em>glad</em> to see him and so much <em>better</em> too, it is -<em>splendid</em>; but then he had been trying to find me, and I in the -meantime had, along with all Washington, removed! Just think of it, -but I removed out of a burden of care to perfect ease and yet can -<em>command</em> just as much room as I desire in case I need, and if -I have no need of it am not troubled with it—only that I have the -trouble of furnishing, at which Doctor may inform you I am making very -slow progress. I have so many things in Massachusetts <em>now</em> that -I want; my walls are perfectly bare, not a picture, and I have plenty -to furnish them. It is vexatious that I didn’t “know to take them” -when I was there. I fear to allow others to pack them.</p> - -<p>I suspect that, after the daily letter of your husband, inimitable -correspondent and conversationist that he is, there is nothing left -for me to relate of our big city, grown up so strangely like a gourd -all in a night; places which never before dreamed of being honored by -an inhabitant save dogs, cats, and rats, are converted into “elegantly -furnished rooms for rent,” and people actually live in them with all -the city airs of people really living in respectable houses, and I -suspect many of them do not <em>know</em> that they are positively -living in sheds, but we, who have become familiar with every old roof -years agone, know perfectly well what shelters them. Well, the present -aspect of our capital is a wide, fruitful field for description, and I -will leave it for the Doctor; he will clothe it in a far richer dress -than I could do.</p> - -<p>Perhaps you wish to know somewhat about my journey with my big trunks. -Well, it was perfectly quiet; nothing like an adventure to enliven -until we reached Baltimore, to which I had checked my baggage as the -nearest point to Annapolis, for which place I could not get checks, -but to which I had determined to go before proceeding to Washington. I -delivered my checks to the expressman, took receipts, and gave every -conductor on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span> the train to understand that <em>my baggage</em> was -to be taken through the city in the same train with myself (for we -disconnect and come through Baltimore in horse-cars); but just imagine -my vexation when, as our train commenced to move off, I saw my baggage -just moving by slow teams <em>up</em> the street in the direction of our -train. It had no checks, and I must not become long separated from -it; the train was in motion and I could not leave it. I had no idea -what would be done with it, whether retained in Baltimore, sent to -Annapolis junction, or forwarded to Washington. I had to think fast, -and you remember it was Saturday night. Relay House was the nearest -station. I left the train there (Irving went on to Washington), and -proceeded directly to the telegraph office and telegraphed back to -Baltimore describing the baggage and directing it to come on the -next train one hour later. They had just time to get it aboard, and -on the arrival of the train I found it in the baggage car, took that -train, and proceeded “nine miles to the junction,” stopped too late -for Annapolis that night, chartered the parlor and sofa,—every room -in the house filled with officers,—and as good luck would have it a -train (special) ran down from Annapolis the next day about eleven, -for a regiment of Zouaves, and I claimed my seat, and went, too, -and the first any one knew I presented myself at the Headquarters -of the 21st. You will have to imagine the cordial, affable Colonel -springing from his seat with both hands extended, the extremely polite -Lieutenant-Colonel Maggie, always in full dress with the constantly -worn sword, with eyes and hair so much blacker than night, going -through a succession of bows and formalities, which <em>I</em>, a -simple, home-bred, unsophisticated Yankee didn’t know what upon earth -to do with, completely confounded!—till the clear, appreciative, -knowing twinkle of our “cute” Major Clark’s eyes set things right -again; and almost the last, our honest, modest “Cousin” Fletcher -coming up away round on the other<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span> side for his word, and not one -among them all to whom I could extend a more cordial greeting. Please -tell Grandma that he hasn’t broken a limb; his horse fell with him -and hurt his shoulder, but it is nearly well now. I was just in time -for a seat between the Colonel and Lieutenant-Colonel at dinner, and -accompanying them to the Chapel to listen to the opening discourse of -their newly arrived chaplain, <abbr title="Reverend">Rev.</abbr> <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Ball, Unitarian. He addressed -the men with great kindness of manner, beseeching them to come near to -him with all their trials, burdens, and temptations, and let him help -to bear them. He was strong to bear, patient to hear, and willing to -do, and his arm, and his ear, and his heart were theirs for all good -purposes. There was many a glistening eye among that thousand waiting -men, still as the night of death; for a regiment of soldiers can be -the stillest living thing I ever looked at. The 21st are in the main -good, true men, and I was glad that a man of gentle speech and kind -and loving heart had come among them.</p> - -<p>Next morning brought some of our good Worcester ladies from the 25th -to our Camp, among whom was the daughter-in-law of your neighbor <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> -Denny. A beautiful coach and span of horses were found, and a cozy, -but rather gay, party of us started for the Camp of the 25th, and -here we found your excellent pastor, <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> James, the best specimen of -a <em>true</em> soldier that I ever saw; nothing too vast for his mind -to grasp, nothing too trivial (if needful) to interest him, cheerful, -brave, and tireless, watching like a faithful sentry the wants of -every soldier, and apparently more than equal to every emergency. -What a small army of <em>such</em> men were sufficient to overcome all -our present difficulties! You should see his tent; it was a cold, -raw day, more so than any which has followed it, but the moment I -was inside I found myself <em>so warm</em> and my feet grew warm as if -I were standing over a register, and I could not see where the heat -came from; but my curiosity was irrepressible, and I had to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span> ask an -explanation of the mystery,—when <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> James raised a little square -iron lid, like the door of a stove (which I believe it was), almost -hidden in the ground, in among the dried grass, and to my astonishment -revealed a miniature volcano blazing beneath our very feet. The whole -ground beneath his tent seemed to be on fire, with currents of air -passing through which fed the flame, and took away the smoke. There -was, of course, no dampness in the tent, and I could see no reason -why it should be less healthy, or comfortable indeed (excepting small -space), than any house, and such piles of letters and books and -Neddy’s picture over the table, and the quiet little boy, following -close and looking up in his master’s face, like any pet, all presented -a scene which I wished his intelligent and appreciative wife, at -least, could have looked in upon. Oh, yes, I must not “forget” to -mention the conspicuous position which <em>Grandma’s mittens</em> -occupied upon the table. <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> James put them on to show what a nice fit -they were and wondered what “Grandma” would say if she were to look in -upon him in his tent.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Clara Barton was still in Washington through January and apparently -through February, 1862. Not always was she able to include pleasant -weather among the occasions of her thanksgiving. Every now and again a -pitiless storm beat down upon the soldiers, who were poorly provided -with tents and blankets. Frequently she met among the soldiers in -Washington some of her old pupils. She was never able to look upon -armies as mere masses of troops; she had to remember that they were -individual men, each capable of suffering pain in his own person, and -each of them carrying with him to the front the anxious thought of -loved ones at home. This was the burden of a letter which she wrote on -January 9, 1862:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Washington, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr></span>, <abbr title="January">Jan’y</abbr> 9th, 1862<br /> -Thursday morning</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">My darling Sis Fannie</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>In spite of everything, I shall this moment commence this note to you, -and I shall finish it as soon as I can, and when it is finished, I -shall send it. In these days of “Proclamations,” this is mine.</p> - -<p>I am truly thankful for the institution of ghosts, and that mine -haunted you until you felt constrained to cry out for “relief”—not -that I would have invoked discomfort upon you, or welcomed it when it -should come, but your letter was <em>so</em> welcome, how <em>could</em> I -in mortal weakness be so unselfish as not to hail with joy <em>any</em> -“provoking cause”? You perceive that my idea of ghosts is not limited -to graveyards and tombs, or the tenants thereof; indeed, so far from -it, the most troublesome I have ever known were at times the inmates -of living and moving bodies habiting among other people, coming -out only occasionally like owls and bats to frighten the weak and -discourage the weary. I am rejoiced to know that you are comfortable -and happy, and that your school is not wearing you—you are perfectly -right, never let another school be a burden of care upon you; you -will do all your duty without any such soul-vexing labors. I envy -you and Miss Bliss your long social intellectual evenings; please -play I am there sometimes. I will be so quiet, and never disturb -a bit, but, dear me, I am in rougher scenes, if in scenes at all. -My head is just this moment full to aching, bursting with all the -thoughts and doings of our pet expedition. A half-hour ago came to -my room the last messenger from them, the last I shall have in all -probability until the enemy’s galling shot shall have raked through -the ranks of my dear boys, and strewn them here and there, bleeding, -crippled, and dying. Only think of it! the same fair faces that only -a few years ago came every morning, newly washed, hair nicely combed, -bright and cheerful, and took their places<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> quietly and happily among -my scholars,—the same fair heads (perhaps now a few shades darker) -that I have smoothed and patted in fond approval of some good deed -or well-learned task, so soon to lie low in the Southern sands, -blood-matted and tangled, trampled under foot of man and horse, buried -in a common trench “unwept, uncoffined, and unknown.” For the last two -weeks my very heart has been crushed by the sad thoughts and little -touching scenes which have come in my way. It tires me most when one -would get a few hours’ leave from his regiment at Annapolis, and come -to me with some little sealed package, and perhaps his “warrant” as -a non-commissioned officer, and ask me to keep it for him, either -until he returns for it, or—<em>when I should read his name in the -“Black List,” send it home</em>. And by the time his errand were well -done, his little hour would be up and, with a hearty grasp of the -hand, an earnest, deep-toned “good-bye,” he stepped from my presence, -marching cheerfully, bravely out—“To die,” I said to myself, as my -soul sunk within me, and the struggling breath would choke and stop, -until the welcome shower of tears came to my relief. Oh, the hours I -have wept alone over scenes like these, no mortal knows! To any other -friend than you, I should not feel like speaking so freely of such -things, but you, who know how foolishly tender my friendships are, and -how I loved “my boys,” will pardon me, and not think me strange or -egotistical. But I must forget myself, and tell you what the messenger -said. It was simply that they were all on board; that, when he left, -the harbor was full, literally crammed with boats and vessels, covered -with men, shouting from every deck. At every breeze that lifted -the drooping flag aloft, a shout went up that deafened and drowned -every other sound, save the roar of the cannon, following instantly, -drowning them in return. The....</p> - -<p>Well, just as I knew it would be when I commenced twenty days ago to -write you, some one interrupted me,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span> and then came the returning hours -of tedious labor, and a thrice-told quantity has held me fast until -now. I have been a great deal <em>more</em> than busy for the past three -weeks, owing to some new arrangements in the office, mostly, by which -I lead the Record, and hurry up the others who lag.</p> - -<p>Our city has known very little change, since I commenced my first -sheet, although everybody but the wise people have looked intently for -something new, and desperately dreadful, some “forward movement” or -backward advance, but nothing of the kind has happened, doubtless much -to our credit and comfort. No private returns from the “expedition” -yet, but the Commandant of the Post at Annapolis, who just left me a -moment ago, says that the Baltic will leave there this <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> -to join them in their landing wherever it may be.</p> - -<p>Colonel Allen’s death was a most sad affair: his regiment was the -first to embark at Annapolis, a splendid regiment 1200 strong. But a -truce to wars, so here’s my white flag, only I suppose you “don’t see -it,” do you? By this time you are reveling in the February number of -the “Atlantic.” So am I. I have just laid down “A. C.” after a hurried -perusal; not equal to “Love and Skates,” though; what a capital thing -that is! But the “Yankee Idyll” caps all that has yet been done or -said. I <em>cannot</em> lay <em>that</em> down, and keep it there; it -<em>will</em> come up again, the thoughts to my mind, and the pages to -my hand.</p> - -<p class="poetry p0"> -“Old Uncle S,—says he, I guess,<br /> -God’s price is high, says he.”<span class="fnanchor" id="fna6"><a href="#fn6">[6]</a></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Who ever heard so much, so simply and so quaintly expressed?—there -are at least ten volumes of good sound Orthodoxy embodied just there -in that single stanza. But “Port Royal” mustn’t be eclipsed. The -glories of that had been radiating through my mind, however, since its -first appearance in the “Tribune”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span> (if that were the first; it was the -first I saw of it), and I thought it so beautiful that I shouldn’t be -able to relish another poem for at least six weeks, and here it is, so -soon bedimmed by a <em>rival</em>. Oh, the fickleness of human nature, -and human loves, a beautiful pair they are, surmounted by the Godlike -“Battle Hymn”<span class="fnanchor" id="fna7"><a href="#fn7">[7]</a></span> tossing over all. What did our poets do for subjects -before the war? It’s a Godsend to them, I am certain, and they equally -so to us; sometimes I think them the only bright spot in the whole -drama.</p> - -<p>Well, here I am at <em>war</em> again. I knew’t would be so when I -signed that treaty on the previous page. I’m as bad as England; the -fight is in me, and I will find a pretext.</p> - -<p>I have not seen our North Oxford “Regulars” for some time owing to -the fact that a sea of mud has lain between me and them for the last -three weeks, utterly impassable. A few weeks ago Cousin Leander -called me to see a member of his “mess” who was just attacked with -pleuritic fever. I went, and found him in hospital. He was cheerful -(a fine young man) and thought he should be out soon. Work and storm -kept me from him three days, and the fourth we bought him a grave in -the Congressional Burying Ground. Poor fellow, and there he lies all -alone. A <em>soldier’s</em> grave, a sapling at the head, a rough slab -at the foot, nine shots between, and all is over. He waits God’s bugle -to summon him to a reënlistment in the Legion of Angels.</p> - -<p>Well, it’s no use, I’ve broken the peace again, and I <em>can’t</em> -keep it. I hope you live in a more peaceful community than I do, and -are consequently more manageable and less belligerent....</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>The foregoing letter dealt almost wholly with national affairs. Family -matters were giving her little concern<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span> during the twenty days in which -this unfinished missive lay on her desk. But scarcely had she mailed it -when she received this letter concerning her father:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">North Oxford, Mass.</span>, January 13, 1862</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">My dear Clara</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I sat up with Grandpa last night and he requested me to write to you -and tell how he was. Some one has to sit up with him to keep his fire -regulated. He takes no medicine, and says he shall take <em>no</em> -more. He is quite low-spirited at times, and last night very much so. -Complains of pains in his back and bowels; said he should not stop -long with us, and should like to see you once more before he died. He -spoke in high terms of Julie and of the excellent care she had taken -of him, but said after all there was no one like you. I think he fails -slowly and is gradually wearing out. A week ago he was quite low; so -feeble that he was unable to raise himself in bed; now he is more -comfortable and walks out into the sitting-room ’most every day. He -cannot be prevailed upon to go to bed, but sits in his great chair and -sleeps on the lounge. When he was the sickest I notified <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Darling -of his situation and he called. Grandpa told him his medicine did -not help or hurt him. Doctor left him some drops, but said he had no -confidence in his medicine and he did not think it would help him. -His appetite is tolerably good for all kinds of food, and what he -wants he will have. I hardly know what to write about him. I do not -wish to cause unnecessary alarm, and at the same time I want you to -fully understand his case. As I said before, he gets low-spirited and -disconsolate, but I think he may stand by us some months longer, and -yet, he may be taken away at any moment. Of course every new attack -leaves him feebler and more childish. He wants to see you again and -seems quite anxious about it, but whether about anything in particular -he did not say....</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Sam Barton</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span></p> - - -<p>Thus, at the beginning of February, 1862, she was called back to -Oxford. Her father, who had several times seemed near to death, but -who had recovered again and again, was now manifestly nearing the -end. She was with him more than a month before he died. His mind was -clear, and they were able to converse about all the great matters which -concerned them and their home and country. He made his final business -arrangements; he talked with the children who were there, and about -the children who were away. He was greatly concerned for Stephen, at -that time shut in by the Confederate army. Even if the Northern armies -could reach him, as they seemed likely to do before long, neither Clara -nor her father felt sure that he would leave. There was an element of -stubbornness in the Barton family, and Stephen was disposed to stand -his ground against all threats and all entreaties. Clara and her father -felt that the situation was certainly more serious than even Stephen -could realize. To invite him to return to Oxford and sit down in -idleness was worse than useless, and he could not render any military -service. Not only was he too old, but he had a hernia. But she felt -sure that if he were in Washington there would be something that he -could do; and, as was subsequently proved, she was right about it. -There were no mails between Massachusetts or Washington and the place -of his residence, but Clara had opportunity to send a letter which she -hoped would reach him. She wrote guardedly, for it was not certain into -whose hands the letter might fall. Sitting by her father’s bedside she -wrote the following long epistle:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">North Oxford</span>, March 1st, 1862</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">My dear Exiled Brother</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I trust that at length I have an opportunity of speaking to you -without reserve. I only wish I might talk with you face to face, for -in all the shades of war which have passed over us, we must have taken -in many different views. I would like to compare them, but as this -cannot be, I must tell you mine, and in doing so I shall endeavor -to give such opinions and facts as would be fully endorsed by every -friend and person here whose opinions you would ever have valued. I -would sooner sever the hand that pens this than mislead you, and you -may <em>depend</em> upon the <em>strict fact</em> of everything I shall -say, remembering that I shall overcolor nothing.</p> - -<p>In the first place, let me remove the one great error, prevalent -among all (Union) people at the South, I presume,—viz., that this -is a war of “Abolitionism” or abolitionists. This is not so; our -Government has for its object the restoration of the Union <em>as it -was</em>, and will do so, unless the resistance of the South prove so -obstinate and prolonged that the abolition or overthrow of slavery -follow as a <em>consequence</em>—never an object. Again, the idea of -“<em>subjugation</em>.” This application never originated with the -North, nor is it tolerated there, for an instant; desired by no one -unless, like the first instance, it follows as a necessity incident -upon a course of protracted warfare. Both these ideas are used as -stimulants by the Southern (mis)leaders, and without them they could -never hold their army together a month. The North are fighting for -the maintenance of the Constitutional Government of the United States -and the defense and honor of their country’s flag. This accomplished, -the army are ready to lay down their arms and return to their homes -and peaceable pursuits, and our leaders are willing to disband them. -Until such time, there will be found no willingness on the part of -either. We have now in the field between 500,000 and 600,000 soldiers; -more cavalry<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span> and artillery than we can use to advantage, our navy -growing to a formidable size, and all this vast body of men, clothed, -fed, and paid, as was never an army on the face of the earth before, -perfectly uniformed, and hospital stores and clothing lying idly by -waiting to be used; we feel no scarcity of money. I am not saying -that we are not getting a large national debt, but I mean to say -that our people are not feeling the pinchings of “war-time.” The -people of the North are as comfortable as you used to see them. You -should be set down in the streets of Boston, Worcester, New York, -or Philadelphia to-day, and only by a profusion of United States -flags and occasionally a soldier home on a furlough would you ever -mistrust that we were <em>at war</em>. Let the fire bells ring in any of -those cities, and you will never miss a man from the crowds you have -ordinarily seen gather on such occasions. We can raise another army -like the one we have in the field (only better men as a <em>mass</em>), -arm and equip them for service, and still have men and means enough -left at home for all practical purposes. Our troops are just beginning -to be effective, only just properly drilled, and are now ready to -commence work in earnest or just as ready to lay down their arms when -the South are ready to return to the Union, as “loyal and obedient -States”; not obedient to the <em>North</em>, but obedient to the laws -of the whole country. Our relations with foreign countries are -amicable, and our late recent victories must for a long time set at -rest all hope or fears of foreign interference, and even were such an -event probable, the Federal Government would not be dismayed. We are -doubtless in better condition to meet a foreign foe, along with all -our home difficulties to-day, than we should have been all together -one year ago to-day. Foreign powers stand off and look with wonder -to see what the Americans have accomplished in ten months; they will -be wary how they wage war with “Yankees” after this. I must caution -here, lest you think there is in all I say<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span> something of the spirit -of “brag.” There is not a vestige of it. I am only stating plain -facts, and not the hundredth part of them. I do not feel exultant, -but humble and grateful that under the blessing of God, my country -and my people have accomplished what they have; and even <em>were</em> -I exulting, it would be <em>for</em> you, and not over, or against you, -for “according to the straightest of your sect,” have you lived a -“Yankee.” And this brings me to the point of my subject; here comes my -request, my prayer, supplication, entreaty, command—call it what you -will, only <em>heed it</em>, at once. <span class="smcap">Come home</span>, not home to -Massachusetts, but home to <em>my</em> home; I want you in Washington. -I could cover pages, fill volumes, in telling you all the anxiety -that has been felt for you, all the hours of anxious solicitude that -I have known in the last ten months, wondering where you were, or if -you were at all, and planning ways of getting to you, or getting you -to me, but never until now has any safe or suitable method presented -itself, and now that the expedition has opened a means of escape, I -am tortured with the fear that, under the recent call of the State, -you may have been drafted into the enemy’s service. If you are -still at your place and this letter reaches you, I desire, and most -sincerely advise, you to make ready, and, when the opportunity shall -present (which surely will), place yourself, with such transportable -things as you may desire to take, on board one of our boats, under -protection of our officers, and be taken to the landing at Roanoke, -and from thence by some of our transports up to Annapolis, where -either myself or friends will be waiting for you, then go with me to -Washington and call your days of trial over;—for so it can be done. -If we could have known when General Burnside’s expedition left, that -it was destined for your place, Sam would have accompanied them, and -made his way to you on the first boat up your river; as it is, he -is coming now, hoping that he may be in time to reach you, and have -your company<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span> back. I want in some way that this and other letters -reach you before he does, that you may make such preparations as -will be necessary, and be ready, whenever he shall appear, to step -on board and set your face toward a more peaceful quarter. You will -meet a welcome from our officers such as you little dream of, unless -perchance you have already met them. If you have, you have found -them gentlemen and friends; you will find scores of old friends in -that expedition, all anxious to see you, would do anything to serve -you if you were with them, but don’t know where to find you. There -are some down on the Island, among General Burnside’s men, who have -your address, but they would scarcely be on our gunboats. There are -plenty of men there who have not only your name in their pockets, -but your memory in their hearts, and would hail you with a brother’s -welcome. General Butler came in at Hatteras with a long letter in his -possession relating to you, and if he had advanced so far, he would -have claimed you. I don’t know how many of our prominent Worcester -men have come or sent to me for your address, to make it known among -our troops if ever they reached you, that they might offer you any -aid in their power. No one can bear the idea of our forces going near -you without knowing all about you, and claiming and treating you as a -brother; you were never as near and dear to the people of Worcester -County as you are to-day. I have seen the tears roll over more than -one man’s face when told that Sam was going to see and take something -to you, and bring you away if you would come. “God grant he may” is -the hearty ejaculation which follows. I want to tell you who you -will find among the officers and men composing the Expedition near -you; Massachusetts has five regiments—21st, 23rd, 24th, 25th, 27th; -the 21st and 25th were raised in Worcester, the former under Colonel -Augustus Morse, of Leominster, formerly Major-General Morse, of the -3rd Division, State Militia: he is detached from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span> regiment and -is commandant (or second in command now) of the post at Annapolis. -It is he who will send Sam free of cost to you. He is a good, true -friend of mine, and tells me to send Sam to him, and he will put him -on the track to you. He will also interest both General Burnside and -Commander Goldsburgh in both of you and leave nothing undone for your -comfort and interest. In the meantime he is waiting to grasp your -hand, and share his table and blanket with you at Annapolis. So much -for him; the other officers of the regiment are Lieutenant-Colonel -Maggi, Major Clark (of Amherst College, Professor of Chemistry), -<abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Calvin Cutter as surgeon (you remember Cutter’s Physiology), -Adjutant Stearns, Chaplain Ball, etc. etc. all of whom know me, are -my friends, and will be yours in an instant; among the men are scores -of boys whom you know. You can’t enter <em>that</em> regiment without -a shout of welcome, unless you do it <em>very slyly</em>. Then for the -25th, Colonel Upton, of Fitchburg, Lieutenant-Colonel Sprague, of -Worcester, Major Caffidy, of W., Chaplain Reverend Horace James, of -the Old South, Cousin Ira’s old minister, one of the bravest men in -the regiment, one of my best friends, and yours too; Captain I. Waldo -Denny, son of Denny the insurance agent. The Captain has been talking -about you for the last six months, and if he once gets hold of you -will be slow to release you unless you set your face for me; the old -gentleman (his father) has been very earnest in devising plans all -through the difficulties to reach, aid, or get you away as might be -best. He came to me in Washington for your address and all particulars -long months ago, hoping that he could reach you through just some such -opening as the present. I state all this because it is due you that -you should know the state of feeling held towards you by your old -friends and acquaintances whether you choose to come among them or -not. Even old Brine was in here a few minutes ago, and is trying to -have Sam take a hundred dollars of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span> <em>his</em> money out to you, lest -you should need it and cannot get it there; the old fellow urged it -upon me with the tears running down his cheeks. There is no bitterness -here, even towards the Southerners themselves, and men would give -their lives to save the Union men of the South. The North feel it to -be a necessity to put down a rebellion, and there the animosity ends. -Now, my advice to you would be this; if you do not see fit to follow -it, you will promise not to take offense or think me conceited in -<em>presuming</em> to advise you; under ordinary circumstances I would -not think of the thing, as you very well know. I get my privilege -merely from the different standpoint I occupy. No word or expression -has ever come from you, and you are regarded as a Union man closed -in and unable to leave, standing by your property to guard it. This -expedition is supposed to have opened the way for your safe exit or -escape to your native land, friends, and loyal Government, and if now -you should take the first opportunity to leave and report yourself -at your own Government you would find yourself a hundred times more -warmly received than if you had been here naturally, all the time. So -far as lay in the power of our troops your property would be sacredly -protected, far more so than if you remained on it in a manner a -little hostile or doubtful. I am not certain but the best thing for -<abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Riddick would be for you to leave just in this way, and surely I -would have his property harmed no more than yours. I have understood -<abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Riddick to be a Union man at heart like hundreds of other men whom -our Government desires to protect from all harm and secure against -all loss. This being the case, the best course for both of you which -could be adopted, in my judgment, is for you to leave with our troops. -This will secure the property against them; they would never harm a -hair of it intentionally knowing it to belong to you, a Union man -who had come away with them, and you could so represent the case -of <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Riddick that his rights and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span> property would be respected by -them. <em>He would be infinitely more secure for such a move on your -part</em>, while his connection with you would, I trust, be sufficient -to secure your property from molestation by his neighbors, who would -be slow to offend or injure him. If you leave and your property be -<em>un</em>officially injured by our troops, the Federal Government -must be held responsible for it, and if, after matters are settled, -and business revives, you should find your attachment to your home so -strong as to desire to return, I trust you could do so, as I would by -no means have you do anything to weaken the goodly feeling between you -and your friend, <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Riddick, for whom we have all learned to feel the -utmost degree of grateful respect, and I cannot for a moment think -that he would seriously disagree with my conclusions or advice. At all -events, I am willing he should know them, or see or hear any portions -of this letter which might be desired. I deal perfectly fairly and -honestly with all, and I have written or said nothing that I am or -shall be unwilling to have read by either side. I am a plain Northern -Union woman, honest in my feelings and counsels, desiring only the -good of all, disguising nothing, covering nothing, and so far my -opinions are entitled to respect, and will, I trust, be received with -confidence. If you will do this as I suggest and come at once to me at -Washington, you need have no fears of remaining idle. This Sam will -tell you of when you see him, better than for me to write so much. -Washington had never so many people and so much business as now. Some -of it would be for you at once.</p> - -<p>You must not for a moment suppose that you would be offered any -position which would interfere with any oath you may have given, -for all know that you must have done something of this nature to -have remained in that country through such times, unharmed, and all -know you too well to approach you with any such request, as that you -shall forfeit your word. Now, what more can<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span> I say, only to repeat -my advice, and desire you to consult <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Riddick in relation to the -matter (if you think best) and leave the result with you, and you with -the good God, whom I daily desire and implore to sustain, guide, keep, -and protect you in the midst of all your trials and isolation.</p> - -<p>I sent a short letter to you some weeks ago, which I rather suppose -must have reached you, in which I told you of the failing condition -of our dear old father. He is still failing and rapidly; he cannot -remain with us many days, I think (this calls me home); his appetite -has entirely failed; he eats nothing and can scarcely bear his weight, -growing weaker every hour. He has talked a <em>hundred volumes</em> -about you; wishes he could see you, knows he cannot, but hopes you -will come away with Sam until the trials are ended which distress our -beloved country. Samuel will tell you more than I can write.</p> - -<p>Hoping to see you soon I remain</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Ever your affectionate sister</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara</span><br /> -</p> - -</blockquote> -<p>It was beside her father’s death-bed that Clara Barton consecrated -herself to work at the battle-front. She talked the whole problem -over with him. She told him what she had seen in the hospitals -at Washington, and that was none too encouraging. But the thing -that distressed her most of all was the shocking loss of life and -increase of suffering due to the transportation of soldiers from the -battle-field to the base hospitals in Washington. She saw more of this -later, but she had seen enough of it already to be appalled by the -conditions that existed. After Fredericksburg she wrote about it in -these terms:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>I went to the 1st Division, 9th Corps Hospital; found eight officers -of the 57th lying on the floor with a blanket<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span> under them, none over; -had had some crackers once that day. About two hundred left of the -regiment. Went to the Old National Hotel, found some hundreds (perhaps -four hundred) Western men sadly wounded, all on the floors; had -nothing to eat. I carried a basket of crackers, and gave two apiece -as far as they went and some pails of coffee; they had had no food -that day and there was none for them. I saw them again at ten o’clock -at night; they had had nothing to eat; a great number of them were to -undergo amputation sometime, but no surgeons yet; they had not dippers -for one in ten. I saw no straw in any hospital, and no mattresses, and -the men lay so thick that gangrene was setting in, and in nearly every -hospital there has been set apart an <em>erysipelas</em> ward.</p> - -<p>There is not room in the city to receive the wounded, and those that -arrived yesterday mostly were left lying in the wagons all night -at the mercy of the drivers. It rained very hard, many died in the -wagons, and their companions, where they had sufficient strength, had -raised up and thrown them out into the street. I saw them lying there -early this morning; they had been wounded two and three days previous, -had been brought from the front, and after all this lay still another -night without care, or food, or shelter, many doubtless famished -after arriving in Fredericksburg. The city is full of houses, and -this morning broad parlors were thrown open and displayed to the view -of the rebel occupants the bodies of the dead Union soldiers lying -beside the wagons in which they perished. Only those most slightly -wounded have been taken on to Washington; the roads are fearful and -it is worth the life of a wounded man to move him over them. A common -ambulance is scarce sufficient to get through. We passed them this -morning four miles out of town, full of wounded, with the tongue -broken or wheels crushed in the middle of a hill, in mud from one -to two feet deep; what was to be done with the moaning, suffering -occupants God only knew.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span></p> - -<p><abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Hitchcock most strongly and earnestly and indignantly remonstrates -against any more removals of broken or amputated limbs. He declares -it little better than murder, and says the greater proportion of them -will die if not better fed and afforded more room and better air. The -surgeons do <em>all</em> they <em>can</em>, but no provision had been made -for such a wholesale slaughter on the part of any one, and I believe -it would be impossible to comprehend the magnitude of the necessity -without witnessing it.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Clara Barton knew these matters better in 1863 than she did at the -beginning of 1862, but she knew something about them when she reached -her father’s bedside, and he entered intelligently and with sympathy -into the recital of her story. He had been a soldier and he understood -exactly the conditions which she described. Her old friend Colonel -De Witt, formerly a member of Congress from her home district, also -appreciated what she had to say. On a day when her father was able to -be left, she went with Colonel De Witt to Boston to call on Governor -John A. Andrew. She had much to tell him about conditions and life in -the hospitals, and also something concerning leaks which she knew to be -occurring in Washington and vicinity, and of treasonable organizations -operating close to the capital, in constant communication with the -enemy. A few days after this call the Washington papers contained -an account of the arrest of twenty-five or thirty Secessionists at -Alexandria, and the disclosure of just such a “leak” and plot as she -had related to Governor Andrew:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -Sunday Chronicle, March 2nd, 1862<br /> -</p> - -<p>Important Arrests at Alexandria.—Quite a sensation was produced -in Alexandria on last Thursday evening<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span> by the arrest of some -twenty-five or thirty alleged secessionists, who are charged with -being concerned in a secret association for the purpose of giving aid -and comfort to the rebels. The conspiracy, it seems, was organized -under the pretended forms of a relief association, and comprised -all the treasonable objects of affording relief to the enemy. It is -further stated that a fund was obtained from rebel sympathizers for -the purpose of supporting the families of soldiers in the service of -the “Confederate States,” on the identical plan of the noble Relief -Commission of Philadelphia, established with such different motives. -It has also been engaged in the manufacture of rebel uniforms, which -were distributed among the subordinate female associations. The -purpose of the plotters was also to furnish arms and munitions of -war. A considerable quantity has been discovered packed for shipment, -consisting of knapsacks and weapons. Letters were found acknowledging -the receipt through the agency of the association of rifles and -pistols in Richmond....</p> - -<p>Among the papers secured are many letters implicating persons -heretofore unsuspected.</p> - -<p>The parties were brought to this city on Friday, and lodged in the old -Capital prison. As they passed along the avenue, under the guard of -soldiers, they appeared to be quite indifferent as to their fate and -the enormity and baseness of the crime with which they are charged. -The majority of them presented a very respectable appearance, and were -followed to jail by an anxious crowd of men and boys.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Clara Barton asked her father his opinion of the feasibility of her -getting to the front. He did not discourage the idea. He knew his -daughter and believed her capable of accomplishing what she set out to -do. Moreover, he knew the American soldier. He felt sure that Clara -would be protected from insult, and that her presence would be welcome -to the soldiers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span></p> - -<p>Having thus been favorably introduced to Governor Andrew, and her story -of the secret operations of Secessionists near Washington having been -confirmed, she felt that she could write the Governor and ask him for -permission to go to the very seat of war. She had been sending supplies -to Roanoke, and Newbern, North Carolina, and she wished very much that, -as soon as her father should have passed away, she might be permitted -to go with her supplies and perform her own work of distribution. From -her father’s bedside she wrote the following letter to Governor Andrew:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">North Oxford</span>, Mar. 20, 1862</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">To His Excellency John A. Andrew</span>, Governor<br /> - of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Governor Andrew will perhaps recollect the writer as the lady who -waited upon him in company with <abbr title="Honorable">Hon.</abbr> Alexander De Witt, to mention the -existence of certain petitions from the officers of the Massachusetts -Regiments of Volunteers, relating to the establishment of an agency in -the City of Washington.</p> - -<p>With the promise of Your Excellency to “look after the leak” came a -“lessening of my fears,” and the immediate discovery of the truly -magnificent rebel organization in Alexandria, and the arrest of -twenty-five of the principal actors, including the <em>purchasing -committee</em>, brought with it not only entire satisfaction, but a -joy I had scarce known in months. Since September I had been fully -conscious in my own mind of the existence of something of this kind, -and in October attempted to warn our Relief Societies, but, in the -absence of all proof, I must perforce <em>say</em> very little. I -should never have brought the subject before you again, only that I -incidentally learned that our excellent <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Hitchcock has taken back -from Roanoke other papers relating to the same subject, which will -doubtless be laid before you,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span> and, as I have an entirely different -boon to crave, I find it <em>necessary</em> to speak.</p> - -<p>I desire Your Excellency’s permission to go to Roanoke. I should -have proffered my request weeks earlier, but I am called home to -witness the last hours of my old soldier father, who is wearing out -the remnant of an oak and iron constitution, seasoned and tempered -in the wild wars of “Mad Anthony.” His last tale of the Red Man is -told; a <em>few</em> more suns, and the old soldier’s weary march is -ended,—honorably discharged, he is journeying home.</p> - -<p>With this, my highest duties close, and I would fain be allowed to go -and administer comfort to our brave men, who peril life and limb in -defense of the priceless boon the fathers so dearly won.</p> - -<p>If I know my own heart, I have none but right motives. I ask neither -pay nor praises, simply a soldier’s fare and the sanction of Your -Excellency to go and do with my might, whatever my hands find to do.</p> - -<p>In General Burnside’s noble command are upwards of forty young men who -in former days were my pupils. I am glad to know that somewhere they -have learned their duty to their country, and have come up neither -cowards nor traitors. I think I am safe in saying that I possess -the entire confidence and respect of every one of them. For the -<em>officers</em>, their signatures are before you.</p> - -<p>If my request appear unreasonable, and must be denied, I shall submit, -patiently, though sorrowfully, but trusting, hoping better things. I -beg to submit myself</p> - -<p>With the highest respect,</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Yours truly</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara H. Barton</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>John A. Andrew was one of the great war governors. Massachusetts is -one of the States that can always be proud of the record of its chief -executive during the dark<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span> days of the Civil War. He responded promptly -to Clara Barton’s appeal. On the day of her father’s funeral she -received the following letter from Governor Andrew:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Commonwealth of Massachusetts<br /> -Executive Department<br /> -Boston</span>, March 24th, 1862</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">Miss Clara H. Barton</span>,<br /> - North Oxford, Mass.<br /> -</p> - -<p>I beg to assure you, Miss Barton, of my cordial sympathy with your -most worthy sentiments and wishes; and that if I have any power to -promote your design in aid of our soldiers I will surely use it. -Whenever you may be ready to visit General Burnside’s division I will -cheerfully give you a letter of introduction, with my hearty approval -of your visit and my testimony to the value of the service to our sick -and wounded it will be in <em>your</em> power to render.</p> - -<p>With high respect I am,</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Your <abbr title="obedient">ob.</abbr> servant</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">John A. Andrew</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>This letter seemed a practical assurance that Clara Barton was to be -permitted to go to the front. She had the Governor’s virtual promise, -conditioned, of course, upon recommendations from proper authorities, -and she thought she had sufficient influence with the surgeon, <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> -Hitchcock, to secure the required recommendation. Through an official -friend she took up the matter with <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Hitchcock, but in a few days his -letter to the Doctor came back to Clara by way of the Governor. <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> -Hitchcock did not believe that the battle-field was a suitable place -for women. Among Clara Barton’s papers the letter to <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Hitchcock is -found bearing his comment and the Governor’s brief reference with which -the letter was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span> forwarded to Clara Barton. This closed, for the time -being, her prospect of getting to the front:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Boston</span>, March 22, 1862</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap"><abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Hitchcock,<br /> -Dear Sir</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>A friend of mine, Miss Clara H. Barton, is very desirous of doing what -she can to aid our sick and wounded men at Roanoke, or Newbern, and -I to-day presented a letter from her to Governor Andrew asking that -she might be sent there by the State. Governor Andrew said he would -confer with you relative to the matter. I presume Miss Barton will -write to you. She has been a resident of Washington and the petitions -you brought for me to present to the Governor were for her appointment -as an agent at Washington. She now desires to go to the Burnside -expedition.</p> - -<p>I need not say that she would render efficient service to our sick and -wounded and would not be an encumbrance to the service.</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Truly yours</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">J. W. Fletcher</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>This letter bears written on its back these endorsements by <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Alfred -Hitchcock and Governor Andrew:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>I do not think at the present time Miss Barton had better undertake to -go to Burnside’s Division to act as a nurse.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred Hitchcock</span></p> - - -<p> -March 25th, 1862.<br /> -</p> -</blockquote> -<blockquote> - -<p>Respectfully referred for the information of Miss Barton.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">J. A. Andrew</span></p> -<p> -March 25, /62.<br /> -</p> - -</blockquote> -<p>Old Captain Stephen Barton died at last, aged almost eighty-eight. -The entries in Clara Barton’s diary on these days are brief and -interesting:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><em>Thursday, March 20, 1862.</em> Wrote Governor Andrew, and watched by -poor, suffering Grandpa. Sent a letter to Irving by the morning mail.</p> - -<p><em>Friday, March 21, 1862.</em> At 10.16 at night, my poor father -breathed his last. By him were Misses Grover, Hollendrake, Mrs. Vial, -David, Julia, and I.</p> - -<p><em>Saturday, March 22, 1862.