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B 3 3&b b5E
LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF
CALIFORNIA
SANTA CRUZ
by
Google
fkanted in
U.S. A,
v.(
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THE LIFE OF CLARA BARTON
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOLUME I
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THE LIFE OF
CLARA BARTON
FOUNDER OF
THE AMERICAN RED CROSS
BY
WILLIAM E. BARTON
AUTBOR OP " THE SOUL OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN "
" THE PATERNITY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN," ETC.
fFith Illustrations
VOLUME I
PRINTED IN
U.S. A.
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
tSbe MUmstUft |to» ComMbBt
1922
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comiGHT, loaa* bt wiluam b. baxtom
ALL BtGHTS EnB&VBD
CAMBUDGB • IfASSACHUSETTS
FRUCTKD in TBS V. S.Ji,
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TO
STEPHEN E, BARTON
HER TRUSTED NEPHEW; MT KINSMAN AND FRIEND
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CONTENTS
VOLUME I
Introduction xi
I. Her First Attempt at Autobiography i
11. The Birth of Clara Barton 6
III. Her Ancestry 9
IV. Her Parentage and Infancy i6
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 Leaves from Her Unpublished Autobi-
ography 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 thb 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. Andersonvillb and After 304
XX. On the Lecture Platform 328
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ILLUSTRATIONS
Clara Barton at thb Tdib of the Civil
War Frontispiece
Mother and Father of Clara Barton i6
Birthplace of Clara Barton 22
Stone Schoolhouse where she first Taught 22
Clara Barton at Eighteen 52
Miss Fannie Childs (Mrs. Bernard Vassall) 66
The Schoolhouse at Bordentown . 66
Facsimile of Senator Henry Wilson's Letter
TO President Lincoln 298
Facsimile of Letter of Clara Barton to Pres-
ident Johnson with Indorsements by the
President, General Grant, and Others 308
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INTRODUCTION
The life of Clara Barton is a story of unique and per-
manent 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 lai^ge importance can never be adequately
understood.
Hers was a long life. She lived to enter her tenth dec-
ade, and when she died was still so normal in the sound-
ness 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 res(>ective
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,
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xii INTRODUCTION
by 2^;reement| the two laiige vaults cont^ing 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 con^dered often the question of writing
her own biography. A friend uiged 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, en-
titled, ** The Story of my Childhood." She was gratified by
the reception of this little book, and seriously considered
using it as the comer stone of her long contemplated auto*'
biography. She wrote a second section of about fifteen
thousand words, covering her girlhood and her experi-
ences as a teacher at home and in Bordentown, New
Jersey. This was never published, and has been utilized
in this present biography.
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INTRODUCTION xiu
Beside these two formal and valuable contributicHis
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 o^ies oi her
replies. Her perscuial letters to her intimate friends were
not o^ied, as a rule, but it has been possible to gather
some hundreds of these. Letter-books, scrap-books,
newq>aper dippings, magazine articles, records of the
American Red Cross, and papers, official and perscHial,
swell the volume of material for this book to prcq>ortions
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 aUe to sift and classify them and prepare them
for such use as mis^t ultimately be made of them. It
troubled her that she was leaving these in such great
bulk, and she h<^>ed vainly for the time when she could
go through them, box by box, and put them into shape.