</em> David and Julia went to Worcester. -Mrs. Rich here. Sent letters to Irving, Judge, Mary, <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Darling.</p> - -<p><em>Sunday, March 23, 1862.</em> Call from Deacon Smith.</p> - -<p><em>Monday, March 24, 1862.</em> Mrs. Rich went to Worcester for me. -Left a note for Arba Pierce to make a wreath for poor Grandpa’s coffin.</p> - -<p><em>Tuesday, March 25, 1862.</em> At two <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span>, commenced the -services of the burial, <abbr title="Reverend">Rev.</abbr> <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Holmes of Charlton officiating. House -and grounds crowded. Ceremony solemn and impressive. At evening Cousin -Jerry Stone came and brought me a letter from Governor J. A. Andrew.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>This was all she found time to write in the diary. Of the letters she -wrote to her cousin, Corporal Leander A. Poor, relating to her father’s -death, one has been recovered:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">North Oxford</span>, March 27th, 1862<br /> -Thursday Afternoon</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">My dear Cousin Leander</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Your welcome second letter came to me this noon—doubtless before this -you have learned the answer to your kind inquiry, “How is Grandsire?” -But if not, and the sentinel post is mine, I must answer, “All is -well.” Down under the little pines, beside my mother, he rests -quietly, sleeps peacefully, dreams happily. The old soldier’s heavy -march is ended, for him the last tattoo has sounded, and, resting upon -the unfailing arms of truth, hope, and faith, he awaits the “reveille -of the eternal morning.”</p> - -<p>“Grandsire” had been steadily failing since I came<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span> home. For more -than thirty days he did not taste a morsel of food, and could retain -nothing stronger or more nourishing than a little milk and water—for -over ten of the last days not that, simply a little cold water, which -he dared not swallow. And still he lived and moved himself and talked -strongly and sensibly and wisely as you had always heard him. Who ever -heard of such constitutional strength?</p> - -<p>You will be gratified to know that he arranged all his business to -his entire satisfaction some days previous to his death. After being -raised up and writing his name, he said to me, “This is the last day I -shall ever do any business; my work in this world is done.”</p> - -<p>He remained until Friday, the 21st [of March], sixteen minutes -past ten o’clock at night. He spoke for the last time about five -o’clock, but made us understand by signs until the very last, when he -straightened himself in bed, closed his mouth firmly, gave one hand to -Julia, and the other to me, and left us.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Clara Barton’s hopes of going to the front received a severe -disappointment when Governor Andrew returned <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Hitchcock’s -communication with the refusal to endorse her application. But she -was nothing if not persistent. Almost immediately after her receipt -of the Governor’s letter, she began again seeking to bring influence -to bear on a Massachusetts captain (Denney), whose wife she had come -to know. In this she gives more detail of the so-called “leak” in -stores, which had been sent more or less recklessly for the benefit of -troops, and without the prepaying of express charges. An organization -of Confederate sympathizers had been formed to purchase these goods -from the express company, and slip them through the lines. In some way -she had found this out, and so as to be morally certain of it before -the exposure<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span> and arrest of the conspirators, she had relied upon -advance information that she possessed of this system to commend her to -Governor Andrew, and he was, evidently, favorably impressed. But she -encountered the red tape of the surgeons who were not willing that she -should go to the battle-field.</p> - -<p>No immediate results came from her continued efforts to secure -permission to go to the front. She still remained in New England -through the month of May, but in June returned to Washington and -remained there until the 18th of July.</p> - -<p>She had already been receiving supplies from her friends in New -Jersey as well as from Massachusetts. She now went to Bordentown and -from there to New York, Boston, Worcester, and Oxford. This journey -was made for the purpose of ensuring a larger and continuous supply -of provisions, for she had now obtained what she long had coveted, -her permission to go to the front. Authority, when it finally came, -was direct from the Surgeon-General’s office, and it gave her as -large liberty as she could well have asked. The following passes and -authorizations were all issued within twenty-four hours. Just how she -obtained them, we do not know. In some way her persistence triumphed -over all official red tape, and when she secured her passes they were -practically unlimited either as to time or destination. The following -are from the official records:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Surgeon-General’s Office</span><br /> -July 11, 1862 <br /> -</p> - -<p>Miss C. H. Barton has permission to go upon the sick transports in any -direction—for the purpose of distributing comforts for the sick and -wounded—and nursing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span> them, always subject to the direction of the -surgeon in charge.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">William A. Hammond</span><br /> -Surgeon-General, U.S.A.<br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Surgeon-General’s Office</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Washington City</span>, July 11, 1862<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>:</p> - -<p>At the request of the Surgeon-General I have to request that you give -every facility to Miss Barton for the transportation of supplies for -the comfort of the sick. I refer you to the accompanying letter.</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Very respectfully</p><p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">R. C. Wood</span>, A.S. <abbr title="general">Gen’l.</abbr></p> -<p> -<span class="smcap">Major D. H. Rucker</span>, A.<abbr title="quartermaster">Q.M.</abbr><br /> -<span class="smcap">Washington</span>, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr><br /> -</p> - -</blockquote> -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Office of Depot Quartermaster</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Washington</span>, July 11, 1862<br /> -</p> - -<p>Respectfully referred to General Wadsworth, with the request that -permission be given this lady and friend to pass to and from Acquia -Creek on Government transports at all times when she may wish to visit -the sick and hospitals, etc., with such stores as she may wish to take -for the comfort of the sick and wounded.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">D. H. Rucker</span>, Quartermaster and <abbr title="Colonel">Col.</abbr><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap"><abbr title="headquarters">H’d Qrs.</abbr> <abbr title="military">Mil.</abbr> <abbr title="division">Div.</abbr> of <abbr title="Virginia">Va.</abbr></span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Washington</span>, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr>, July 11, 1862<br /> -</p> - -<p>The within mentioned lady (Miss Barton) and friend have permission to -pass to and from Fredericksburg by Government boat and railroad at all -times to visit sick and wounded and to take with her all such stores -as she may wish to take for the sick, and to pass anywhere within -the lines of the United States forces (excepting to the Army of the -Potomac), and to travel on any military railroad or Government boat to -such points as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span> she may desire to visit and take such stores as she -may wish by such means of transportation.</p> - -<p>By order of <abbr title="brigadier">Brig.</abbr>-<abbr title="general">Gen’l</abbr> Wadsworth, <abbr title="military">Mil.</abbr> <abbr title="governor">Gov.</abbr> <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr></p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">T. E. Ellsworth</span>, <abbr title="Captain">Capt.</abbr> and A.D.C.<br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Inspector-General’s Office</span>, <span class="smcap">Army of Virginia</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Washington</span>, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr>, August 12, 1862</p> -<p class="p0"> -<abbr title="Number">No.</abbr> 83<br /> -<br /> -To Whom it may Concern:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Know ye, that the bearers, Miss Barton and two friends, have -permission to pass within the lines of this army for the purpose of -supplying the sick and wounded. Transportation will be furnished by -Government boat and rail.</p> - -<p class="right"> -By command of Major-General Pope<br /> -<span class="smcap">R. Jones</span>, <abbr title="assistant">Asst.</abbr> Inspector-General<br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>It is said that when Clara Barton finally succeeded in getting -permission to go to the front, she broke down and burst into tears. -That is possible, but her diary shows no sign of her emotion. Nor is it -true, as has been affirmed, that, as soon as she received her passes, -she rushed immediately to the front. Her self-possession and deliberate -action at this moment of triumph are thoroughly characteristic of her. -Instead of going to the front, she went to New Jersey and New England, -as has already been intimated. She had no intention of going to the -front until she had assurance of supplies which she could take with -her and could continue to receive. She was no love-lorn, sentimental -maiden, going with unreckoning and hysterical ardor into conditions -which she did not understand. She was forty years old, and she knew -what hospitals were. She also knew a good deal about official red tape -and the reasonable unwillingness of surgeons to have any one around the -hospital unless<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span> she could earn her keep. With a pocket full of passes -which she now possessed, she could go almost anywhere. To be sure, it -was necessary to get special passes for particular objects, but in -general all she had to do was to present these blanket credentials, and -particular permission for a specific journey was promptly forthcoming. -Indeed, she seldom needed that when her lines of operation were -definitely established, but at the beginning she took no chances. -Among the other friends whom she gained while she was procuring these -certificates was Assistant Quartermaster-General D. H. Rucker. He -proved an unfailing friend. Never thereafter did she go to him in vain -with any request for transportation for herself or her goods.</p> - -<p>Her first notable expedition in supplies started from Washington on -Sunday, August 3, 1862, just as the people were going to church. -Frequent mention has been made of the fact that this occurred on -Sunday, and some incorrect inferences have been drawn from it. Clara -Barton had too large a conception of the sacredness of her task to -have waited until Monday for a thing that needed to be done on Sunday. -On the other hand, she had too much religion of her own, and too much -regard for other people’s religion, to have chosen deliberately the -day and hour when people were going to church as that on which she -would mount a loaded truck and conspicuously take her journey to the -boat. She began her arrangements to go to Fredericksburg on Wednesday, -July 30th, as her diary shows. But it was Friday afternoon before her -arrangements were complete, including the special passes which she had -to procure from General Polk’s headquarters. Saturday she started, but -the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span> boat was withdrawn, and it was due to this delay that she rode on -top of her load on Sunday morning. She was taking no chances concerning -her load of provisions; she knew that her welcome at the front and -her efficiency there depended upon her getting her supplies there as -well as herself. So she climbed over the wheel and sat beside the -mule-driver as he carted her provisions to the dock. The boat conveyed -her to Acquia Creek where she stayed all night, being courteously -treated by the quartermaster. On Monday she went on to Fredericksburg, -where she visited the general hospital, located in a woolen factory. -There she witnessed her first amputation. The next day she visited -the camp of the 21st Massachusetts. She distributed her supplies, and -found where more were needed. Returning, she reached Washington at six -o’clock Tuesday night. The next few days she had conferences with the -Sanitary Commission, and suggested some improvement in the methods of -supplying the hospitals.</p> - -<p>She found the Sanitary Commission quite ready to coöperate with her, -and obtained from them without difficulty some stores for the 8th and -11th Connecticut Regiments. She took time to write the story of her -visit to Fredericksburg, and to secure its full value in additional -supplies.</p> - -<p>This was the way she spent her time for a full month after she secured -her passes. She visited the friends who were to supply her with the -articles she was to need; she visited the front and personally oversaw -the method of distributing supplies; she placed herself in sympathetic -relationship with the Sanitary Commission, whose work was next of kin -to her own, and she wrote letters that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span> were to bring her a still -larger volume of resources for her great work. A more businesslike, -methodical, or sensible method of procedure could not be imagined than -that which her diary and letters disclose.</p> - -<p>How she felt about going to the front at this time is finely set forth -in a letter to her cousin, Corporal Leander A. Poor, who was sick in a -hospital at Point Lookout, Maryland, and whom she succeeded in getting -transferred to a hospital in Washington. She did not expect to be there -when he arrived, for she was committed to her plan of getting to the -front. Not that she expected to stay continuously; it was her purpose -to come and go; to get relief directly where it was needed, and to keep -her lines of communication open. This letter shows that she labored -under no delusion concerning the difficulties of transportation. She -was going in with her eyes open.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Washington</span>, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr>, Aug. 2, 1862<br /> -Saturday <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span></p><p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">Oh, my dearest Couz</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Can you believe it! that this afternoon’s mail takes an order from the -Surgeon-General for you to report in Washington (provided the state of -your health will permit)? I have just seen the order written.</p> - -<p>You are to report to <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Campbell, Medical Director, and he is to -assign you to some hospital. Now I want you assigned near me, but am -not certain that I can influence it in the least,—but I’ll try! I can -tell you the ropes and you can help pull them when you go to report.</p> - -<p>At the Medical Director’s, I have an especial friend in the person -of <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Sheldon, one of the <em xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">chargés des affaires</em> of the -Institution. I will acquaint him with the facts before your arrival -either by a personal interview or a note, and then, when you go to -report to <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Campbell, see first, if possible, <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Sheldon, and ask -him if he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span> can assist you in getting assigned to some hospital near -me (7th Street) or in the vicinity of the Post-Office, he knows my -residence, having called upon me.</p> - -<p>My choice would be the “Armory Square,” a new hospital on 7th Street -a few rods the other side of the Avenue from me, on the way to the -Arsenal, you will recollect, just opposite the Smithsonian Institute, -on the east side of 7th. This is designed as a model hospital, but -perhaps one difficulty will be that it is intended more exclusively -for extreme cases, or desperately wounded who can be conveyed but -little distance from the boat. There are in it <em>now</em>, however, -some very slight cases, some whom I visit every day. The chaplain, -E. W. Jackson, is from Maine, near Portland,—and I would not be -surprised if more Maine men were in charge there, too.</p> - -<p>After this I have not much choice in any of the hospitals near me. E -Street Church is near, and so many of the churches, and perhaps being -less in magnitude they are less strict. I don’t even know if you -will be allowed to see me before making your report to the Medical -Director, and there is one bare possibility that I may be out on a -scout when you arrive. Lord knows the condition of our poor wretched -soldiers down in the army; all communication cut off to and from, -they must be dying from want of care, and I am promised to go to them -the first moment access can be had, but this would not discourage -you, for I should come home again when the poor fellows were a little -comfortable.</p> - -<p>I am not certain when you can come, probably not until some Government -boat comes up; one went down yesterday, and if I had had your order -<em>then</em>, I should have come for you, but to start in one now after -this I might miss you, as they only go some once a week or so.</p> - -<p>All sorts of rumors in town,—that we are whipping the rebels, they -are whipping us, Jackson defeated, Pope defeated. But one thing I do -suppose to be true, viz.,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span> that our army is isolated, cut off from -supplies of food, and that we cannot reach them with more until they -fight their way out. This is not generally believed or understood, -but your cousin both understands and believes it. People talk like -children about “<em>transporting supplies</em>” as if it were the -easiest thing imaginable to transport supplies by wagon thirty miles -across a country scouted by guerrilla bands. Our men <em>must</em> be on -part rations, tired and hungry, fighting like tigers, and dying like -dogs. There! Doesn’t that sound impatient. I won’t speak again.</p> - -<p>Of course you will write me instantly and tell me if you are able to -come, and when as nearly as possible, etc., etc.</p> - -<p>I will enclose $5.00 lest you may need and not have.</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Your affectionate Cousin</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara H. Barton </span><br /> -Washington, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr><br /> -</p> - -</blockquote> -<p>Thus did Clara Barton at her father’s death-bed consecrate herself to a -work more difficult than any woman had at that time undertaken for the -relief of suffering caused by the war. Other women were equally brave; -others, equally tender in their personal ministrations; but Clara -Barton knew the difficulties of transportation and the awful agonies -and loss of life endured by men through neglect and delay and the -distance of the hospital from the battle-field. She was ready to carry -relief right behind the battle lines. She had not long to wait for her -opportunity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span></p> - -<p class="footnote p2" id="fn6"><a href="#fna6">[6]</a> From James Russell Lowell’s second series of “Biglow Papers,” then -appearing in the <em>Atlantic</em>.</p> - -<p class="footnote" id="fn7"><a href="#fna7">[7]</a> A reference to Julia Ward Howe’s “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” -then new.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII"><big>CHAPTER XIII</big><br /> -CLARA BARTON TO THE FRONT</h2> -</div> - - - -<p>When the author of this volume was a schoolboy, the advanced readers in -the public schools partook largely of a patriotic character, and the -rhetorical exercises of Friday afternoons contained recitations and -declamations inspired by the great Civil War. The author remembers a -Friday when he came upon the platform with his left arm withdrawn from -his coat-sleeve and concealed inside the coat, while he recited a poem -of which he still remembers certain lines:</p> - -<p class="poetry p0"> -My arm? I lost it at Cedar Mountain;<br /> - Ah, little one, that was a dreadful fight;<br /> -For brave blood flowed like a summer fountain,<br /> - And the cannon roared till the fall of night.<br /> -<br /> -Nay, nay! Your question has done me no harm, dear,<br /> - Though it woke for the moment a thrill of pain;<br /> -For whenever I look at my stump of an arm here,<br /> - I seem to be living that day again.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The poem went on to relate the scenes of the battle, the desperate -charge, the wound, the amputation, and now the necessity of earning -a livelihood by the peddling of needles, pins, and other inexpensive -household necessities. It was a poem with rather large dramatic -possibilities, and the author utilized them according to the best of -his then ability. Since that Friday afternoon in his early boyhood -he has always thought of Cedar Mountain as a battle in which he had -something of a share.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span> If he had really been there and had lost an arm -in the manner which the poem described, one of the things he would have -been almost certain to remember would have been the presence there of -Clara Barton. She afterward told of it in this simple fashion:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>When our armies fought on Cedar Mountain, I broke the shackles and -went to the field. Five days and nights with three hours’ sleep—a -narrow escape from capture—and some days of getting the wounded into -hospitals at Washington brought Saturday, August 30. And if you chance -to feel that the positions I occupied were rough and unseemly for a -<em>woman</em>—I can only reply that they were rough and unseemly for -<em>men</em>. But under all, lay the life of the Nation. I had inherited -the rich blessing of health and strength of constitution—such as are -seldom given to woman—and I felt that some return was due from me and -that I ought to be there.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>The battle of Cedar Mountain, also called Cedar Run and Culpeper, was -fought on Saturday, August 9, 1862. Stonewall Jackson, as directed by -General Lee, moved to attack Pope before McClellan could reënforce -him. The corps attack was under command of General Banks, and the -Confederates were successful. The Federal losses were 314 killed, 1465 -wounded, and 622 missing. News of the battle reached Washington on -Monday. Clara Barton’s entry for that day contains no suggestion of -the heroic; no appearance of consciousness that she was beginning for -herself and her country, and the civilized world, a new epoch in the -history of woman’s ministration to men wounded on the battle-field:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><em>Monday, August 11, 1862.</em> Battle at Culpeper reached us. Went to -Sanitary Commission. Concluded to go to Culpeper. Packed goods.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span></p> - -<p>The next day she went to General Pope’s headquarters and got her pass, -General Rucker accompanying her. The remainder of the day she spent in -completing her arrangements and in conference with Gardiner Tufts, of -Massachusetts, an agent sent by the State to look after Massachusetts -wounded. That night she went to Alexandria, which was as far as she -could get, and the next morning she resumed her journey and arrived at -Culpeper at half-past three in the afternoon.</p> - -<p>The next days were busy days. It is interesting to find in her diary -that she ministered not only to the Union, but also to the Confederate -wounded. For several days she had little rest. When she returned to -Washington later in the month, she was not permitted to remain. She -learned that her cousin, Corporal Poor, had been brought to a hospital -in the city, but she was unable to visit him, being called to minister -to the wounded who were being brought to Alexandria as the result of -the fighting that followed Cedar Mountain. Her hastily written note is -not dated, but the time is in the latter part of August, 1862:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="p0"> - -<span class="smcap">My own darling Cousin</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I was almost (<em>all-but</em>) ready to come to you, and then came this -bloody fight at Culpeper and the State agent for Massachusetts comes -and claims me to go to Alexandria where 600 wounded are to be brought -in to-day, and I may have to go on further. I hope to be back yet in -time to come to you <em>this</em> week; if not I will write you.</p> - -<p>I am distressed that I cannot come to you to-morrow as I had intended.</p> - -<p>I hope you are as well as when I last heard. I should have written, -but I thought to come so soon.</p> - -<p>I must leave now. My wagon waits for me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span></p> - -<p>God bless you, my poor dear Cousin, and I will see you if the rebels -don’t catch me.</p> - -<p>Good-bye,</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Your <abbr title="affectionate">affec.</abbr> cousin</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Whether she was able to visit her cousin or not on her return from -Alexandria, we do not know. Her diary for the latter part of the year -1862 ceases to be consecutive. It contains not the record of her own -comings and goings, but names of wounded soldiers, memoranda of letters -to write for men who had died, and other data of this character. Her -entry for Saturday, August 30, 1862, is significant. It reads:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Visited Armory Hospital. Took comb to Sergeant Field, of Massachusetts -21st. On my way saw everybody going to wharf. I went.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>That was her last record for more than a week. We know what was taking -the people to the wharf. We know what sad sights awaited those who made -their way to the Potomac. We know the sad procession that came over the -long bridge; the second battle of Bull Run had been fought. After the -first battle of Bull Run there was nothing she could do but stay in -Washington and write her father such distracting news that she had to -stop. The situation was different now; Clara Barton knew where she was -needed, and she had authority to go. No time was wasted now in special -passes. She had proved the value of her worth at Cedar Mountain.</p> - -<p>That very night she was in a box car on her way to the battle-field.</p> - -<p>Shortly after the second battle of Bull Run, Clara<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span> Barton wrote the -following account to a friend, and later revised it as a part of one of -her war lectures. It is, in some respects, the most vivid of all her -recitals of experiences on battle-fields:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Our coaches were not elegant or commodious; they had no windows, no -seats, no platforms, no steps, a slide door on the side was the only -entrance, and this higher than my head. For my manner of attaining my -elevated position, I must beg of you to draw on your own imaginations -and spare me the labor of reproducing the boxes, barrels, boards, and -rails, which, in those days, seemed to help me up and on in the world. -We did not criticize the unsightly helpers and were only too thankful -that the stiff springs did not quite jostle us out. This description -need not be limited to this particular trip or train, but will suffice -for all that I have known in army life. This is the kind of conveyance -by which your tons of generous gifts have reached the field with the -precious freights. These trains, through day and night, sunshine and -rain, heat and cold, have thundered over heights, across plains, -through ravines, and over hastily built army bridges ninety feet -across the rocky stream beneath.</p> - -<p>At ten o’clock Sunday (August 31) our train drew up at Fairfax -Station. The ground, for acres, was a thinly wooded slope—and among -the trees, on the leaves and grass, were laid the wounded who were -pouring in by scores of wagonloads, as picked up on the field under -the flag of truce. All day they came, and the whole hillside was -covered. Bales of hay were broken open and scattered over the ground -like littering for cattle, and the sore, famishing men were laid upon -it.</p> - -<p>And when the night shut in, in the mist and darkness about us, we -knew that, standing apart from the world of anxious hearts, throbbing -over the whole country, we were a little band of almost empty-handed -workers literally by ourselves in the wild woods of Virginia, with -three<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span> thousand suffering men crowded upon the few acres within our -reach.</p> - -<p>After gathering up every available implement or convenience for our -work, our domestic inventory stood, two water buckets, five tin cups, -one camp kettle, one stewpan, two lanterns, four bread knives, three -plates, and a two-quart tin dish, and three thousand guests to serve.</p> - -<p>You will perceive, by this, that I had not yet learned to equip -myself, for I was no Pallas, ready armed, but grew into my work -by hard thinking and sad experience. It may serve to relieve your -apprehension for the future of my labors if I assure you that I was -never caught so again.</p> - -<p>You have read of adverse winds. To realize this in its full sense you -have only to build a camp-fire and attempt to cook something on it.</p> - -<p>There is not a soldier within the sound of my voice but will sustain -me in the assertion that, go whichsoever side of it you will, wind -will blow the smoke and flame directly in your face. Notwithstanding -these difficulties, within fifteen minutes from the time of our -arrival we were preparing food and dressing wounds. You wonder what, -and how prepared, and how administered without dishes.</p> - -<p>You generous thoughtful mothers and wives have not forgotten the tons -of preserves and fruits with which you filled our hands. Huge boxes of -these stood beside that railway track. Every can, jar, bucket, bowl, -cup or tumbler, when emptied, that instant became a vehicle of mercy -to convey some preparation of mingled bread and wine or soup or coffee -to some helpless, famishing sufferer, who partook of it with the tears -rolling down his bronzed cheeks and divided his blessings between the -hands that fed him and his God. I never realized until that day how -little a human being could be grateful for, and that day’s experience -also taught me the utter worthlessness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span> of that which could not be -made to contribute directly to our necessities. The bit of bread which -would rest on the surface of a gold eagle was worth more than the coin -itself.</p> - -<p>But the most fearful scene was reserved for the night. I have said -that the ground was littered with dry hay and that we had only two -lanterns, but there were plenty of candles. The wounded were laid so -close that it was impossible to move about in the dark. The slightest -misstep brought a torrent of groans from some poor mangled fellow in -your path.</p> - -<p>Consequently here were seen persons of all grades, from the careful -man of God who walked with a prayer upon his lips to the careless -driver hunting for his lost whip—each wandering about among this hay -with an open flaming candle in his hand.</p> - -<p>The slightest accident, the mere dropping of a light could have -enveloped in flames this whole mass of helpless men.</p> - -<p>How we watched and pleaded and cautioned as we worked and wept that -night! How we put socks and slippers upon their cold damp feet, -wrapped your blankets and quilts about them, and when we had no longer -these to give, how we covered them in the hay and left them to their -rest!</p> - -<p>On Monday (September 1) the enemy’s cavalry appeared in the wood -opposite and a raid was hourly expected. In the afternoon all the -wounded men were sent off and the danger became so imminent that Mrs. -Fales thought best to leave, although she only went for stores. I -begged to be excused from accompanying her, as the ambulances were -up to the fields for more, and I knew I should never leave a wounded -man there if I were taken prisoner forty times. At six o’clock it -commenced to thunder and lighten and all at once the artillery began -to play, joined by the musketry about two miles distant. We sat down -in our tent and waited to see them break in, but Reno’s forces held -them back. The old 21st Massachusetts<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span> lay between us and the enemy -and they could not pass. God only knows who was lost, I do not, for -the next day all fell back. Poor Kearny, Stephen, and Webster were -brought in, and in the afternoon Kearny’s and Heintzelman’s divisions -fell back through our camp on their way to Alexandria. We knew this -was the last. We put the thousand wounded men we then had into the -train. I took one carload of them and Mrs. M. another. The men took to -the horses. We steamed off, and two hours later there was no Fairfax -Station. We reached Alexandria at ten o’clock at night, and, oh, the -repast which met those poor men at the train. The people of the island -are the most noble I ever saw or heard of. I stood in my car and fed -the men till they could eat no more. Then the people would take us -home and feed us, and after that we came home. I had slept one and one -half hours since Saturday night and I am well and strong and wait to -go again if I have need.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Immediately after the second Bull Run, or Manassas, followed the -battle of Chantilly. It was a woeful battle for the Federal cause. -The Confederates were completely successful. Pope’s army retreated to -Washington in almost as great a state of panic as had characterized the -army of McDowell in the previous year. Nothing saved Washington from -capture but the fact that the Confederate forces had been so reduced by -continuous fighting that they were unable to take advantage of their -success. But they had captured the Federal wagon trains; had inflicted -far greater losses than they had themselves endured, and were in so -confident a frame of mind that Lee immediately prepared to cross the -Potomac, invade the North, and bring the war, as he hoped, to a speedy -end. It was under these conditions that Clara Barton continued her -education at the battle-front.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span></p> - -<p>Among many other experiences on the field of Chantilly, Miss Barton -recalled these incidents:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>The slight, naked chest of a fair-haired lad caught my eye, and -dropping down beside him, I bent low to draw the remnant of his torn -blouse about him, when with a quick cry he threw his left arm across -my neck and, burying his face in the folds of my dress, wept like a -child at his mother’s knee. I took his head in my hands and held it -until his great burst of grief passed away. “And do you know me?” he -asked at length; “I am Charley Hamilton who used to carry your satchel -home from school!” My faithful pupil, poor Charley. That mangled right -arm would never carry a satchel again.</p> - -<p>About three o’clock in the morning I observed a surgeon with his -little flickering candle in hand approaching me with cautious step far -up in the wood. “Lady,” he said as he drew near, “will you go with -me? Out on the hills is a poor distressed lad, mortally wounded and -dying. His piteous cries for his sister have touched all our hearts -and none of us can relieve him, but rather seem to distress him by our -presence.”</p> - -<p>By this time I was following him back over the bloody track, with -great beseeching eyes of anguish on every side looking up into our -faces saying so plainly, “Don’t step on us.”</p> - -<p>“He can’t last half an hour longer,” said the surgeon as we toiled -on. “He is already quite cold, shot through the abdomen, a terrible -wound.” By this time the cries became plainly audible to me.</p> - -<p>“Mary, Mary, sister Mary, come,—oh, come, I am wounded, Mary! I am -shot. I am dying—oh, come to me—I have called you so long and my -strength is almost gone—Don’t let me die here alone. Oh, Mary, Mary, -come!”</p> - -<p>Of all the tones of entreaty to which I have listened—and certainly I -have had some experience of sorrow—I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span> think these, sounding through -that dismal night, the most heart-rending. As we drew near, some -twenty persons, attracted by his cries, had gathered around and stood -with moistened eyes and helpless hands waiting the change which would -relieve them all. And in the midst, stretched upon the ground, lay, -scarcely full grown, a young man with a graceful head of hair, tangled -and matted, thrown back from a forehead and a face of livid whiteness. -His throat was bare. His hands, bloody, clasped his breast, his large, -bewildered eyes turning anxiously in every direction. And ever from -between his ashen lips pealed that piteous cry of “Mary! Mary! Come.”</p> - -<p>I approached him unobserved, and, motioning the lights away, I knelt -by him alone in the darkness. Shall I confess that I intended if -possible to cheat him out of his terrible death agony? But my lips -were truer than my heart, and would not speak the word “Brother,” I -had willed them to do. So I placed my hands upon his neck, kissed his -cold forehead, and laid my cheek against his.</p> - -<p>The illusion was complete; the act had done the falsehood my lips -refused to speak. I can never forget that cry of joy. “Oh, Mary! Mary! -You have come? I knew you would come if I called you and I have called -you so long. I could not die without you, Mary. Don’t cry, Darling, -I am not afraid to die now that you have come to me. Oh, bless you. -Bless you, Mary.” And he ran his cold, blood-wet hands about my neck, -passed them over my face, and twined them in my hair, which by this -time had freed itself from fastenings and was hanging damp and heavy -upon my shoulders. He gathered the loose locks in his stiffened -fingers and holding them to his lips continued to whisper through -them, “Bless you, bless you, Mary!” And I felt the hot tears of joy -trickling from the eyes I had thought stony in death. This encouraged -me, and, wrapping his feet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span> closely in blankets and giving him such -stimulants as he could take, I seated myself on the ground and lifted -him on my lap, and drawing the shawl on my own shoulders also about -his I bade him rest.</p> - -<p>I listened till his blessings grew fainter, and in ten minutes with -them on his lips he fell asleep. So the gray morning found us; my -precious charge had grown warm, and was comfortable.</p> - -<p>Of course the morning light would reveal his mistake. But he had grown -calm and was refreshed and able to endure it, and when finally he -woke, he seemed puzzled for a moment, but then he smiled and said: “I -knew before I opened my eyes that this could n’t be Mary. I know now -that she could n’t get here, but it is almost as good. You’ve made me -so happy. Who is it?”</p> - -<p>I said it was simply a lady who, hearing that he was wounded, had come -to care for him. He wanted the name, and with childlike simplicity he -spelled it letter by letter to know if he were right. “In my pocket,” -he said, “you will find mother’s last letter; please get it and write -your name upon it, for I want both names by me when I die.”</p> - -<p>“Will they take away the wounded?” he asked. “Yes,” I replied, “the -first train for Washington is nearly ready now.” “I must go,” he said -quickly. “Are you able?” I asked. “I must go if I die on the way. I’ll -tell you why; I am poor mother’s only son, and when she consented -that I go to the war, I promised her faithfully that if I were not -killed outright, but wounded, I would try every means in my power to -be taken home to her dead or alive. If I die on the train, they will -not throw me off, and if I were buried in Washington, she can get me. -But out here in the Virginia woods in the hands of the enemy, never. I -<em>must</em> go!”</p> - -<p>I sent for the surgeon in charge of the train and requested that my -boy be taken.</p> - -<p>“Oh, impossible, madam, he is mortally wounded and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span> will never reach -the hospital! We must take those who have a hope of life.” “But you -must take him.” “I cannot”—“Can you, Doctor, guarantee the lives of -all you have on that train?” “I wish I could,” said he sadly. “They -are the worst cases; nearly fifty per cent must die eventually of -their wounds and hardships.”</p> - -<p>“Then give this lad a chance with them. He can only die, and he has -given good and sufficient reasons why he must go—and a woman’s word -for it, Doctor. You take him. Send your men for him.” Whether yielding -to argument or entreaty, I neither knew nor cared so long as he did -yield nobly and kindly. And they gathered up the fragments of the -poor, torn boy and laid him carefully on a blanket on the crowded -train and with stimulants and food and a kind-hearted attendant, -pledged to take him alive or dead to Armory Square Hospital and tell -them he was Hugh Johnson, of New York, and to mark his grave.</p> - -<p>Although three hours of my time had been devoted to one sufferer among -thousands, it must not be inferred that our general work had been -suspended or that my assistants had been equally inefficient. They had -seen how I was engaged and nobly redoubled their exertions to make -amends for my deficiencies.</p> - -<p>Probably not a man was laid upon those cars who did not receive some -personal attention at their hands, some little kindness, if it were -only to help lift him more tenderly.</p> - -<p>This finds us shortly after daylight Monday morning. Train after -train of cars was rushing on for the wounded, and hundreds of wagons -were bringing them in from the field still held by the enemy, where -some poor sufferers had lain three days with no visible means of -sustenance. If immediately placed upon the trains and not detained, -at least twenty-four hours must elapse before they could be in the -hospital and properly nourished. They were already famishing, weak -and sinking from loss of blood,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span> and they could ill afford a further -fast of twenty-four hours. I felt confident that, unless nourished at -once, all the weaker portion must be past recovery before reaching the -hospitals of Washington. If once taken from the wagons and laid with -those already cared for, they would be overlooked and perish on the -way. Something must be done to meet this fearful emergency. I sought -the various officers on the grounds, explained the case to them, and -asked permission to feed all the men as they arrived before they -should be taken from the wagons. It was well for the poor sufferers of -that field that it was controlled by noble-hearted, generous officers, -quick to feel and prompt to act.</p> - -<p>They at once saw the propriety of my request and gave orders that all -wagons should be stayed at a certain point and only moved on when -every one had been seen and fed. This point secured, I commenced my -day’s work of climbing from the wheel to the brake of every wagon -and speaking to and feeding with my own hands each soldier until he -expressed himself satisfied.</p> - -<p>Still there were bright spots along the darkened lines. Early in the -morning the Provost Marshal came to ask me if I could use fifty men. -He had that number, who for some slight breach of military discipline -were under guard and useless, unless I could use them. I only -regretted there were not five hundred. They came,—strong, willing -men,—and these, added to our original force and what we had gained -incidentally, made our number something over eighty, and, believe me, -eighty men and three women, acting with well-directed purpose, will -accomplish a good deal in a day. Our fifty prisoners dug graves and -gathered and buried the dead, bore mangled men over the rough ground -in their arms, loaded cars, built fires, made soup, and administered -it. And I failed to discern that their services were less valuable -than those of the other men. I had long suspected, and have been -since convinced, that a private soldier may be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span> placed under guard, -court-martialed, and even be imprisoned without forfeiting his honor -or manliness; that the real dishonor is often upon the gold lace -rather than the army blue.</p> - -<p>At three o’clock the last train of wounded left. All day we had known -that the enemy hung upon the hills and were waiting to break in upon -us....</p> - -<p>At four o’clock the clouds gathered black and murky, and the low growl -of distant thunders was heard while lightning continually illuminated -the horizon. The still air grew thick and stifled, and the very -branches appeared to droop and bow as if in grief at the memory of -the terrible scenes so lately enacted and the gallant lives so nobly -yielded up beneath their shelter.</p> - -<p>This was the afternoon of Monday. Since Saturday noon I had not -thought of tasting food, and we had just drawn around a box for that -purpose, when, of a sudden, air and earth and all about us shook with -one mingled crash of God’s and man’s artillery. The lightning played -and the thunder rolled incessantly and the cannon roared louder and -nearer each minute. Chantilly with all its darkness and horrors had -opened in the rear.</p> - -<p>The description of this battle I leave to those who saw and moved -in it, as it is my purpose to speak only of events in which I was a -witness or actor. Although two miles distant, we knew the battle was -intended for us, and watched the firing as it neared and receded and -waited minute by minute for the rest.</p> - -<p>With what desperation our men fought hour after hour in the rain and -darkness! How they were overborne and rallied, how they suffered from -mistaken orders, and blundered, and lost themselves in the strange -mysterious wood. And how, after all, with giant strength and veteran -bravery, they checked the foe and held him at bay, is an all-proud -record of history.</p> - -<p>And the courage of the soldier who braved death in the darkness of -Chantilly let no man question.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span></p> - -<p>The rain continued to pour in torrents, and the darkness became -impenetrable save from the lightning leaping above our heads and the -fitful flash of the guns, as volley after volley rang through the -stifled air and lighted up the gnarled trunks and dripping branches -among which we ever waited and listened.</p> - -<p>In the midst of this, and how guided no man knows, came still another -train of wounded men, and a waiting train of cars upon the track -received them. This time nearly alone, for my worn-out assistants -could work no longer, I continued to administer such food as I had -left.</p> - -<p>Do you begin to wonder what it could be? Army crackers put into -knapsacks and haversacks and beaten to crumbs between stones, and -stirred into a mixture of wine, whiskey, and water, and sweetened with -coarse brown sugar.</p> - -<p>Not very inviting you will think, but I assure you it was always -acceptable. But whether it should have been classed as food, or, -like the Widow Bedott’s cabbage, as a delightful beverage, it would -puzzle an epicure to determine. No matter, so it imparted strength and -comfort.</p> - -<p>The departure of this train cleared the grounds of wounded for the -night, and as the line of fire from its plunging engines died out in -the darkness, a strange sensation of weakness and weariness fell upon -me, almost defying my utmost exertion to move one foot before the -other.</p> - -<p>A little Sibley tent had been hastily pitched for me in a slight -hollow upon the hillside. Your imaginations will not fail to picture -its condition. Rivulets of water had rushed through it during the last -three hours. Still I attempted to reach it, as its white surface, in -the darkness, was a protection from the wheels of wagons and trampling -of beasts.</p> - -<p>Perhaps I shall never forget the painful effort which the making of -those few rods and the gaining of the tent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span> cost me. How many times I -fell, from sheer exhaustion, in the darkness and mud of that slippery -hillside, I have no knowledge, but at last I grasped the welcome -canvas, and a well-established brook, which washed in on the upper -side at the opening that served as door, met me on my entrance. My -entire floor was covered with water, not an inch of dry, solid ground.</p> - -<p>One of my lady assistants had previously taken train for Washington -and the other, worn out by faithful labors, was crouched upon the top -of some boxes in one corner fast asleep. No such convenience remained -for me, and I had no strength to arrange one. I sought the highest -side of my tent which I remembered was grass-grown, and, ascertaining -that the water was not very deep, I sank down. It was no laughing -matter then. But the recollection of my position has since afforded me -amusement.</p> - -<p>I remember myself sitting on the ground, upheld by my left arm, my -head resting on my hand, impelled by an almost uncontrollable desire -to lie completely down, and prevented by the certain conviction that -if I did, water would flow into my ears.</p> - -<p>How long I balanced between my desires and cautions, I have no -positive knowledge, but it is very certain that the former carried the -point by the position from which I was aroused at twelve o’clock by -the rumbling of more wagons of wounded men. I slept two hours, and oh, -what strength I had gained! I may never know two other hours of equal -worth. I sprang to my feet dripping wet, covered with ridges of dead -grass and leaves, wrung the water from my hair and skirts, and went -forth again to my work.</p> - -<p>When I stood again under the sky, the rain had ceased, the clouds were -sullenly retiring, and the lightning, as if deserted by its boisterous -companions, had withdrawn to a distant corner and was playing quietly -by itself. For the great volleying thunders of heaven and earth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span> had -settled down on the fields. Silent? I said so. And it was, save the -ceaseless rumbling of the never-ending train of army wagons which -brought alike the wounded, the dying, and the dead.</p> - -<p>And thus the morning of the third day broke upon us, drenched, weary, -hungry, sore-footed, sad-hearted, discouraged, and under orders to -retreat.</p> - -<p>A little later, the plaintive wail of a single fife, the slow beat -of a muffled drum, the steady tramp, tramp, tramp of heavy feet, the -gleam of ten thousand bayonets on the hills, and with bowed heads and -speechless lips, poor Kearny’s leaderless men came marching through</p> - -<p>This was the signal for retreat. All day they came, tired, hungry, -ragged, defeated, retreating, they knew not whither—they cared not -whither.</p> - -<p>The enemy’s cavalry, skirting the hills, admonished us each moment -that we must soon decide to go from them or with them. But our work -must be accomplished, and no wounded men once given into our hands -must be left. And with the spirit of desperation, we struggled on.</p> - -<p>At three o’clock an officer galloped up to me, with “Miss Barton, can -you ride?” “Yes, sir,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“But you have no lady’s saddle—could you ride mine?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, or without it, if you have blanket and surcingle.”</p> - -<p>“Then you can risk another hour,” he exclaimed, and galloped off.</p> - -<p>At four he returned at a break-neck speed, and, leaping from his -horse, said, “Now is your time. The enemy is already breaking over the -hills; try the train. It will go through, unless they have flanked, -and cut the bridge a mile above us. In that case I’ve a reserve horse -for you, and you must take your chances to escape across the country.”</p> - -<p>In two minutes I was on the train. The last wounded man at the station -was also on. The conductor stood<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span> with a torch which he applied to -a pile of combustible material beside the track. And we rounded the -curve which took us from view and we saw the station ablaze, and a -troop of cavalry dashing down the hill. The bridge was uncut and -midnight found us at Washington.</p> - -<p>You have the full record of my sleep—from Friday night till Wednesday -morning—two hours. You will not wonder that I slept during the next -twenty-four.</p> - -<p>On Friday (the following), I repaired to Armory Square Hospital to -learn who, of all the hundreds sent, had reached that point.</p> - -<p>I traced the chaplain’s record, and there upon the last page freshly -written stood the name of Hugh Johnson</p> - -<p>Turning to Chaplain Jackson, I asked—“Did that man live until to-day?”</p> - -<p>“He died during the latter part of last night,” he replied. “His -friends reached him some two days ago, and they are now taking his -body from the ward to be conveyed to the depot.”</p> - -<p>I looked in the direction his hand indicated, and there, beside a -coffin, about to be lifted into a wagon, stood a gentleman, the -mother, and Sister Mary!</p> - -<p>“Had he his reason?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, perfectly.”</p> - -<p>“And his mother and sister were with him two days.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>There was no need of me. He had given his own messages; I could add -nothing to their knowledge of him, and would fain be spared the scene -of thanks. Poor Hugh, thy piteous prayers reached and were answered, -and with eyes and heart full, I turned away, and never saw Sister Mary.</p> - -<p>These were days of darkness—a darkness that might be felt.</p> - -<p>The shattered bands of Pope and Banks! Burnside’s weary legions! -Reënforcements from West Virginia—and all that now remained of the -once glorious Army of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span> the Peninsula had gathered for shelter beneath -the redoubts and guns that girdled Washington.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>How the soldiers remembered these ministrations is shown in letters -such as this:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="center p0"> - -<span class="smcap">Charles E. Simmons</span>, Secretary, 21st <abbr title="Regiment">Regt.</abbr> <abbr title="Massachusetts">Mass.</abbr> Vol.<br /> - <span class="smcap">Charles E. Frye</span>, President</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">7 Jaques Avenue,<br /> -Worcester, <abbr title="Massachusetts">Mass.</abbr></span><br /> -September 13th, 1911</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">To Clara Barton</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The survivors of the Veteran 21st Massachusetts Regiment, assembled -in “Odd Fellows Temple in the City of Worcester,” wish to put on -record the day of your coming to us at Bull Run and Chantilly, when -we were in our deepest bereavement and loss; how your presence and -deeds brought assurance and comfort; and how you assisted us up the -hot and rugged sides of South Mountain by your ministry forty-nine -years ago to-day, at and over the “Burnside Bridge” at Antietam, then -through Pleasant Valley, to Falmouth, and in course of time were -across the Rappahannock and storming the heights of Fredericksburg; -were with us, indeed, when we recrossed the river and found shelter in -our tents—broken, bruised, and sheared. With us evermore in body and -spirit, lo, these fifty years. The prayer of the 21st Regiment is, God -bless our old and tried friend. It was also voted that we present to -Clara Barton a bouquet of flowers.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Charles E. Simmons</span>, Secretary<br /> -</p> -</blockquote> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></p> - - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV"><big>CHAPTER XIV</big><br /> -HARPER’S FERRY TO ANTIETAM</h2> -</div> - - -<p>Clara Barton had now definitely settled the method of her operations. -She had demonstrated the practicability of getting to the front -early, and had begun to learn what equipment was necessary if she -were to perform her work successfully. Washington was still to be her -headquarters, her base of supplies, but from Washington as a center she -would radiate in any direction where the need was, going by the most -direct route and arriving on the scene of conflict as soon as possible -after authentic news of the battle. This was in contravention of all -established custom, which was for women, if they assisted at all, to -remain far in the rear until wounded soldiers were conveyed to them, or -until the retreat of the opposing army made it safe for them to come -upon the field where the conflict had been. It disheartened her to have -to remain in Washington where there was no lack of willing assistance, -and wait till it was safe to stir.</p> - -<p>Moreover, she did not find her service in the Washington hospitals -wholly cheerful. It depressed her to move among the wounded and witness -the after effects of the battle, the gangrene, the infection of wounds, -and the slow fevers, and to think how much of this might have been -avoided if the men could have had relief earlier. An extract from a -letter to her sister-in-law, written in the summer of 1862, indicates -something of her feeling at this time:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Washington, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr></span>, June 26th, 1862</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">My dear Sister Julia</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I cannot make a pleasant letter of this; everything is sad; the very -pain which is breathed out in the atmosphere of this city is enough -to sadden any human heart. Five thousand suffering men, and room -preparing for eight thousand more,—poor, fevered, cut-up wretches, -it agonizes me to think of it. I go when I can; to-day am having a -visit from a little Massachusetts (Lowell) boy, seventeen, his widowed -mother’s only child, whom I found recovering from fever in Mount -Pleasant Hospital. It had left him with rheumatism. He was tender, -and, when I asked him “what he wanted,” burst in tears and said, “I -want to <em>see my mother</em>. She didn’t know when I left.” I appealed -to the chief surgeon and applied for his discharge as a native of -Massachusetts. It was promised me, and, when the astonished little -fellow heard it, he threw himself across the back of his chair and -sobbed so he could scarcely get his breath. He had been ordered to -another hospital next day; the order was checked; this was a week ago, -and <em>yesterday he came to me discharged</em>, and with forty-three -dollars and some new clothes. I send him on <em>to-night</em> to his -mother as a Sunday present. She knows nothing of it, only that he is -suffering in hospital. I am ungrateful to be heavy-hearted when I have -been able to do <em>only that little</em>. His name is William Diggles, -nephew of Jonas Diggles, tailor of New Sharon, Maine.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Authentic news of battles reached Washington slowly. At first there was -no certainty whether a battle was a battle or only a skirmish. Then, -when it became certain that a battle had been fought, the first news -was almost always unreliable. It would have been a great advantage -if Clara Barton could have known where a battle was to be fought. -Manifestly, she could not always know.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span> The generals in command did -not always know. But there were times when official Washington had -premonitory information. She sought to establish relationship with -sufficiently high authority to enable her to know in advance where such -battles were to be fought as were brought on by a Union offensive. On -Saturday night, September 13, 1862, she had secret information that a -great battle was about to be fought. A small battle had been fought the -day before and it had been disastrous. There had been an engagement -at Harper’s Ferry in which the Union army had 44 killed, 173 wounded, -and the amazing number of 12,520 missing or captured. She already -suspected, and a little later she knew, that that long list of men -missing and captured, was more ominous than an added number killed or -wounded:</p> - -<p>“Our army was weary,” she said, “and lacked not only physical strength, -but confidence and spirit. And why should they not? Always defeated! -Always on the retreat! I was almost demoralized myself! And I had just -commenced.”</p> - -<p>She “had just commenced”; that was characteristic of her. She had been -ministering to the soldiers ever since the day when the first blood was -shed on the 19th of April, 1861, and had been at it without rest or -stint ever since. But she had just commenced; she had just learned how -to do it in the way that was hereafter to characterize her methods.</p> - -<p>The defeat at Harper’s Ferry threw Washington into a panic. But it -moved McClellan to a long-deferred engagement with the Union forces in -the offensive.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>The long maneuvering and skirmishing [she wrote], had yielded no -fruit. Pope had been sacrificed and all the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span> blood shed from Yorktown -to Malvern Hill seemed to have been utterly in vain. But the minor -keys, upon which I played my infinitesimal note in the great anthem -of war and victory which rang through the land when these two fearful -forces met and closed, with gun-lock kissing gun-lock across the rocky -bed of Antietam, are yet known only to a few. Washington was filled -with dismay, and all the North was moved as a tempest stirs a forest.</p> - -<p>Maryland lay temptingly in view, and Lee and Jackson with the flower -of the rebel army marched for its ripening fields. Who it was that -whispered hastily on Saturday night, September 13,—“<em>Harper’s -Ferry, not a moment to be lost</em>”—I have never dared to name.</p> - -<p>In thirty minutes I was waiting the always kindly spoken “<em>Come -in</em>,” of my patron saint, Major, now Quartermaster-General, Rucker.</p> - -<p>“Major,” I said—“I want to go to Harper’s Ferry; can I go?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps so,” he replied, with genial but doubtful expression. -“Perhaps so; do you want a conveyance?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I said.</p> - -<p>“But an army wagon is the only vehicle that will reach there with any -burden in safety. I can send you one of these to-morrow morning.”</p> - -<p>I said, “I will be ready.”</p> - -<p>But here was to begin a new experience for me. I was to ride eighty -miles in an army wagon, and straight into battle and danger at that.</p> - -<p>I could take no female companion, no friend, but the stout working-men -I had use for.</p> - -<p>You, who are accustomed to see a coach and a pair of fine horses with -a well-dressed, gentlemanly driver draw up to your door, will scarcely -appreciate the sensation with which I watched the approach of the long -and high, white-covered, tortoise-motioned vehicle, with its string of -little, frisky, long-eared animals, with the broad-shouldered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span> driver -astride, and the eternal jerk of the single rein by which he navigated -his craft up to my door.</p> - -<p>The time, you will remember, was Sunday; the place, 7th Street, just -off Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington City.</p> - -<p>Then and there, my vehicle was loaded, with boxes, bags, and parcels, -and, last of all, I found a place for myself and the four men who were -to go with me.</p> - -<p>I took no Saratoga trunk, but remembered, at the last moment, to tie -up a few articles in my handkerchief.</p> - -<p>Thus equipped, and seated, my chain of little uneasy animals -commenced to straighten itself, and soon brought us into the center -of Pennsylvania Avenue, in full gaze of the whole city in its best -attire, and on its way to church.</p> - -<p>Thus all day we rattled on over the stones and dikes, and up and down -the hills of Maryland.</p> - -<p>At nightfall we turned into an open field, and, dismounting, built a -camp-fire, prepared supper, and retired, I to my work in my wagon, the -men wrapped in their blankets, camping about me.</p> - -<p>All night an indistinct roar of artillery sounded upon our ears, and -waking or sleeping, we were conscious of trouble ahead; but it was -well for our rest that no messenger came to tell us how death reveled -among our brave troops that night.</p> - -<p>Before daybreak, we had breakfasted, and were on our way. You will -not infer that, because by ourselves, we were alone upon the road. We -were directly in the midst of a train of army wagons, at least ten -miles in length, moving in solid column—the Government supplies and -ammunition, food, and medicine for an army in battle.</p> - -<p>Weary and sick from their late exposures and hardships, the men were -falling by the wayside, faint, pale, and often dying.</p> - -<p>I busied myself as I rode on hour by hour in cutting loaves of bread -in slices and passing them to the pale,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span> haggard wrecks as they sat -by the roadside, or staggered on to avoid capture, and at each little -village we entered, I purchased all the bread its inhabitants would -sell.</p> - -<p>Horses as well as men had suffered and their dead bodies strewed the -wayside.</p> - -<p>My poor words can never describe to you the consternation and horror -with which we descended from our wagon, and trod, there in the -mountain pass, that field of death.</p> - -<p>There, where we now walked with peaceful feet, twelve hours before the -ground had rocked with carnage. There in the darkness God’s angels of -wrath and death had swept and, foe facing foe, the souls of men went -out. And there, side by side, stark and cold in death mingled the -Northern Blue and the Southern Gray.</p> - -<p>To such of you as have stood in the midst or followed in the track -of armies and witnessed the strange and dreadful confusion of recent -battle-grounds, I need not describe this field. And to you who have -not, no description would ever avail.</p> - -<p>The giant rocks, hanging above our heads, seemed to frown upon the -scene, and the sighing trees which hung lovingly upon their rugged -edge drooped low and wept their pitying dews upon the livid brows and -ghastly wounds beneath.</p> - -<p>Climbing hills and clambering over ledges we sought in vain for some -poor wretch in whom life had still left the power to suffer. Not one -remained, and, grateful for this, but shocked and sick of heart, we -returned to our waiting conveyance.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>So far as Harper’s Ferry was concerned, her advance information -appeared to have come too late to be of any value. The number of -wounded was not large, and these had all been taken to Frederick, -Maryland. Only the day before, Stonewall Jackson and his men had passed -through, and Barbara Frietchie had refused to haul<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span> down her flag. -There had not been many wounded, anyway; the Federal army simply had -failed to fight at Harper’s Ferry. The word “morale” was not then in -common use, but that was what the Union army had lost. On Monday, -September 15, 1862, was fought the battle of South Mountain, Maryland. -There Hooker and Franklin and Reno were defeated with a loss of 325 -men killed, 1403 wounded, and 85 prisoners. There were few prisoners -as compared with Harper’s Ferry, but that was partly because the -mountainous country gave the defeated Union soldiers a better chance to -escape. The defeat was beyond question, and General Reno was killed. -While Clara Barton was driving from Harper’s Ferry where she had -expected to find a battle, she came suddenly upon a battle-field, that -of South Mountain. There she did her ministering work. But Harper’s -Ferry and South Mountain were both preliminary to the real battle of -which she had had her Washington warning. And now she made a discovery. -If she was ever to get to the front in time to be of the greatest -possible service, she must short-circuit the ordinary military method -which would have put her and her equipment among the baggage-wagons. -For her the motto from this time on was, “Follow the cannon.” This -gave her something approaching an open road, and afforded her the -opportunity which she was just learning how to utilize with greatest -efficiency.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>The increase of stragglers along the road [Miss Barton recalled] -was alarming, showing that our army was weary, and lacked not only -physical strength, but confidence and spirit.</p> - -<p>And why should they not? Always defeated! Always<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span> on the retreat! I -was almost demoralized myself! And I had just commenced.</p> - -<p>I have already spoken of the great length of the army train, and that -we could no more change our position than one of the planets. Unless -we should wait and fall in the rear, we could not advance a single -wagon.</p> - -<p>And for the benefit of those who may not understand, I may say that -the order of the train was, first, ammunition; next, food and clothing -for well troops; and finally, the hospital supplies. Thus, in case -of the battle the needed stores for the army, according to the slow, -cautious movement of such bodies, must be from two to three days in -coming up.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, as usual, our men must languish and die. Something must -be done to gain time. And I resorted to strategy. We found an early -resting-place, supped by our camp-fire, and slept again among the dews -and damps.</p> - -<p>At one o’clock, when everything was still, we arose, breakfasted, -harnessed, and moved on past the whole train, which like ourselves had -camped for the night. At daylight we had gained ten miles and were up -with the artillery and in advance even of the ammunition.</p> - -<p>All that weary, dusty day I followed the cannon, and nightfall brought -us up with the great Army of the Potomac, 80,000 men resting upon -their arms in the face of a foe equal in number, sullen, straitened, -and desperate.</p> - -<p>Closely following the guns we drew up where they did, among the -smoke of the thousand camp-fires, men hastening to and fro, and the -atmosphere loaded with noxious vapors, till it seemed the very breath -of pestilence. We were upon the left wing of the army, and this was -the last evening’s rest of Burnside’s men. To how many hundred it -proved the last rest upon the earth, the next day’s record shows.</p> - -<p>In all this vast assemblage I saw no other trace of womankind. I was -faint, but could not eat; weary, but could not sleep; depressed, but -could not weep.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span></p> - -<p>So I climbed into my wagon, tied down the cover, dropped down in -the little nook I had occupied so long, and prayed God with all the -earnestness of my soul to stay the morrow’s strife or send us victory. -And for my poor self, that He impart somewhat of wisdom and strength -to my heart, nerve to my arm, speed to my feet, and fill my hands for -the terrible duties of the coming day. Heavy and sad I awaited its -approach.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>The battle of Antietam occurred on September 16 and 17, 1862. It was -the first battle in the East that roused to any considerable degree the -forlorn hope of the friends of the Union. It was the first real Eastern -victory for the Union army. It was not as decided a victory as it ought -to have been, but it was a victory. It put heart into Abraham Lincoln -and certified to his conscience that the time had come to redeem the -promise he had made to God—that if He would give victory to the Union -arms Lincoln would free the slaves. McClellan did not follow up his -advantage as he should have done and make that victory triumphant. But -he did something other than delay and retreat, and he put some heart -into the Union army when it discovered that it need not forever be on -the defensive, nor always suffer defeat. In this great, and, in spite -of its limitations, victorious, battle, Clara Barton was on the ground -before the first gun was fired, and she did not leave the field until -the last wounded man had been cared for. At the outset she watched the -battle, but almost immediately she laid down her field-glasses, went -to the place where the wounded were being brought in, and was able to -perform her work of ministration without a single hour’s delay.</p> - -<p>She told her story of the conflict as she saw it:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>The battle commenced on the right and already with the aid of -field-glasses we saw our own forces, led by “Fighting Joe” [Hooker], -overborne and falling back.</p> - -<p>Burnside commenced to send cavalry and artillery to his aid, and, -thinking our place might be there, we followed them around eight -miles, turning into a cornfield near a house and barn, and stopping -in the rear of the last gun, which completed the terrible line of -artillery which ranged diagonally in the rear of Hooker’s army. That -day a garden wall only separated us. The infantry were already driven -back two miles, and stood under cover of the guns. The fighting had -been fearful. We had met wounded men, walking or borne to the rear -for the last two miles. But around the old barn there lay, too badly -wounded to admit of removal, some three hundred thus early in the day, -for it was scarce ten o’clock.</p> - -<p>We loosened our mules and commenced our work. The corn was so high as -to conceal the house, which stood some distance to the right, but, -judging that a path which I observed must lead to it, and also that -surgeons must be operating there, I took my arms full of stimulants -and bandages and followed the opening.</p> - -<p>Arriving at a little wicker gate, I found the dooryard of a small -house, and myself face to face with one of the kindest and noblest -surgeons I have ever met, <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Dunn, of Conneautville, Pennsylvania.</p> - -<p>Speechless both, for an instant, he at length threw up his hands with -“God has indeed remembered us! How did you get from Virginia here so -soon? And again to supply our necessities! And they are terrible. We -have nothing but our instruments and the little chloroform we brought -in our pockets. We have torn up the last sheets we could find in this -house. We have not a bandage, rag, lint, or string, and all these -shell-wounded men bleeding to death.”</p> - -<p>Upon the porch stood four tables, with an etherized patient upon each, -a surgeon standing over him with his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span> box of instruments, and a bunch -of green corn leaves beside him.</p> - -<p>With what joy I laid my precious burden down among them, and thought -that never before had linen looked so white, or wine so red. Oh! -be grateful, ladies, that God put it in your hearts to perform the -work you did in those days. How doubly sanctified was the sacred old -household linen woven by the hands of the sainted mother long gone to -her reward. For you arose the tender blessings of those grateful men, -which linger in my memory as faithfully to-night as do the bugle notes -which called them to their doom.</p> - -<p>Thrice that day was the ground in front of us contested, lost, and -won, and twice our men were driven back under cover of that fearful -range of guns, and each time brought its hundreds of wounded to our -crowded ground.</p> - -<p>A little after noon, the enemy made a desperate attempt to regain -what had been lost; Hooker, Sedgwick, Dana, Richardson, Hartsuff, and -Mansfield had been borne wounded from the field and the command of the -right wing devolved upon General Howard.</p> - -<p>The smoke became so dense as to obscure our sight, and the hot, -sulphurous breath of battle dried our tongues and parched our lips to -bleeding.</p> - -<p>We were in a slight hollow, and all shell which did not break over our -guns in front came directly among or over us, bursting above our heads -or burying themselves in the hills beyond.</p> - -<p>A man lying upon the ground asked for a drink; I stopped to give it, -and, having raised him with my right hand, was holding him.</p> - -<p>Just at this moment a bullet sped its free and easy way between us, -tearing a hole in my sleeve and found its way into his body. He fell -back dead. There was no more to be done for him and I left him to -his rest. I have never mended that hole in my sleeve. I wonder if a -soldier ever does mend a bullet hole in his coat?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span></p> - -<p>The patient endurance of these men was most astonishing. As many as -could be were carried into the barn, as a slight protection against -random shot. Just outside the door lay a man wounded in the face, the -ball having entered the lower maxillary on the left side and lodged -among the bones of the right cheek. His imploring look drew me to -him, when, placing his finger upon the sharp protuberance, he said, -“Lady, will you tell me what this is that burns so?” I replied that it -must be the ball which had been too far spent to cut its way entirely -through.</p> - -<p>“It is terribly painful,” he said. “Won’t you take it out?”</p> - -<p>I said I would go to the tables for a surgeon. “No! No!” he said, -catching my dress. “They cannot come to me. I must wait my turn, for -this is a little wound. You can get the ball. There is a knife in your -pocket. Please take the ball out for me.”</p> - -<p>This was a new call. I had never severed the nerves and fibers of -human flesh, and I said I could not hurt him so much. He looked up, -with as nearly a smile as such a mangled face could assume, saying, -“You cannot hurt me, dear lady, I can endure any pain that your hands -can create. Please do it. It will relieve me so much.”</p> - -<p>I could not withstand his entreaty and, opening the best blade of -my pocket-knife, prepared for the operation. Just at his head lay a -stalwart orderly sergeant from Illinois, with a face beaming with -intelligence and kindness, and who had a bullet directly through the -fleshy part of both thighs. He had been watching the scene with great -interest and, when he saw me commence to raise the poor fellow’s head, -and no one to support it, with a desperate effort he succeeded in -raising himself to a sitting posture, exclaiming as he did so, “I will -help do that.” Shoving himself along the ground he took the wounded -head in his hands and held it while I extracted the ball and washed -and bandaged the face.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span></p> - -<p>I do not think a surgeon would have pronounced it a scientific -operation, but that it was successful I dared to hope from the -gratitude of the patient.</p> - -<p>I assisted the sergeant to lie down again, brave and cheerful as he -had risen, and passed on to others.</p> - -<p>Returning in half an hour, I found him weeping, the great tears -rolling diligently down his manly cheeks. I thought his effort had -been too great for his strength and expressed my fears. “Oh! No! No! -Madam,” he replied. “It is not for myself. I am very well, but,” -pointing to another just brought in, he said, “this is my comrade, and -he tells me that our regiment is all cut to pieces, that my captain -was the last officer left, and he is dead.”</p> - -<p>Oh, God! what a costly war! This man could laugh at pain, face death -without a tremor, and yet weep like a child over the loss of his -comrades and his captain.</p> - -<p>At two o’clock my men came to tell me that the last loaf of bread had -been cut and the last cracker pounded. We had three boxes of wine -still unopened. What should they do?</p> - -<p>“Open the wine and give that,” I said, “and God help us.”</p> - -<p>The next instant an ejaculation from Sergeant Field, who had opened -the first box, drew my attention, and, to my astonished gaze, the wine -had been packed in nicely sifted Indian meal.</p> - -<p>If it had been gold dust it would have seemed poor in comparison. I -had no words. No one spoke. In silence the men wiped their eyes and -resumed their work.</p> - -<p>Of twelve boxes of wine which we carried, the first nine, when opened, -were found packed in sawdust, the last three, when all else was gone, -in Indian meal.</p> - -<p>A woman would not hesitate long under circumstances like these.</p> - -<p>This was an old farmhouse. Six large kettles were picked up and set -over fires, almost as quickly as I can tell it, and I was mixing water -and meal for gruel.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span></p> - -<p>It occurred to us to explore the cellar. The chimney rested on an -arch, and, forcing the door, we discovered three barrels and a bag. -“They are full,” said the sergeant, and, rolling one into the light, -found that it bore the mark of Jackson’s army. These three barrels of -flour and a bag of salt had been stored there by the rebel army during -its upward march.</p> - -<p>I shall never experience such a sensation of wealth and competency -again, from utter poverty to such riches.</p> - -<p>All that night my thirty men (for my corps of workers had increased -to that number during the day) carried buckets of hot gruel for miles -down the line to the wounded and dying where they fell.</p> - -<p>This time, profiting by experience, we had lanterns to hang in and -around the barn, and, having directed it to be done, I went to the -house and found the surgeon in charge, sitting alone, beside a table, -upon which he rested his elbow, apparently meditating upon a bit of -tallow candle which flickered in the center.</p> - -<p>Approaching carefully, I said, “You are tired, Doctor.” He started -up with a look almost savage, “Tired! Yes, I am tired, tired of such -heartlessness, such carelessness!” Turning full upon me, he continued: -“Think of the condition of things. Here are at least one thousand -wounded men, terribly wounded, five hundred of whom cannot live till -daylight, without attention. That two inches of candle is all I have -or can get. What can I do? How can I endure it?”</p> - -<p>I took him by the arm, and, leading him to the door, pointed in the -direction of the barn where the lanterns glistened like stars among -the waving corn.</p> - -<p>“What is that?” he exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“The barn is lighted,” I said, “and the house will be directly.”</p> - -<p>“Who did it?”</p> - -<p>“I, Doctor.”</p> - -<p>“Where did you get them?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span></p> - -<p>“Brought them with me.”</p> - -<p>“How many have you?”</p> - -<p>“All you want—four boxes.”</p> - -<p>He looked at me a moment, as if waking from a dream, turned away -without a word, and never alluded to the circumstances, but the -deference which he paid me was almost painful.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>During a lecture in the West, Miss Barton related this incident, and -as she closed a gentleman sprang upon the stage, and, addressing -the audience, exclaimed: “Ladies and gentlemen, if I never have -acknowledged that favor, I will do it now. I am that surgeon.”</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Darkness [Miss Barton continues] brought silence and peace, and -respite and rest to our gallant men. As they had risen, regiment by -regiment, from their grassy beds in the morning, so at night the -fainting remnant again sank down on the trampled blood-stained earth, -the weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.</p> - -<p>Through the long starlit night we wrought and hoped and prayed. But -it was only when in the hush of the following day, as we glanced over -that vast Aceldama, that we learned at what a fearful cost the gallant -Union army had won the battle of Antietam.</p> - -<p>Antietam! With its eight miles of camping armies, face to face; -160,000 men to spring up at dawn like the old Scot from the heather! -Its miles of artillery shaking the earth like a chain of Ætnas! -Its ten hours of uninterrupted battle! Its thunder and its fire! -The sharp, unflinching order,—“Hold the Bridge, boys,—always the -Bridge.” At length, the quiet! The pale moonlight on its cooling guns! -The weary men, the dying and the dead! The flag of truce that buried -our enemies slain, and Antietam was fought, and won, and the foe -turned back!</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Clara Barton remained on the battle-field of Antietam<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span> until her -supplies were exhausted and she was completely worn out. Not only -fatigue but fever came upon her, and she was carried back to Washington -apparently sick. But the call of duty gave her fresh strength, and she -was soon wondering where the next battle was to be and planning to -be on the field. Almost the only entry in her diary in the autumn of -1862, aside from memoranda of wounded men and similar entries relating -to people other than herself, is one of October 23, which she began -in some detail, but broke off abruptly. She records that she “left -Washington for Harper’s Ferry expecting to meet a battle there. Have -taken four teams of Colonel Rucker loaded at his office, traveled and -camped as usual, reaching Harper’s Ferry the third day. At the first -end of the pontoon bridge one of Peter’s mules ran off and we delayed -the progress of the army for twenty minutes to be extricated.”</p> - -<p>The rest of the entry contains the names of her drivers, details of the -overturned wagon, and other memoranda. Two things are of interest in -this fragmentary record. One is the definiteness of the method which -she now had adopted of going where she “expected to meet a battle.” -The other is the fact that a delay of twenty minutes, caused by an -accident to one of her wagons on the pontoon bridge, illustrates a -reason why, in general, armies cannot permit even so necessary things -as supplies for the wounded to get in the way of the free movement -of troops. However, this delay was quite exceptional. She did not -usually cause any inconvenience of this sort, nor did it in this -instance result in any serious harm. On this occasion she was provided -with an ambulance for her own use. That thoughtful provision for her -convenience<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span> and means of conserving her energy, was provided for her -by Quartermaster-General Rucker.</p> - -<p>On this journey the question was decided who was really in command of -her part of the expedition. In one of her lectures she described her -associates on this and subsequent expeditions:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>There may be those present who are curious to know how eight or ten -rough, stout men, who knew nothing of me, received the fact that they -were to drive their teams under the charge of a lady.</p> - -<p>This question has been so often asked in private that I deem it proper -to answer it publicly.</p> - -<p>Well, the various expressions of their faces afforded a study. They -were not soldiers, but civilians in Government employ. Drovers, -butchers, hucksters, mule-breakers, probably not one of them had ever -passed an hour in what could be termed “ladies’ society,” in his life. -But every man had driven through the whole peninsular campaign. Every -one of them had taken his team unharmed out of that retreat, and had -sworn an oath never to drive another step in Virginia.</p> - -<p>They were brave and skillful, understood their business to perfection, -but had no art. They said and looked what they thought; and I -understood them at a glance.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>These teamsters proposed to go into camp at four o’clock in the -afternoon, and start when they got ready in the morning, but she first -established her authority over them, and then cooked them a hot supper, -the first and last she ever cooked for army teamsters, and they came -to her later in the evening, apologized for their obstinacy, and were -ready to drive her anywhere.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span></p><blockquote> - -<p>“We come to tell you we are ashamed of ourselves” [their leader said].</p> - -<p>I thought honest confession good for the soul, and did not interrupt -him.</p> - -<p>“The truth is,” he continued, “in the first place we didn’t want to -come. There’s fighting ahead and we’ve seen enough of that for men who -don’t carry muskets, only whips; and then we never seen a train under -charge of a woman before and we couldn’t understand it, and we didn’t -like it, and we thought we’d break it up, and we’ve been mean and -contrary all day, and said a good many hard things and you’ve treated -us like gentlemen. We hadn’t no right to expect that supper from you, -a better meal than we’ve had in two years. And you’ve been as polite -to us as if we’d been the General and his staff, and it makes us -ashamed. And we’ve come to ask your forgiveness. We shan’t trouble you -no more.”</p> - -<p>My forgiveness was easily obtained. I reminded them that as men it was -their duty to go where the country had need of them. As for my being -a woman, they would get accustomed to that. And I assured them that, -as long as I had any food, I would share it with them. That, when they -were hungry and supperless, I should be; that if harm befell them, I -should care for them; if sick, I should nurse them; and that, under -all circumstances, I should treat them like gentlemen.</p> - -<p>They listened silently, and, when I saw the rough, woolen coat-sleeves -drawing across their faces, it was one of the best moments of my life.</p> - -<p>Bidding me “good-night” they withdrew, excepting the leader, who went -to my ambulance, hung a lighted lantern in the top, arranged the few -quilts inside for my bed, assisted me up the steps, buckled the canvas -down snugly outside, covered the fire safely for morning, wrapped his -blanket around him, and lay down a few feet from me on the ground.</p> - -<p>At daylight I became conscious of low voices and stifled sounds, and -soon discovered that these men were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span> endeavoring to speak low and feed -and harness their teams quietly, not to disturb me.</p> - -<p>On the other side I heard the crackling of blazing chestnut rails and -the rattling of dishes, and George came with a bucket of fresh water, -to undo my buckle door latches, and announce that breakfast was nearly -ready.</p> - -<p>I had cooked my last meal for my drivers. These men remained with me -six months through frost and snow and march and camp and battle; and -nursed the sick, dressed the wounded, soothed the dying, and buried -the dead; and if possible grew kinder and gentler every day.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>There was one serious difficulty about following advance information -and attempting to be on the battle-field when the battle occurred. The -battle does not always occur at the time and place expected. The battle -at Harper’s Ferry in October, 1862, did not take place as planned. -General Lee may have received the same advance information which was -conveyed to Clara Barton. At all events, he was not among those present -when the battle was scheduled to take place. He withdrew his army and -waited until he was ready to fight. McClellan decided to follow Lee, -and Clara Barton moved with the army. As she moved, she cared for the -sick, supplying them from her own stores, returning to Washington with -a body of sick men about the first of December. She was suffering from -a felon on her hand from the first of November until near the end of -that month. Her hand was lanced in the open field, and she suffered -from the cold, but did not complain.</p> - -<p>She did not remain long in Washington, but returned by way of Acquia -Creek and met the army at Falmouth. From Falmouth she wrote a letter -to some of the women who had been assisting her, and sent it by the -hand of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span> the Reverend C. M. Wells, one of her reliable associates. -It contains references to her sore finger and to the nature of -accommodations:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="center p0"> - -<span class="smcap">Camp near Falmouth, <abbr title="Virginia">Va.</abbr><br /> -Headquarters General Sturgis, 2nd Division</span></p> -<p class="right"> -December 8th, 1862</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap"><abbr title="Misters">Messrs.</abbr> Brown & <abbr title="Company">Co.</abbr><br /> -<br /> -Dear Friends</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p><abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Wells returns to-morrow and I improve the opportunity to send a -line by him to you, not feeling quite certain if posted matter reaches -directly when sent from the army.</p> - -<p>We reached Acquia Creek safely in the time anticipated, and to my -great joy learned immediately that our old friend Captain (Major) Hall -(of the 21st) was Quartermaster. As soon as the boat was unloaded, he -came on board and spent the remainder of the evening with me.—We had -a <em>home</em> chat, I assure you. Remained till the next day, sent a -barrel of apples, etc., up to the Captain’s quarters, and proceeded -with the remainder of our luggage, for which it is needless to say -<em>ready transportation</em> was found, and the Captain chided me for -having left anything behind at the depot, as I told him I had done. On -reaching Falmouth Station we found another old friend, Captain Bailey, -in charge, who instituted <em>himself</em> as watch over the goods until -he sent them all up to Headquarters. My ambulance came through that -<span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span>, but for fear it might not, General Sturgis had his -taken down for me, and had supper arranged and a splendid serenade. -I don’t know how we could have had a warmer “welcome home,” as the -officers termed it.</p> - -<p>Headquarters are in the dooryard of a farmhouse, one room of which is -occupied by Miss G. and myself. My wagons are a little way from me, -out of sight, and I am wishing for a tent and stove to pitch and live -near them. The weather is cold, and the ground covered with snow, -but I could make me comfortable with a good tent, floor,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span> and stove, -and should prefer it to a room in a rebel house and one so generally -occupied.</p> - -<p>The 21st are a few rods from me; many of the officers call to see me -every day. Colonel Clark is very neighborly; he is looking finely now; -he was in this <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span>, and was going in search of Colonel Morse -whom he thought to be a mile or two distant. I learned to-night that -the 15th are only some three miles away; the 36th I cannot find yet. I -have searched hard for them and shall get on their track soon, I trust.</p> - -<p>Of army movements nothing can be said with certainty; no two -persons, not even the generals, agree in reference to the future -programme. The snow appears to have deranged the plans very -seriously. I have received calls from two generals to-day, and -in the course of conversation I discovered that their views were -entirely different. General Burnside stood a long time in front of -my door to-day, but to my astonishment <em>he did not express his -opinion</em>—<span class="allsmcap">STRANGE</span>!</p> - -<p>I have not suffered for want of the boots yet, but should find them -convenient, I presume, and shall be glad to see them. The sore finger -is much the same; not <em>very</em> troublesome, although somewhat -so. If you desire to reach this point, I think you would find no -difficulty after getting past the guard at Washington—at Acquia you -would find all right I am sure.</p> - -<p>I can think of a host of things I wish you could take out to me.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>In spite of her wish that she might have had a tent, and so have -avoided living in a captured house, her residence was the Lacy house -on the shore of the Rappahannock and close to Fredericksburg. There -was nothing uncertain about her information this time. She knew when -the battle was to occur, and at two o’clock in the morning she wrote -a letter to her cousin, Vira Stone, just before the storm of battle -broke:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="center p0"> - -<span class="smcap">Headquarters 2nd Division<br /> -Army of the Potomac<br /> -Camp near Falmouth, <abbr title="Virginia">Va.</abbr></span></p> -<p class="right"> -December 12, 1862, 2 o’clock <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span></p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">Dear Cousin Vira</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Five minutes’ time with you, and God only knows what that five minutes -might be worth to the—may be—doomed thousands sleeping around -me. It is the night before a “battle.” The enemy, Fredericksburg, -and its mighty entrenchments lie before us—the river between. At -to-morrow’s dawn our troops will essay to cross and the guns of the -enemy will sweep their frail bridges at every breath. The moon is -shining through the soft haze with a brightness almost prophetic; -for the last half-hour I have stood alone in the awful stillness of -its glimmering light gazing upon the strange, sad scene around me -striving to say, “Thy will, O God, be done.” The camp-fires blaze with -unwonted brightness, the sentry’s tread is still but quick, the scores -of little shelter tents are dark and still as death; no wonder, for, -as I gazed sorrowfully upon them, I thought I could almost hear the -slow flap of the grim messenger’s wings as one by one he sought and -selected his victims for the morning’s sacrifice.</p> - -<p>Sleep, weary ones, sleep and rest for to-morrow’s toil! Oh, sleep and -visit in dreams once more the loved ones nestling at home! They may -yet live to dream of you, cold, lifeless, and bloody; but this dream, -soldier, is thy last; paint it brightly, dream it well. Oh, Northern -mothers, wives, and sisters, all unconscious of the peril of the hour, -would to Heaven that I could bear for you the concentrated woe which -is so soon to follow; would that Christ would teach my soul a prayer -that would plead to the Father for grace sufficient for you all! God -pity and strengthen you every one.</p> - -<p>Mine are not the only waking hours; the light yet burns brightly in -our kind-hearted General’s tent, where<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span> he pens what may be a last -farewell to his wife and children, and thinks sadly of his fated men. -Already the roll of the moving artillery is sounding in my ears. The -battle draws near and I must catch one hour’s sleep for to-day’s labor.</p> - -<p>Good-night, and Heaven grant you strength for your more peaceful and -terrible, but not less weary, days than mine.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>All her apprehensions were less than the truth. It was a terrible -battle, and a disheartening disaster. The Union army lost 1284 in -killed, 9600 wounded, and 1769 missing. The memories of Fredericksburg -remained with her distinct and terrible to the day of her death. She -described the battle and the events which followed it in her war -lectures:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>We found ourselves beside a broad, muddy river, and a little canvas -city grew up in a night upon its banks. And there we sat and waited -“while the world wondered.” Ay, it did more than wonder! It murmured, -it grumbled, it cried shame, to sit there and shiver under the canvas. -“Cross over the river and occupy those brick houses on the other -shore!” The murmurs grew to a clamor!</p> - -<p>Our gallant leader heard them and his gentle heart grew sore as he -looked upon his army that he loved as it loved him and looked upon -those fearful sights beyond. Carelessness or incapacity at the capital -had baffled his best-laid plans till time had made his foes a wall of -adamant. Still the country murmured. You, friends, have not forgotten -how, for these were the dark days of old Fredericksburg, and our -little canvas city was Falmouth.</p> - -<p>Finally, one soft, hazy winter’s day the army prepared for an attack; -but there was neither boat nor bridge, and the sluggish tide rolled -dark between.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span></p> - -<p>The men of Hooker and Franklin were right and left, but here in the -center came the brave men of the silvery-haired Sumner.</p> - -<p>Drawn up in line they wait in the beautiful grounds of the stately -mansion whose owner, Lacy, had long sought the other side, and stood -that day aiming engines of destruction at the home of his youth and -the graves of his household.</p> - -<p>There on the second portico I stood and watched the engineers as they -moved forward to construct a pontoon bridge. It will be remembered -that the rebel army occupying the heights of Fredericksburg previous -to the attack was very cautious about revealing the position of its -guns.</p> - -<p>A few boats were fastened and the men marched quickly on with timbers -and planks. For a few rods it proved a success, and scarcely could the -impatient troops be restrained from rending the air with shouts of -triumph.</p> - -<p>On marches the little band with brace and plank, but never to be laid -by them. A rain of musket balls has swept their ranks and the brave -fellows lie level with the bridge or float down the stream.</p> - -<p>No living thing stirs on the opposite bank. No enemy is in sight. -Whence comes this rain of death?</p> - -<p>Maddened by the fate of their comrades, others seize the work and -march onward to their doom. For now, the balls are hurling thick and -fast, not only at the bridge, but over and beyond to the limit of -their range—crashing through the trees, the windows and doors of the -Lacy house. And ever here and there a man drops in the waiting ranks, -silently as a snowflake. And his comrades bear him in for help, or -back for a grave.</p> - -<p>There on the lower bank under a slouched hat stands the man of honest -heart and genial face that a soldier could love and honor even through -defeat. The ever-trusted, gallant Burnside. Hark—that deep-toned -order<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span> rising above the heads of his men: “Bring the guns to bear and -shell them out.”</p> - -<p>Then rolled the thunder and the fire. For two long hours the shot -and shell hurled through the roofs and leveled the spires of -Fredericksburg. Then the little band of engineers resumed its work, -but ere ten spaces of the bridge were gained, they fell like grass -before the scythe.</p> - -<p>For an instant all stand aghast; then ran the murmurs: “The cellars -are filled with sharp-shooters and our shell will never reach them.”</p> - -<p>But once more over the heads of his men rose that deep-toned order: -“<em>Man the boats.</em>”</p> - -<p>Into the boats like tigers then spring the 7th Michigan.</p> - -<p>“Row!! Row!! Ply for your lives, boys.” And they do. But mark! They -fall, some into the boats, some out. Other hands seize the oars and -strain and tug with might and main. Oh, how slow the seconds drag! How -long we have held our breath.</p> - -<p>Almost across—under the bluffs—and out of range! Thank God—they’ll -land!</p> - -<p>Ah, yes; but not all. Mark the windows and doors of those houses above -them. See the men swarming from them armed to the teeth and rushing to -the river.</p> - -<p>They’ve reached the bluffs above the boats. Down point the muskets. -Ah, that rain of shot and shell and flame!</p> - -<p>Out of the boats waist-deep in the water; straight through the fire. -Up, up the bank the boys in blue! Grimly above, that line of gray!