But they acctmiulated far more rapidly than she could
have assorted them, and so they were left until her death,
and still remained untouched, until December, 191 5,
when the vaults were opened and the heavy task b^[an
of examining thb material, selecting from it the papers
that tell the whole story of her life, and preparing the
present volumes. If this book b 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
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xiv INTRODUCTION-
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 prepara-
tion 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 magni-
tude 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 invalu-
able 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 r^:ret exceedingly that such a labor should devolve
upon my friends as the overlooking of the letters of a life-
time, which should properly be done by me, and shall be,
if I am so fortimate as to r^:ain a sufficient amount of
strength to enable me to do it. I have never destroyed
my letters, r^^arding 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,
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INTRODUCTION xv
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 pa-
tience, her heroic resolution, and most of all to her great-
ness 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 de-
sirability 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 con-
ferences 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 gratifjring 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 re-
quest 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
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y"
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xvi INTRODUCTION
which deserved fuller treatment. The question of pro-
portion is never an easy one to settle in a work of this
character* If she had given any directicm, it would have
been that little be said about her, and much about the
work she loved. That work, the founding of the Ameri-
can Red Cross, must receive marked emphads in a Life
of Clara Barton: for she was its mother. She conceived
the American Red Cross, carried it under her heart for
3^ears before it could be brought forth, nurtured it in its
cradle, and left it to her country and the world, an or-
ganization whose record in the great World War shines
bright against that black doud of horrw, as the emblem
of mercy and of hope.
Wherever, in America or in lands beyond, the fl^^ of
the Red Cross flies beside the Stars and Stripes, there
the soul of Clara Barton marches on.
FutsT Church Study
Oak Park, J^y i6, 192 1
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THE LIFE OF CLARA BARTON
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THE LIFE OF
CLARA BARTON
CHAPTER I
HER FIRST ATTEMPT AT AUTOBIOGRAPHY
Though she had often been unportuned to furnish to
the public some account of her life and work, Clara Bar-
ton'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 encyclopaedia 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 fol-
lows:
For Susan B. Anthony
Sketch for Cyclopaedia
Sbptebcbbr, 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,
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2 CLARA BARTON
finished her education at Clinton, N.Y. Teacheft popu«
larized 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 sol-
diers. Labored in advance and independent of commis-
sions. Never in hospitals; selecting as scene of opera-
tions the battie-field from its earliest moment, 'till the
wounded and dead were removed or cared for; canying
her own supplies by Government transportation.
At the batties of Cedar Mountain, Second Bull Run,
ChantiUy, South Mountain, Falmouth and *'01d Freder-
icksburg," Siege of Charleston, Morris Island, Wagner,
Wilderness, Fredericksburg, The Mine, Deep Bottom,
through sieges of Petersburg and Richmond under But-
ler 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 Wil-
liam, 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 suc-
ceeding the fall of Commune; remained two months, dis-
tributing money and clothing which she carried. Met
the poor of every besieged dty of France, giving help.
Is representative of the "Comit6 International of the
Red Cross'* of Geneva. Honorary and only woman mem-
ber of Comit6 de Strasbourgoes. Was decorated with the
Gold Cross of Remembrance by the Grand Duke and
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FIRST ATTEMPT AT AUTOBIOGRAPHY 3
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 ot^ganization 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 ot^ganize 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
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4 CLARA BARTON
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 suf-
ficient 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 un-
prepared 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 con-
ditions. 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 trem-
bling 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.
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FIRST ATTEMPT AT AUTOBIOGRAPHY 5
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.
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CHAPTER II
THB BIRTH OP CLARA BARTON
Clara Barton was a Christmas gift to the world.
She was bom 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 prog-
ress with the accumulation of obsolete "best-sellers."
But it was not so in 1 821 . The noveb of Samuel Richard-
son, 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
theolc^y wrought in its day a revolution, was not the
only distinguished man who bore the name of Charles
Grandison.
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THE BIRTH OF CLARA BARTON 7
But Richardson's greatest literary triumph was "Cla-
rissa 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 182 1.
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 worid 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 bom. It stands
with its side to the road, a hall dividing it through the
middle. It is an unpretentious home, but comfortablei
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8 CLARA BARTON
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 bom. Clara was the fifth and young-
est child, ten years younger than her sister next older.
The eldest child, Dorothy, was bom October 2, 1804,
and died April 19, 1846. The next two children were
sons, Stephen, the third to bear the name, bom March
29, 1806, and David, bom August 15, i8o8. Then came
another daughter, Sarah, bom March 20, 181 1. 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 se-
quence, 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 ob-
servers, 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.