</p> - -<p>Down pours the shot. Up, up the blue, till hand to hand like fighting -demons they wrestle on the edge.</p> - -<p>Can we breathe yet? No! Still they struggle. Ah, yes, they break, they -fly, up through the street and out of sight, pursuer and pursued.</p> - -<p>It were long to tell of that night crossing and the next terrible day -of fire and blood. And when the battle broke<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span> o’er field and grove, -like a resistless flood daylight exposed Fredericksburg with its -fourth-day flag of truce, its dead, starving, and wounded, frozen to -the ground. The wounded were brought to me, frozen, for days after, -and our commissions and their supplies at Washington with no effective -organization or power to go beyond! The many wounded lay, uncared for, -on the cold snow.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Although the Lacy house was exposed to fire she was not permitted to -remain within the shelter of its walls. While the fight was at its -hottest, she crossed the river under fire for a place of greater danger -and of greater need:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>At ten o’clock of the battle day when the rebel fire was hottest, -the shell rolling down every street, and the bridge under the heavy -cannonade, a courier dashed over and, rushing up the steps of the Lacy -house, placed in my hand a crumpled, bloody slip of paper, a request -from the lion-hearted old surgeon on the opposite shore, establishing -his hospitals in the very jaws of death.</p> - -<p>The uncouth penciling said: “Come to me. Your place is here.”</p> - -<p>The faces of the rough men working at my side, which eight weeks ago -had flushed with indignation at the very thought of being controlled -by a woman, grew ashy white as they guessed the nature of the summons, -and the lips which had cursed and pouted in disgust trembled as they -begged me to send them, but save myself. I could only permit them to -go with me if they chose, and in twenty minutes we were rocking across -the swaying bridge, the water hissing with shot on either side.</p> - -<p>Over into that city of death, its roofs riddled by shell, its very -church a crowded hospital, every street a battle-line, every hill a -rampart, every rock a fortress, and every stone wall a blazing line of -forts!</p> - -<p>Oh, what a day’s work was that! How those long lines<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span> of blue, rank -upon rank, charged over the open acres, up to the very mouths of those -blazing guns, and how like grain before the sickle they fell and -melted away.</p> - -<p>An officer stepped to my side to assist me over the débris at the end -of the bridge. While our hands were raised in the act of stepping -down, a piece of an exploding shell hissed through between us, just -below our arms, carrying away a portion of both the skirts of his -coat and my dress, rolling along the ground a few rods from us like a -harmless pebble into the water.</p> - -<p>The next instant a solid shot thundered over our heads, a noble -steed bounded in the air, and, with his gallant rider, rolled in the -dirt, not thirty feet in the rear! Leaving the kind-hearted officer, -I passed on alone to the hospital. In less than a half-hour he was -brought to me—dead.</p> - -<p>I mention these circumstances not as specimens of my own bravery. -Oh, no! I beg you will not place that construction upon them, for I -never professed anything beyond ordinary courage, and a thousand times -preferred safety to danger.</p> - -<p>But I mention them that those of you, who have never seen a battle, -may the better realize the perils through which these brave men -passed, who for four long years bore their country’s bloody banner -in the face of death, and stood, a living wall of flesh and blood, -between the invading traitor and your peaceful homes.</p> - -<p>In the afternoon of Sunday an officer came hurriedly to tell me that -in a church across the way lay one of his men shot in the face the -day before. His wounds were bleeding slowly and, the blood drying and -hardening about his nose and mouth, he was in immediate danger of -suffocation.</p> - -<p>(Friends, this may seem to you repulsive, but I assure you that many a -brave and beautiful soldier has died of this alone.)</p> - -<p>Seizing a basin of water and a sponge, I ran to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span> church, to find -the report only too true. Among hundreds of comrades lay my patient. -For any human appearance above his head and shoulders, it might as -well have been anything but a man.</p> - -<p>I knelt by him and commenced with fear and trembling lest some unlucky -movement close the last aperture for breath. After some hours’ labor, -I began to recognize features. They seemed familiar. With what -impatience I wrought. Finally my hand wiped away the last obstruction. -An eye opened, and there to my gaze was the sexton of my old home -church!</p> - -<p>I have remarked that every house was a hospital. Passing from one to -another during the tumult of Saturday, I waited for a regiment of -infantry to sweep on its way to the heights. Being alone, and the only -woman visible among that moving sea of men, I naturally attracted the -attention of the old veteran, Provost Marshal General Patrick, who, -mistaking me for a resident of the city who had remained in her home -until the crashing shot had driven her into the street, dashed through -the waiting ranks to my side, and, bending down from his saddle, said -in his kindliest tones, “You are alone and in great danger, Madam. Do -you want protection?”</p> - -<p>Amused at his gallant mistake, I humored it by thanking him, as I -turned to the ranks, adding that I believed myself the best protected -woman in the United States.</p> - -<p>The soldiers near me caught my words, and responding with “That’s so! -That’s so!” set up a cheer. This in turn was caught by the next line -and so on, line after line, till the whole army joined in the shout, -no one knowing what he was cheering at, but never doubting there was a -victory somewhere. The gallant old General, taking in the situation, -bowed low his bared head, saying, as he galloped away, “I believe you -are right, Madam.”</p> - -<p>It would be difficult for persons in ordinary life to realize the -troubles arising from want of space merely for wounded men to occupy -when gathered together for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span> surgical treatment and care. You may -suggest that “all out-of-doors” ought to be large, and so it would -seem, but the fact did not always prove so. Civilized men seek shelter -in sickness, and of this there was ever a scarcity.</p> - -<p>Twelve hundred men were crowded into the Lacy house, which contained -but twelve rooms. They covered every foot of the floors and porticoes, -and even lay on the stair landings! A man who could find opportunity -to lie between the legs of a table thought himself lucky: he was not -likely to be stepped on. In a common cupboard, with four shelves, five -men lay, and were fed and attended. Three lived to be removed, and two -died of their wounds.</p> - -<p>Think of trying to lie still and die quietly, lest you fall out of a -bed six feet high!</p> - -<p>Among the wounded of the 7th Michigan was one Faulkner, of Ashtabula -County, Ohio, a mere lad, shot through the lungs and, to all -appearances, dying. When brought in, he could swallow nothing, -breathed painfully, and it was with great difficulty that he gave me -his name and residence. He could not lie down, but sat leaning against -the wall in the corner of the room.</p> - -<p>I observed him carefully as I hurried past from one room to another, -and finally thought he had ceased to breathe. At this moment another -man with a similar wound was taken in on a stretcher by his comrades, -who sought in vain for a spot large enough to lay him down, and -appealed to me. I could only tell them that when that poor boy in the -corner was removed, they could set him down in his place. They went -to remove him, but, to the astonishment of all, he objected, opened -his eyes, and persisted in retaining his corner, which he did for some -two weeks, when, finally, a mere bundle of skin and bones, for he gave -small evidence of either flesh or blood, he was wrapped in a blanket -and taken away in an ambulance to Washington, with a bottle of milk -punch in his blouse, the only nourishment he could take.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span></p> - -<p>On my return to Washington, three months later, a messenger came from -Lincoln Hospital to say that the men of Ward 17 wanted to see me. -I returned with him, and as I entered the ward seventy men saluted -me, standing, such as could, others rising feebly in their beds, and -falling back—exhausted with the effort.</p> - -<p>Every man had left his blood in Fredericksburg—every one was from the -Lacy house. My hand had dressed every wound—many of them in the first -terrible moments of agony. I had prepared their food in the snow and -winds of December and fed them like children.</p> - -<p>How dear they had grown to me in their sufferings, and the three great -cheers that greeted my entrance into that hospital ward were dearer -than the applause. I would not exchange their memory for the wildest -hurrahs that ever greeted the ear of conqueror or king. When the first -greetings were over and the agitation had subsided somewhat, a young -man walked up to me with no apparent wound, with bright complexion, -and in good flesh. There was certainly something familiar in his face, -but I could not recall him, until, extending his hand with a smile, he -said, “I am Riley Faulkner, of the 7th Michigan. I didn’t die, and the -milk punch lasted all the way to Washington!”</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>The author once inquired of Miss Barton how she dressed for these -expeditions. She dressed simply, she said, so that she could get -about easily, but her costume did not greatly differ from that of the -ordinary woman of the period. She added humorously that her wardrobe -was not wholly a matter of choice. Her clothes underwent such hard -usage that nothing lasted very long, and she was glad to wear almost -anything she could get.</p> - -<p>This was not wholly satisfactory, for those were the days of -hoop-skirts and other articles of feminine attire<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span> which had no -possible place in her work. From Mrs. Vassall the author obtained -somewhat more explicit information. She said:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>When Clara went to the front, she dressed in a plain black print -skirt with a jacket. She wished to dress so that she could easily get -about and not consume much time in dressing. Her clothing received -hard usage, and when she returned from any campaign to Washington, -she was in need of a new outfit. At one time the women of Oxford sent -her a box for her own personal use. Friends in Oxford furnished the -material, and Annie Childs made the dresses. The box was delivered at -her room during her absence, and she returned from the field, weary -and wet, her hair soaked and falling down her back, and entered her -cold and not very cheerful room. There she found this box with its -complete outfit, and kneeling beside it she burst into happy tears.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>The author counts it especially fortunate that he has been able to find -a letter from Clara relating to this very experience, which was on -the occasion of her return from the battle of Fredericksburg. It was -addressed to Annie Childs, and dated four months later:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Port Royal</span>, May 28th, 1863</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">My dear Annie</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I remember, four long months ago, one cold, dreary, windy day, I -dragged me out from a chilly street-car that had found me ankle-deep -in the mud of the 6th Street wharf, and up the slippery street and -my long flights of stairs into a room, cheerless, in confusion, and -alone, looking in most respects as I had left it some months before, -with the exception of a mysterious <em>box</em> which stood unopened -in the middle of the floor. All things looked strange to me, for in -that few months I had taken in so much that yet I had no clear views. -The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span> great artist had been at work upon my brain and sketched it all -over with life scenes, and death scenes, never to be erased. The -fires of <em>Fredericksburg</em> still blazed before my eyes, and her -cannon still thundered at my ear, while away down in the depths of my -heart I was smothering the groans and treasuring the prayers of her -dead and dying heroes; worn, weak, and heartsick, I was <em>home from -Fredericksburg</em>; and when, there, for the first time I looked at -myself, shoeless, gloveless, ragged, and blood-stained, a new sense -of desolation and pity and sympathy and weariness, all blended, swept -over me with irresistible force, and, perfectly overpowered, I sank -down upon the strange box, unquestioning its presence or import, and -wept as I had never done since the soft, hazy, winter night that saw -our attacking guns silently stealing their approach to the river, -ready at the dawn to ring out the shout of death to the waiting -thousands at their wheels.</p> - -<p>I said I wept, and so I did, and gathered strength and calmness -and consciousness—and finally the <em>strange box</em>, which had -afforded me my <em>first rest</em>, began to claim my attention; it was -clearly and handsomely marked to myself at Washington, and came by -express—so much for the outside; and a few pries with a hatchet, to -hands as well accustomed as mine, soon made the inside as visible, -only for the neat paper which covered all. It was doubtless something -sent to some soldier; pity I had not had it earlier—it might be too -late now; he might be past his wants or the kind remembrances of the -loved ones at home. The while I was busy in removing the careful -paper wrappings a letter, addressed to me, opened—“<em>From friends -in Oxford and Worcester</em>”—no signature. Mechanically I commenced -lifting up, one after another, hoods, shoes, boots, gloves, skirts, -handkerchiefs, collars, linen,—and that beautiful dress! look at it, -all made—who—! Ah, there is no mistaking the workmanship—Annie’s -scissors shaped and her skillful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span> fingers fitted that. Now, I begin to -comprehend; while I had been away in the snows and frosts and rains -and mud of Falmouth, forgetting my friends, myself, to eat or sleep or -rest, forgetting everything but my God and the poor suffering victims -around me, these dear, kind friends, undismayed and not disheartened -by the great national calamity which had overtaken them, mourning, -perhaps, the loss of their own, had remembered <em>me</em>, and with -open hearts and willing hands had prepared this noble, thoughtful gift -for me at my return. It was too much, and this time, burying my face -in the dear tokens around me, I wept again as heartily as before, but -with very different sensations; a new chord was struck; my labors, -slight and imperfect as they had been, had been appreciated; I was not -alone; and then and there again I re-dedicated myself to my little -work of humanity, pledging before God all that I <em>have</em>, all that -I <em>am</em>, all that I <em>can</em>, and all that I <em>hope</em> to be, -to the cause of <em>Justice</em> and <em>Mercy</em> and <em>Patriotism</em>, -my <em>Country</em>, and my <em>God</em>. And cheered and sustained as -I have been by the kind remembrances of old friends, the cordial -greeting of new ones, and the tearful, grateful blessings of the -thousands of noble martyrs to whose relief or comfort it has been my -blessed privilege to add my mite, I feel that my cup of happiness is -more than full. It is an untold privilege to have lived in this day -when there is work to be done, and, still more, to possess health and -strength to do it, and most of all to feel that I bear with me the -kindly feelings and perhaps prayers of the noble mothers and sisters -who have sent sons and brothers to fight the battles of the world in -the armies of Freedom. Annie, if it is not asking too much, now that I -have gathered up resolution enough to speak of the subject at all (for -I have never been able to before), I would like to know <em>to whom</em> -besides yourself I am indebted for these beautiful and valuable gifts. -It is too tame and too little to say that I am thankful for them. -You did not <em>want that</em>,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span> but I will say that, God willing, I -will <em>yet wear them where none of the noble donors would be ashamed -to have them seen</em>. Some of those gifts shall yet see service if -Heaven spare my life. With thanks I am the friend of my “Friends in -Oxford and Worcester.”</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara Barton</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span></p> - - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV"><big>CHAPTER XV</big><br /> -CLARA BARTON’S CHANGE OF BASE</h2> -</div> - -<h3>SPRING OF 1863</h3> - - -<p>The events we have been describing bring Miss Barton to the end of -1862. The greater part of the year 1863 was spent by her in entirely -different surroundings. Believing that the most significant military -events of that year would be found in connection with a campaign -against Charleston, South Carolina, and that the Army of the Potomac, -which she had thus far accompanied, was reasonably well cared for in -provisions which were in large degree the result of her establishment, -she began to consider the advisability of going farther south.</p> - -<p>Her reasons for this were partly military and partly personal. The -military aspect of the situation was that she learned in Washington -that the region about Charleston was likely to be the place of largest -service during the year 1863. On the personal side was first her great -desire to establish communication with her brother Stephen, who still -was in North Carolina. When Charleston was captured, the army could -move on into the interior. If she were somewhere near, she could have -a part in the rescue of her brother, and she had reason to believe -that he might have need of her service after his long residence within -the bounds of the Confederacy. Her brother David received a commission -in the Quartermaster’s Department, and he was sent to Hilton Head in -the vicinity of Charleston. Her cousin, Corporal Leander T. Poor, -in the Engineers’ Department, was assigned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span> there, partly through -her influence. It seemed as though that field promised to her every -possible opportunity for public and private usefulness. There she could -most largely serve her country; there she could have the companionship -of her brother David and her cousin, Leander Poor; there she could most -probably establish communications with Stephen, who might be in great -need of her assistance. It is difficult to see how in the circumstances -she could have planned with greater apparent wisdom. If in any respect -the outcome failed to justify her expectations, it was because she -was no wiser with respect to the military developments of the year -1863 than were the highest officials in Washington. Her request for -permission to go to Port Royal was written early in 1863, and was -addressed to the Assistant Secretary of War.</p> - -<p>This request was promptly granted, and she was soon planning for a -change of scene. The first three months of 1863, however, were spent in -Washington, and we have few glimpses of her activities. In the middle -of January she rejoined the army, acting on information which led her -to believe that a battle was impending.</p> - -<p>It should be stated that Clara Barton’s diaries are most fragmentary -where there is most to record. She was much given to writing, and, -when she had time, enjoyed recording in detail almost everything that -happened. She was accustomed to record the names of her callers, -and the persons from whom she received, and those to whom she sent, -letters; her purchases with the cost of each; her receipts and -expenditures; her repairs to her wardrobe, and innumerable other little -items; but a large proportion of the most significant events in her -public life are not recorded in her diaries, or, if recorded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span> at all, -are merely set down in catchwords, and the details are given, if at -all, in her letters. Of this expedition in the winter of 1863 we have -no word either in her diary, which she probably left in Washington, or -in her letters which she may have been too busy to write, or which, if -written, have not been preserved. Our knowledge of her departure upon -this expedition is contained in a letter from her nephew Samuel Barton:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Surgeon-General’s Office</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Washington City, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr></span>, January 18th, 1863</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">My dear Cousin Mary</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Your very acceptable letter, with Ada’s and Ida’s, was received last -Thursday evening. I could not answer sooner, for I have been quite -busy evenings ever since it was received. Aunt Clara left the city -this morning for the army. Her friend, Colonel Rucker, the Assistant -Quartermaster-General, told her last Thursday that the army were about -to move and they were expecting a fight and wanted her to go if she -felt able, so this morning she, <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Welles, who always goes with her -to the battles, and <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Doe, a Massachusetts man, took the steamboat -for Acquia Creek, where they will take the cars for Falmouth and there -join the army. Colonel Rucker gave her two new tents, and bread, -flour, meal, and a new stove, and requested her to telegraph to him -for anything she wanted and he would send it to her. Aunt Sally left -for Massachusetts last Thursday evening....</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Sam Barton</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>In the State House in Boston is the battle-flag of the 21st -Massachusetts, stained with the blood of Sergeant Thomas Plunkett. -Both his arms were shot away in the battle of Fredericksburg, but -he planted the flagstaff between his feet and upheld the flag with -his two shattered stumps of arms. Massachusetts has few relics so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span> -precious as this flag. Clara Barton was with him at Fredericksburg -and ministered to him there, and remained his lifelong friend. In -many ways she manifested her interest in him, rendering her aid in a -popular movement which secured him a purse of $4000. Sergeant Plunkett -was in need of a pension, and Clara Barton addressed to the Senate’s -Committee on Military Affairs a memorial on his behalf. It was written -on Washington’s Birthday, after her return from the field:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Washington, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr></span>, Feb. 22nd, ’63</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">To the Members of the<br /> - Military Committee, U.S. Senate.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">Senators</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Nothing less than a strong conviction of duty owed to one of the -brave defenders of our Nation’s honor could induce me to intrude for -a moment upon the already burdened, and limited term of action yet -remaining to your honorable body.</p> - -<p>During the late Battle of Fredericksburg, the 21st Massachusetts -Regiment of Volunteers were ordered to charge upon a battery across an -open field; in the terrible fire which assailed them, the colors were -three times in quick succession bereft of their support; the third -time they were seized by Sergeant Thomas Plunkett, of Company E, and -borne over some three hundred yards of open space, when a shell from -the enemy’s battery in its murderous course killed three men of the -regiment and shattered both arms of the Sergeant. He could no longer -support the colors upright, but, planting his foot against the staff, -he endeavored to hold them up, while he strove by his shouts amid the -confusion to attract attention to their condition; for some minutes -he sustained them against his right arm torn and shattered just below -the shoulder, while the blood poured over and among the sacred folds, -literally obliterating the <em>stripes</em>, leaving as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span> fit emblem of -such heroic sacrifice only the <em>crimson and the stars</em>. Thus -drenched in blood, and rent by the fury of eight battles, the noble -standard could be no longer borne, and, while its gallant defender -lay suffering in field hospital from amputation of <em>both</em> arms, -it was reverently wrapped by Colonel Clark and returned to the State -House in Boston, with the request that others might be sent them; the -21st had never lost their colors, but they had worn them out.</p> - -<p>The old flag and its brave bearer are alike past their usefulness save -as examples for emulation and titles of glory for some bright page -of our Nation’s history, and, while the one is carefully treasured -in the sacred archives of the State, need I more than ask of this -noble body to put forth its protecting arm to shelter, cherish, and -sustain the other? If guaranty were needful for the private character -of so true a <em>soldier</em>, it would have been found in the touching -address of his eloquent Colonel (Clark) delivered on Christmas beside -the stretcher waiting at the train at Falmouth to convey its helpless -burden to the car, whither he had been escorted not only by his -regiment, but his <em>General</em>. The tears which rolled over the -veteran cheeks around him were ample testimony of the love and respect -he had won from them, and to-day his heart’s deepest affections twine -round his gallant regiment as the defenders of their country.</p> - -<p>A moment’s reflection will obviate the necessity of any suggestions -in reference to the provisions needful for his future support; it is -only to be remembered that he can nevermore be unattended, a common -doorknob is henceforth as formidable to him as a prison bolt. His -little pension as a Sergeant would not remunerate an attendant for -placing his food in his mouth, to say nothing of how it shall be -obtained for <em>both</em> of them.</p> - -<p>For the sake of formality merely, for to you gentlemen I know the -appeal is needless, I will close by praying your honorable body to -grant to Sergeant Plunkett such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span> pension as shall in your noble wisdom -be ample for his future necessities and a fitting tribute to his -patriotic sacrifice.</p> - -<p class="right"> -C. B.<br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>The assignment of her brother David to duty in the vicinity of -Charleston was the event which decided her to ask for a transfer to -that field, or rather for permission to go there with supplies.</p> - -<p>It must be remembered that Miss Barton’s service was a voluntary -service. She was not an army nurse, and had no intention of becoming -one. The system of army nurses was under the direct supervision of -Dorothea Lynde Dix, a woman from her own county, and one for whom she -cherished feelings of the highest regard, but under whom she had no -intention of working. Indeed, it is one of the fine manifestations -of good sense on the part of Clara Barton that she never at any time -attempted what might have seemed an interference with Miss Dix, but -found for herself a field of service, and developed it according to a -method of her own. It will be well at this time to give some account -of Miss Dix, and a little outline of her great work in its relation to -that of Clara Barton.</p> - -<p>Dorothea Lynde Dix was born April 4, 1802, and died July 17, 1887. She -was twenty-nine years older than Clara Barton, and their lives had -many interesting parallels. Until the publication of her biography by -Francis Tiffany in 1890, it was commonly supposed that she was born in -Worcester County, Massachusetts, where she spent her childhood. But -her birth occurred in Maine. Unlike Clara Barton she had no happy home -memories. Her father was an unstable, visionary man, and it was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span> on one -of his frequent and futile migrations that she was born. Her biographer -states that her childhood memories were so painful that “in no hour -of the most confidential intimacy could she be induced to unlock the -silence which, to the very end of life, she maintained as to all the -incidents of her early days.” She had no happy memories of association -with school or church, or sympathetic friends. The background of her -childhood memory was of poverty with a lack of public respect for a -father who, though of good family, led an aimless, shiftless, wandering -life. Unhappily, he was a religious fanatic, associated with no church, -but issuing tracts which he paid for with money that should have been -used for his children, and, to save expense, required her to paste or -stitch. She hated the employment and the type of religion which it -represented. She broke away from it almost violently and went to live -with her grandmother in Boston.</p> - -<p>There she fell under the influence of William Ellery Channing, and was -born again. To her through his ministry came the spirit that quickened -and gave life to her dawning hope and aspiration.</p> - -<p>How she got her education we hardly know, but she began teaching, as -Clara Barton did, when she was fifteen years of age. And like Clara -Barton she became a pioneer in certain forms of educational work. -Dorothea Dix opened a school “for charitable and religious uses,” above -her grandmother’s barn, and in time she inherited property which made -her independent, so that she was able to devote herself to a life of -philanthropy.</p> - -<p>In 1837, being then thirty-five years of age, and encouraged by her -pastor, <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Channing, in whose home she spent much of her time, she -launched forth upon her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span> career of devotion to the amelioration of -the condition of convicts, lunatics, and paupers. In her work for the -insane she was especially effective. She traveled in nearly all of the -States of the Union, pleading for effective legislation to promote the -establishment of asylums for the insane. Like Clara Barton she found -an especially fruitful field of service in New Jersey; the Trenton -Asylum was in a very real sense her creation. The pauper, the prisoner, -and especially the insane of our whole land owe her memory a debt of -lasting gratitude.</p> - -<p>By 1861 her reputation was well established. She was then almost sixty -years of age and had gained the well-merited confidence of the medical -profession. She was on her way from Boston to Washington, and was -spending a few days at the Trenton Asylum, when the Sixth Massachusetts -was fired upon in Baltimore on April 19, 1861. Like Clara Barton she -hastened immediately to the place of service. On the very next day -she wrote to a friend: “I think my duty lies near military hospitals -for the present. This need not be announced. I have reported myself -and some nurses for free service at the War Department, and to the -Surgeon-General.” Her offer was accepted with great heartiness and -with ill-considered promptness. She was appointed “Superintendent of -Female Nurses.” She was authorized “to select and assign female nurses -to general or permanent military hospitals; they not to be employed -without her sanction and approval except in case of urgent need.”</p> - -<p>Whether the United States contained any woman better qualified to -undertake such a task as this than Dorothea Dix may be questioned. -Certainly none could have been found with more of experience or with a -higher<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span> consecration. It was an impossible task for any one, and, while -Miss Dix was possessed of some of the essential qualities, she did not -possess them all. Her biographer very justly says:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>The literal meaning, however, of such a commission as had thus been -hastily bestowed on Miss Dix—applying, as it did to the women nurses -of the military hospitals of the whole United States not in actual -rebellion—was one which, in those early days of the war, no one so -much as began to take in.... Such a commission—as the march of events -was before long to prove—involved a sheer, practical impossibility. -It implied, not a single-handed woman, nearly sixty and shattered -in health, but immense organized departments at twenty different -centers.”<span class="fnanchor" id="fna8"><a href="#fn8">[8]</a></span></p> -</blockquote> - -<p>The War Department acted upon what must have appeared a wise impulse -in turning this whole matter of women nurses over to the authority of -a woman known in all the States—as Miss Dix was known—and possessing -the confidence of the people of the whole country. But she was not only -sixty years of age and predisposed to consumption, and at that time -suffering from other ailments, but she had never learned to delegate -responsibility to her subordinates. It had been well for Clara Barton -if she had known better how to set others to work, but she knew how -better than Dorothea Dix and was twenty years younger. Indeed, Clara -Barton was younger at eighty than Dorothea Dix was at sixty, but she -herself suffered somewhat from this same limitation. Dorothea Dix could -not be everywhere, and with her system she needed to be everywhere, -just as Clara Barton under her system had to be at the very front in -direct<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span> management of her own line of activities. But Dorothea Dix, -besides needing to be simultaneously on twenty battle-fields, had to be -where she could examine and sift out and prepare for service the chosen -from among a great many thousand women applying for the privilege of -nursing wounded soldiers, and ranging all the way from sentimental -school-girls to sickly and decrepit grandmothers. Again, <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Tiffany -says:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Women nurses were volunteering by the thousands, the majority of them -without the experience or health to fit them for such arduous service. -Who should pass on their qualifications, who station, superintend, and -train them? Now, under the Atlas weight of care and responsibilities -so suddenly thrust on Miss Dix, the very qualifications which had so -preëminently fitted her for the sphere in which she had wrought such -miracles of success began to tell against her. She was nearly sixty -years old, and with a constitution sapped by malaria, overwork, and -pulmonary weakness. She had for years been a lonely and single-handed -worker, planning her own projects, keeping her own counsel, and -pressing on, unhampered by the need of consulting others, toward her -self-chosen goal. The lone worker could not change her nature. She -tried to do everything herself, and the feat before long became an -impossibility. At length she came to recognize this, again and again -exclaiming in her distress, “This is not the work I would have my life -judged by.”</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>By that, however, in part her life-work must be judged, and, in the -main, greatly to her advantage and wholly to her honor. We can see, -however, the inevitable limitations of her work. Up to that time, she -had dealt with small groups of subordinates from whom she could demand -and secure some approach to perfection of organization and discipline. -This she could not possibly secure<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span> in her present situation. Again we -quote the discriminating words of her biographer:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>But in war—especially in a war precipitately entered into by a raw -and inexperienced people—all such perfection of organization and -discipline is out of the question. If a good field hospital is not -to be had, the best must be made of a bad one. If a skillful surgeon -is not at hand, then an incompetent one must hack away after his own -butcher fashion. If selfish and greedy attendants eat up and drink -up the supplies of delicacies and wines for the sick, then enough -more must be supplied to give the sick the fag end of a chance. It -is useless to try to idealize war.... All this, however, Miss Dix -could not bring herself to endure. Ready to live on a crust, and to -sacrifice herself without stint, her whole soul was on fire at the -spectacles of incompetence and callow indifference she was doomed -daily to witness. She became overwrought, and lost the requisite -self-control.... Inevitably she became involved in sharp altercations -with prominent medical officials and with regimental surgeons.<span class="fnanchor" id="fna9"><a href="#fn9">[9]</a></span></p> -</blockquote> - -<p>It is necessary to recall this in order to understand Clara Barton’s -attitude toward the established military hospitals. She was not, in any -narrow or technical term, a hospital nurse. She stood ready to assist -the humblest soldier in any possible need, and to work in any hospital -at any task howsoever humble, if that was where she could work to -advantage. But she knew the hospitals in and about Washington too well -not to appreciate these infelicities. She had no intention whatever of -becoming a cog in that great and unmanageable machine.</p> - -<p>Clara Barton held Dorothea Dix in the very highest regard. In all her -diaries and letters and in her memoranda<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span> of conversations which her -diaries sometimes contain, there is no word concerning Dorothea Dix -that is not appreciative. In 1910 the New York “World” wired her a -request that she telegraph to that newspaper, at its expense, a list -of eight names of women whom she would nominate for a Woman’s Hall of -Fame. The eight names which she sent in reply to this request were -Abigail Adams, Lucretia Mott, Lucy Stone Blackwell, Harriet Beecher -Stowe, Frances Dana Gage, Maria Mitchell, Dorothea Dix, and Mary A. -Bickerdyke. It was a fine indication of her broad-mindedness that she -should have named two women, Dorothea Dix and Mother Bickerdyke, who -should have won distinction in her own field and might have been deemed -her rivals for popular affection. If Clara Barton was capable of any -kind of jealousy, it was not a jealousy that would have thought ever to -undermine or belittle a woman like Dorothea Dix. Few women understood -so well as Clara Barton what Dorothea Dix had to contend with. Her -contemporary references show how fully she honored this noble elder -sister, and how loyally she supported her.</p> - -<p>At the same time, Clara Barton kept herself well out from under the -administration and control of Miss Dix. In some respects the two women -were too much alike in their temperament for either one to have worked -well under the other. For that matter, neither one of them greatly -enjoyed working under anybody. It is at once to the credit of Clara -Barton’s loyalty and good sense that she went as an independent worker.</p> - -<p>But the hospitals in and about Washington were approaching more and -more nearly something that might be called system, and that system was -the system of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span> Dorothea Dix. Clara Barton had all the room she wanted -on the battle-field. There was no great crowd of women clamoring to go -with her when under fire she crossed the bridge at Fredericksburg. But -by the spring of 1863 it began to be less certain that there was going -to be as much fighting as there had been in the immediate vicinity of -Washington. There was a possibility that actual field service with the -Army of the Potomac was going to be less, and that the base hospitals -with their organized system would be able to care more adequately for -the wounded than would the hospitals farther south where the next great -crisis seemed to be impending.</p> - -<p>These were among the considerations in the mind of Clara Barton when -she left the Army of the Potomac—“my own army,” as she lovingly called -it—and secured her transfer to Hilton Head, near Charleston.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span></p> - -<p class="footnote p2" id="fn8"><a href="#fna8">[8]</a> Tiffany, <em>Life of Dorothea Lynde Dix</em>, 336, 337.</p> - -<p class="footnote" id="fn9"><a href="#fna9">[9]</a> Tiffany, 338, 339.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI"><big>CHAPTER XVI</big><br /> -THE ATTEMPT TO RECAPTURE FORT SUMTER</h2> -</div> - - - - -<blockquote> - -<p>I am confounded! Literally speechless with amazement! When I left -Washington every one said it boded no peace; it was a bad omen for -me to start; I never missed finding the trouble I went to find, and -was never late. I thought little of it. This <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> we neared -the dock at Hilton Head and the boat came alongside and boarded us -instantly. The first word was, “The first gun is to be fired upon -Charleston this <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> at three o’clock.” We drew out watches, -and the hands pointed three to the minute. I felt as if I should sink -through the deck. I am no fatalist, but it is so singular.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Thus wrote Clara Barton in her journal on Tuesday night, April 7, -1863, the night of her arrival at Port Royal. She had become so expert -in learning where there was to be a battle that her friends looked -upon her as a kind of stormy petrel and expected trouble as soon as -she arrived. She had come to Hilton Head in order to be on hand when -the bombardment of Charleston should occur, and the opening guns of -the bombardment were her salute as her boat, the Arogo, warped up to -the dock. Everything seemed to indicate that she had come at the very -moment when she was needed.</p> - -<p>But the following Saturday the transports which had loaded recruits at -Hilton Head, ready to land and capture Charleston as soon as the guns -had done their work, returned to Hilton Head and brought the soldiers -back. Her diary that morning recorded that the Arogo returning would -stop off at Charleston for dispatches, but her entry that night said:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>In the <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span>, much to the consternation of everybody, the -transports laden with troops all hove in sight. Soon the harbor -was literally filled with ships and boats, the wharf crowded with -disembarking troops with the camp equipage they had taken with them. -What had they returned for? was the question hanging on every lip. -Conjecture was rife; all sorts of rumors were afloat; but the one -general idea seemed to prevail that the expedition “had fizzled,” if -any one knows the precise meaning and import of that term. Troops -landed all the evening and perhaps all night, and returned to the old -camping grounds. The place is alive with soldiers. No one knows why he -is here, or why he is not there; all seem disappointed and chagrined, -but no one is to blame. For my part, I am rather pleased at the turn -it has taken, as I thought from the first that we had “too few troops -to fight and too many to be killed.” I have seen worse retreats if -this be one.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>“Fizzled” appears to have been a new word, but the country had abundant -opportunity to learn its essential meaning. The expedition against -Charleston was one of several that met this inglorious end, and the -flag was not raised over Sumter until 1865.</p> - -<p>Now followed an interesting chapter in Clara Barton’s career, but -one quite different from anything she had expected when she came to -Hilton Head. After the “fizzle” in early April, the army settled down -to general inactivity. Charleston must be attacked simultaneously by -land and sea and reduced by heavy artillery fire before the infantry -could do anything. There was nothing for Clara Barton to do but to wait -for the battle which had been postponed, but was surely coming. She -distributed her perishable supplies where they would do the most good, -and looked after the comfort of such soldiers as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span> needed her immediate -ministration. But the wounded were few in number and the sick were -in well-established hospitals where she had no occasion to offer her -services.</p> - -<p>Moreover, she found the situation here very different from what she -had seen only a few miles from Washington. There were no muddy roads -between Hilton Head and New York Harbor. The Arogo was a shuttle moving -back and forward every few days, and in time another boat was added. -There was a regular mail service between New York and Hilton Head, and -every boat took officers and soldiers going upon, or returning from, -furloughs, and the boats from New York brought nurses and supplies. The -Sanitary Commission had its own dépôt of supplies and a liberal fund of -money from which purchases could be made of fruits and such other local -delicacies as were procurable. It is true, as Miss Barton was afterward -to learn, that the hospital management left something to be desired, -and that fewer delicacies were purchased than could have been. But -that was distinctly not her responsibility, nor did she for one moment -assume it to be such. She came into conflict with official red tape -quite soon enough in her own department, without intruding where she -did not belong. She settled down to await the time when she should be -needed for the special work that had brought her to Hilton Head. That -time came, but it did not come soon, and its delay was the occasion of -very mixed emotions on her part.</p> - -<p>Clara Barton came to Hilton Head with a reputation already established. -She no longer needed to be introduced, nor was there any difficulty in -her procuring passes to go where she pleased, excepting as she was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span> -sometimes refused out of consideration for her own personal safety. -But not once while she was in Carolina was she asked to show her -passes. When she landed, she found provision made for her at regimental -headquarters. Colonel J. G. Elwell, of Cleveland, to whom she reported, -was laid up at this time with a broken leg. She had him for a patient -and his gratitude continued through all the subsequent years. Her -journal described him as a noble, Christian gentleman, and she found -abundant occasion to admire his manliness, his Christian character, his -affection for his wife and children, his courtesy to her, and later, -his heroism as she witnessed it upon the battle-field. The custody -of her supplies brought her into constant relations with the Chief -Quartermaster, Captain Samuel T. Lamb, for whom she cherished a regard -almost if not quite as high as that she felt for Colonel, afterward -General, Elwell. Her room was at headquarters, under the same roof with -these and other brave officers, who vied with each other in bestowing -honors and kindnesses upon her. As Colonel Elwell was incapacitated -for service, she saw him daily, and the care of her supplies gave her -scarcely less constant association with Captain Lamb. General Hunter -called upon her, paid her high compliments, issued her passes and -permits, and offered her every possible courtesy. Her request that her -cousin, Corporal Leander Poor, be transferred to the department over -which her brother David presided, met an immediate response. The nurses -from the hospital paid her an official call, and apparently spoke very -gracious words to her, for she indicates that she was pleased with -something they said or did. Different officers sent her bouquets; her -table and her window must<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span> have been rather constantly filled with -flowers. More than once the band serenaded her, and between the musical -numbers there was a complimentary address which embarrassed, even more -than it pleased her, in which a high tribute was paid “To Clara Barton, -the Florence Nightingale of America.”</p> - -<p>The officers at headquarters had good saddle horses, and invited her to -ride with them. If there was any form of exercise which she thoroughly -enjoyed, it was horseback riding. She procured a riding-skirt and -sent for her sidesaddle, which the Arogo in due time brought to her. -So far nothing could have been more delightful. The very satisfaction -of it made her uncomfortable. She hoped that God would not hold her -accountable for misspent time, and said so in her diary.</p> - -<p>Lest she should waste her time, she began teaching some negro boys to -read, and sought out homesick soldiers who needed comfort. Whenever -she heard of any danger or any likelihood of a battle anywhere within -reach, she conferred with Colonel Elwell about going there. He was a -religious man, and she discussed with him the interposition of Divine -Providence, and the apparent indication that she was following a Divine -call in coming to Hilton Head exactly when she did. But no field opened -immediately which called for her ministrations. She felt sometimes that -it would be a terrible mistake if she had come so far away from what -really was her duty, when she wrote: “God is great and fearfully just. -Truly it is a fearful thing to fall into His hands; His ways are past -finding out.” Still she could not feel responsible for the fact that -no great battle had occurred in her immediate vicinity. Each time the -Arogo<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span> dropped anchor, she wondered if she ought to return on her; but -each time it seemed certain that it was not going to be very long until -there was a battle. So she left the matter in God’s hands. She wrote: -“It will be wisely ordered, and I shall do all for the best in the end. -God’s will, not mine, be done. I am content. How I wish I could always -keep in full view the fact and feeling that God orders all things -precisely as they should be; all is best as it is.”</p> - -<p>On Sunday she read Beecher’s sermons and sometimes copied religious -poetry for Colonel Elwell, who, in addition to his own disability, -had tender memories of the death of his little children, and many -solicitous thoughts for his wife.</p> - -<p>In some respects she was having the time of her life. A little group -of women, wives of the officers, gathered at the headquarters, and -there grew up a kind of social usage. One evening when a group of -officers and officers’ wives were gathered together, one of the ladies -read a poem in honor of Clara Barton. One day, at General Hunter’s -headquarters and in his presence, Colonel Elwell presented her with -a beautiful pocket Bible on behalf of the officers. If she needed -anything to increase her fame, that need was supplied when <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Page, -correspondent of the New York “Tribune,” whom she remembered to have -met at the Lacy house during the battle of Fredericksburg, arrived -at Hilton Head, and he, who had seen every battle of the Army of the -Potomac except Chancellorsville, told the officers how he had heard -General Patrick, at the battle of Fredericksburg, remonstrate with -Miss Barton on account of her exposing herself to danger, saying -afterward that he expected<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span> to see her shot every minute. The band of -a neighboring regiment came over and serenaded her. Her windows were -filled with roses and orange blossoms, and she wrote in her diary: “I -do not deserve such friends as I find, and how can I deserve them? I -fear that in these later years our Heavenly Father is too merciful to -me.”