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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, how-
ever, 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 Ejigland with William the Conqueror, de-
riving 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 Lanca-
shire.
The derivation of the name is disputed. It is said that
originally it was derived from the Saxon here, barley,
and tun, a field, and to mean the enclosed lands imme-
diately 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 "de»
fender 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, imder Stephen, Count of
Mortagne, grandson of William the Conqueror, who later
became King Stephen of England. Sir Leysing de Bar*
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10 CLARA BARTON
ton was the father of Matthew de Barton, and the grand-
father 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 mothen and a daughter Cedlly.
After the death of Augustine de Barton, his widow,
Lady Editha, married Gilbert de Notton, a landed pro-
prietor of Lincolnshire, who also had possessions in York-
shire and Lancashire. He had three sons by a previous
marriage, one of whom, William, married Cedlly de
Barton, daughter of Editha and her first husband Augus-
tine. Their son, named for his uncle, Gilbert de Notton,
inherited the Barton Manor and assumed the surname
Barton.
t The Barton estate was lai^, 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
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HER ANCESTRY ii
of Bartons in the American colonies. The name is found
early in Vii^ia, 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, bom 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 Pro-
vender, husbandman, of Oxford, sold to Samuel Barton,
Sr., husbandman, of Framingham, a tract of land in-
cluding 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
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12 CLARA BARTON
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 Camp-
bell, 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 Massa-
chusetts from England in 1635, and lived successively at
Lynn, Rowley, and Ipswich. His eldest son, Edmund,
Jr., was bom 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 bom in Framingham, August 15, 1715. He married,
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HER ANCESTRY 13
April 9, 1739, Anna Flint, of Salem. She was bora 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 i650,
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, bom June 10, 1740, at Sutton. He
studied medicine with Dr. Green, of Leicester, and prac-
ticed 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 bom at Oxford, April 12, 1747, daughter
of Elijah Moore and Dorothy Learned. On her father's
side she was the granddaughter of Richard, great-grand-
daughter 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, bom 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
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14 CLARA BARTON
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 Sud-
bury. He was the son of Isaac Learned, Jr., of Framing-
ham, 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 Wobum and Chelmsford, and his wife,
Mary Steams, daughter of Isaac Steams, of Watertown.
The parents of Isaac Learned, Sr., were William and
Goditha Learned, members of the Charlestown Church
in 1632, and of Wobum 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, bom
October 12, 1765, and died June 13, 1769; Gideon, bom
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HER ANCESTRY 15
March 29, 1767, and died October 27, 1770; Stephen,
bom August 18, 1774; Elijah Moore, bom August 10,
1784; Gideon, bom June 18, 1786; and Luke, bom Sep-
tember 3, 1791. The first two sons died at an early age;
the four remaining s(ms lived to marry, and three of them
lived in Maine. The daughters of Dn 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 conunon 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.
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CHAPTER IV
HER PARBNTAGB 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
wider 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 lieuten-
ants, 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 mili-
tary 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 val-
leys, 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 Charl-
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HER PARENTAGE AND INFANCY 17
ton, and later removed to the farm where Clara Barton
was bom.
It was a modest home, and Stephen Barton was a hard-
working man, though a man of influence in the conmiu-
nity. He served often as moderator of town meetings
and as selectman for the town. He served also as a mem-
ber 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.
Stephen Barton combined a military spirit with a
gentle disposition and a broad spirit of philanthrc^y.
Sarah Stone was a woman of great decision of character,
and a quick temper. She was a housewife of the good
old New Ejigland 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 ahnost 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'militaryhabitsand tastesneverlefthim. Thosewere
also strong political days — Andrew Jackson Days — and
very naturaJly my father became my instructor in mil-
itary and political lore. I listened breathlessly to his war
stories. Illustrations were called for and we made bat-
tles 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 ofiicers of the
government were learned by heart, and nothing grati-
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i8 CLARA BARTON
fied 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 lai^ as the meeting-
house, and the Vice-President perhs^ the size of the
school-house. And yet, when later I, like all the rest of
our country's people, was suddenly thrust into the mys-
teries 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 1
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 1
Two sons and two daughters were bom to Stephen and
Sarah Barton in their early married life. Then for ten
years no other children were bom to them. On Christ-
mas, 1 82 1, 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
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HER PARENTAGE AND INFANCY 19
people, as they seemed to her. In her little book entitled
''The Story of my Childhood/' she thus describes her
brothers and asters:
I became the seventh member of a household consist-
ing of the father and mother, two sbters 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 pos-
sible 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 direc-
tions most in accord with the tastes and pursuits of each.
Of the two sbters, 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.
I^e other studies followed very early.
My elder brother, Stephen, was a noted mathemati-
cian. He inducted me into the mystery of figures. Mul-
tiplication, 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 High-
landers, 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 coimtry, 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
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20 CLARA BARTON
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 him-
self, and catching me by one foot, and bidding me ''ding
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: -r:
I can picture the large family sitting-room with its
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HER PARENTAGE AND INFANCY 21
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 ob-
servations. 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 re-
spect 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 aJarmed, and the poor brother, con-
science-stricken that he had left his charge, rushed
breathless in, to find me on the floor in hysterics, a con-
dition 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 per-
sonally 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.
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CHAPTER V^
HBR 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 sbters and her eldest
brother were school-teachers. Recalling their efforts, she
said: **l 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 laiige boys and giris, but in
reality the young men "and young women of the neigh-
borhood. An exceptionally fine teacher often drew the
daily attendance of advanced scholars for several miles.
Our district had thb 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.
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BIRTHPLACE OF CLARA BARTON
STONE SCHOOLHOUSE WHERE SHE FIRST TAUGHT
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HER SCHOOLS AND TEACHERS 23
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 "Colo-
nel" 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 be-
cause 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 noth-
ing 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 in-
formed 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 " dass 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 commit-
tee to be too advanced for a common school, and was
placed in charge of an important school himself, my
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24 CLARA BARTON
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 school-
books of that time, had compiled a small geography and
atlas suited to young children, known as Menseur's Ge-
ography. 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 recog-
nized the existence of a state of childhood in the intellec-
tual creation. During the winter I had become the happy
possessor of a Menseur's Geography and Atlas. It is
questionable if my satisfaction was fiUly 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, coun-
ties, 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 re-
mained 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 child-
hood; 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.
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HER SCHOOLS AND TEACHERS 25
On entering the wide-open door of the inviting school-
house, 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 in-
terest, and not always with approval, on the methods of
instructicm practiced by the others. Captain Barton
was teaching her military tactics, David was teaching
her to ride horseback, Sally, and later Dorothy, estab-
lished a kind of school at home and practiced on their
younger sister, and Stephen contributed hb 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
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26 CLARA BARTON
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 per-
sonality (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 preter-
natural shyness. She was sensitive and retiring to a de-
gree 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
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HER SCHOOLS AND TEACHERS 27
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 diild, 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
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28 CLARA BARTON
ol three years, at its head, seemed to me something for-
midable. 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 diosen with great care. I remem-
ber among them, ancient hbtory with charts. The les-
sons 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 dass, 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 dajrs
seemed very long, especially Sundays. I was in constant
dread of doing something wrong, and one Sunday after-
noon 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 bade 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.
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HER SCHOOLS AND TEACHERS 29
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, ad-
vancing 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, "Un-
fading hope, when life's last embers bum." 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 com-
prehended 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 every-
thing 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
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30 CLARA BARTON
artillery at Antietamt or cross the pontoon bridge under
fire at Fredericksbui^t 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 in-
creased her knowledge of the conunon 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 Moiigan 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 Bur*
leigh, who taught her granunar, composition, English
literature, and history. A year later Jonathan Dana
became her instructor, and taught her philosophy,
chemistry, and writing. These two teachers she remem-
bered 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 hb nurse.