</p> - -<p>It would have been delightful if she could only have been sure that she -was doing her duty. Surrounded by appreciative friends, bedecked with -flowers, serenaded and sung to, and with a saddled horse at her door -almost every morning and at least one officer if not a dozen eager for -the joy and honor of a ride with her, only two things disturbed her. -The first was that she still had no word from Stephen, and the other -was the feeling that, unless the Lord ordained a battle in her vicinity -before long, she ought to be back with what she called “my own army.”</p> - -<p>Clara Barton’s diary displays utter freedom from cant. She was not -given to putting her religious feelings and emotions down on paper. But -in this period she gave much larger space to her own reflections than -was her custom when more fully occupied. She was feeling in a marked -degree the providential aspects of her own life; she was discussing -with Christian officers their plans for what Colonel Elwell called his -“soldier’s church.” Her religious nature found expression in her diary -more adequately than she had usually had time to express.</p> - -<p>Toward the end of her period of what since has been termed her watchful -waiting, she received a letter from a friend, an editor, who felt that -the war had gone on quite long enough, and who wished her to use her -influence<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span> in favor of an immediate peace. Few people wanted peace more -than Clara Barton, but her letter in answer to this request shows an -insight into the national situation which at that time could hardly -have been expected:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Hilton Head, S.C.</span>, June 24th, 1863</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">T. W. Meighan, <abbr title="esquire">Esq.</abbr></span>,<br /> -</p> - -<p>My kind friend, your welcome letter of the 6th has been some days -in hand. I did not get “frightened.” I am a <em>U.S. soldier</em>, -you know, and therefore not supposed to be susceptible to -<em>fear</em>, and, <em>as I am</em> merely a <em>soldier</em>, and -<em>not</em> a <em>statesman</em>, I shall make no attempt at discussing -<em>political</em> points with you. You have spoken openly and frankly, -and I have perused your letter and considered your sentiments with -interest, and, I believe, with sincerity and candor, and, while I -observe with pain the wide difference of <em>opinion</em> existing -between us, I cannot find it in my heart to believe it <em>more</em> -than a matter of <em>opinion</em>. I shall not take to myself more -of honesty of purpose, faithfulness of zeal, or patriotism, than I -award to you. I have not, aye! never shall forget <em>where I first -found you</em>. The soldier who has stood in the ranks of my country’s -armies, and toiled and marched and fought, and fallen and struggled -and risen, but to fall again more worn and exhausted than before, -until <em>my</em> weak arm had greater strength than his, and could aid -him, and yet made no complaint, and only left the ranks of death when -he had no longer strength to stand up in them—is it for <em>me</em> -to rise up in judgment and accuse <em>this man</em> of a <em>want of -patriotism</em>? True, he does not see as I see, and works in a channel -<em>in</em> which I have no confidence, <em>with</em> which I have no -sympathy, and <em>through</em> which I could not go; still, I must -believe that in the end the same <em>results</em> which would gladden my -heart would rejoice his.</p> - -<p>Where you in prospective see <em>peace</em>, glorious, coveted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span> -peace, and rest for our tired armies, and home and happiness and -firesides and friends for our war-worn heroes, <em>I</em> see only the -<em>beginning of war</em>. If we should make overtures for “peace upon -any terms,” then, I fear, would follow a code of terms to which no -civilized nation could submit and present even an honorable existence -among nations. God forbid that <em>I</em> should ask the useless -exposure of the life of <em>one</em> man, the desolation of one more -home; I never for a moment lose sight of the mothers and sisters, -and white-haired fathers, and children moving quietly about, and -dropping the unseen, silent tear in those far-away saddened homes, -and I have too often wiped the gathering damp from pale, anxious -brows, and caught from ashy, quivering lips the last faint whispers -of home, not to realize the terrible cost of these separations; -nor has morbid sympathy been all,—out amid the smoke and fire and -thunder of our guns, with only the murky canopy above, and the bloody -ground beneath, I have wrought day after day and night after night, -my heart well-nigh to bursting with conflicting emotions, so sorry -for the necessity, so glad for the <em>opportunity</em> of ministering -with my own hands and strength to the dying wants of the patriot -martyrs who fell for their country and mine. If my poor life could -have purchased theirs, how cheerfully and quickly would the exchange -have been made; more than this I could not do, deeper than this I -could not feel, and yet among it all it has never once been in my -heart, or on my lips, to sue to our enemies for peace. First, they -broke it without cause; last, they will not restore it without shame. -True, we <em>may</em> never find peace by <em>fighting</em>, certainly we -never shall by <em>asking</em>. “Independence?” They always <em>had</em> -their independence till they madly threw it away; if there <em>be</em> -a chain on them to-day it is of their own riveting. I grant that our -Government has made mistakes, sore ones, too, in some instances, -but ours is a <em>human government</em>, and like <em>all</em> human -operations<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span> liable to mistakes; only the machinery and plans of Heaven -move unerringly and we short-sighted mortals are, half our time, fain -to complain of these. I would that so much of wisdom and foresight and -strength and power fall to our rulers as would show them to-morrow -the path to victory and peace, but we shall never strengthen their -hands or incite their patriotism by deserting and upbraiding them. To -<em>my</em> unsophisticated mind, the Government of my country <em>is</em> -my country, and the <em>people</em> of my country, the Government of -my country as nearly as a representative system will allow. I have -taught me to look upon our “Government” as the band which the people -bind around the bundle of sticks to hold it firm, where every patriot -hand must grasp the knot the tighter, and our “Constitution” as a -symmetrical framework unsheltered and unprotected, around which the -people must rally, and brace and stay themselves among its inner -timbers, and lash and bind and nail and rivet themselves to its outer -posts, till in its sheltered strength it bids defiance to every -elemental jar,—till the winds cannot rack, the sunshine warp, or -the rains rot, and I would to Heaven that so we rallied and stood -to-day. If our Government is “<em>too weak</em>” to act vigorously and -energetically, <em>strengthen it till it can</em>. Then comes the peace -we all wait for as kings and prophets waited,—and without which, like -them, we seek and never find.</p> - -<p>Pardon me, my good friend, I had never thought to speak at this -length, or, indeed, <em>any</em> length upon this strangely knotted -subject, so entirely out of my line. My business is stanching blood -and feeding fainting men; my post the open field between the bullet -and the hospital. I sometimes discuss the application of a compress or -a wisp of hay under a broken limb, but not the bearing and merits of -a political movement. I make gruel—not speeches; I write <em>letters -home</em> for wounded soldiers, not political addresses—and again I -ask you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span> to pardon, not so much <em>what</em> I have said, as the fact -of my having said anything in relation to a subject of which, upon the -very nature of things, I am supposed to be profoundly ignorant.</p> - -<p>With thanks for favors, and hoping to hear from you and yours as usual,</p> - -<p>I remain as ever</p> - -<p class="p0 center"> -Yours truly</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara Barton</span><br /> -</p> - - -<p>I am glad to hear from your wife and mother, and I am most thankful -for your cordial invitation to visit you, which I shall (if I have -not forfeited your friendship by my plainness of speech, which <em>I -pray</em> I may not) accept most joyously, and I am even now rejoicing -in prospect over my anticipated visit. We are not suffering from heat -yet, and I am enjoying such horseback rides as seldom fall to the lot -of ladies, I believe. I don’t know but I should <em>dare ride with a -cavalry rider</em> by and by, if I continue to practice. I could at -least take lessons. I have a fine new English leaping saddle on the -way to me. I hope <em>you will endeavor</em> to see to it that the rebel -privateers shall not get hold of it. I could not sustain both the loss -and disappointment, I fear.</p> - -<p>Love to all.</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Yours</p> -<p class="right"> -C. B.<br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>While Miss Barton was engaged in these less strenuous occupations she -issued a requisition upon her brother in the Quartermaster’s Department -for a flatiron. She said: “My clothes are as well washed as at home, -and I have a house to iron in if I had the iron. I could be as clean -and as sleek as a kitten. Don’t you want a smooth sister enough to send -her a flatiron?”</p> - -<p>In midsummer, hostilities began in earnest. On July 11 an assault -on Fort Wagner was begun from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span> Morris Island, and was followed by a -bombardment, Admiral Dahlgren firing shells from his gunboats, and -General Gillmore opening with his land batteries. Then followed the -charge of the black troops under Colonel R. G. Shaw, and the long siege -in which the “swamp angel,” a two-hundred-pounder Parrott, opened fire -on Charleston. It was then that Clara Barton found what providential -leading had brought her to this place. Not from a sheltered retreat, -but under actual fire of the guns she ministered to the wounded and -the dying. All day long under a hot sun she boiled water to wash -their wounds, and by night she ministered to them, too ardent to -remember her need of sleep. The hot winds drove the sand into her -eyes, and weariness and danger were ever present. But she did her work -unterrified. She saw Colonel Elwell leading the charge, and he believed -that not only himself, but General Voris and Leggett would have died -but for her ministrations.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Follow me, if you will, through these eight months [Miss Barton said -shortly afterward]. I remember eight months of weary siege—scorched -by the sun, chilled by the waves, rocked by the tempest, buried in the -shifting sands, toiling day after day in the trenches, with the angry -fire of five forts hissing through their ranks during every day of -those weary months.</p> - -<p>This was when your brave old regiments stood thundering at the gate -of proud rebellious Charleston.... There, frowning defiance, with -Moultrie on her left, Johnson on her right, and Wagner in front, she -stood hurling fierce death and destruction full in the faces of the -brave band who beleaguered her walls.</p> - -<p>Sumter, the watch-dog, that stood before her door, lay maimed and -bleeding at her feet, pierced with shot and torn with shell, the tidal -waves lapping his wounds.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span> Still there was danger in his growl and -death in his bite.”<span class="fnanchor" id="fna10"><a href="#fn10">[10]</a></span></p> - -<p>One summer afternoon our brave little army was drawn up among the -island sands and formed in line of march. For hours we watched. Dim -twilight came, then the darkness for which they had waited, while the -gloom and stillness of death settled down on the gathered forces of -Morris Island. Then we pressed forward and watched again. A long line -of phosphorescent light streamed and shot along the waves ever surging -on our right.</p> - -<p>I remember so well these islands, when the guns and the gunners, the -muskets and musketeers, struggled for place and foothold among the -shifting sands. I remember the first swarthy regiments with their -unsoldierly tread, and the soldierly bearing and noble brows of the -patient philanthropists who volunteered to lead them. I can see again -the scarlet flow of blood as it rolled over the black limbs beneath -my hands and the great heave of the heart before it grew still. And I -remember Wagner and its six hundred dead, and the great-souled martyr -that lay there with them when the charge was ended and the guns were -cold.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Vividly she went on to describe the siege of Fort Wagner from Morris -Island, thus:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>I saw the bayonets glisten. The “swamp angel” threw her bursting -bombs, the fleet thundered its cannonade, and the dark line of blue -trailed its way in the dark line of belching walls of Wagner. I saw -them on, up, and over the parapets into the jaws of death, and heard -the clang of the death-dealing sabers as they grappled with the foe. -I saw the ambulances laden down with agony, and the wounded, slowly -crawling to me down the tide-washed beach, Voris and Cumminger gasping -in their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span> blood. And I heard the deafening clatter of the hoofs of -“Old Sam” as Elwell madly galloped up under the walls of the fort for -orders. I heard the tender, wailing fife, the muffled drum and the -last shots as the pitiful little graves grew thick in the shifting -sands.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Of this experience General Elwell afterward wrote:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>I was shot with an Enfield cartridge within one hundred and fifty -yards of the fort and so disabled that I could not go forward. I was -in an awful predicament, perfectly exposed to canister from Wagner -and shell from Gregg and Sumter in front, and the enfilade from James -Island. I tried to dig a trench in the sand with my saber, into which -I might crawl, but the dry sand would fall back in place about as fast -as I could scrape it out with my narrow implement. Failing in this, on -all fours I crawled toward the lee of the beach, which was but a few -yards off.... A charge of canister all around me aroused my reverie -to thoughts of action. I abandoned the idea of taking the fort and -ordered a retreat of myself, which I undertook to execute in a most -unmartial manner on my hands and knees spread out like a turtle.</p> - -<p>After working my way for a half-hour and making perhaps two hundred -yards, two boys of the 62d Ohio found me and carried me to our first -parallel, where had been arranged an extempore hospital. After resting -awhile I was put on the horse of my lieutenant-colonel, from which he -had been shot that night, and started for the lower end of the island -one and a half miles off, where better hospital arrangements had been -prepared. Oh, what an awful ride that was! But I got there at last, by -midnight. I had been on duty for forty-two hours without sleep under -the most trying circumstances and my soul longed for sleep, which I -got in this wise: an army blanket was doubled and laid on the soft -side of a plank with an overcoat for a pillow, on which I laid my -worn-out body.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span></p> - -<p>And such a sleep! I dreamed that I heard the shouts of my boys in -victory, that the rebellion was broken, that the Union was saved, and -that I was at my old home and that my dear wife was trying to soothe -my pain....</p> - -<p>My sleepy emotions awoke me and a dear, blessed woman was bathing my -temples and fanning my fevered face. Clara Barton was there, an angel -of mercy doing all in mortal power to assuage the miseries of the -unfortunate soldiers.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>While she was still under fire, but after the stress of the first -assault, she found time to send a little note which enables us to -identify with certainty her headquarters. Her work was not done in -the shelter of any of the base hospitals in the general region of -Charleston, it was with the advance hospital and under fire.</p> - -<p>The midsummer campaign left Clara Barton desperately sick. She came -very near to laying down her life with the brave men for whose sake -she had freely risked it. What with her own sickness and the strenuous -nature of her service, there is only a single line in her diary (on -Thanksgiving Day) between July 23 and December 1. On July 22 she -personally assisted at two terrible surgical operations as the men were -brought directly in from the field. The soldiers were so badly wounded -she wanted to see them die before the surgeon touched them. But the -surgeons did their work well, and, though it was raining and cold, -she covered them with rubber blankets and was astonished to find how -comfortable they came to be. She returned to see them in the evening -and they were both sleeping soundly. On the following day, the day of -her last entry for the summer, she reported the wounded under her care -as doing well; also, that she had now a man detailed to assume<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span> some -of the responsibility for the food of the wounded. Fresh green corn -was available, and she was having hominy cooked for men who had had -quite too much of salt pork. She was arranging the meals, but had other -people to serve them.</p> - -<p>Then Clara Barton dropped; her strength gave out. Overcome with fatigue -and sick with fever, she lay for several weeks and wrote neither -letters nor in her journal.</p> - -<p>By October she was ready to answer Annie Childs’s thoughtful inquiry -about her wardrobe. There were two successive letters two weeks apart -that consisted almost wholly of the answers she made to the question -wherewithal she should be clothed. Lest we should suppose Clara Barton -to be an institution and not a wholly feminine woman, it is interesting -to notice her concern that these dresses be of proper material and -suitably made.</p> - -<p>The dresses arrived with rather surprising promptness, and they fitted -with only minor alterations which she described in detail to Annie. -Toward the end of October she had occasion to write again to Annie -thanking the friends who had remembered her so kindly, and expressing -in her letter the feeling, which she so often recorded in her diary, -that she was not doing as much as she ought to merit the kindness of -her friends. In another letter a few days later, she told of one use -she was making of her riding-skirt; she was furnishing a hospital at -Fort Mitchell, seven miles away, and her ride to that hospital combined -both business and pleasure.</p> - -<p>About this time she gathered some trophies and sent to Worcester for -the fair. They were exhibited and sold to add to the resources of the -good people who were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span> providing in various ways for the comfort of the -soldiers. At this time she wrote to other organizations who had sent -her supplies, telling of the good they had done.</p> - -<p>But again she fell upon a time of relative inactivity. There were no -more battles to be fought immediately. She again wondered if she had -any right to stay in a place where everything was so comfortable, -especially as Annie Childs had written to her that the Worcester and -Oxford women would not permit her to bear any part of the expense for -the new clothes that had been made for her.</p> - -<p>About this time her brother David received a letter from Stephen which -showed that it was useless for her to stay where she was with any -present expectation of securing his relief. He was still remaining -with his property unmolested by both sides, and thought it better to -continue there than run what seemed to him the larger risks of leaving.</p> - -<p>One of the most interesting and in its way pathetic entries in her -diary at this season, is a long one on December 5, 1863. Miss Barton -had collided with official arrogance, and had unhappy memories of it. -She probably would have said nothing about it had she not been appealed -to by one of the women at the headquarters to do something to improve -conditions at the regular hospital. And that was something which Clara -Barton simply could not do. She knew better than almost any one else -how much those hospitals lacked of perfection. She herself did not -visit them, excepting as she went there to return official calls. -She had made it plain to those in charge that she had not come to -interfere with any form of established work, but to do a work of her -own in complete<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span> sympathy and coöperation with theirs. She knew that -Dorothea Dix had undertaken an impossible task. She saw some nurses -near to where she was who were much more fond of spending pleasant -evenings at headquarters than they were of doing the work for which -they were supposed to have come down. But she also knew that even such -work as she was doing was looked upon by some of them with feelings of -jealousy, as work outside of the general organization, yet receiving -from the public a confidence and recognition not always accorded their -own. One night, after one of the officer’s wives had poured out her -soul to Clara Barton, she poured out her soul to her diary. It is a -very long entry, but it treats of some highly important subjects:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>I moved along to the farther end of the piazza and found Mrs. D., who -soon made known to me the subject of her desires. As I suspected, the -matter was hospitals. She has been visiting the hospital at this place -and has become not only interested, but excited upon the subject; the -clothing department she finds satisfactory, but the storeroom appears -empty and a sameness prevailing through food as provided which seems -to her appalling for a diet for sick men. She states that they have -no delicacies such as the country at the North are flooding hospitals -with; that the food is all badly cooked, served cold, and always the -same thing—dip toast, meat cooked dry, and tea without milk, perhaps -once a week a potato for each man, or a baked apple. She proposed -to establish a kitchen department for the serving of proper food to -these men, irrespective of the pleasure of the “Powers that Be.” She -expects opposition from the surgeons in charge and Mrs. Russell, the -matron appointed and stationed by Miss Dix, but thinks to commence -by littles and work herself in in spite of opposition,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span> or make -report direct to Washington through Judge Holt, and other influential -friends and obtain a <em xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">carte blanche</em> from Secretary Stanton to -act independently of all parties. She wished to know if I thought it -would be possible to procure supplies sufficient to carry on such a -plan, and people to cook and serve if it were once established and -directed properly. She had just mailed a letter to Miss Dame calling -upon her to stir people at the North and make a move if possible in -the right direction. She said General Gillmore took tea with her the -evening previous and inquired with much feeling, “<em>How are my poor -boys?</em>” She desired me to attend church at the hospital to-morrow -(Sunday) morning; not with her, but go, pass through, and judge -for myself. In the meantime the Major came in and the subject was -discussed generally. I listened attentively, gave it as my opinion -that there would be no difficulty in obtaining supplies and means -of paying for the <em>preparation</em> of them, but of the manner and -feasibility of delivering and distributing them among the patients I -said nothing. <em>I had nothing to say.</em> I partly promised to attend -church the next morning, and retired having said very little. What I -have <em>thought</em> is quite another thing. I have no doubt but the -patients lack many luxuries which the country at large endeavors to -supply them with, and supposes they have, no doubt; but men suffer and -die for the lack of the nursing and provisions of the loved ones at -home. No doubt but the stately, stupendous, and magnificent indolence -of the “officers in charge” embitters the days of the poor sufferers -who have become mere machines in the hands of the Government to be -ruled and oppressed by puffed-up, conceited, and self-sufficient -superiors in position. No doubt but a good, well-regulated kitchen, -presided over with a little good common sense and womanly care, would -change the whole aspect of things and lengthen the days of some, and -brighten the last days of others of the poor sufferers within the thin -walls<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span> of this hospital. I wish it might be, but what can <em>I</em> -do? First it is not <em>my</em> province; I should be out of place -there; next, Miss Dix is supreme, and her appointed nurse is matron; -next, the surgeons will not brook any interference, and will, in my -opinion, resent and resist the smallest effort to break over their -own arrangements. What <em>others</em> may be able to do I am unable to -conjecture, but I feel that <em>my</em> guns are effectually silenced. -My sympathy is not destroyed, by any means, but my <em>confidence</em> -in my ability to accomplish anything of an alleviating character in -<em>this</em> department is completely annihilated. I <em>went</em> with -all I had, to work where I thought I saw greatest need. A man can -<em>have</em> no greater need than to be saved from death, and after -six weeks of unremitting toil I was driven from my own tents by the -selfish <em>cupidity</em> or <em>stupidity</em> of a pompous staff surgeon -with a little accidental temporary authority, and I by the means -thrown upon a couch of sickness, from which I barely escaped with -my life. After four weeks of suffering most intense, I rose in my -weakness and repaired again to my post, and scarcely were my labors -recommenced when, through the <em>same</em> influence or <em>no</em> -influence brought to bear upon the General Commanding, I was made -the subject of a general order, and commanded to leave the island, -giving me three hours in which to pack, remove, and ship four tons -of supplies with no assistance that <em>they</em> knew of but one old -female negro cook. I complied, but was remanded to <em>Beaufort</em> -to labor in the hospitals there. With this portion of the “order” -I failed to comply, and went home to Hilton Head and wrote the -Commanding General a full explanation of my position, intention, -proposed labors, etc., etc., which brought a rather sharp response, -calling my humanity to account for not being willing to comply -with his specified request, viz. to labor in Beaufort hospitals; -insisting upon the plan as gravely as if it had been a possibility -to be accomplished. But for the extreme ludicrousness of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span> thing -I should have felt hurt at the bare thought of such a charge against -<em>me</em> and from such a quarter. The hospitals were supplied by -the Sanitary Commission, Miss Dix holding supremacy over all female -attendants by authority from Washington, Mrs. Lander <em>claiming</em>, -and endeavoring to enforce the same, and scandalizing through the -Press—each hospital labeled, <em>No Admittance</em>, and its surgeons -bristling like porcupines at the bare sight of a proposed visitor. How -in reason’s name was I “to labor there”? Should I prepare my food and -thrust it against the outer walls, in the hope it might strengthen the -patients inside? Should I tie up my bundle of clothing and creep up -and deposit it on the doorstep and slink away like a guilty mother, -and watch afar off to see if the master of the mansion would accept or -reject the “foundling”? If the Commanding General in his wisdom, when -he assumed the direction of my affairs, and commanded me <em>where</em> -to labor, had opened the doors for me to enter, the idea would have -<em>seemed</em> more practical. It did not occur to me at the moment -how I was to effect an entrance to these hospitals, but I have since -thought that I might have been <em>expected</em> to watch my opportunity -some <em>dark night</em>, and <span class="allsmcap">STORM</span> them, although it must be -confessed that the popularity of this mode of attack was rather on the -decline in this department at that time, having reached its height -very soon after the middle of July.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>One other uncomfortable experience Clara Barton had at this time. When -she first began her work for the relief of the soldiers, she went forth -from Washington as a center and still kept up her work in the Patent -Office. When she found that this work was to take all her time, she -approached the Commissioner of Patents and asked to have her place -kept for her, but without salary. He refused this proposal, and said -her salary should continue<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span> to be paid. The other clerks, also, were -in hearty accord with this proposal, and offered to distribute her -work among them. But as the months went by, this grew to be a somewhat -laborious undertaking. The number of women clerks in the Patent Office -had increased as so many of the men were in the army. There were twenty -of these women clerks, some of whom had never known Clara Barton, and -they did not see any reason why she should be drawing a salary and -winning fame for work which they were expected to do. Moreover, the -report became current that she was drawing a large salary for her war -work in addition. The women in the Patent Office drew up a “round -robin” demanding that her salary cease. This news, with the report that -the Commissioner had acted upon the request, came to her while she had -other things to trouble her. Had the salary ceased because she was no -longer doing the work, it would have been no more than she had herself -proposed. But when her associates, having volunteered to do the work -for her that her place might be kept and her support continued, became -the agents for the dissemination of a false report, she was hurt and -indignant.</p> - -<p>To the honor of Judge Holloway and his associates in the Patent Office, -be it recorded that she received a letter from Judge Holloway that she -had been misinformed about the termination of her salary; there had, -indeed, been such a rumor and request, but he would not have acted on -it without learning the truth, and did not credit it. Her desk would -await her return if he continued as Commissioner.</p> - -<p>A few days before Christmas another pleasant event occurred. Her nephew -Stephen, whom she had continued<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span> to call “Bub,” arrived in uniform. -Though hardly fifteen, he had enlisted in the telegraph corps, and was -sent to be with her. He became her closest friend in an intimacy of -relation that did not cease until her eyes closed in death; and then, -in her perfect confidence in him, she appointed him her executor.</p> - -<p>A letter in this month reviews the experiences of her sojourn at Hilton -Head:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Hilton Head, S.C.</span><br /> -Wednesday, December 9th, 1863</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap"><abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Parker</span>,<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">My dear kind Friend</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>It would be impossible for me to tell how many times I have commenced -to write you. Sometimes I have put my letter by because we were doing -so little there was nothing of interest to communicate; at other -times, because there was so much I had not time to tell it, until -some greater necessity drew me away, and my half-written letter -became “rubbish” and was destroyed. And now I have but one topic -which is of decided interest to <em>me</em>, and that is so peculiarly -so that I will hasten to speak of it at once. After <em>almost</em> a -year’s absence, I am beginning to <em>think</em> about once more coming -<em>home</em>, once more meeting the scores of kind friends I have -been from so long; and the nearer I bring this object to my view, -the brighter it appears. The nearer I fancy the meeting, the dearer -the faces and the kinder the smiles appear to me and the sweeter the -welcome voices that fall upon my ear. Not that I have not found good -friends here. None could have been kinder. I came with one brother, -loving, kind, and considerate; I have met others here scarcely less -so, and those, too, with whom rested the power to make me comfortable -and happy, and I have yet to recall the first instance in which they -have failed to use their utmost endeavor to render me so, and while a -tear of joy glistens in my eye at the thought of the kind<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span> friends I -hope so soon to meet, there will still linger one of regret for the -many of those I leave.</p> - -<p>Eight months and two days ago we landed at the dock in this harbor. -When nations move as rapidly as ours moves at present, that is a -long time, and in it as a nation we have done much, gained much, -and suffered much. Still much more remains to be done, much more -acquired, and I fear much more suffered. Our brave and noble old -Army of Virginia still marches and fights and the glorious armies of -the West still fight and conquer; our soldiers still die upon the -battle-field, pine in hospitals, and languish in prison; the wives and -sisters and mothers still wait, and weep and hope and toil and pray, -and the little child, fretting at the long-drawn days, asks in tearful -impatience, “<em>When will my papa come?</em>”</p> - -<p>The first sound which fell upon my ear in this Department was the -thunder of our guns in Charleston Harbor, and still the proud city -sits like a queen and dictates terms to our army and navy. Sumter, -the watch-dog that lay before her door, fell, maimed and bleeding, it -is true; still there is defiance in his growl, and death in his bite, -and pierced and prostrate as he lies with the tidal waves lapping his -wounds, it were worth <em>our</em> lives, and more than <em>his</em>, to -go and take him.</p> - -<p>We have captured one fort—Gregg—and one charnel house—Wagner—and -we have built one cemetery, Morris Island. The thousand little -sand-hills that glitter in the pale moonlight are a thousand -headstones, and the restless ocean waves that roll and break upon the -whitened beach sing an eternal requiem to the toil-worn, gallant dead -who sleep beside.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>As the year drew to a close, the conviction grew stronger that her work -in this field was done. Charleston still resisted attempts to recapture -it. Sumter, though demolished, was in the hands of the Confederates. -There was no prospect of immediate battle, and unless<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span> there was -fresh bloodshed there was no imperative call for her. Moreover, -little jealousies and petty factions grew up around the hospitals and -headquarters, where there were few women and many men, and there were -rumors of mismanagement which she must hear, but not reply to. She had -many happy experiences to remember, and she left a record of much good -done. But her work was finished at that place. In her last entries in -her diary she is disposing of her remaining stores, packing her trunk, -and when, after a rather long interval, we hear from her again, she is -in Washington.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span></p> - -<p class="footnote p2" id="fn10"><a href="#fna10">[10]</a> Fort Sumter, fiercely bombarded July 24, repulsed an assault -against it on September 8, and was not completely silenced until -October 26.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII"><big>CHAPTER XVII</big><br /> -FROM THE WILDERNESS TO THE JAMES</h2> -</div> - - -<h3>IN THE YEAR 1864</h3> - - -<p>Clara Barton returned from Port Royal and Hilton Head sometime in -January, 1864. On January 28 she was in Worcester, whence she addressed -a letter to Colonel Clark in regard to the forthcoming reunion of -veterans in Worcester. She did not expect to be present, as her stay in -Massachusetts was to be brief.</p> - -<p>On Sunday, February 14, she was in Brooklyn, and, as usual, went to -hear Henry Ward Beecher. He preached on “Unwritten Heroism,” and -related some heroic incidents in the life of an Irish servant girl who, -all unknown to fame, was still a heroine. Clara meditated on the sermon -and regretted that she herself was not more heroic.</p> - -<p>Before many days she was in Washington. It was rainy and cold. She -found very little that was inspiring. Her room was cheerless, though -she does not say so, but the little touches which she gave to it, as -recorded, show how bare and comfortless it must have been. Her salary -at the Patent Office continued, but it now becomes apparent that the -arrangement whereby the other women in the Patent Office were to do -her work had not continued indefinitely. She was hiring a partially -disabled man to do her writing and was dividing her salary with him. -Out of the balance she paid the rent of her room, eighty-four dollars a -year, payable a year in advance. It was not exorbitant rent considering -the demand for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span> space in Washington. But it was a cheerless place, and -she did not occupy it much. Principally, it was a storehouse for her -supplies, with a place partitioned off for her own bedroom. She had -many callers, however, Senator Wilson coming to see her frequently, -and aiding her in every possible way. More than once she gave him -information which he, as chairman of the Committee on Military Affairs -of the United States Senate, utilized with far-reaching results. -Sometimes she told him in the most uncompromising manner of what she -regarded as abuses which she had witnessed. There were times when men -seemed to her very cowardly, and the Government machinery very clumsy -and ineffective. On the evening of April 13, 1864, she was fairly well -disgusted with all mankind. She thus wrote her opinion of the human -race, referring particularly to the masculine part of it:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>I am thinking very busily about the result of the investigation into -the Florida matter. Is General Seymour to be sacrificed when so many -hundred people and the <em>men</em> know it to be all based on falsehood -and wrong? Is there no manly justice in the world? Is there not one -among them all that <em>dares</em> risk the little of military station -he may possess to come out and speak the truth, and do the right? Oh, -pity! O Lord, what is man that thou art mindful of him!</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>The next day was not a cheerful day for her. She was still brooding -on some of these same matters. She tried in those days to escape from -these unhappy reflections by going where she would be compelled to -think of something else. But not even in church could she always keep -her mind off of them. She wrote at length in her diary on the morning -of the 14th, and that evening, when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span> Senator Wilson called, she told -him what she thought of the United States Army, the United States -Senate, and of people and things in general:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><em>Thursday, April 14th, 1864.</em> This was one of the most -down-spirited days that ever came to me. All the world appeared -selfish and treacherous. I can get no hold on a good noble sentiment -<em>anywhere</em>. I have scanned over and over the whole moral horizon -and it is all dark, the night clouds seem to have shut down, so -stagnant, so dead, so selfish, so calculating. Is there no right? -Are there no consequences attending wrong? How shall the world move -on in all this weight of dead, morbid meanness? Shall lies prevail -forevermore? Look at the state of things, both civil and military, -that curse our Government. The pompous air with which little dishonest -pimps lord it over their betters. Contractors ruining the Nation, -and oppressing the poor, and no one rebukes them. See a monkey-faced -official, not twenty rods from me, oppressing and degrading poor women -who come up to his stall to feed their children, that he may steal -with better grace and show to the Government how much his economy -saves it each month. Poor blind Government never feels inside his -pockets, pouching with ill-gotten gain, heavy with sin. His whole -department know it, but it might not be quite <em>wise</em> for them to -speak—they will tell it freely enough, but will not, dare not affirm -it—<span class="allsmcap">COWARDS</span>! Congress knows it, but no one can see that it -will make votes for him at home by meddling with it, so it is winked -at. The Cabinet know it, but people that live in glass houses must -not throw stones. So it rests, and the women live lighter and <em>sink -lower</em>, God help them. And next an ambitious, dishonest General -lays a political plot to be executed with human life. He is to create -a Senator, some memberships, a Governor, commissions, and all the -various offices of a state, and the grateful recipients are to repay<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span> -the favor by gaining for him his confirmation as Major-General. So the -poor rank and file are marched out to do the job, a leader is selected -known to be <em>brave</em> to rashness if need be, and given the command -in the dark, that he may never be able to claim any portion of the -glory—so that he cannot say <em>I</em> did it. Doomed, and he knows it, -he is sent on, remonstrates, comes back and explains, is left alone -with the responsibility on his shoulders, forces divided, animals -starving, men suffering, enemy massing in front, and still there he -is. Suddenly he is attacked, defeated as he expected he must be, -and the world is shocked by the tales of his rashness and procedure -contrary to orders. He cannot speak; he is a subordinate officer and -must remain silent; the thousands with him know it, but <em>they</em> -must not speak; Congress does <em>not</em> know it, and refuses to be -informed; and the doomed one is condemned and the guilty one asks -for his reward, and the admiring world claims it for him. He has had -a battle and <em>only lost</em> two thousand men and gained nothing. -Surely, this deserved something. And still the world moves on. No -wonder it looks dark, though, to those who do not wear the tinsel. And -so my day has been weary with these thoughts, and my heart heavy and I -cannot raise it—I doubt the justice of <em>almost</em> all I see.</p> - -<p>Evening. At eight <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Wilson called. I asked him if the investigation -was closed. He replied yes, and that General Seymour would leave the -Department in disgrace. This was too much for my fretted soul, and I -poured out the vials of my indignation in no stinted measure. I told -him the facts, and what I thought of a Committee that was too imbecile -to listen to the truth when it was presented to them; that they had -made themselves a laughing-stock for even the privates in the service -by their stupendous inactivity and gullibility; that they were all -a set of dupes, not to say knaves, for I knew Gray of New York had -been on using all his blarney<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span> with them that was possible to wipe -over them. When I had freed my mind, and it was some time, he looked -amazed and called for a written statement. I promised it. He left. I -was anxious to possess myself of the most reliable facts in existence -and decide to go to New York and see Colonel Hall and <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Marsh again; -make my toilet ready, write some letters, and at three o’clock retired.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>From all of this it will appear that Clara Barton had a rather gloomy -time of it after her return to Washington. Old friends called on her -and she was amid pleasant surroundings, but she was ill at ease. The -Army of the Potomac had failed to hold its old position north of -the Rappahannock. She anticipated the same old round which she had -witnessed, marching and counter-marching with ineffective fighting, -great suffering, and no permanent results. Nor did she see how she -was henceforth to be of much assistance. The Sanitary and Christian -Commissions were doing increasingly effective work in the gathering and -distribution of supplies. The hospitals were approaching what ought to -have been a state of efficiency. There seemed little place for her. She -went to the War Department to obtain blanket passes, permitting herself -and friend to go wherever she might deem it wise to go, and to have -transportation for their supplies. She could hardly ask for anything -less if she were to ask for anything, but it was a larger request than -Secretary Stanton was at that time ready to grant. Her attempts to -secure what she deemed necessary through the Medical Department were -unavailing. The Medical Department thought itself competent to manage -its own affairs. But she knew that there was desperate need of the kind -of service which she could render.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span></p> - -<p>For a time she questioned seriously whether she should not give up -the whole attempt to return to the front. She even considered the -possibility of asking for her old desk at the Patent Office, and -letting the doctors and nurses take care of the wounded in the way they -thought best.</p> - -<p>The national conventions were approaching. A woman in Ohio who had -worked with her on the battle-field wrote asking Miss Barton for whom -she intended to vote. She replied at considerable length. She intended -to vote for the Republican candidate whoever he might be, because in so -doing she would vote for the Union. She would not vote for McClellan -nor for any other candidate nominated by his party. For three years -she had been voting for Abraham Lincoln. She thought she still would -vote for him; she trusted him and believed in him. But still if the -Republicans should nominate Frémont, she would not withhold her -approval. There was in Washington and in the army so much incompetence, -so much rascality, it was possible that another President—especially -one with military experience—would push the war to a speedier finish, -and rout out some of the rascality she saw in Washington. She thought -that Frémont might possibly have some advantage over Lincoln in this -respect. But she rather hoped Lincoln would be renominated. He was so -worthy, so honest, so kind, and the people could trust him. Though the -abuses which had grown up under his administration were great, they -were mostly inevitable. And so she rather thought she would vote for -Lincoln, even in preference to the very popular hero, Frémont. Frémont -had, indeed, seen, sooner than Lincoln, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span> necessity of abolition, -and she thought would have a stronger grip on military affairs. But her -heart was with Lincoln.</p> - -<p>While she was waiting for a new call to service and was busy every day -with a multitude of cares, she heard a lecture by the Reverend George -Thompson, which is of interest because it enables us to discover how -she now had come to feel about “Old John Brown.” It will be remembered -that she had not wholly approved the John Brown raid, nor shared in -the public demonstrations that followed his execution. She had come, -however, to a very different feeling with regard to him. On April 6, -1864, George Thompson, the abolitionist, gave an address in Washington. -The address was delivered in the hall of the House of Representatives, -and the President and Cabinet were among those who attended. Clara -Barton was present, and close beside her in the gallery sat John -Brown’s brother.</p> - -<p>For a few days previous she had been reading “No Name,” by Wilkie -Collins. She compared his style to that of Dickens with some -discriminating comments on the literary work of each. But she -discontinued “No Name” when near the end of it, in order to read in -preparation for the lecture by George Thompson. It will be well to -quote her entry in her diary for the 5th and 6th of April:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><em>Washington, April 5th, 1864, Tuesday.</em> Rained all day just as if -it had not rained every other day for almost two weeks, and I read as -steadily indoors as it rained out; am nearly through with “No Name.” -Until 4 o’clock <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> I had no disturbance, and then a most -pleasant one. <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Brown came in to bring me letters<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span> from Mary Norton -and Julia, and next to ask me to mend a little clothing, and next to -present me a beautiful scrapbook designed for <em>my own</em> articles. -It is a very beautiful article and I prize it much. Then my friend, -<abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Parker, called for a chat, and I read to him some two hours, in -order to prepare his mind for George Thompson’s lecture which is to -occur to-morrow night. Then a call from Senator W., and next <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> -Elliott which lasted till just now, and it is almost eleven o’clock, -and I have set my fire out and apparently passed the day to little -purpose; still, I think it has glided away very innocently, and with a -few minutes’ preparation I shall retire with a grateful heart for the -even, pleasant days which run so smoothly in my course.</p> - -<p><em>Washington, April 6th, 1864, Wednesday.</em> There are signs of -clear weather, although it is by no means an established fact yet. I -laid my reading aside, and took up my pen to address a letter to <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> -Wilson. I wrote at greater length than I had expected and occupied -quite a portion of the day. The subject woke up the recollection of -a train of ills and wrongs submitted to and borne so long that I -suffered intensely in the reproduction of them, but I did reproduce, -whether to any purpose or not time will reveal. It is not to be -supposed that any decided revolution is to follow, as this is never -to be looked for in my case. I have done expecting it, and done, I -trust, with my efforts in behalf of others. I must take the little -remnant of life that may remain to me as my own special property, and -appropriate it accordingly. I had asked an appointment, as before -referred to. I find I cannot make the use of it I had desired, and -I have asked to recall the application. I have said I could not -afford to make it. This was the day preceding the night of <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> George -Thompson’s lecture in the Hall of Representatives. I went early -with <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Brown. We went into the gallery and took a front seat in a -side gallery. The House commenced to fill very rapidly with one of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span> -the finest-looking audiences that could be gathered in Washington. -Conspicuous among them were <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Chase, Governor Sprague, Senator -Wilson, Governor Boutwell and lady, Speaker Colfax, Thad. Stevens, -and, to cap all, the brother of “Old John Brown” came and sat with us. -At eight the orator of the evening entered the Hall in the same group -with President Lincoln, Vice-President Hamlin, <abbr title="Reverend">Rev.</abbr> <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Pierpont, and -others whom I did not recognize. Preliminary remarks were made by -<abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Pierpont. Next followed <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Hamlin, who introduced <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Thompson, -who arose under so severe emotions that he could scarce utter a -word. It seemed for a time that he would fall before the audience -he had come to address. The contrast was evidently too great to be -contemplated with composure; his sensitive mind reverted doubtless to -his previous visits to this country, when he had seen himself hung -and burnt in effigy, been mobbed, stoned, and assailed with “filthy -missiles,” and now he stood, almost deafened with applause, in the -Hall of Representatives of America, America “free” from the shackles -of slavery, and to address the President, and great political heads -of the Nation. No wonder he was overcome, no wonder that the air -felt thick, and his words came feebly, and his body bent beneath -the weight of the contrast, the glorious consummation of all he had -so earnestly labored and so devoutly prayed for. But by degrees his -strength returned, and the rich melody of his voice filled every inch -of the vast hall, and delighted every loyal, truth-loving ear. It -would be useless for me to attempt a description of his address—it -is so far immortal as to be always found, I trust, among the records -of the glorious doings and sayings of our country’s supporters. His -endorsement of the President was one of the most touching and sublime -things I have ever heard uttered, and the messages from England to him -breathed a spirit of friendship which I was not prepared to listen -to. Surely we are not to growl at and complain of England as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span> jealous -and hostile when her working-people, deprived of their daily labor -and the support of their families through our difficulties, bid us -Godspeed, and never to yield till our purpose has been accomplished, -and congratulate us upon having achieved our independence in the War -of the Revolution, and ask us now to go on and achieve a still greater -independence, which shall embrace the whole civilized world. Surely -these words show a nobler spirit in England than we had any reason or -real right to expect. His remarks touching John Brown were strong, -and, sitting as I was, watching the immediate effect upon the brother -at my side, and when in a few minutes the band struck up the familiar -air dedicated to him the world over, I truly felt that John Brown’s -Soul <em>was</em> marching on, and that the mouldering in the grave was -of little account; the brother evidently felt the same. There was a -glistening of the eye and a compression of the lip which spoke it all -and more; he was evidently proud of the gallows rope that hung Old -John Brown, “Old Hero Brown!”</p> - -<p>On leaving the Hall, <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Parker joined us, and we all took a cream at -Simmod’s and returned, and I made good my escape to my room.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Since her return from Hilton Head, she had been furnished no passes. -Official Washington had forgotten her in her year of absence. But there -came a day when Clara Barton had no difficulty in obtaining passes, and -when all Washington was willing enough to have her go to the front. -That was when the battle of Spotsylvania occurred, May 8, 1864. It took -Washington a day or two to realize the gravity of the situation; and -Clara Barton was begging and imploring the opportunity to hasten at the -sound of the first gun. There was refusal and delay; then, when it was -realized that more than 2700 men had been killed and more than 13,000 -wounded,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span> her passes came. General Rucker, who had been endeavoring to -secure them for her, obtained them, and sent them in haste by special -messenger; and Clara Barton was back on the boat, landing, as so often -before, at Acquia Creek, and wading through the red mud to where the -wounded were.</p> - -<p>They were everywhere; and most of all they were in wagons sunk to the -hub in mud, and stalled where they could not get out, while men groaned -and died and maggots crawled in their wounds. Bitterly she lamented the -lost hours while she had been clamoring for passes; but now she set -herself to work with such facilities as she could command, first for -the relief of the wounded men in wagons:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>The terrible slaughter of the Wilderness and Spotsylvania turned all -pitying hearts and helping hands once more to Fredericksburg [she -wrote afterward]. And no one who reached it by way of Belle Plain, -while this latter constituted the base of supplies for General Grant’s -army, can have forgotten the peculiar geographical location, and -the consequent fearful condition of the country immediately about -the landing, which consisted of a narrow ridge of high land on the -left bank of the river. Along the right extended the river itself. -On the left, the hills towered up almost to a mountain height. The -same ridge of high land was in front at a quarter of a mile distant, -through which a narrow defile formed the road leading out, and on to -Fredericksburg, ten miles away, thus leaving a level space or basin of -an area of a fourth of a mile, directly in front of the landing.</p> - -<p>Across this small plain all transportation to and from the army must -necessarily pass. The soil was red clay. The ten thousand wheels -and hoofs had ground it to a powder, and a sudden rain upon the -surrounding hills<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span> had converted the entire basin into one vast -mortar-bed, smooth and glassy as a lake, and much the color of light -brick dust.</p> - -<p>The poor, mutilated, starving sufferers of the Wilderness were pouring -into Fredericksburg by thousands—all to be taken away in army wagons -across ten miles of alternate hills, and hollows, stumps, roots, and -mud!</p> - -<p>The boats from Washington to Belle Plain were loaded down with fresh -troops, while the wagons from Fredericksburg to Belle Plain were -loaded with wounded men and went back with supplies. The exchange was -transacted on this narrow ridge, called the landing.</p> - -<p>I arrived from Washington with such supplies as I could take. It -was still raining. Some members of the Christian Commission had -reached an earlier boat, and, being unable to obtain transportation -to Fredericksburg, had erected a tent or two on the ridge and were -evidently considering what to do next.</p> - -<p>To nearly or quite all of them the experience and scene were entirely -new. Most of them were clergymen, who had left at a day’s notice, by -request of the distracted fathers and mothers who could not go to the -relief of the dear ones stricken down by thousands, and thus begged -those in whom they had the most confidence to go for them. They went -willingly, but it was no easy task they had undertaken. It was hard -enough for old workers who commenced early and were inured to the life -and its work.</p> - -<p>I shall never forget the scene which met my eye as I stepped from the -boat to the top of the ridge. Standing in this plain of mortar-mud -were at least two hundred six-mule army wagons, crowded full of -wounded men waiting to be taken upon the boats for Washington. They -had driven from Fredericksburg that morning. Each driver had gotten -his wagon as far as he could, for those in front of and about him had -stopped.</p> - -<p>Of the depth of the mud, the best judgment was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span> formed from the fact -that no entire hub of a wheel was in sight, and you saw nothing of -any animal below its knees and the mass of mud all settled into place -perfectly smooth and glassy.</p> - -<p>As I contemplated the scene, a young, intelligent, delicate gentleman, -evidently a clergyman, approached me, and said anxiously, but almost -timidly: “Madam, do you think those wagons are filled with wounded -men?”</p> - -<p>I replied that they undoubtedly were, and waiting to be placed on the -boats then unloading.</p> - -<p>“How long must they wait?” he asked.</p> - -<p>I said that, judging from the capacity of the boats, I thought they -could not be ready to leave much before night.</p> - -<p>“What can we do for them?” he asked, still more anxiously.</p> - -<p>“They are hungry and must be fed,” I replied.</p> - -<p>For a moment his countenance brightened, then fell again as he -exclaimed: “What a pity; we have a great deal of clothing and reading -matter, but no food in any quantity, excepting crackers.”</p> - -<p>I told him that I had coffee and that between us I thought we could -arrange to give them all hot coffee and crackers.</p> - -<p>“But where shall we make our coffee?” he inquired, gazing wistfully -about the bare wet hillside.</p> - -<p>I pointed to a little hollow beside a stump. “There is a good place -for a fire,” I explained, “and any of this loose brush will do.”</p> - -<p>“Just here?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Just here, sir.”</p> - -<p>He gathered the brush manfully and very soon we had some fire and a -great deal of smoke, two crotched sticks and a crane, if you please, -and presently a dozen camp-kettles of steaming hot coffee. My helper’s -pale face grew almost as bright as the flames and the smutty brands -looked blacker than ever in his slim white fingers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span></p> - -<p>Suddenly a new difficulty met him. “Our crackers are in barrels, and -we have neither basket nor box. How can we carry them?”</p> - -<p>I suggested that aprons would be better than either, and, getting -something as near the size and shape of a common tablecloth as I could -find, tied one about him and one about me, fastened all four of the -corners to the waist, and pinned the sides, thus leaving one hand for -a kettle of coffee and one free, to administer it.</p> - -<p>Thus equipped we moved down the slope. Twenty steps brought us to the -abrupt edge which joined the mud, much as the bank of a canal does the -black line of water beside it.</p> - -<p>But here came the crowning obstacle of all. So completely had the -man been engrossed in his work, so delighted as one difficulty after -another vanished and success became more and more apparent, that he -entirely lost sight of the distance and difficulties between himself -and the objects to be served.</p> - -<p>If you could have seen the expression of consternation and dismay -depicted in every feature of his fine face, as he imploringly -exclaimed, “How are we to get to them?”</p> - -<p>“There is no way but to walk,” I answered.</p> - -<p>He gave me one more look as much as to say, “Are you going to step -in there?” I allowed no time for the question, but, in spite of all -the solemnity of the occasion, and the terribleness of the scene -before me, I found myself striving hard to keep the muscles of my -face all straight. As it was, the corners of my mouth would draw into -wickedness, as with a backward glance I saw the good man tighten his -grasp upon his apron and take his first step into military life.</p> - -<p>But thank God, it was not his last.</p> - -<p>I believe it is recorded in heaven—the faithful work performed by -that Christian Commission minister through long weary months of rain -and dust and summer<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span> suns and winter snows. The sick soldier blessed -and the dying prayed for him, as through many a dreadful day he stood -fearless and firm among fire and smoke (not made of brush), and walked -calmly and unquestioningly through something redder and thicker than -the mud of Belle Plain.</p> - -<p>No one has forgotten the heart-sickness which spread over the entire -country as the busy wires flashed the dire tidings of the terrible -destitution and suffering of the wounded of the Wilderness whom I -attended as they lay in Fredericksburg. But you may never have known -how many hundredfold of these ills were augmented by the conduct of -improper, heartless, unfaithful officers in the immediate command of -the city and upon whose actions and indecisions depended entirely the -care, food, shelter, comfort, and lives of that whole city of wounded -men. One of the highest officers there has since been convicted a -traitor. And another, a little dapper captain quartered with the -owners of one of the finest mansions in the town, boasted that he had -changed his opinion since entering the city the day before; that it -was in fact a pretty hard thing for refined people like the people of -Fredericksburg to be compelled to open their homes and admit “these -dirty, lousy, common soldiers,” and that he was not going to compel it.</p> - -<p>This I heard him say, and waited until I saw him make his words good, -till I saw, crowded into one old sunken hotel, lying helpless upon -its bare, wet, bloody floors, five hundred fainting men hold up their -cold, bloodless, dingy hands, as I passed, and beg me in Heaven’s name -for a cracker to keep them from starving (and I had none); or to give -them a cup that they might have something to drink water from, if -they could get it (and I had no cup and could get none); till I saw -two hundred six-mule army wagons in a line, ranged down the street -to headquarters, and reaching so far out on the Wilderness road that -I never found the end of it; every wagon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span> crowded with wounded men, -stopped, standing in the rain and mud, wrenched back and forth by the -restless, hungry animals all night from four o’clock in the afternoon -till eight next morning and how much longer I know not. The dark spot -in the mud under many a wagon, told only too plainly where some poor -fellow’s life had dripped out in those dreadful hours.</p> - -<p>I remembered one man who would set it right, if he knew it, who -possessed the power and who would believe me if I told him [says -Miss Barton in describing this experience]. I commanded immediate -conveyance back to Belle Plain. With difficulty I obtained it, and -four stout horses with a light army wagon took me ten miles at an -unbroken gallop, through field and swamp and stumps and mud to Belle -Plain and a steam tug at once to Washington. Landing at dusk I sent -for Henry Wilson, chairman of the Military Committee of the Senate. A -messenger brought him at eight, saddened and appalled like every other -patriot in that fearful hour, at the weight of woe under which the -Nation staggered, groaned, and wept.</p> - -<p>He listened to the story of suffering and faithlessness, and hurried -from my presence, with lips compressed and face like ashes. At ten he -stood in the War Department. They could not credit his report. He must -have been deceived by some frightened villain. No official report of -unusual suffering had reached them. Nothing had been called for by the -military authorities commanding Fredericksburg.</p> - -<p><abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Wilson assured them that the officers in trust there were not to -be relied upon. They were faithless, overcome by the blandishments -of the wily inhabitants. Still the Department doubted. It was then -that he proved that my confidence in his firmness was not misplaced, -as, facing his doubters he replies: “One of two things will have -to be done—either you will send some one to-night with the power -to investigate and correct the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span> abuses of our wounded men at -Fredericksburg, or the Senate will send some one to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>This threat recalled their scattered senses.</p> - -<p>At two o’clock in the morning the Quartermaster-General and staff -galloped to the 6th Street wharf under orders; at ten they were in -Fredericksburg. At noon the wounded men were fed from the food of the -city and the houses were opened to the “<em>dirty, lousy</em> soldiers” -of the Union Army.</p> - -<p>Both railroad and canal were opened. In three days I returned with -carloads of supplies.</p> - -<p>No more jolting in army wagons! And every man who left Fredericksburg -by boat or by car owes it to the firm decision of one man that his -grating bones were not dragged ten miles across the country or left to -bleach in the sands of that city.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Yes, they owed it all to Senator Wilson. And he owed it to Clara Barton.</p> - -<p>Why was there such neglect, and why did no one else report it?</p> - -<p>The surgeons on the front were busy, and they did not see it. The -surgeons and nurses in the base hospitals were busy, and they knew -nothing of it. Military commanders only knew that the roads were bad, -and that it was difficult to move troops to the front or wounded -men back to the rear, but supposed that the best was being made of -a bad matter. But Clara Barton knew that, if some one in authority -could realize that thousands of men were suffering needless agony and -hundreds were dying who might be saved, something would be done.</p> - -<p>Something was done; and many a soldier who lived and regained his -health had reason, without knowing it, to bless the name of Clara -Barton.</p> - -<p>At the close of the Wilderness campaign, Clara Barton<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span> found time to -answer some letters and acknowledge some remittances. In one of these -letters she answered the question why, being as she was in close -touch and entire sympathy with the work of the Sanitary and Christian -Commissions, she still continued to do her work independently. It is a -thoroughly characteristic letter:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -May 30, 1864<br /> -</p> - -<p>... The question would naturally arise with strangers, why I, feeling -so in unison with the Commission and among whose members I number my -best friends, should maintain a separated organization. To those who -know me it is obvious. Long before either commission was in the field, -or had even an existence, I was laboring by myself for the little I -might be able to accomplish and, gathering such helpers about me as -I was best able to do, toiled in the front of our armies wherever I -could reach, and thus I have labored on up to the present time. Death -has sometimes laid his hand upon the active forces of my co-workers -and stilled the steps most useful to me, but others have risen up to -supply the place, and now it does not seem wise or desirable, after -all this time, to change my course. If I have by practice acquired -any skill, it belongs to me to use untrammeled, and I might not work -as efficiently, or labor as happily, under the direction of those -of less experience than myself. It is simply just to all parties -that I retain my present position, and through all up to the present -time I have been always able to meet my own demands with such little -supplies as came voluntarily from my circle of personal friends, -which fortunately was not small. But the necessities of the present -campaign were well-nigh overwhelming, and my duty required that I -gather all I could, even if I shouted aloud to strangers for those -who lay fainting and speechless by the wayside or moaning in this -wilderness. I did so and such responses as yours<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span> have been the reply. -Dearly do I think God poured his blessing on my little work, for the -friends He has raised up to aid me, for the uninterrupted health and -unfailing strength He has given me, and more and more with each day’s -observation do I stand overawed by the great lessons He is teaching -us His children, grand and stern as the earthquake’s shock, judgments -soft and terrible as the lightning stroke. He is leading us back to -a sense of justice and duty and humanity, while our thousand guns -flash freedom and our martyrs die. It is a terrible sacrifice which -He requires at our hands and in obedience the Nation has builded its -altar and uplifted its arm of faith and the knife gleams above the -child. He who commands it alone knows when His angel shall call from -heaven to stay our hands and bid us no longer slay our own. Then may -we find hidden in the peaceful thicket the appropriate sacrifice that -in blessing He may bless us, that our young men return together, that -our seed shall possess the gates of our enemies, and that all the -nations of the earth be blessed.</p> -</blockquote> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"><big>CHAPTER XVIII</big><br /> -TO THE END OF THE WAR</h2> -</div> - - -<p>At the end of May, 1864, Clara Barton was in Washington. She wrote to -her brother David informing him of her return to the city on the night -of May 24. There had been, she told him, a series of terrible battles; -she doubted if history had ever known men to be mowed down in regiments -as in these battles. Victory had been won, but it was incomplete, and -the cost had been terrible. She had seen nine thousand Confederate -prisoners.</p> - -<p>As to her future plans, she thought she would not go out from -Washington a great deal during the excessively hot weather. She -remembered her sickness of the previous summer, and did not wish to -repeat it. But as for keeping her away in case there should be a -battle, she would not count a kindness on anybody’s part to attempt -that. She said: “I suppose I should feel about as much benefited as -my goldfish would if some kind-hearted person should take him out of -his vase where he looked so wet and cold, and wrap him up in warm, dry -flannel. We can’t live out of our natural element, can we? I’ll keep -quiet when the war is over.”</p> - -<p>She was not permitted to stay in Washington and guard her health. She -was appointed Superintendent of the Department of Nurses for the Army -of the James. She was under the authority of Surgeon McCormack, Chief -Medical Director. The army was commanded by General B. F. Butler. She -entered this new field of service June 18, 1864. We have a letter which -she wrote<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span> concerning a celebration, such as it was, of the 4th of July.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Point of Rocks, <abbr title="Virginia">Va.</abbr></span>, July 5, 1864<br /> -General Butler’s Department</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">My Most Esteemed and Dear Friend</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Here in the sunshine and dust and toil and confusion of camp life, -the mercury above a hundred, the atmosphere and everything about -black with flies, the dust rolling away in clouds as far as the -eye can penetrate, the ashy ground covered with scores of hospital -tents shielding nearly all conceivable maladies that <em>soldier</em> -“flesh” is heir to, and stretching on beyond the miles of -bristling fortifications, entrenchments, and batteries encircling -Petersburg,—all ready to <em>blaze</em>,—just here in the midst of all -this your refreshing letter dropped in upon me.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">New York!</span> It seemed to me that in the very postmark I could -see pictured nice Venetian blinds, darkened rooms where never a fly -dared enter, shady yards with cool fountains throwing their spray -almost in at the open windows, watered streets flecked with the -changing shadows of waving trees, bubbling soda fountains and water -ices and grottoes and pony gallops in Central Park and cool drives -at evening, and much more I have not time to enumerate, and for an -instant I fear human selfishness triumphed, and, before I was aware, -the mind had instinctively drawn a contrast, and the sun’s rays glowed -hotter and fiercer, and the dust rolled heavier, and my wayward heart -complained to me that I was ever in the sun or dust or mud or frost, -and impatiently asked if all the years of my life should pass and I -never know again a season of quiet rest; and I confess it with shame. -I trust that the suddenness with which it was rebuked may atone for -its wickedness in some degree, and when I remembered the thousands who -would so gladly come and share the toils with us, if only they could -be free to do so, I gave thanks anew for my great privileges, and -broke the seal of the welcome missive.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span></p> - -<p>And you find hot weather even there, and have time among all the -business of that driving city to remember the worn-out sufferers who -are lying so helpless about us, many of whom have fought the last -fight, kept the last watch, and, standing at the outer post, only wait -to be relieved. The march has been toilsome, but the relief comes -speedily at last—sometimes almost before we are aware. Yesterday in -passing through a ward (if wards they might be termed) filled mostly -from the U.S. Colored Regiments I stopped beside a sergeant who had -appeared weak all day, but made no complaint, and asked how he was -feeling then. Looking up in my face, he replied, “Thank you, Miss, -a little better, I hope.” “Can I do anything for you?” I asked. “A -little water, if you please.” I turned to get it, and that instant he -gasped and was gone. Men frequently reach us at noon and have passed -away before night. For such we can only grieve, for there is little -opportunity to labor in their cases. I find a large number of colored -people, mostly women and children, left in this vicinity, the stronger -having been taken by their owners “up country.” In all cases they are -destitute, having stood the sack of two opposing armies—what one army -left them, the other has taken.</p> - -<p>On the plantation which forms the site of this hospital is a colored -woman, the house servant of the former owner, with thirteen children, -eight with her and five of her oldest taken away. The rebel troops had -taken her bedding and clothing and ours had taken her money, forty -dollars in gold, which she had saved, she said, and I do not doubt -her statement in the least. I gave her all the food I had that was -suitable for her and her children and shall try to find employment for -her.</p> - -<p>For the last few days we have been constantly meeting and caring for -the wounded and broken-down from Wilson’s cavalry raid; they have -endured more than could be expected of men, and are still brave and -cheerful under their sufferings.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span></p> - -<p>I hope I shall not surprise you by the information that we celebrated -the Fourth (yesterday) by giving an extra dinner. We invited in the -lame, the halt, and the blind to the number of some two hundred or -more to partake of roast beef, new potatoes, squash, blancmange, -cake, etc., etc. We had music, not by the band, but from the -vicinity of Petersburg, and, if not so sweet and perfectly timed as -that discoursed by some of your excellent city bands, it must be -acknowledged as both startling and thrilling, and was received with -repeated “<em>bursts</em>.”</p> - -<p>I thank you much for your kind solicitude for my health. I beg to -assure you that I am perfectly well at present and, with the blessing -of Heaven, I hope to remain so.</p> - -<p>Of the length of the campaign I have no adequate idea, and can form -none. I should be happy to write you pages of events as they transpire -every day, but duty must not be neglected for mere gratification.</p> - -<p>Thus far I have remained at the Corps (which is, in this instance, -only an overburdened and well-conducted field) hospital. This point, -from its peculiar location, is peculiarly adapted to this double -duty service, situated as it is at one terminus of the line of -entrenchments.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>This part of Clara Barton’s war experience is least known of all that -she performed. Her diaries were unkept and as her war lectures were -mostly occupied with her earlier service in the field, they make almost -no reference to this important part of her work. It is through her -letters that we know something of what she experienced and accomplished -in the closing months of 1864, and the early months of 1865. There -is less material here of the kind that makes good newspaper copy or -lecture material than was afforded by her earlier work in the open -field, and it is probably on this account that this period has fallen -so much into the shadow of forgetfulness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span> that it has sometimes been -said that Clara Barton retired from active service after the Wilderness -campaign. Two letters, one to Frances Childs Vassall, and the other -to Annie Childs, give somewhat intimate pictures of her life in this -period, and may be selected out of her correspondence for that purpose.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Tenth Army Corps Hospital</span><br /> -September 3rd, 1864</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">My darling Sis Fannie</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>It is almost midnight, and I ought to go to bed this minute, and I -want to speak to you first, and I am going to indulge my inclination -just a little minute till this page is down, if no more; but it will -be all egotism, so be prepared, and don’t blame me. I know you are -doing well and living just as quietly and happily as you deserve to -do. I hear from no one, and indeed I scarce write at all; and no one -would wonder if they could look in upon my family and know besides -that we had <em>moved</em> this week—yes, <em>moved</em> a family of -fifteen hundred sick men, and had to keep our housekeeping up all the -time; and no one to be ready at hand and ask us to take tea the first -night either.</p> - -<p>I have never told you how I returned—well, safely, and got off from -City Point and my goods off its dock <em>just in time</em> to avoid that -terrible catastrophe. I was not blown to atoms, but might have been -and no one the wiser. I found my “sick family” somewhat magnified on -my return, and soon the Corps (10th) was ordered to cross the James, -and make a feint while the Weldon Railroad was captured, and this -move threw all the sick in Regimental Hospital into our hospital, -five hundred in one night. Only think of such an addition to a family -between supper and breakfast and no preparation; and just that morning -our old cook John and his assistant Peter both came down sick, one -with inflammation of the lungs and the other with fever. It was -all the surgeons,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span> stewards, and clerks could do to keep the names -straight and manage the official portion of the reception; and, would -you believe it, I stepped into the gap and assumed the responsibility -of the kitchen and feeding of our twelve hundred, and I held it and -kept it straight till I selected a new boss cook and got him regularly -installed and then helped him all the time up to the present day. I -wish I had some of my bills of fare preserved as they read for the -day. The variety is by no means so striking as the quantity. Say for -breakfast seven hundred loaves of bread, one hundred and seventy -gallons of hot coffee, two large wash-boilers full of tea, one barrel -of apple sauce, one barrel of sliced boiled pork, or thirty hams, one -half barrel of corn-starch blancmange, five hundred slices of butter -toast, one hundred slices of broiled steak, and one hundred and fifty -patients, to be served with chicken gruel, boiled eggs, etc. For -dinner we have over two hundred gallons of soup, or boiled dinner of -three barrels of potatoes, two barrels of turnips, two barrels of -onions, two barrels of squash, one hundred gallons of minute pudding, -one wash-boiler full of whiskey sauce for it, or a large washtub full -of codfish nicely picked, and stirred in a batter to make one hundred -and fifty gallons of nice home codfish, and the Yankee soldiers cry -when they taste it (I prepared it just the old home way, and so I -have everything cooked), and the same toasts and corn starch as for -breakfast. And then for supper two hundred gallons of rice, and twenty -gallons of sauce for it, two hundred gallons of tea, toast for a -thousand, and some days I have made with my own hands ninety apple -pies. This would make a pie for some six hundred poor fellows who had -not tasted pie for months, it might be years, sick and could not eat -much. I save all the broken loaves of bread from transportation and -make bread puddings in large milk pans; about forty at once will do. -The patients asked for <em>gingerbread</em>, and I got extra flour and -molasses and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span> make it by the score. I have all the grease preserved -and clarified, and to-morrow, if our new milk comes, we are to -commence to make doughnuts. I have a barrel of nice lard ready (they -had always burned it before to get it out of the way).</p> - -<p>Last Saturday night we learned that we were to change with the -Eighteenth Corps, and go up in front of Petersburg, and their first -loads of sick came with the order. At dark I commenced to cook -puddings and gingerbread, as I could carry them best. At two o’clock -<span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span> I had as many of these as I could carry in an ambulance, -and packed my own things in an hour, and at three <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span> in the -dark, started over the pontoon bridge across the Appomattox to our new -base, about four miles. Got there a little before day, and got some -breakfast ready about 8.30 for four hundred men that had crossed the -night previous, nearly one hundred officers. The balance followed, and -in eighteen hours from the receipt of the order we were all moved—but -a poor change for us. Since dark forty wounded men have been brought -in, many of which will prove mortal, one with the shoulder gone, a -number of legs off, one with both arms gone, some blown up with shells -and terribly burned, some in the breast. By request of the surgeons, -I made a pail full of nice thick eggnog (eggs beaten separately and -seasoned with brandy), and carried all among them, to sleep on, and -chicken broth, and I have left them all falling asleep, and I have -stolen away to my tent, which is as bare as a cuckoo’s nest—dirt -floor, just like the street, a narrow bed of straw, and a three-legged -stand made of old cracker boxes, and a wash dish. A hospital tent -without any fly constitutes my apartment and furnishing. And here it -is one o’clock, damp and cold, one little fellow from the 11th Maine -dying, whose groans have echoed through the camp for hours. Another -noble Swiss boy, I fear mortally wounded, who thinks he shall not live -till morning, and has gained a promise from me<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span> that I will see him -and be with him when he dies (I have still hopes of his recovery). -Oh, what a volume it would make if I could only write you what I have -seen, known, heard, and done since I first came to this department, -June 18th. The most surprising of all of which is (tell Sally) that I -should have <em>turned cook</em>. Who would have “thunk it”?</p> - -<p>I am writing on bits of paper for want of whole sheets. I am entirely -out. My dresses are equal to the occasion; the skirt is finished, but -not worn yet. I am choice of it. The striped print gets soiled and -washes nicely, all just right, and I have plenty, and I bless you -every day for it. I want so to write Annie a good long letter, but how -can I get time? Please give her from this, if you please, an idea of -what I am doing, and she will not blame me so much.</p> - -<p>Tell Sally that our purchases of tinware were just the thing, and but -for them this hospital could not be kept comfortable a single day, -not a meal. I wish I had as much more, and a nice stove of my own, -with suitable stove furniture besides. And I think I could do as much -good with it as some missionaries are supposed to do. Our spices and -flavorings were Godsends when I got them here. I wish I had boxes of -them. I need to use so much in my big cooking. There, I said it would -be all egotism, but I am too stupid to think of anybody but myself, so -forgive me. Give my love to all and write your loving Sis,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>From letters such as this we are able to rescue from oblivion a full -year of war service of Clara Barton. Contrary to all her previous -intent, she was a head-nurse, in charge of the hospitals of an entire -army corps. Not only so, but she was on occasion chief cook and -purveyor of pie and gingerbread, and picked codfish and New England -boiled dinners so like what the soldiers loved at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span> home that they -sometimes cried for joy. But she did not relinquish her purpose to be -at the front. The front was very near to her. Another of her letters -must be quoted:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Base Hospital, 10th Army Corps</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Broadway Landing, <abbr title="Virginia">Va.</abbr></span><br /> -Sept. 14th, 1864</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">My dear Sis Annie</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Your excellent and comforting letter reached me some time ago, and, -like its one or two abused predecessors, has vainly waited a reply. -I cannot tell how badly I have wanted to write you, how impossible I -found it to get the time. But often enough an attack of illness has -brought me a leisure hour, and I am almost glad that I can make it -seem right for me to sit down in daylight and pen a letter.</p> - -<p>For once in my life I am at a loss where to commence. I have been your -debtor so long, and am so full of unsaid things, that I don’t know -which idea to let loose first. Perhaps I might as well speak of the -weather. Well, it <em>rains</em>, and that is good for my conscience -again, for I couldn’t get out in that if I were well enough. Rain -here means mud, you must understand, but I am sheltered. Why, I have -a <em>whole</em> house of my own, first and second floors, two rooms -and a flight of stairs, and a great big fireplace, a bright fire -burning, a west window below, a south one above, an east door, with -a soldier-built frame arbor of cedar, twelve feet in front of it and -all around it, so close and green that a cat couldn’t look in, unless -at my side opening. It was the negro house for the plantation, and -was dirty, of course, but ten men with brooms and fifty barrels of -water made it all right, and they moved me into it one night when I -was sick, and here I have lain and the winds have blown and the rains -descended and beat upon my house, and it fell not, and for hours in -the dark night I have listened to the guy ropes snapping and the tent -flies flapping in the wind and rain, and thunder and lightning. All -about me are the frail<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span> habitations of my less fortunate neighbors. -One night I remembered a darling little Massachusetts boy, sick of -fever and chronic diarrhœa, a mere skeleton, and I knew he was lying -at the very edge of his ward, tents, of course,—delicate little -fellow, about fifteen,—and I couldn’t withstand the desire to shield -him, and sent through the storm and had him brought, bed and all, -and stored in my lower room, and there he lay like a little kitten, -so happy, till about noon the next day, when his father, one of the -wealthy merchants of Suffolk, came for him. He had just heard of his -illness, had searched through the damp tents for him and finally -traced him to me. The unexpected sight of his little boy, sheltered, -warm, and fed, nearly deprived him of speech, but when those pale lips -said, “Auntie—father—this is <em>my</em> Auntie; doesn’t she look like -mother?” It was <em>too much</em>. Women’s and children’s tears amount -to little, but the convulsive sobs of a strong man are not forgotten -in an hour.</p> - -<p>Well, I have made a queer beginning of this letter. One would have -supposed I should have made it my first duty to speak of the nice -<em>box</em> that came to me, from you, by Mrs. Rich, and how choice I -was of it, and did not take it with me the first time I went for fear -I might not find the most profitable spot to use it in just then till -I had found my field. As good luck would have it, it did not take long -to find my field of operations; and nothing but want of time to write -has prevented me from acknowledging the box many times, and expressing -the desire that others might follow it. I can form no estimate of what -I would and should have made use of during the campaign thus far, if -I had had it to use. I doubt if you at home could <em>realize</em> the -necessities if I could describe every one accurately, and now the cold -weather approaches, they will increase in some respects. The army -is filling up with new troops to a great degree and the nights are -getting cold....</p> - -<p>I was rejoiced to hear from Lieutenant Hitchcock and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span> that he is -doing well. You are favored in so pleasant a correspondent as I know -he must be, and what a comfort to his wife to have him home so soon. -I hope his wound will not disable him very much. Please give my love -and congratulations to them when you write. Poor fellows! how sorry -I was to see them lying there under the trees, so cut and mangled. -Poor Captain Clark! Do you know if he is alive? the surgeons told me -he couldn’t survive. I went up again to see them, a day or two after -they all left. Colonel Gould had gone the day before. Yes! I lost one -friend. Poor Gardner! He fought bravely and died well, they said, and -laid his mangled body at the <em>feet of his foe</em>. I feel sad when I -think of it all. “Tired a little”—not tired of the war, but tired of -our sacrifices.</p> - -<p>I passed a most pleasant hour with Lieutenant Hitchcock. It seemed so -comfortable and withal so quaint and strange to sit down under the -sighing pines of Virginia away out in the woods in the war of the -guns and talk of <em>you</em>. I have asked a great many times for <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> -Chamberlain and only heard twice—he was well each time, but this -was not lately. I shall surely go to him if I get near the dear old -regiment (21st regiment)—that is more than I ever said of any other -regiment in the service. I am a stranger to them now, I know, after -all their changes; few of them ever heard of me, and yet the very -mention of the number calls up all the old-time love and pride I ever -had. I would divide the last half of my last loaf with any soldier in -that regiment, though I had never seen him. I honor him for joining -it, be he who he may; for he knew well if he marched and fought with -<em>that</em> regiment he had undertaken no child’s play, and those who -measured steel with them knew it as well.</p> - -<p>The Oxford ladies at work for me again!! I am very glad if they have -the confidence to do so. I had thought, perhaps, my style of labor -was not approved by them; but I could not help it. I knew it was -<em>rough</em>, but I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span> thought it none the less necessary. If they do -so far approve as to send me the proceeds of some of their valuable -labors, it will be an additional stimulant to me to persevere.</p> - -<p>Do you know I am thinking seriously of remaining “out” the winter -unless the campaign should come to a sudden and decisive stand, and -nothing be done and no one exposed.</p> - -<p><em>You</em> know that my range here is very extended; this department -is large, and I am invited by General Butler to visit every part of -it, and all medical and other officers within the department are -directed to afford me every facility in their power. But so little -inclination do they display to thwart me that I have <em>never</em> -shown my “pass and order” to an officer since I have been in the -department. I have had but one trouble since I came, and that has been -to extend my labor without having the point that I leave miss me.</p> - -<p>We have now in the 10th Corps two main hospitals and no regimental -hospital; the “base,” where I am at present, about four miles from the -extreme front, and the “Flying” Hospital three miles farther up—in -the rear of the front line of works. The most skillful operators -are always here, and all the surgeons at that post are my old-time -personal friends. <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Barlow I worked with at Cedar Mountain and -through Pope’s retreat, and again on Morris Island; and he says, if -I am going to desert my old friends <em>now</em>, <em>just say so</em>, -that’s all. And I have stood by <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Porter all summer, and Porter says -he will share me some with the upper hospital, but I must not leave -the Corps on any condition whatever. And yet the surgeon in charge of -one of the largest corps in General Grant’s army at City Point came -for me one day last week and would hardly be denied; wanted me to help -him “run” his hospital—“not to touch a bit of the work.” I begin to -think I can “keep a hotel,” but I didn’t think so a year ago. Well, I -have told you all this to show you how<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span> probable it is that I shall -find it difficult to get off the field this fall or even winter.</p> - -<p>And thank you many times for your sisterly invitation to spend some -portion of the winter with you. I should be most happy to do so, but -it is a little doubtful if I get north of Washington this winter, -unless the war ends suddenly, and I am beginning to study <em>my -duty</em> closely. I can go to the Flying Hospital, and be just along -with the active army; and then, if I had a sufficient quantity of -good suitable supplies, I could keep the needy portion of a whole -corps comfortably supplied; and being connected with the hospital and -convalescent camp, conversant with the men, surgeons, and nurses, I -could meet their wants more timely and surely than any stranger or -outside organization of men could do. And ladies, most of the summer -workers, will draw off, with the cool nights; men who have been -accustomed to feather beds, will seek them if they can when the frost -comes. Nevertheless the troops will need the same care—good warm -shirts, socks, drawers, and mittens, and the sick will need the same -good, well-cooked diet that they did in summer; and yet it would try -me dreadfully to be among them in the cold and nothing comfortable -to give them. And this corps especially never passed a winter north -of South Carolina and they <em>will nearly freeze</em>, I fear. I have -scraped together and given already the last warm article I have just -for the few frosty nights we have had. I haven’t a pair of socks -or shirts or drawers for a soldier in my possession. I shall look -with great anxiety now for anything to reach me, for I shall require -it both on account of the increased severity of the weather and my -proposed extended field of labor. I have the 4th Massachusetts Cavalry -on hand, and they have a hospital of their own and a good many sick. -I gave them, one day last week, the last delicacy I possessed; it -was but little—some New York and New Jersey fruits; nothing from -Massachusetts for them. I was sorry; I wish I had. If I go to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span> the -Flying Hospital it will be entirely destitute of all but soldier’s -blankets and rations, not a bedsack or pillow, sheet or pillowcase, -or stove or tin dishes, except cups and plates. Now, I should want -some of all these things, and if I go I must write to some of the -friends of the soldiers the wants I see, and if they are disposed -they can place it in my power to make them comfortable, independent -of army regulations. You know this front hospital is for operations -in time of battle, and subject to move at an hour’s notice, or when -the shot might reach it, or the enemy press too near, and must not -be encumbered with baggage. Ask Lieutenant Hitchcock to explain it -to you, and he will also tell you how useful a <em>private</em> supply -connected with it might be, what comfort there would be in it, and how -I could distribute from such a point to the troops along the front. -Now, with my best regards to the good ladies of Oxford, I am done -about soldiers and hospitals.</p> - -<p>Oh, if I had time to write! I have material enough, “dear knows,” but -I cannot get time to half acknowledge favors received. If some one -would come and act as scribe for me, I might be the means of relating -some interesting incidents; but I have not even a cook or orderly, -not to say a clerk. I do not mean that I cannot have the two former, -but I do not use them myself at all when I hold them in detail. I -immediately get them at work for some one who I think needs them more. -I am glad you see my Worcester friends. You visited at <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Newton’s, I -suppose. I hope they are well. Please give my love to them....</p> - -<p>We are firing a salute for something at this minute, don’t yet know -what. We fired one over the fall of Atlanta; solid shot and shell -with the guns pointed toward Petersburg. Funny salutes we get up -here. Yesterday morn we had terrible firing along the whole line, but -it amounted to only an artillery duel. Yet it brought us fourteen -wounded, three or four mortally. What a long<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span> letter I have written -you and I am not going to apologize and I know <em>you</em> are not -tired even if it is long, you are glad of it, and so am I, although it -is not very interesting.</p> - -<p>Please give my kindly and high regards to Miss Sanford and Mrs. -Burleigh, Colonel De Witt, also, and all inquiring friends and write -soon to your affectionate</p> - -<p class="right"> -Sis <br /> -<span class="smcap">Clara</span><br /> -</p> - -</blockquote> -<p>This letter was copied by Annie Childs, and bears this note in the -handwriting of Annie Childs:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>I have my friend Clara’s permission to show any portion of her “poor -scrawls” that I think would interest the excellent ladies who are -laboring so faithfully for the good and comfort of the soldiers, and -trust to their charity to overlook imperfections. Many portions of the -above are copied for the benefit of persons in Worcester and other -places, as I could not get time to write many copies like this, which -is three fourths of my letter from her.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Annie E. Childs</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>It must have been something of a relief to Clara Barton to be working -in a definite sphere under military authority, and not as a volunteer -worker. Not that she regretted for a moment the method of her previous -activity. She would never have worked cheerfully as a part of the -organization commanded by Miss Dix. She had too clear ideas of her own, -and saw the possibilities of too large a work for her to be content -with any sort of long-range supervision. All the women who really -achieved large success at the front were individualists. “Mother” -Bickerdyke, for instance, took no orders from any one. General Sherman -was accustomed to say of her that she ranked him. But Miss Barton’s -field for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span> volunteer service was now limited. The war was closing -in, and nearing its end. Clara Barton wisely accepted a definite -appointment and took up her work with the army of General Butler. How -highly he esteemed her service is shown by his lifelong friendship -for her, and his appointment of her to be matron of the Massachusetts -Reformatory for Women.</p> - -<p>Clara Barton knew, before she went to the Army of the James, how -impossible it was to obtain ideal conditions in a military hospital. -She must have been very glad that she had refused to criticize the -hospitals at Hilton Head, even when she knew that things were going -wrong. She had her own experience with headstrong surgeons and -incompetent nurses. But on the whole her experience in the closing days -of the war was satisfactory.</p> - -<p>One incident which she had looked forward to with eager longing, and -had almost given up, occurred while she was with the Army of the James. -Her brother Stephen was rescued.