When he grew well and strong, he took the little giri
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
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HER SCHOOLS AND TEACHERS 31
what she had undertidcen. 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 hanmier 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 fea-
tures 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 instruc-
tion 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
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32 CLARA BARTON
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 acquire-
ments, 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 im-
provements. 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 bom,
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 forth-
coming, and so was a gown suited to my new work, and
I reported for duty. I question if any ordinary appren-
tice 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
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HER SCHOOLS AND TEACHERS 33
grind my paints, shown how to mix and blend them, how
to make putty and use it, to jM-epare 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 tri-
umph 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 inunediate 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 ter-
rible a thing to her that it had much to do with her life-
long 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 em-
barrassed the family, she ate what was set before her
as the Apostle Paul commanded, but she ate very spar-
ingly of all animal food, and, when she was able to con-
trol her own diet, lived almost entirely on vegetables.
Things that grew out of the ground, she said, were good
enough for her:
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34 CLARA BARTON
A small herd of twenty-five fine milch cows came
faithfully home each day with the lowering of the sim,
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 bam as usual, I found
no cows there; all had been driven somewhere else. As
I stood in the comer 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 bam floor,
to which he went very reluctantly. At length they suc-
ceeded. 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 bot-
tle, bathing my head to my great discomfort. As I re-
gained consciousness, they asked me what made me fall ?
I said, "Some one stmck me.'* " Oh, no," they said, " no
one stmck 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 leamed the
mystery of nerves.
I have, however, a very dear recollection of the indig-
nation of my father (my mother had already expressed
herself on the subject), on his return from town and hear-
ing what had taken place. The hired men were lined up
and arraigned for ''cmel carelessness." They had ''the
consideration to keep the cattle away," he said, "but
allowed that little giii to stand in full view." Of course,
each protested he had not seen me. I was altogether too
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HER SCHOOLS AND TEACHERS 35
friendly with the farm hands to hear them blamed, espe-
cially 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, singu-
larly, 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.
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CHAPTER VI
THB DAYS OF HER YOUTH
So laif^e 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 instruc-
tion as she received from her father and brothers and
sisters, her knowledge of domestic arts was not wholly
n^lected. 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
Lamed, 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 m3rsteries 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.
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THE DAYS OF HER YOUTH 37
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 fear-
less climber, ascended to the ridge-pole on the occasion
of a barn-raising. A board broke imder his feet, and he
fell to the ground. He fell upon solid timbers and sus-
tained a serious injury, especiaUy by a blow on the head.
For two years he was an invalid. For a time he himg
between life and death, and then was "a sleepless, nerv-
ous, 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
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38 CLARA BARTON
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 stoddng-feet exactly sixty inches.
Clara was an ambitious child. Her two brothers
owned a doth-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 vacational e3q>erience 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 mort-
gage 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, proq>erous, and
respected families in a thrifty and self-respecting com-
munity.
One of the enterprises on the Barton farm afforded
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THE DAYS OF HER YOUTH 39
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 trem-
Uing log suspended over a deep stream. This river ran
the only sawmill in the neighborhood. Here she de-
lighted to ride the carriage which conveyed thelogstothe
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 giri, who re-
membered 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. Hoeea 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
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40 CLARA BARTON
that the boys were out for a skate and wanted to com-
municate with me. On going to the window, they in-
formed 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 "com-
forters" 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 ^ges. 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
opportuni^ 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 requisi-
tion; my wounds were bound up, and I was helped into
the house, with one knee of ordinary r^pectable 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 ques-
tion.
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 lati-
tude, 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
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THE DAYS OF HER YOUTH 41
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 fin-
ally 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 de-
testable deception (and persevered in at that), my Sab-
bath-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 reason-
able 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 granddaugh-
ters, holding them up to make their first start in safety,
I remembered my wounded knees, and blessed the great
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42 CLARA BARTON
Father that progress and change were among the poe*
sibilities 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
dandng-school was organized while a revival of religion
was in progress in the village, and her parents felt that
her attendance at dandng-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 follow-
ing winter a dandng-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 dandng-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, espedally as the cordial teacher took tea with us one
evening before going to his school, and spoke very in-
terestingly of his dasses. 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 coundl. I was
thought to be very young to be allowed to go to a dandng-
school in a hotel. Dancing at that time was at a very low
ebb in good New England sodety, and, besides, there was
an active revival taking place in both of the orthodox
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THE DAYS OF HER YOUTH 43
churcheG (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 per-
fectly 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 gener-
ally called for ''All hands round,*' but the dulcet notes oi
theviolinand 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 "L^on" 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
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44 CLARA BARTON
me to the little childhood days which knew no care. Pa-
tiently, 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 comers.
Embroidered? Oh, no! just stamped; but what em-
broidery 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 Christ-
mas 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
massin 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 dear before *leven.**
I watched the clouds, I watched the dock, but most of
all I watched the hopeful face of old Morgan. How long
and how dark^the morning was! At length, as the dock
pointed half-past !ten, the douds broke^ again, but this
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THE DAYS OF HER YOUTH 45
time with the bright, dear 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 rib-
bon 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,**
trinuned 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 lon^r 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,
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46 CLARA BARTON
I believe, she has met and welcomed them — welcomed
each of the twelve, and waits
Clara Barton
Another formative influence which must not be over-
looked was that of phrenology. This now discredited
science had great influence in the early part of the nine-
teenth centiuy. 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 pf the head. The perceptive facul-
ties, 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 na-
ture 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 ex-
perience as the turning-point in her life. Long after she
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THE DAYS OF HER YOUTH 47
had ceased to have very much faith in phrenolc^y, she
Messed 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 BCK)K WHICH HAS MOST INFLUENCED MB
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 litera*
ture which the lx)y 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 mbfortune 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 dan-
ger 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
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48 CLARA BARTON
than ''influenced/' I should have made a mde range —
"The Fables of JEsop^ "Pilgrim's Progress," "Arabian
Nights/' "The Ballads of Scott," "The Benign Old
\^car," "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, expo-
nents of Phrenology in the country.
I had at that time read much of the literatures above
cited which then ^sted. 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 Con-
stitution 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 mys-
teries 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 read-
ing 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.
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THE DAYS OF HER YOUTH 49
but why it was their nature, and could not be changed.
They "could no other, so help them God." It has en-
riched 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 hu-
man 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 scien-
tific error, it must not be supposed that all the men who
practiced it were conscious charletans, 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 con-
tains separate "oi^ans" which act more or less inde-
pendently 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 manip-
ulating the skull. But some of those men taught people
to consider their own mental possibilities, and to deter-
mine to realize all that was potentially best within them.
This was the effect of phrenology upon Clara Barton.
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CHAPTER VII
HER FIRST BXPBRIBNCB 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 conunon and convenient path to larger
knowledge and a professicmal career lay through the
teaching of the district school. When Mr. Fowler ad-
vised 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
reconmiended. School-teaching followed almost inevi-
tably, 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 sbter Dorothy
developed symptoms of invalidbm, 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,
doth-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.
At the close of the second term of school, the ad-
vice was acted upon, and it was arranged that I teach
I
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FIRST EXPERIENCE AS A TEACHER 51
the school in District No. 9. My sbter resided within the
dbtrict. 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 lai^ nor
new, and not a pupil in sight.
On entering, I found my little schobl 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 natu-
rally 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 " blare 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 must n'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
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52 CLARA BARTON
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 al-
most 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 g^l 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 injus-
tice, and remonstrated, affirming that there had been no
discipline, that not one scholar had ever been disciplined.