</p> - -<p>It was a pathetic rescue. He was captured by the Union army, and robbed -of a considerable sum of money which had been in his possession. When -he was brought within the Union lines, he was sick, and he suffered -ill treatment after his capture. The date of his capture was September -25, 1864. It was some days before Miss Barton learned about it. She -then reported the matter to General Butler, and it was at once ordered -that Stephen be brought to his headquarters with all papers and other -property in his possession at the time of his capture. The prisoner -was sent and such papers as had been preserved, but the money was -not recovered. Two long letters, written by Stephen Barton from the -hospital,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span> tell the story of his life within the Confederate lines, and -it is a pathetic story.</p> - -<p>Stephen Barton was treated with great kindness while he remained in -the hospital at Point of Rock. He was there during the assault on -Petersburg, and well toward the end of the campaign against Richmond. -Then he was removed to Washington, where, on March 10, 1865, he died. -Miss Barton had the satisfaction of ministering to him during those -painful days, and she afterward wrote down her recollection of a prayer -he offered one night after a battle in front of Richmond:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>An hour with my dear noble brother Stephen, during a night after a -battle in front of Richmond.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara Barton</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><em>My brother Stephen, when with me in front of Richmond</em></p> - -<p>Hearing a voice I crept softly down my little confiscated stairway -and waited in the shadows near his bedside. He had turned his face -partly into his pillow and, resting it upon his hands, was at prayer. -The first words which my ear caught distinctly were, “O God, whose -children we all are, look down with thine eye of justice and mercy -upon this terrible conflict, and weaken the wrong and strengthen the -right till this unequal contest close. O God, save my Country. Bless -Abraham Lincoln and his armies.” A sob from me revealed my presence. -He started, and, raising his giant skeleton form until he rested upon -his elbow, he said, “I thought I was alone.” Then, turning upon me a -look of mingled anxiety, pity, and horror, which I can never describe, -he asked hastily, “Sister, what are those incessant sounds I hear? -The whole atmosphere is filled with them; they seem like the mingled -groans of human agony. I have not heard them before. Tell me what it -is.” I could not speak the words that would so shock his sensitive -nature, but could only stand before him humbled and penitent as if -I had something to do with it all, and feel the tears roll over my -face. My silence confirmed his secret suspicions, and raising himself -still higher, and every previous expression of his face intensifying -tenfold, he exclaimed, “Are these the groans of wounded men? Are -they so many that my senses cannot take them in?—that my ear cannot -distinguish them?” And raising himself fully upright and clasping his -bony hands, he broke forth in tones that will never leave me. “O our -God, in mercy to the poor creatures thou hast called into existence, -send down thine angels either in love or wrath to stay this strife and -bid it cease. Count the least of these cries as priceless jewels, each -drop of blood as ruby gems, and let them buy the Freedom of the world. -Clothe the feet of thy messengers with the speed of the lightning and -bid them proclaim, through the sacrifices of a people, a people’s -freedom, and, through the sufferings of a nation, a nation’s peace.” -And there, under the guns of Richmond, amid the groans of the dying, -in the darkling shadows of the smoky rafters of an old negro hut by -the rude chimney where the dusky form of the bondman had crouched for -years, on the ground trodden hard by the foot of the slave, I knelt -beside that rough couch of boards and sobbed “Amen” to the patriot -prayer that rose above me.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The stolen money was never restored. Stephen struggled on a few -weeks longer, alternating, hoping, and despairing, suffering from -the physical abuse he had received, crushed in spirit, battling with -disease and weakness as only a brave man can, worrying over his -unprotected property and his debts in the old home he never reached, -watching the war, and praying for the success of the Union armies, -and died without knowing—and God be praised for this—that the -reckless torches of that same Union army would lay in ashes and ruins -the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span> result of the hard labor of his own worn-out life and wreck the -fortunes of his only child.</p> - -<p>Although doubting and fearing, we had never despaired of his recovery, -until the morning when he commenced to sink and we saw him rapidly -passing away. He was at once aware of his condition and spoke of his -business, desiring that, first of all, when his property could be -reached, his debts should be faithfully paid. A few little minutes -more and there lay before us, still and pitiful, all that remained to -tell of that hard life’s struggle and battle, which had failed most -of all through a great-hearted love for humanity, his faithfulness to -what he conceived to be his duty, and his readiness to do more for -mankind than it was willing to do for itself.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Clara Barton did not long continue in hospital service after the -immediate need was passed. With the firing of the last gun she returned -to Washington. One chapter in her career was closed. Another and -important work was about to open, and she already had it in mind. But -the work she had done was memorable, and its essential character must -not be forgotten.</p> - -<p>Clara Barton was more and other than a hospital nurse. She was not -simply one of a large number of women who nursed sick soldiers. She did -that, hastening to assist them at the news of the very first bloodshed, -and continuing until Richmond had fallen. Hers was the distinction of -doing her work upon the actual field of battle; of following the cannon -so as to be on the ground when the need began; of not waiting for the -wounded soldier to be brought to the hospital, but of conveying the -hospital to the wounded soldier. Others followed her in this good work; -others accompanied her and were her faithful associates, but she was, -in a very real sense, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span> soul and inspiration of the movement which -carried comfort to wounded men while the battle was still in progress. -She was not, in any narrow sense, a hospital nurse; she was, as she has -justly been called, “the angel of the battle-field.”</p> - -<p>One characteristic of Clara Barton during these four years deserves -mention and emphasis because her independent position might have made -it easy for her to assume a critical attitude toward those who worked -under the regular organization or through different channels. In all -her letters, in all the entries in her diaries, there is found no -hint of jealousy toward any of the women who worked as nurses in the -hospitals, or under the Sanitary or Christian Commission.</p> - -<p>Clara Barton from her childhood was given to versifying. She was once -called upon to respond to a toast to the women who went to the front. -She did it in rhyme as follows:</p> - - -<p class="center p0">TOAST</p> - -<p class="center p0">“THE WOMEN WHO WENT TO THE FIELD”</p> - -<p class="poetry p0"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The women who went to the field, you say,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The <em>women</em> who went to the field; and pray</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What did they go for? just to be in the way!—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They’d not know the difference betwixt work and play,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What did they know about <em>war</em> anyway?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What could they <em>do</em>?—of what <em>use</em> could they be?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They would scream at the sight of a gun, don’t you see?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just fancy them round where the bugle notes play,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the long roll is bidding us on to the fray.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Imagine their skirts ’mong artillery wheels,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And watch for their flutter as they flee ’cross the fields</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the charge is rammed home and the fire belches hot;—</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">They never will wait for the answering shot.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They would faint at the first drop of blood, in their sight.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What fun for us boys,—(ere we enter the fight;)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They might pick some lint, and tear up some sheets,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And make us some jellies, and send on their sweets,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And knit some soft socks for Uncle Sam’s shoes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And write us some letters, and tell us the news.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thus it was settled by common consent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That husbands, or brothers, or whoever went,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That the place for the women was in their own homes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There to patiently wait until victory comes.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But later, it chanced, just how no one knew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That the lines slipped a bit, and some ’gan to crowd through;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they went,—where did they go?—Ah; where did they not?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Show us the battle,—the field,—or the spot</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the groans of the wounded rang out on the air</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That her ear caught it not, and her hand was not there,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who wiped the death sweat from the cold clammy brow,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sent home the message;—“’Tis well with him now”?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who watched in the tents, whilst the fever fires burned,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the pain-tossing limbs in agony turned,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wet the parched tongue, calmed delirium’s strife</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the dying lips murmured, “My Mother,” “My Wife”!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And who were they all?—They were many, my men;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their record was kept by no tabular pen:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They exist in traditions from father to son.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who recalls, in dim memory, now here and there one.—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A few names were writ, and by chance live to-day;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But’s a perishing record fast fading away.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of those we recall, there are scarcely a score,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dix, Dame, Bickerdyke,—Edson, Harvey, and Moore,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fales, Whittenmeyer, Gilson, Safford and Lee,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And poor Cutter dead in the sands of the sea;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Frances D. Gage, our “Aunt Fanny” of old,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose voice rang for freedom when freedom was sold.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Husband, and Etheridge, and Harlan and Case,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Livermore, Alcott, Hancock, and Chase,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Turner, and Hawley, and Potter, and Hall.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah! the list grows apace, as they come at the call:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did these women quail at the sight of a gun?</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will some soldier tell us of one he saw run?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will he glance at the boats on the great western flood,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At Pittsburg and Shiloh, did they faint at the blood?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the brave wife of Grant stood there with them then,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her calm, stately presence gave strength to his men.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And <em>Marie of Logan</em>; she went with them too;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A bride, scarcely more than a sweetheart, ’tis true.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her young cheek grows pale when the bold troopers ride.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the “Black Eagle” soars, she is close at his side,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She staunches his blood, cools the fever-burnt breath,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the wave of her hand stays the Angel of Death;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She nurses him back, and restores once again</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To both army and state the brave leader of men.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She has smoothed his black plumes and laid them to sleep,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whilst the angels above them their high vigils keep:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she sits here <em>alone</em>, with the snow on her brow—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your cheers for her comrades! Three cheers for her now.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And these were the women who went to the war:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The women of question; what <em>did</em> they go for?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because in their hearts God had planted the seed</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of pity for woe, and help for its need;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They saw, in high purpose, a duty to do,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the armor of right broke the barriers through.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Uninvited, unaided, unsanctioned ofttimes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With pass, or without it, they pressed on the lines;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They pressed, they implored, till they ran the lines through,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And <em>this</em> was the “running” the men saw them do.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’Twas a hampered work, its worth largely lost;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’Twas hindrance, and pain, and effort, and cost:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But through these came knowledge,—knowledge is power.—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And never again in the deadliest hour</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of war or of peace, shall we be so beset</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To accomplish the purpose our spirits have met.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And what would they do if war came again?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The <em>scarlet cross floats</em> where all was blank then.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They would bind on their “<em xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">brassards</em>” and march to the fray,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the man liveth not who could say to them nay;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They would stand with you now, as they stood with you then,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The nurses, consolers, and saviors of men.</span><br /> -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX"><big>CHAPTER XIX</big><br /> -ANDERSONVILLE AND AFTER</h2> -</div> - - - -<p>Clara Barton’s name continued on the roll of clerks in the Patent -Office until August, 1865. She drew her salary as a clerk throughout -the period of the Civil War, and it was the only salary that she drew -during that time. Out of it she paid the clerk who took her place -during the latter months of her employment, and also the rent of the -room in Washington, where she stored her supplies and now and then -slept. When she was at the front, she shared the rations of the army. -Most of the time her food was the food of the officers of the division -where she was at work. Much of the time it was the humble fare of -the common soldier. Mouldy and even wormy hardtack grew to be quite -familiar to her, and was eaten without complaint.</p> - -<p>As the end of the war drew near, she discovered a field of service in -which her aid was greatly needed. Every battle in the Civil War had, in -addition to its list of known dead and wounded, a list of “missing.” -Some of these missing soldiers were killed and their bodies not found -or identified. Of the 315,555 graves of Northern troops, only 172,400 -were identified. Almost half of the soldiers buried in graves known -to the quartermaster of the Federal army were unidentified; 143,155 -were buried in graves known to be the graves of soldiers, but with no -soldier’s name to mark them. Besides these there were 43,973 recorded -deaths over and above the number of graves. The total of deaths -recorded was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span> 359,528, while the number of graves, as already stated, -was 315,555. As a mere matter of statistics, this may not seem to mean -very much, but it actually means that nearly two hundred thousand homes -received tidings of the death of a father, son, or brother, and did not -know where that loved one was buried. This added to grief the element -of uncertainty, and in many cases of futile hope.</p> - -<p>Moreover, there were many other thousands of men reported missing -of whom no certain knowledge could be obtained at the close of the -Civil War. Some were deserters, some were bounty-jumpers, some were -prisoners, some were dead. Clara Barton received countless letters of -inquiry. From all over the country letters came asking whether in any -hospital she had seen such and such a soldier.</p> - -<p>Clearly foreseeing that the end of the war was in sight, Clara Barton, -who had gone from City Point, where she was serving with General -Butler’s army, to Washington, where she witnessed the death of her -brother Stephen, brought to the attention of President Lincoln the -necessity of instituting some agency for the finding of missing -soldiers. She knew what her own family had suffered in the anxious -months when Stephen was immured within the Confederate lines, and his -relatives did not know whether he was living or dead. President Lincoln -at once approved her plan, and issued a letter advising the friends of -missing soldiers to communicate with Miss Barton at Annapolis, where -she established her headquarters. President Lincoln’s letter was dated -March 11, 1865, the day following the death of her brother Stephen. -This was followed, March 25, by a letter from General Hitchcock:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Washington, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr></span>, March 25, 1865</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">For the Commanding Officer at Annapolis, <abbr title="Maryland">Md.</abbr></span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">Sir</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>The notice, which you have doubtless seen, over the name of Miss -Barton, of Massachusetts, proffering her services in answering -inquiries with respect to Union officers and soldiers who have been -prisoners of war (or who remain so), was made by my authority under -the written sanction of His Excellency the President.</p> - -<p>The purpose is so humane and so interesting in itself that I beg -to recommend Miss Barton to your kind civilities, and to say that -any facilities which you may have it in your power to extend to her -would be properly bestowed, and duly appreciated, not only by the -lady herself, but by the whole country which is interested in her -self-appointed mission.</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -With great <abbr title="respect">resp.</abbr> your <abbr title="obedient">obt.</abbr> servant</p> -<p class="right"> -(Signed) <span class="smcap">E. A. Hitchcock</span><br /> -<abbr title="major">Maj.</abbr> <abbr title="general">Gen’l.</abbr> Vols.<br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Although she was backed by the authority of the President, it took -the War Department two months to establish Clara Barton in her work -at Annapolis with the title “General Correspondent for the Friends -of Paroled Prisoners.” A tent was assigned her, with furniture, -stationery, clerks, and a modest fund for postage. By the time she -was established at Annapolis, she found bushels of mail awaiting her, -and letters of inquiry came in at the rate of a hundred a day. To -bring order out of this chaos, and establish a system by which missing -soldiers and their relatives could be brought into communication with -each other, called for swift action and no little organizing skill. For -a time difficulties seemed to increase. Discharged prisoners returned -from the South by thousands. In some cases there was no record, in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span> -others the record was defective. Inquiries came in much faster than -information in response to them.</p> - -<p>Notwithstanding all the difficulties, Clara Barton had a long list of -missing men ready for publication by the end of May. Then the question -rose how she was to get it published. It was not wholly a matter of -expense, though this was an important item. There was only one printing -office in Washington which had type enough, and especially capitals -enough, to set up such a roll as at that time she had ready. In this -emergency she appealed directly to the President of the United States, -asking that the roll be printed at the Government Printing Office. Her -original letter to President Johnson is in existence, together with a -series of endorsements, the last of them by Andrew Johnson himself. -General Rucker was the first official to endorse it, Major-General -Hitchcock added his commendation, General Hoffman followed, then came -General Grant, and last of all the President:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Washington, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr></span>, May 31st, 1865</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">His Excellency<br /> - President of the United States</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">Sir</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>May I venture to enclose for perusal the within circular in the hope -that it may to a certain extent explain the object of the work in -which I am engaged. The undertaking having at its first inception -received the cordial and written sanction of our late beloved -President, I would most respectfully ask for it the favor of his -honored successor.</p> - -<p>The work is indeed a large one; but I have a settled confidence that -I shall be able to accomplish it. The fate of the unfortunate men -failing to appear under the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span> search which I shall institute is likely -to remain forever unrevealed.</p> - -<p>My rolls are now ready for the press; but their size exceeds the -capacity of any private establishment in this city, no printer in -Washington having forms of sufficient size or a sufficient number of -capitals to print so many names.</p> - -<p>It will be both inconvenient and expensive to go with my rolls to some -distant city each time they are to be revised. In view of this fact I -am constrained to ask our honored President, when he shall approve my -work, as I must believe he will, to direct that the printing may be -done at the Government Printing Office.</p> - -<p>I may be permitted to say in this connection that the enclosed -printed circular appealing for pecuniary aid did not originate in -any suggestion of mine, but in the solicitude of personal friends, -and that thus far, in whatever I may have done, I have received no -assistance either from the Government or from individuals. A time -may come when it will be necessary for me to appeal directly to the -American People for help, and in that event, such appeal will be made -with infinitely greater confidence and effect, if my undertaking shall -receive the approval and patronage of Your Excellency.</p> - -<p>I have the honor to be, Sir</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Most respectfully</p> -<p class="right"> -Your obedient servant <br /> -<span class="smcap">Clara Barton</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p class="center p0 p2"><span class="figcenter" id="img008"> - <img src="images/008.jpg" class="w75" alt="LETTER TO PRESIDENT JOHNSON" /> -</span></p> -<p class="center p0 caption">LETTER TO PRESIDENT JOHNSON<br /></p> - -<p class="p0 center"><em>Official endorsements on back of her letter</em></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="center p0"> - -<span class="smcap">Chief Quartermaster’s Office<br /> -Depot of Washington</span></p> -<p class="right"> -June 2, 1865<br /> -</p> - -<p>I most heartily concur in the recommendations on this paper. I have -known Miss Barton for a long time and it gives me great pleasure to -aid her in her good works.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">F. H. Rucker</span><br /> -<abbr title="brigadier">Brig.</abbr> <abbr title="general">Gen’l</abbr> & <abbr title="chief">Chf.</abbr> <abbr title="quartermaster">Q.M.</abbr><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span></p> - - -<blockquote> - -<p>The undersigned, with a full understanding of the benevolent purpose -of Miss Barton and of its deep interest for the public, most cordially -commends it to the approval of the President of the United States.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">E. A. Hitchcock</span><br /> -<abbr title="major">Maj.</abbr> <abbr title="general">Gen.</abbr> Vol.<br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<blockquote> - -<p> - -June 2, 1865<br /> -</p> - -<p>I most heartily concur in the foregoing recommendations.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">W. Hoffman</span><br /> -<br /> -<abbr title="commanding general prison">Com. Gen’l Pris.</abbr><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Respectfully recommended that the printing asked for be authorized at -the Government Printing Office. The object being a charitable one, -to look up and ascertain the fate of officers and soldiers who have -fallen into the hands of the enemy and have never been restored to -their families and friends, is one which Government can well aid.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">U. S. Grant</span><br /> -<br /> -L.G.<br /> -<br /> -June 2d, 1865.<br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -June 3d, 1865<br /> -</p> - -<p>Let this printing be done as speedily as possible consistently with -the public interest.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Andrew Johnson</span><br /> -<abbr title="president">Prest.</abbr> U.S.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">To <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Defrees</span><br /> -<br /> - Supt. <abbr title="publishing">Pub.</abbr> Printing<br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p class="center p0 p2"><span class="figcenter" id="img009"> - <img src="images/009.jpg" class="w75" alt="ENDORSEMENTS ON MISS BARTON’S LETTER TO PRESIDENT JOHNSON" /> -</span></p> -<p class="center p0 caption">ENDORSEMENTS ON MISS BARTON’S LETTER TO PRESIDENT JOHNSON<br /></p> - -<p>On the same date, June 2, 1865, Miss Barton received a pass from -General Grant commending her to the kind consideration of all officers -and instructing them to give her all facilities that might be necessary -in the prosecution of her mission. By General Grant’s order, there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span> was -also issued to her transportation for herself and two assistants on all -Government railroads and transports:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="center p0"> - -<span class="smcap">Headquarters Armies of the United States</span></p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Washington, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr></span>, June 2d, 1865<br /> -</p> - -<p>The bearer hereof, <em>Miss Clara Barton</em>, who is engaged in making -inquiries concerning the fate of soldiers reported as missing in -action, is commended to the kind consideration of all officers of the -military service, and she will be afforded by commanders and others -such facilities in the prosecution of her charitable mission as can -properly be extended to her.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">U. S. Grant</span><br /> -<abbr title="lieutenant">Lieut.</abbr> General <abbr title="commanding">Comdg.</abbr><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<blockquote> - -<p class="center p0"> - -<span class="smcap">Headquarters Armies of the United States</span></p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Washington, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr></span>, June 2nd, 1865<br /> -</p> - -<p>Miss <em>Clara Barton</em>, engaged in making inquiries for soldiers -reported as missing in action, will be allowed, until further orders, -with her assistants, not to exceed two in number, free transportation -on all Government railroads and transports.</p> - -<p> -By Command of <abbr title="lieutenant">Lieut.</abbr>-General Grant</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">T. S. Breck</span><br /> -<abbr title="assistant">Asst.</abbr> <abbr title="adjutant">Adjt.</abbr> <abbr title="general"><abbr title="general">Gen’l.</abbr></abbr><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>Clara Barton had learned the value of publicity. She knew that the -Press could be counted upon to assist an undertaking so near to the -hearts of all readers of the papers. She therefore arranged her lists -by States, and sent the list of each State to every newspaper in the -State with the request for its free publication. Before long she had -established definite connections with scores of newspapers which -responded favorably to her request. No one read these lists more -eagerly than recently discharged men, including prisoners and men -released from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span> hospitals. In innumerable instances these men wrote to -her to give information of the death or survival, with location, of -some comrade whose name had been published in one of her lists.</p> - -<p>Sometimes she succeeded not only beyond her own expectation, but beyond -the desire of the man who was sought. Occasionally a soldier who went -into voluntary obscurity at the end of the war found himself unable -to remain in as modest a situation as he had chosen for himself. A -few letters are found of men who indignantly remonstrated against -being discovered by their relatives. One such case will serve as an -illustration. The first of the following letters is from the sister of -a missing soldier. The second, six months later, is a protest from the -no longer missing man, and the third is Clara’s indignant reply to him:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Lockport, <abbr title="New York">N.Y.</abbr></span>, April 17th, 1865</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">Miss Clara Barton<br /> -Dear Madam</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Seeing a notice in one of our village papers stating that you can -give information concerning soldiers in the army or navy, you will -sincerely oblige me if you can give any intelligence of my brother, -Joseph H. H——, who was engaged in the 2nd Maryland Regiment under -General Goldsborough, and from whom we have not heard in nearly two -years. His mother died last winter, to whom his silent absence was, I -assure you, a <em>great grief</em>, and to whom I promised to make all -inquiries in my power, so that I might if possible learn my brother’s -fate. I would most willingly remunerate you for all trouble.</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Yours respectfully</p> -<p class="right"> -E—— H——<br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span></p> - - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Springfield, <abbr title="Illinois">Ills.</abbr></span>, Oct. 16, 1865</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">Miss Clara Barton</span>,<br /> - Washington, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr><br /> -<span class="smcap">Madam</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have seen my name on a sheet of paper somewhat to my mortification, -for I would like to know what I have done, so that I am worthy to have -my name <em>blazoned</em> all over the country. If my friends in New -York <em>wish</em> to know where I am, let them wait <em>until</em> I see -fit to write them. As you are anxious of my welfare, I would say that -I am just from New Orleans, discharged, on my way North, but unluckily -taken with <em>chills</em> and <em>fever</em> and could proceed no farther -for some time at least. I shall remain here for a month.</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Respectfully, your <abbr title="obedient">obt.</abbr> <abbr title="servant">servt.</abbr></p> -<p class="right"> -J—— H. H——<br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="p0"> - -<span class="smcap"><abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr></span> J—— H. H——<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">Sir</span>:—<br /> -</p> - -<p>I enclose copies of two letters in my possession. The writer of the -first I suppose to be your sister. The lady for whose death the letter -was draped in mourning I suppose to have been <em>your mother</em>. Can -it be possible that you were aware of that fact when you wrote that -letter? <em>Could</em> you have spoken thus, knowing all?</p> - -<p>The cause of your name having been “blazoned all over the country” -was your unnatural concealment from your nearest relatives, and the -great distress it caused them. “What you have done” to render this -necessary <em>I</em> certainly <em>do not</em> know. It seems to have been -the misfortune of your family to think more of you than you did of -them, and probably more than you deserve from the manner in which you -treat them. They had already waited until a son and brother possessing -common humanity would have “seen fit” to write them. <em>Your mother -died waiting</em>, and the result of your sister’s faithful efforts -to comply with her dying request “<em>mortify</em>”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span> you. I cannot -apologize for the part I have taken. You are mistaken in supposing -that I am “anxious for your welfare.” I assure you I have no interest -in it, but your accomplished sister, for whom I entertain the deepest -respect and sympathy, I shall inform of your existence lest you should -not “see fit” to do so yourself.</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -I have the honor to be, sir</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara Barton</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Such letters as the foregoing remind us that not all the cases of -missing soldiers were purely accidental. There were instances where -men went to war vowing loyalty to the girls they left behind them, and -who formed other ties. There were cases where men formed wholly new -associations and deliberately chose to begin anew and let the past be -buried. But there were thousands of instances in which the work of -Clara Barton brought her enduring gratitude. In very large proportion -these missing men were dead. The testimony of a comrade who had -witnessed the death on the battle-field or in prison set at rest any -suspicion of desertion or any other form of dishonor. In other cases, -where the soldier was alive, but had grown careless about writing, her -timely reminder secured a prompt reunion and saved a long period of -anxiety. Letters like the following came to her to the end of her life:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Greenfield, <abbr title="Massachusetts">Mass.</abbr></span>, Sept. 25, 1911</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">Miss Clara Barton</span><br /> - Oxford, <abbr title="Massachusetts">Mass.</abbr><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Barton</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I am a stranger to you, but you are far from being a stranger to me. -As a member of the old Vermont Brigade through the entire struggle, -I was familiar with your unselfish work at the front through those -years<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</span> when we were trying to restore a broken Union, and being a -prisoner of war at Andersonville at its close, my mother, not knowing -whether I was alive, appealed to you for information.</p> - -<p>Two letters bearing your signature (from Annapolis, Maryland) are in -my possession, the pathos of one bearing no tidings, and the glad -report of my arrival about the middle of May, 1865.</p> - -<p>The thankful heart that received them has long been stilled, but the -letters have been preserved as sacred relics.</p> - -<p>I also have a very vivid recollection of your earnest appeal to us to -notify our friends of our arrival by first mail for their sake.</p> - -<p>If to enjoy the gratitude of a single heart be a pleasure, to enjoy -the benediction of a grateful world must be sweet to one’s declining -years. To have earned it makes it sublime.</p> - -<p>I have also another tie which makes Oxford seem near to me. An old -tent-mate, a member of our regimental quartette, a superb soldier -and a very warm friend, lies mouldering there these many years. He -survived, I think, more than thirty battles only to die of consumption -in January, 1870. Whenever I can I run down from Worcester to lay a -flower on George H. Amidon’s grave.</p> - -<p>I write not to tax you with a reply, but simply to wish for you all -manner of blessings.</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Yours truly</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">F. J. Hosmer</span><br /> -<abbr title="Company">Co.</abbr> I, 4th <abbr title="Vermont">Vt.</abbr><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Her headquarters at this time was theoretically at Arlington where she -had a tent. Arlington was the headquarters receiving and discharging -returned prisoners. But much of her work was in Washington, and the -constant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</span> journeys back and forth caused her to ask for a conveyance. -She made her application to General William Hoffman, Commissary-General -of prisoners, on June 16, 1865. Her request went the official rounds, -and by the 25th of October a horse was promised as soon as a suitable -one could be found. It is to be hoped that within a year or two a horse -either with sidesaddle or attached to a wheeled conveyance was found -tethered in front of her bare lodging on the third floor of <abbr title="Number">No.</abbr> 488½ -7th Street, between D and E:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Washington, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr></span>, June 16th, 1865</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap"><abbr title="brigadier">Brig.</abbr>-<abbr title="general">Gen’l.</abbr> <abbr title="william">Wm.</abbr> Hoffman<br /> - <abbr title="commissary">Commsy</abbr> <abbr title="general">Gen’l</abbr> of Prisoners</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">General</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>It would not appear so necessary to explain to you the nature of my -wants, as to apologize for imposing them upon you, but your great -kindness to me has taught me not to fear the abuse of it in any -request which seems needful.</p> - -<p>If I say that in my present undertaking I find the duties of each -day quite equal to my strength, and often of a character which some -suitable mode of conveyance at my own command like the daily use of a -Government wagon would materially lighten, I feel confident that you -would both comprehend and believe me, but if I were to desire you to -represent my wishes to the proper authorities and aid in obtaining -such a facility for me, I may have carried my request to a troublesome -length and could only beg your kind pardon for the liberty taken which -I would most humbly and cheerfully do.</p> - -<p> -With grateful respect,</p> -<p class="center p0"> -I am, General<br /> -<br /> -Very truly yours</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara Barton</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</span></p> - - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Headquarters Military District of Washington</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Washington, <abbr title="District of Columbia">D.C.</abbr></span>, October 25, 1865</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">Miss Clara Barton</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have conferred with General Wadsworth on the subject of obtaining a -horse for your use, and he has directed that I place a horse at your -disposal as soon as a suitable one can be found.</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -Very respectfully<br /> - <abbr title="your">Yr.</abbr> <abbr title="obedient">Obt.</abbr> <abbr title="servant">Svt.</abbr></p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">John P. Sherburne</span><br /> -<abbr title="assistant">Asst.</abbr> <abbr title="adjutant">Adjt.</abbr> Gen’l.<br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>For four years Clara Barton carried on this important work for missing -soldiers. She spared neither her time nor her purse. At the outset -there was no appropriation that covered the necessary expenses of such -a quest, and the work was of a character that would not wait. From -the beginning of the year 1865 to the end of 1868 she sent out 63,182 -letters of inquiry. She mailed printed circulars of advice in reply to -correspondents to 58,693 persons. She wrote or caused to be written -41,855 personal letters. She distributed to be posted on bulletin -boards and in public places 99,057 slips containing printed rolls. -According to her estimate at the end of this heavy task, she succeeded -in bringing information, not otherwise obtainable, to not less than -22,000 families of soldiers.</p> - -<p>How valuable this work was then believed to be is shown in the fact -that Congress, after an investigation by a committee which examined in -detail her method and its results and the vouchers she had preserved of -her expenses, appropriated to reimburse her the sum of $15,000.</p> - -<p>It soon became evident that one of the most important<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</span> fields for -investigation was such record as could be found of the Southern -prisons, especially Andersonville. To Andersonville her attention -was directed through a discharged prisoner, Dorence Atwater, of -Connecticut. He was in the first detachment transferred, the latter -part of February, 1864, to the then new prison of Andersonville, and -because of his skillful penmanship was detailed to keep a register of -deaths of the prisoners. He occupied a desk next to that of General -Wirz, the Confederate officer commanding the prison. Here, at the -beginning of 1865, he made up a list of nearly thirteen thousand Union -prisoners who died in that year, giving the full name, company and -regiment, date and cause of death. Besides the official list he made -another and duplicate list, which he secreted in the lining of his -coat, and was able to take with him on his discharge.</p> - -<p>At the close of the war he returned to his home in Terryville, -Connecticut, where he was immediately stricken with diphtheria. -Weakened and emaciated by his imprisonment, he nearly died of this -acute attack. Before he was fully recovered, he was summoned to -Washington, and his rolls were demanded by the Government. He gave -them up and they were copied in Washington, but were not published. He -wrote to Clara Barton informing her of these rolls and affirmed that -by means of them he could identify almost every grave in Andersonville -Prison. Clara Barton was greatly interested, and proposed to Secretary -Stanton that she be sent to Andersonville and that Dorence Atwater -accompany her. She proposed that there should go with them a number of -men equipped with material for enclosing the cemetery with a fence, and -for the marking of each grave with a suitable headboard.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</span></p> - -<p>Secretary Stanton received this suggestion not only with approval, but -with enthusiasm. Miss Barton wrote the account of her interview with -him on some loose sheets for her diary. The sheets were at least three -in number, and only the second sheet is preserved. This sheet, however, -covers the personal interview with Secretary Stanton. It was written at -the time, and manifests his keen interest in her enterprise and desire -to carry it through promptly and effectively:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>On entering General Hardy’s room, he asked my business. I said, “I -didn’t know, sir. I supposed I had some, as the Secretary sent for -me.” “Oh,” he said, “you are Miss Barton. The Secretary is very -anxious to see you,” and sent a messenger to announce me. <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Stanton -met me halfway across the room with extended hand, and said he had -taken the liberty to send for me to thank me for what I had done both -in the past, and in my present work; that he greatly regretted that -he had not known of me earlier, as from all he now learned he feared -I had done many hard things which a little aid from him would have -rendered comparatively easy, but that especially now he desired to -thank me for helping him <em>to think</em>; that it was not possible -for him to think of everything which was for the general good, and no -one knew how grateful he was to the person who put forth, among all -the impracticable, interested, wild, and selfish schemes which were -continually crowded upon him, one good, sensible, practical, unselfish -idea that he could take up and act upon with safety and credit. You -may believe that by this time my astonishment had not decreased. In -the course of the next twenty minutes he informed me that he had -decided to invite me (for he could not order <em>me</em>) to accompany -Captain Moore, with Atwater and his register, to Andersonville, -and see my suggestions carried out to my entire satisfaction; that -unlimited powers as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</span> quartermaster would be given Captain Moore to -draw upon all officers of the Government in that vicinity for whatever -would be desired; that a special boat would be sent with ourselves and -corps of workmen, and to return only when the work was satisfactorily -accomplished. To call the next day and consult with him farther in....</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>If Miss Barton’s horse, which she had asked for in June, had gotten to -her door more promptly than is customary in such matters of official -routine, he might have grown hungry waiting for her return. As we have -already noticed, permission to have the horse assigned was granted in -October, which left the summer free for the Andersonville expedition. -Fortunately, no long interval elapsed after Secretary Stanton’s -approval of the plan before the starting of the expedition. On July 8 -the propeller Virginia, having on board headboards, fencing material, -clerks, painters, letterers, and a force of forty workmen, under -command of Captain James M. Moore, Quartermaster, left Washington for -Andersonville, by way of Savannah. On board also were Dorence Atwater -and Clara Barton. They reached Savannah on July 12, and remained there -seven days, arriving at Andersonville on July 25.</p> - -<p>Her first impressions were wholly favorable. The cemetery was in much -better condition than she had been led to fear. As the bodies had been -buried in regular order, and Dorence Atwater’s lists were minute as to -date and serial number, the task of erecting a headboard giving each -soldier’s name, state, company, regiment, and date of death, appeared -not very difficult. On the second night of her stay in Andersonville -she wrote to Secretary Stanton of the success of the undertaking and -suggested<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</span> that the grounds be made a national cemetery. She assured -him that for his prompt and humane action in ordering the marking of -these graves the American people would bless him through long years to -come. She was correct in her prediction. But for her proposal and <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> -Stanton’s prompt coöperation and Dorence Atwater’s presence with the -list, hundreds if not thousands of graves now certainly are identified -at Andersonville which would have needed to be marked “Unknown”:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="p0"> - -<span class="smcap"><abbr title="Honorable">Hon.</abbr> E. M. Stanton<br /> - <abbr title="secretary">Sec’y.</abbr> of War, United States</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">Sir</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>It affords me great pleasure to be able to report to you that we -reached Andersonville safely at 1 o’clock <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> yesterday, -25th inst. Found the grounds undisturbed, the stockade and hospital -quarters standing protected by order of General Wilson.</p> - -<p>We have encountered no serious obstacle, met with no accident, our -entire party is well, and commenced work this morning. Any misgivings -which might have been experienced are happily at an end; the original -plan for identifying the graves is capable of being carried out to -the letter. We can accomplish fully all that we came to accomplish, -and the field is wide and ample for much more in the future. If -<em>desirable</em>, the grounds of Andersonville can be made a National -Cemetery of great beauty and interest. Be assured, <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Stanton, that -for this prompt and humane action of yours, the American people will -bless you long after your willing hands and mind have ceased to toil -for them.</p> - -<p>With great respect,</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -I have the honor to be, Sir<br /> -Your very obedient servant</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara Barton</span></p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap">Andersonville, Ga.</span><br /> - July 26th, 1865<br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</span></p> - - -<p>The remaining period of her work in Andersonville was fruitful in -the accomplishment of all the essential results for which she had -undertaken the expedition, but it resulted in strained relations -between one of the officers of the expedition and Dorence Atwater, and -Clara Barton came to the defense of Atwater. During her absence at -Andersonville, two letters were published in a Washington paper, over -her signature, alleged to have been written by her to her Uncle James. -She had no Uncle James, and wrote no such letters; and she attributed -the forgery, correctly or incorrectly, to this officer. Her official -report to the Secretary of War contains a severe arraignment of that -officer, whom she never regarded with any favor.