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CLARA BARTON AT EIGHTEEN
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FIRST EXPERIENCE AS A TEACHER 53
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 under-
stood. 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 teach-
ing 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 in-
stallment, which must appear as a chapter in this present
work.
Before turning to this narrative which marks the be-
ginning 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
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54 CLARA BARTON
Maine to bring home his bride, and asked her to accom*
pany hinu
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 accom-
pany him on a journey to the State of Maine, to be pres-
ent 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
ofm^. 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 comer of the great At-
lantic 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 in-
formed 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.
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FIRST EXPERIENCE AS A TEACHER 55
This responsibility seemed to throw the whole world
wide open to me. How well I remember the tearful reso-
lution 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
80 painfully lacking.
November found us home again. Under the circum-
stances, 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 apprehen-
sion for what would be my first life among strangers, and
the coming of my anticipated "First of May." With
slight variation I could have ioined 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 aU the glad New Year."
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CHAPTER VIII
LEAVES FROM HER UNPUBUSHBD 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?**
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 re-
placed 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 ex-
pelled, 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
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LEAVES FROM AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 57
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 predecent must be managed
by a man capable of whipping the entire group of big
boys. And in all this experience of teaching she suc-
ceeded.
In 1908 she wrote the second installment of her auto-
biography, 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 what-
ever 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, stand-
ing 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 compari-
son 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 thb
school. Reverend Dr. Bardwell, an early India mission-
ary, and for over twenty years pastor of the Congrega-
tional Church of Oxford, where his memory lovingly
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58 CLARA BARTON
lingers to-day, as if he had passed from them but yester-
day, or indeed had not passed at all.
Dr. Bardwell was continuously on the School Board of
the town, and hb 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 odled 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 ad-
miration. 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 ad-
miration. 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 possi-
bility leads me to state that a few times in the years I was
borrowed, for a part of a winter term, by some neighbor-
ing 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 re-
call 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
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LEAVES FROM AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 59
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 sdiool
could not persuade me to return — it would be siu^ to
have one.
Religiously, I had been educated in the liberal thought
of my family, and preferring to remain in that atmos-
phere, I decided upon the ''Liberal Institute," of Clin-
ton, 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 psutner, of them in
school and office. My brother Stephen was school super-
intendent, thus there was no necessity for making my
intentions public, and I would spare both my school and
mj^self the pain of parting. I closed my autumn term,
as usual, on Friday night. On Monday night the jin-
gling 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 typi-
cal 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 thb side the Gates Eternal.
It was holiday season. The Institute was undergoing
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6o CLARA BARTON
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
sbters and relatives of the students of Hamilton con-
tributed largely to the personnel of the Institute. Rev-
erend 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 dean 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, indescrib-
able grace which I have met in only a few persons in a
whole lifetime. Those who remember the eminent Dr*
Lucy Hall Brown, of Brookl3m, 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 men-
tioned anything of myself, or my past. No "certificate
of character" had been mentioned, and no reconunenda-
tion 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 "sdiool-
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 mbtrust on the part of any one that I had
ever taught school a day.
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LEAVES FROM AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 6i
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 imtil the limit was stretched
out of all reasonable proportions. I recall, with amuse-
ment, 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
privil^ies 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,
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62 CLARA BARTON
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/'
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 foimd them on all sides of me. Every
street comer 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, imusually 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 ac-
costed 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,
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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 would n'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 imder what he would be compelled to meet,
and what could a woman — a yoimg woman, and a
stranger — do?
He spoke very kindly and appredatingly of the in*
tention, 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 imdertaking,
with only failure and humiliation as sure and logiod
results. A few of these I would like to answer, and
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64 CLARA BARTON '
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 pro-
fession, and that, if entered in the long and honored com-
petitive 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 teadi 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 unwel-
come conditions, and, as I thought, harmful as well, to
try, so far as possible, the power of a good, wise, benefi-
cent, 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
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fairly placed upon their merits before an intelligent com-
munity, 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 faith-
fully 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 inter-
view 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. Suy-
dam arose, and, addressing his colleagues, said, '' Gentle-
men, 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 com-
menced.