</p> - -<p>This is all that need be recorded of Clara Barton’s great work at -Andersonville, of which a volume might easily be made. She saw the -Union graves marked. Out of the almost thirteen thousand graves of -Union soldiers at Andersonville four hundred and forty were marked -“Unknown” when she finished her work, and they were unknown only -because the Confederate records were incomplete. She saw the grounds -enclosed and protected, and with her own hands she raised the United -States flag for the first time since their death above these men who -had died for it.</p> - -<p>But this expedition involved trouble for Atwater. When he handed over -his rolls to the Government it was with the earnest request that steps -be taken immediately to mark these graves. His request and the rolls -had been pigeonholed. Then he had learned of Clara Barton’s great work -for missing soldiers and wrote her telling her that the list he had -made surreptitiously and preserved with such care was gathering dust, -while<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</span> thirteen thousand graves were fast becoming unidentifiable. She -brought this knowledge to Secretary Stanton as has already been set -forth, and Stanton ordered the rolls to be produced and sent on this -expedition for Atwater’s use in identification.</p> - -<p>Dorence Atwater had enlisted at the age of sixteen in the year 1862. -He was now under twenty, but he was resolute in his determination that -the lists which he had now recovered should not again be taken from -him. On his return from Andersonville the rolls which he had made -containing the names of missing soldiers disappeared. He was arrested -and questioned, and replied that the rolls were his own property. He -was sent to prison in the Old Capital, was tried by a court-martial, -adjudged guilty of larceny, and sentenced to be confined for eighteen -months at hard labor in the State Prison at Auburn, New York, fined -three hundred dollars, and ordered to stand committed until the rolls -were returned.</p> - -<p>Atwater made no defense, but issued a statement which Clara Barton -probably prepared for him:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>I am charged with and convicted of theft, and sentenced to eighteen -months’ imprisonment, and after that time until I shall have paid my -Government three hundred dollars. I have called no witnesses, made no -appeal, adduced no evidence. A soldier, a prisoner, an orphan, and -a minor, I have little with which to employ counsel to oppose the -Government of the United States.</p> - -<p>Whatever I may have been convicted of, I deny the charge of theft. I -took my rolls home with me that they might be preserved; I considered -them mine; it had never been told or even hinted to me that they were -not my own rightful, lawful property. I never denied having them, and -I was not arrested for stealing my rolls, but for having declared my -intention of appealing to higher<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</span> authority for justice. I supposed -this to be one of the privileges of an American citizen, one of -the great principles of the Government for which we had fought and -suffered; but I forgot that the soldier who sacrificed his comforts -and risked his life to maintain these liberties was the only man in -the country who would not be allowed to claim their protection.</p> - -<p>My offense consists in an attempt to make known to the relatives and -friends the fate of the unfortunate men who died in Andersonville -Prison, and if this be a crime I am guilty to the fullest extent of -the law, for to accomplish it I have risked my life among my enemies -and my liberty among my friends.</p> - -<p>Since my arrest I have seen it twice publicly announced that the -record of the dead of Andersonville would be published very soon; one -announcement apparently by the Government, and one by Captain James M. -Moore, A.G.M. No such intimation was ever given until after my arrest, -and if it prove that my imprisonment accomplishes that which my -liberty could not, I ought, perhaps, to be satisfied. If this serves -to bring out the information so long and so cruelly withheld from the -people, I will not complain of my confinement, but when accomplished, -I would earnestly plead for that liberty so dear to all, and to which -I have been so long a stranger.</p> - -<p>I make this statement, which I would confirm by my oath if I were at -liberty, not as appealing to public sympathy for relief, but for the -sake of my name, my family, and my friends. I wish it to be known -that I am not sentenced to a penitentiary as a common thief, but for -attempting to appeal from the trickery of a clique of petty officers.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Dorence Atwater</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>On September 25, 1865, just one month from the day when he returned -from Andersonville from the marking of the soldiers’ graves, Dorence -Atwater, as Clara Barton<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</span> records, “was heavily ironed, and under -escort of a soldier and captain as guard, in open daylight, and in the -face of his acquaintances, taken through the streets of Washington -to the Baltimore depot, and placed upon the cars, a convict bound to -Auburn State Prison.”</p> - -<p>Clara Barton had moved heaven and earth to save Dorence from -imprisonment; had done everything excepting to advise him to give up -the rolls. She knew so well what the publication of those names meant -to thirteen thousand anxious homes, she was willing to see Dorence go -to prison rather than that should fail. Secretary Stanton was out of -Washington when Dorence was arrested. She followed him to West Point -and had a personal interview, which she supplemented by a letter:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="right"> - -<span class="smcap">Roe’s Hotel, West Point</span>, September 5th, 1865</p> -<p class="p0"> -<span class="smcap"><abbr title="Honorable">Hon.</abbr> E. M. Stanton<br /> - <abbr title="secretary">Sec’y.</abbr> of War, U.S.A.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">My Honored Friend</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Please permit me before leaving to reply to the one kind interrogatory -made by you this morning, viz: “What do you desire me to do in the -case?” Simply this, sir,—do nothing, believe nothing, sanction -nothing in this present procedure against Dorence Atwater until all -the facts with their antecedents and bearings shall have been placed -before you, and this upon your return (if no one more worthy offer) I -promise to do, with all the fairness, truthfulness, and judgment that -in me lie.</p> - -<p>There is a noticeable haste manifested to dispose of the case in your -absence which leads me to fear that there are those who, to gratify a -jealous whim, or serve a personal ambition, would give little heed to -the dangers of unmerited public criticism they might thus draw upon -you, while young Atwater, honest and simple-hearted,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</span> both loving and -trusting you, has more need of your protection than your censure.</p> - -<p>With the highest esteem, and unspeakable gratitude,</p> - -<p class="center p0"> -I am, sir</p> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Clara Barton</span><br /> -</p> - -</blockquote> - -<p>Failing to secure the release of Dorence by appeal to Secretary -Stanton, who was not given to interference with military courts, Clara -Barton tried the effect of public opinion and also sought to arouse the -military authority of the State of Connecticut. Two letters of hers are -preserved addressed to friends in the newspaper world, but they did not -immediately accomplish the release of Dorence.</p> - -<p>Clara Barton was not a woman to desist in an effort of this kind. She -had set about to procure the release of Dorence Atwater; she had the -support of Senator Henry Wilson and of General B. F. Butler, and she -labored day and night to enlarge the list of influential friends who -should finally secure his freedom. She surely would have succeeded. -While the Government saw no convenient way of issuing him a pardon -until he returned the missing rolls, public sentiment in his favor grew -steadily under her insistent propaganda. At the end of two months’ -imprisonment, he was released under a general order which discharged -from prison all soldiers sentenced there by court-martial for crimes -less than murder. Even after the issue of the President’s general -order, Atwater was detained for a little time until Clara Barton made a -personal visit to Secretary Stanton and informed him that Dorence was -still in prison and secured the record of his trial for future use.</p> - -<p>Then she set herself to work to secure the publication<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</span> of his rolls. -He must copy them and rearrange them by States and in alphabetical -order, a task of no light weight, and must then arrange with some -responsible newspaper to undertake to secure their publication. -Moreover, this must be done quickly and quietly, for she believed that -Dorence still had an enemy who would thwart the effort if known.</p> - -<p>The large task of copying the rolls and rearranging the names required -some weeks. When it was finished, Clara Barton, who had previously -thought of the New York “Times” as a possible medium of publicity on -account of an expression of interest which it had published, and even -had considered the unpractical idea of simultaneous publication in a -number of papers, turned instead to Horace Greeley. She wrote to him in -January, 1866, and then went to New York and conferred with him.</p> - -<p>Greeley told her that the list was quite too long for publication in -the columns of any newspaper. The proper thing to do, as he assured -her, was to bring it out in pamphlet form at a low price, and, on the -day of publication, to exploit it as widely as possible through the -columns of the “Tribune.” To get the list in type, read the proof, -print the edition, and have it ready for delivery required some days if -not weeks. Valentine’s Day was fixed as that upon which the list was to -appear. On February 14, 1866, the publication occurred.</p> - -<p>Horace Greeley was a good advertiser. All through the advertising pages -of the “Tribune” on that day appeared the word “<span class="smcap">Andersonville</span>” -in a single line of capitals, varied here and there by -“<span class="smcap">Andersonville</span>; See Advertisement on 8th page.” No one who -read that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</span> day’s “Tribune” could escape the word “Andersonville.” The -editorial page contained the following paragraph:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>We have just issued a carefully compiled <em>List of the Union -Soldiers Buried at Andersonville</em>—arranged alphabetically under -the names of their respective States, and containing every name that -has been or can be recovered. Aside from the general and mournful -interest felt in these martyrs personally, this list will be of great -importance hereafter in the settlement of estates, etc. A copy should -be preserved for reference in every library, however limited. It -constitutes a roll of honor wherein our children’s children will point -with pride to the names of their relatives who died that their country -might live. See advertisement.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>The eighth page contained a half-page article by Clara Barton, telling -in full of the marking of the Andersonville graves. This article was -hailed with nation-wide interest, and the pamphlet had an enormous -circulation, bringing comfort to thousands of grief-stricken homes.</p> - -<p>Dorence Atwater never recovered from his treatment at the hands -of the United States Government. For many years the record of the -court-martial stood against him, and his status was that of a released -prisoner still unpardoned. His spirit became embittered, and he said -that the word “soldier” made him angry, and the sight of a uniform -caused him to froth at the mouth. The Government gave him a consulship -in the remote Seychelles Islands, and later transferred him to the -Society Islands in the South Pacific. He died in November, 1910, and -his monument is erected near Papeete on the Island of Tahiti.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX"><big>CHAPTER XX</big><br /> -ON THE LECTURE PLATFORM</h2> -</div> - - - -<p>At the close of the Civil War, Clara Barton wanted to write a book. -Other women who had engaged in war work were writing books, and the -books were being well received. She had as much to tell as any other -one woman, and she thought she would like to tell it.</p> - -<p>In this respect she was entirely different from Miss Dorothea Dix. She -met Miss Dix now and then during the war, and made note of the fact -in her diary, but either because these meetings occurred in periods -when she was too busy to make full record, or because nothing of large -importance transpired between them, she gives no extended account of -them. Miss Dix was superintendent of female nurses, and Miss Barton was -doing an independent work, so there was little occasion for them to -meet. But all her references to Miss Dix which show any indication of -her feeling manifest a spirit of very cordial appreciation of Dorothea -Dix’s work. Miss Dix managed her work in her own line, insisting that -nurses whom she appointed should be neither young nor good-looking, and -fighting her valiant battles with quite as much success as in general -could have been expected. But Dorothea Dix had no desire for publicity. -She shrank from giving to the world any details of her own life, partly -because of her unhappy childhood memories, and partly because she did -not believe in upholding in the mind of young women the successful -career of an unmarried woman. Accepting as she did her own lonely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</span> -career, and making it a great blessing to others, she did not desire -that young women should emulate it or consider it the ideal life. She -wished instead that they should find lovers, establish homes, and -become wives and mothers.</p> - -<p>Clara Barton, too, had very high regard for the home, and she saw quite -enough of the folly of sentimental young women who were eager to rush -to the hospitals and nurse soldiers, but she did not share Miss Dix’s -fear of an attractive face, and she knew rather better than Miss Dix -the value of publicity. Timid as she was by nature, she had discovered -the power of the Press. She had succeeded in keeping up her supply of -comforts for wounded soldiers largely by the letters which she wrote to -personal friends and to local organizations of women in the North. She -made limited but effective use of the newspaper for like purposes. At -first she did not fully realize her own gift as a writer. Once or twice -she bemoaned in her diary the feebleness of her descriptive effort. If -she could only make people see what she had actually seen, she could -move their hearts, and the supply of bandages and delicacies for her -wounded men would be unfailing.</p> - -<p>Her search for missing soldiers led her to a larger utilization of the -Press, and gave her added confidence in her own descriptive powers. -Her name was becoming more and more widely known, and she thought a -book by her, if she could procure means to publish it, would afford -her opportunity for self-expression and quite possibly be financially -profitable.</p> - -<p>On this subject she wrote two letters to Senator Henry Wilson. They are -undated, and it is probable that she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</span> never sent either of them, but -they show what was in her heart. One of these reads as follows:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p> - -<span class="smcap">My always good Friend</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Among all the little trials, necessities, and wants, real or -imaginary, that I have from time to time brought and laid down at -your feet, or even upon your shoulders, your patience has never once -broken, or if it did your broad charity concealed the rent from me, -and I come now in the hope that this may not prove to be the last -feather. It is not so much that I want you to <em>do</em> anything as to -listen and advise, and it may be all the more trying as I desire the -advice to be plain, candid, and honest even at the risk of wounding my -pride.</p> - -<p>Perhaps no previous proposition of mine, however wild, has ever so -completely astonished you as the present is liable to do. Well, to -end suspense. <em>I am desirous of writing a book.</em> You will very -naturally ask two questions—what for and what of. In reply to the -first. The position which I have assumed before the public renders -some general exposition necessary. They require to be made acquainted -with me, or perhaps I might say they should either be made to know -more of me or less. As it is, every one knows my name and something of -what I am or have been doing, but not one in a thousand has any idea -of the manner in which I propose to serve them. Out of six thousand -letters lying by me, probably not two hundred show any tolerably clear -idea of the writer as to what use I am to make of that very letter. -People tell me the color of the hair and eyes of the friends they have -lost, as if I were expected to go about the country and search them. -They ask me to send them full lists of the lost men of the army; they -tell me that they have looked all through my list of missing men and -the name of their son or husband or somebody’s else is not on it, and -desire to be informed why he is made an exception. They suppose me -a part of the Government<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</span> and it is my duty to do these things, or -that I am carrying on the “business” as a means of revenue and ask -my price, as if I hunted men at so much per head. But all suppose me -either well paid or abundantly able to dispense with it; and these are -only a few of the vague ideas which present themselves in my daily -mail. A fair history of what I have done and desire to do, and a plain -description of the practical working of my system, would convince -people that I am neither sorceress nor spiritualist and would appall -me with less of feverish hope and more of quiet, potent faith in the -final result.</p> - -<p>Then there is all of Andersonville of which I have never written a -word. I have not even contradicted the base forgeries which were -perpetrated upon me in my absence. I need not tell you how foully I -am being dealt by in this whole matter and the crime which has grown -out of the wickedness which overshadows me. I need to tell some plain -truths in a most inexpensive manner, that the whole country shall not -be always duped and honest people sacrificed that the ambition of one -man be gratified. I do not propose controversy, but I have a truth to -speak; it belongs to the people of our country and I desire to offer -it to them.</p> - -<p>And lastly, if a suitable work were completed and found salable and -any share of proceeds fell to me, I need it in the prosecution of the -work before me.</p> - -<p>Next—What of? The above explanation must have partially answered that -I would give the eight months’ history of my present work, and I think -I might be permitted by the writers to insert occasionally a letter -sent me by some noble wife or mother, and there are no better or more -touching letters written.</p> - -<p>I would show how the expedition to Andersonville grew out of this -very work; how inseparably connected the two were; and how Dorence -Atwater’s roll led directly to the whole work of identifying the -graves of the thirteen thousand sleeping in that city of the dead.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</span></p> - -<p>I would endeavor to insert my report of the expedition now with the -Secretary. I have some materials from which engravings could be made, -I think, of the most interesting features of Andersonville, and my -experiences with the colored people while there I believe to have -been of <em>exceeding</em> interest. I would like to relate this. You -recollect I have told you that they came from twenty miles around to -see me to know if Abraham Lincoln was dead and if they were free. -This, if well told, is a little book of itself. And if still I lack -material I might go back a little and perhaps a few incidents might -be gleaned from my last few years’ life which would not be entirely -without interest. I think I could glean enough from this ground to eke -out my work, which I would dedicate to the survivors of Andersonville -and the friends of the missing men of the United States Army. I don’t -know what title I would give it.</p> - -<p>Now, first, I want your yes or no. If the former, I want your advice -still further. Who can help me do all this? I have sounded among my -friends, and all are occupied; numbers can write well, but have no -knowledge of <em>book</em>-making which I suppose to be a trade in -itself and one of which I am entirely ignorant. I never attempted any -such thing myself and have no conceit of my own ability as a writer. -I <em>don’t think</em> I can write, but I would try to do something at -it; might do more if there were time, but this requires to be done -at once. I want a truthful, easy, and I suppose touching rather than -logical book, which it appears to me would sell among the class of -persons to whom I should dedicate it, and their name is legion. Now, -it is no wonder that I have found no one ready to take hold and help -me carry this on when it is remembered that I have not ten thousand -dollars to offer them in advance, but must ask that my helper wait -and share his remuneration out of the profits. If he <em>knew me</em>, -he would know that I would not be illiberal, especially as pecuniary -profit is but a secondary consideration.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</span> It is of greater importance -to me that I bring before the country and establish the facts that I -desire than that I make a few thousand dollars out of it, but I would -like to do both if I could, but the first if not the last. But I want -to stand as the author and it must be my book, and it should be in -very truth if I had the time to write it. I want no person to reap -a laurel off it (dear knows I have had enough of that of late), but -the man or woman who could and would take hold and work side by side -with me in this matter, making it a heart interest, and having my -interest at heart, be unselfish and noble with me as I think I would -be with them, should reap pecuniary profit if there were any to reap. -An experienced book-maker or publisher would understand if such a work -would sell—it seems to me that it would.</p> - -<p>Now, can you point me to any person who could either help me do this -or be so kind as to inform me that I must not attempt it?</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>It will be noted that in this letter she indicates her present lack of -means to publish such a book as she had in mind. She had not always -lacked means for such an object. While her salary as a teacher had -never been large, she had always saved money out of it. The habit -of New England thrift was strong upon her, and her investments were -carefully made so that her little fund continually augmented. Her -salary in the Patent Office was fourteen hundred dollars, and for a -time sixteen hundred dollars, and though she paid a part of it to -her substitute during the latter portion of the war, she was able to -keep up the rental of her lodging and meet her very modest personal -expenses without drawing upon her savings. The death of her father -brought to her a share in his estate, and this was invested in Oxford, -conservatively and profitably. When she began her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</span> search for missing -soldiers, therefore, she had quite a little money of her own. She began -that work of volunteer service, expecting it to be supported as her -work in the field had been supported, by the free gifts of those who -believed in the work. When a soldier or a soldier’s mother or widow -sent her a dollar, she invariably returned it.</p> - -<p>As the work proceeded, she was led to believe that Congress would make -an appropriation to reimburse her for her past expenditures, and add a -sufficient appropriation for the continuance of the work. She had two -influential friends at court, Senator Henry Wilson, her intimate and -trusted friend, Chairman of the Committee on Military Affairs of the -Senate, and General Benjamin F. Butler, with whose army she had last -served in the field.</p> - -<p>She knew very well how laws were passed and official endorsements -secured. She frequently interceded with her friends in high places -on behalf of people or causes in whom she believed. She, in common -with Miss Dix, had altercations with army surgeons, yet her diary -shows her working hard to secure for them additional recognition and -remuneration. On Sunday, January 29, 1865, she attempted to attend -the third anniversary of the Christian Commission, but the House of -Representatives was packed; thousands, she says, were turned away. That -afternoon or evening Senator Wilson called on her and she talked with -him concerning army surgeons: “I spoke at length with <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Wilson on the -subject of army surgeons. I think their rank will be raised. I believe -I will see <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Crane in the morning and make an effort to bring <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> -Buzzell here to help frame the bill.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</span></p> - -<p>She did exactly what she believed she would do; saw <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Crane, got -her recommendation that <abbr title="doctor">Dr.</abbr> Buzzell be allowed to come, and then went -to the Senate. The thing she labored for was accomplished, though it -called for considerable added effort.</p> - -<p>About this same time she had a visit from a woman who was seeking to -obtain the passage of a special act for her own benefit. She shared -Clara Barton’s bed and board, with introduction to Senator Wilson -and other influential people, until the bill passed both houses, and -still as Miss Barton’s guest continued in almost frantic uncertainty, -awaiting the President’s signature. It happened at the very time Clara -Barton was very desirous of getting her work for missing soldiers under -way. The idea came to her in the night of February 19, 1865:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Thought much during the night, and decided to invite <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Brown to -accompany me to Annapolis and to offer my services to take charge of -the correspondence between the country and the Government officials -and prisoners at that point while they continued to arrive.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p><abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Brown called upon her that very day and they agreed to go to -Annapolis the next day, which they did. She nursed her brother Stephen, -accomplished a large day’s work, did her personal washing at nine -o’clock at night, and the next day went to Annapolis. There she met -Dorothea Dix; found a captain who deserved promotion, and resolved -to get it for him; assisted in welcoming four boatloads of returned -prisoners, and defined more clearly in her own mind the kind of work -that needed to be done.</p> - -<p>The next Sunday Senator Wilson called on her again, and she told him -she had offered her services for this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</span> work, and wanted the President’s -endorsement in order that she might not be interfered with. Senator -Wilson offered to go with her to see President Lincoln, and they went -next day, but did not succeed in seeing him. She went again next day, -this time without Senator Wilson, for he was busy working on the bill -for the lady who was her guest, so she sought to obtain her interview -with President Lincoln through the Honorable E. B. Washburne, of -Illinois. <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Washburne agreed to meet her at the White House, and did -so, but the President was in a conference preceding a Cabinet meeting, -and the Cabinet meeting, which was to begin at noon, was likely to last -the rest of the day, so <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Washburne took her paper and said he would -see the President and obtain his endorsement. She saw Senator Wilson -that afternoon, and reported that her papers were still unendorsed, -and General Hitchcock was advising her to go on without any formal -authority. She was not disposed to do it, for she felt sure that she -would no sooner get established than Secretary Stanton would interfere. -The difficulty was to get at the President in those crowded days just -before his second inaugural, when events both in Washington and in the -field were crowding tremendously.</p> - -<p class="center p0 p2"><span class="figcenter" id="img007"> - <img src="images/007.jpg" class="w75" alt="SENATOR HENRY WILSON’S LETTER TO PRESIDENT LINCOLN" /> -</span></p> -<p class="center p0 caption">SENATOR HENRY WILSON’S LETTER TO PRESIDENT LINCOLN -</p> - - -<p>Senator Wilson was still interested in what she wanted to do, but was -preoccupied. “He had labored all night on Miss B.’s bill.” In fact -Clara Barton read the probable fate of her own endeavor. Senator Wilson -had given himself with such ardor to the cause of her guest that he -had no time to help her. She had borrowed a set of furs to wear when -she went to the President. She took them back that afternoon and wrote -in her diary: “Very tired; could not reconcile my poor success; I find -that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</span> some hand above mine rules and restrains my progress; I cannot -understand, but try to be patient, but still it is hard. I was never -more tempted to break down with disappointment.”</p> - -<p>On Thursday, March 2, two days before the inauguration, she went again -to see the President. Just as she reached the White House in the rain, -she saw Secretary Stanton go in. She waited until 5.15, and Stanton did -not come out. She returned home “still more and more discouraged.” Her -guest, also, had been out in the rain, but was overjoyed. Her bill had -passed the Senate without opposition, and would go to the House next -day, if not that very night. Miss Barton wrote in her diary: “I do not -tell her how much I am inconvenienced by her using all my power. I have -no helper left, and I am discouraged. I could not restrain the tears, -and gave up to it.”</p> - -<p>It is hardly to be wondered that she almost repented of her generosity -in loaning Senator Wilson to her friend when she herself had so much -need of him. Nor need she be blamed for lying awake and crying while -her guest slept happily on the pillow beside her. She did not often cry.</p> - -<p>Just at this time she was doubly anxious, for Stephen, her brother, was -nearing his end, and Irving Vassall, her nephew, was having hemorrhages -and not long for this world, and her day’s journal shows a multiplicity -of cares crowding each day.</p> - -<p>Stephen died Friday, March 10. She was with him when he died and -mourned for her “dear, noble brother.” She believed he had gone to -meet the loved ones on the other side, and she wondered whether her -mother was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</span> not the first to welcome him. His body was embalmed, and a -service was held in Washington, and another in Oxford. Between the time -of Stephen’s death and her departure with his body, she received her -papers with the President’s endorsement. General Hitchcock presented -them to her. She wrote:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>We had a most delightful interview. He aided me in drawing up a -proper article to be published; said it would be hard, but I should -be sustained through such a work, he felt, and that no person in the -United States would oppose me in my work; he would stand between me -and all harm. The President was there, too. I told him I could not -commence just yet, and why, and he said, “Go bury your dead, and then -care for others.” How kind he was!</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>President Johnson later endorsed the work and authorized the printing -of whatever matter she required at the Government Printing Office. -Her postage was largely provided by the franking privilege. Her work -was a great success and the time came in the following October, when -it seemed certain her department was to have official status with the -payment of all its necessary expenses by the Government. On Wednesday, -October 4, she wrote:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Of all my days, this, I suspect, has been my greatest, and I hope my -best. About six <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> General Butler came quickly into my room -to tell me that my business had been presented to both the President -and Secretary of War, and fully approved by both; that it was to be -made a part of the Adjutant-General’s department with its own clerks -and expenses, and that I was to be at the head of it, exclusively -myself; that he made that a <em xml:lang="la" lang="la">sine qua non</em>, on the ground that it -was proper for parents to bring up their own children; that he wished -me to make out my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</span> own programme of what would be required; and on his -return he would overlook it and I could enter at once upon my labor. -Who ever heard of anything like this—who but General Butler? He left -at 7.30 for home. I don’t know how to comport me.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>On that same night she had a very different call, and the only one -which the author has found referred to in all her diaries where any -man approached her with an improper suggestion. Mingling as she did -with men on the battle-field, living alone in a room that was open -to constant calls from both men and women, she seems to have passed -through the years with very little reason to think ill of the attitude -of men toward a self-respecting and unprotected woman. That evening she -had an unwelcome call, but she promptly turned her visitor out, went -straight to two friends and told them what had been said to her, and -wrote it down in her diary as a wholly exceptional incident, and with -this brief comment, “Oh, what a wicked man!”</p> - -<p>The plan to make her department an independent bureau seemed humanly -certain to succeed. When, a few days later, General Butler left -Washington without calling to see her, she was surprised, but thought -it explained, a few days later, when the Boston “Journal” published -an editorial saying that General Butler was to be given a seat in the -Cabinet and to make his home in Washington.</p> - -<p>But General Butler’s plans failed. He fell into disfavor, and all that -he had recommended and was still pending became anathema to the War -Department. The bureau was not created, and Clara Barton’s official -appointment did not come.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</span></p> - -<p>During all this time she had been supporting her work of correspondence -out of her own pocket. The time came when she invested in it the very -last dollar of her quick assets. Her old friend Colonel De Witt, -through whom she had obtained her first Government appointment, had -invested her Oxford money. At her request he sent her the last of -it, a check for $228. She wrote in her diary: “This is the last of -my invested money, but it is not the first time in my life that I -have gone to the bottom of my bag. I guess I shall die a pauper, but -I haven’t been either stingy or lazy, and if I starve I shall not be -alone; others have. Went to Mechanics’ Bank and got my check cashed.”</p> - -<p>She certainly had not been lazy, and she never was stingy with any one -but herself. Keeping her own expenses at the minimum and living so -frugally that she was sometimes thought parsimonious, she saw her last -dollar of invested money disappear, and recorded a grim little joke -about her poverty and the possibility of starvation. But she shed no -tears. In the few times when she broke down and wept, the occasion was -not her own privation or personal disappointment, but the failure of -some plan through which she sought to be of service to others.</p> - -<p>This is a rather long retrospect, but it explains why Clara Barton, -when she wanted to publish a book, contemplated the cost of it as an -item beyond her personal means. She could have published the book at -her own expense had it not been for the money she had spent for others.</p> - -<p>Congress did not permit her to lose the money which she had expended. -In all her diary and correspondence<span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</span> no expression of fear has been -found as to her own remuneration. She thought it altogether likely she -could get her money back, but there is no hint that she would have -mourned, much less regretted what she had done, if she had never seen -her money again.</p> - -<p>Sad days came for Clara Barton when she found that General Butler was -worse than powerless to aid her work. Heartily desirous of assisting -her as he was, his name was enough to kill any measure which he -sponsored. When Senator Wilson came to see her, just before Christmas, -and told her that the plan was hopeless, she was already prepared for -it. He suspected that she was nearly out of money, and tried to make -her a Christmas gift of twenty dollars, but she declined. She wakened, -on these mornings, “with the deepest feeling of depression and despair -that I remember to have known.” But this feeling gave place to another. -Waking in the night and thinking clearly, she was able to outline the -programme of the next day’s task so distinctly and unerringly that she -began to wonder whether the spirit of her noble brother Stephen was not -guiding her. She did not think she was a Spiritualist, but it seemed to -her that some influence which he was bringing to her from her mother -helped to shape her days aright. It was such a night’s meditation that -made plain to her that Dorence Atwater, released but not pardoned, must -get his list published immediately, and that he must do it without a -cent of compensation so that no one should ever be able to say that he -had stolen the list in order to profit by it. She found that she did -not need many hours’ sleep. If she could rest with an untroubled mind, -she could waken and think clearly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</span></p> - -<p>Gradually, her plan to publish a book changed. Instead she would write -a lecture. She went to hear different women speakers, and was gratified -whenever she found a woman who could speak in public effectively. A -woman preacher came to Washington, and she listened to her. Even in the -pulpit a woman could speak acceptably. When she traveled on the train, -she was surprised and gratified to find how many people knew her, and -she came to believe that the lecture platform offered her a better -opportunity than the book.</p> - -<p>There was one other consideration,—a book would cost money for its -publication and the getting of it back was a matter of uncertainty. But -the lecture platform promised to be immediately remunerative.</p> - -<p>She conferred with John B. Gough. She read to him a lecture which -she prepared. Said he, “I never heard anything more touching, more -thrilling, in my life.” He encouraged her to proceed.</p> - -<p>Thus encouraged, Clara Barton laid out her itinerary, and prepared for -three hundred nights upon the platform. Her rates were one hundred -dollars per night, excepting where she spoke under the auspices of the -Grand Army Post, when her charge was seventy-five.</p> - -<p>She took Dorence Atwater with her to look after her baggage and see -to her comfort, and exhibit a box of relics which he had brought from -Andersonville. She paid his expenses and a salary besides. Sometimes -she thought he earned it, and sometimes she doubted it, for he was -still a boy and exhibited a boy’s limitations. But she cherished a very -sincere affection for him and to the end of her life counted him as one -of her own kin.</p> - -<p>During this period she had abundant time to write<span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</span> in her diary; -for, while there were long journeys, the ordinary distance from one -engagement to another was not great. She lectured in the East in -various New England cities, in Cooper Institute in New York, and in -cities and moderate-sized towns through Indiana, Ohio, Illinois, -Iowa, Kansas, and Nebraska. She had time to record and did record all -the little incidents of her journey, together with the exact sum she -received for each lecture, with every dime which she expended for -travel, hotel accommodation, and incidental expenses. It was a hard -but varied and remunerative tour. It netted her some twelve thousand -dollars after deducting all expenses.</p> - -<p class="poetry p0"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There was lack of woman’s nursing, there was dearth of woman’s tears;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But a comrade stood beside him, as the life-blood ebbed away,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bent with pitying glances to hear what he might say;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dying soldier faltered,—as he took that comrade’s hand,—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And said, “I never more shall see my own—my native land.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Take a message and a token to some distant friend of mine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For I was born at Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine.”</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>With this quotation from the familiar but effective poem of Mrs. -Norton, Clara Barton opened her first public lecture, which she -delivered at Poughkeepsie, on Thursday evening, October 25, 1866. The -lecture was an hour and a quarter in length as she read it aloud in -her room, but required about an hour and a half as she delivered it -before a public audience. It was, as she recorded in her diary, “my -first lecture,” and “the beginning of remunerative labor” after a long -period in which she had been without salary. She knew that it was her -first lecture, but the audience did not. She returned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</span> from it to the -house of <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> John Mathews, where she was entertained, ate an ice-cream, -went to bed and slept well. She received her first fee of one hundred -dollars. On Saturday night she spoke in Schenectady, where she received -fifty dollars, and found, what many a lecturer has learned, that it -was not profitable to cut prices. A diminished fee means less local -advertising. The audience was smaller and less appreciative. On Monday -evening she spoke in Brooklyn. Theodore Tilton presided and introduced -her. There she had an ovation. <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Tilton accompanied her to her hotel -after the lecture, and she told him that she was just beginning, and -asked for his criticism. He told her the lecture contained no flaw for -him to mend. She went back to Washington enthusiastic over the success -of her new venture. She had spoken three times, and two of the lectures -had been a pronounced success. Her expenses had been less than fifty -dollars, and she was two hundred dollars to the good.</p> - -<p>She found awaiting her in Washington a large number of requests to -lecture in different places, and she arranged a New England tour. She -began with Worcester and Oxford. She did this with many misgivings, -not forgetting the lack of honor for a prophet in his own country. She -spoke in Mechanic’s Hall in Worcester, before a full house. She got -her hundred dollars, but was not happy over the lecture. In Oxford, -however, things went differently. She had a good house, and “the -pleasantest lecture I shall ever deliver. Raced home all happy and at -rest. My best visit at home.” Here she refused to receive any fee, -placing the proceeds of the lecture in the hands of the overseers of -the poor.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</span></p> - -<p>She lectured at Salem, at Marlborough, and then at Newark, and again -returned to Washington convinced that her plan was a success.</p> - -<p>Her next tour took her to Geneva and Lockport, New York, Cleveland and -Toledo, Ohio, Ypsilanti and Detroit, Michigan, and on the return trip -to Ashtabula, Ohio, Rochester and Dansville, New York. Her fee was a -hundred dollars in every place excepting Dansville, but her lecture at -this last place proved to be of importance. There she learned about -the water cure, which later was to have an important influence upon -her life. All these lectures on her third trip left a pleasant memory, -except the one at Ashtabula, which for some reason did not go well.</p> - -<p>She now arranged for a much longer trip. She bought her ticket for -Chicago, stopping to lecture at Laporte, Indiana. She reshaped her -lecture somewhat for this trip, telling how her father had fought -near that town under “Mad” Anthony Wayne. She lectured in Milwaukee, -Evanston, Kalamazoo, Detroit, Flint, Galesburg, Des Moines, Rock -Island, Muscatine, Washington, Iowa, Dixon, Illinois, Decatur, and -Jacksonville. On her way north from Jacksonville, she was in a train -wreck in which several people were injured. She also had an experience -in an attempt to rob her, and she resolved never to travel by sleeper -again when she had to go alone. She was very nearly as good as her -word. Very rarely did she make use of a sleeping-car; she traveled by -day when she could, and, when unable to do so, sat up in a corner of -the seat and rested as best she could.</p> - -<p>She lectured at Mount Vernon, Aurora, Belvidere, Rockford, and other -Illinois cities, and at Clinton, Iowa.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</span></p> - -<p>In most of these cities she was entertained in the homes of -distinguished people, Dorence Atwater sometimes staying at the hotel.</p> - -<p>In Chicago she had good visits with John B. Gough and Theodore Tilton, -both of whom were on the lecture platform, and she herself lectured in -the Chicago Opera House.</p> - -<p>Other lectures followed in Illinois, Michigan, Indiana, Ohio, New York, -and so on back to Washington. Then she took another tour through New -England. She lectured in New Haven and found the people unresponsive, -but she had a good time at Terryville, Connecticut. There Dorence -Atwater was at home. It was characteristic of Clara Barton that at this -lecture she insisted that Dorence should preside; not only so, but she -called it his lecture and gave him the entire proceeds of that and the -lecture at New Haven. It was a proud night for this young man, released -from his two imprisonments, and she records that he presided well. She -lectured again in Worcester and with better results than before, then -extended her tour all over New England.</p> - -<p>After this she made other long tours through Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, -and States farther west. Now and then she records a disappointing -experience, but in the main the results were favorable. She had no -difficulty in making a return engagement; everywhere she was hailed -as the Florence Nightingale of America. The press comments were -enthusiastic; her bank account grew larger than it had ever been.</p> - -<p>Clara Barton was now forty-seven years old. For eight years, beginning -with the outbreak of the Civil War, she had lived in rooms on the -third floor of a business<span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</span> block. The two flights of stairs and the -unpretentiousness of the surroundings had not kept her friends away. -Her daily list of callers was a long one, and her evenings brought her -so many friends that she spoke humorously of her “levees.” But she had -begun to long for a home of her own, which she now was well able to -afford. Since the appropriation of Congress of fifteen thousand dollars -and her earnings from her lectures, all of which she had carefully -invested, she possessed not less than thirty thousand dollars in good -interest-bearing securities. She had brought from Andersonville a -colored woman, Rosa, who now presided over her domestic affairs. She -spent a rather cheerless Christmas on her forty-seventh birthday in her -old room on 7th Street, and determined not to delay longer. She bought -a house. On the outside it looked old and shabby, but inside it was -comfortable. On Tuesday, December 29, 1868, she packed her belongings. -Next day she records:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>December 30, 1868, Wednesday. Moved. <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Budd came early with five -men. <abbr title="Mister">Mr.</abbr> Vassall, Sally, and myself all worked, and in the midst of -a fearful snowstorm and a good deal of confusion, I broke away from -my old rooking of eight years and launched out into the world all by -myself. Took my first supper in my own whole house at the corner of -Pennsylvania Avenue and Capitol Hill.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>She had engaged her movers at a stipulated price of six dollars, but -she was so happy with the result that she paid them ten dollars, which -for a woman of Clara Barton’s careful habits indicated a very large -degree of satisfaction.</p> - -<p>The next day, assisted by her colored woman Rosa and her negro man -Uncle Jarret, and with some help from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</span> two kindly neighbors, she set -things to rights. It was a stormy day and she was tired, but happy to -be in her home. She wrote in her diary: “This is the last day of the -year, and I sometimes think it may be my last year. I am not strong, -but God is good and kind.”</p> - -<p>It is pathetic that the joy of her occupancy of her new home should -have been clouded by any forebodings of this character. Her premonition -that it might be her last year came very near to being true. Heavy -had been the strain upon her from the day when the war began, and the -events of the succeeding years had all drawn upon her vitality. What -occurred at the height of her success in Bordentown came again to her -at the height of her career upon the lecture platform. She rode one -night to address a crowded house, and she stood before them speechless. -Her voice utterly failed. Her physicians pronounced it nervous -prostration, prescribed three years of complete rest, and ordered her -to go to Europe.</p> - - -<p class="center p0 p2"><big>END OF VOLUME I</big></p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter transnote"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber’s Notes</h2> - - -<p>In a couple of places, obvious errors in punctuation have been -corrected and inconsistent hyphenization was standardized.</p> - -<p>Illustrations have been relocated to more appropriate places in the -text and the list of illustrations has been updated accordingly.</p> - -<p><a href="#Page_38">Page 38</a>: “but this brief vacational” changed to “but this brief -vocational”</p> - -<p><a href="#Page_49">Page 49</a>: “were conscious charletans” changed to “were conscious -charlatans”</p> - -<p><a href="#Page_57">Page 57</a>: “according to predecent” changed to “according to precedent”</p> - -<p><a href="#Page_125">Page 125</a>: “our authority must be spected” changed to “our authority -must be respected”</p> - -<p><a href="#Page_167">Page 167</a>: “Clara Barton had two large” changed to “Clara Barton had -too large”</p> - -<p><a href="#Page_243">Page 243</a>: “in addiion to his own disability” changed to “in addition to -his own disability”</p> -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF CLARA BARTON (VOL. 1 OF 2) ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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