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
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66 CLARA BARTON
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.
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
Clar^ and I were in our room together, we were always
talking and laughing. It was a constant wonder to him.
He could not imderstand 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 dose 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
Sdiool 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
tdd 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
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MISS FANNIE CHILDS
(MRS. BERNARD VASSALL)
At the time she taught school
with Miss Barton at Bordentown, N.J.
THE SCHOOLHOUSE AT BORDENTOWN
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LEAVES FROM AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 67
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 dis-
tant 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 re-
membered 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 pains-
taking. 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 let*
terheads 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 con-
tinued 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
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68 CLARA BARTON
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 chinmey 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 mes-
sages 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, i860
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 mo-
ment — 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
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LEAVES FROM AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 69
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
b 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 ad-
monitions, and hourly I pray Heaven that, if it be con-
sistent 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 an-
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70 CLARA BARTON
Bwers to all their inquiries, and expresdons 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 charac-
teristic letter, full of fun and detail and neighborhood
gossip and sisteriy 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.
NoKTH OxFOBD, June 17th, 1858
Dbar Brother:
This is an excessively warm day, and Julia scarcely
thinks she can get her courage up to the sticking point
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LEAVES FROM AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 71
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 fright*
ened if I knew he attempted it. We are all well; received
your short letter in due time. Julia has discoursed con-
siderably upon the propriety of that word "destitute''
which you made use of. She says you left her with a bar*
rel 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 should n'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 ^ 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'-4o''
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 " has n't
a cent — will pay next week — " This, I believe, finishes
} Brine Murphy, a faithful hired num.
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72 CLARA BARTON
up the schedule of money matters until we report next
time. Mr. Samuel Smith is dead. Was buried Thurs-
day, I think. I have just written to the Colonel at Boston
and to Cousin Ira ^ 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 does n'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
^ Judge Ira M. Barton of Worcester.
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LEAVES FROM AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 73
so feeble as he is, I shall be glad to be with you. Stilly
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 ne-
groes 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 any-
thing 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 ^ 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
c^ered 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 3^u 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
> Irving S. VasBall, her nephew.
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74 CLARA BARTON
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 school-
room. 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 reac-
tion 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 b of no especial
interest, but consists of verses for autograph albums, and
other ephemeral writing. Once, T^iile she was at Borden-
town, 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
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LEAVES FROM AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 75
the back of her diary. She may have had some idea that
her Pegasus could be profitably harnessed to the chariot
of commercCi 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 publi-
cation 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 b 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 en-
joyed them as she did her river journey to Philadelphia
and back:
ADVERTISEMENT
Written on hoard 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 tahe a ticket as we have to-day,
And our word as a warrant —
You'll find it will pay.
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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 dis-
appointment 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 any-
thing approaching a sketch of her careen 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
^ose knowledge of her life includes any possibility of
affairs of the heart.
On the subject of her personal affections, Claio 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 matri-
mony. In her girlhood she was shy, and, when she found
her life vocation, as she then esteemed it, as a teacher,
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THE HEART OF CLARA BARTON 77
she was so much interested in her school that she gave
little thought to matrimony, and was satisfied that oii
the whole it would be better in her case if she lived un-
married. 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, en-
joyed the society of men, trusted their judgment, and
liked their companionship.
Her nephewi 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 matri-
monial 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, bom in Oxford, and a very distant relative
between whom and herself there existed something ap-
proaching affection. The families were long-time friends,
and the young people had interests in common. A lady
who remembers him well sajrs: "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/'
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78 CLARA BARTON
This friendship continued for many years, and de*
veloped on the part of the young man a very deep affec-
tion, 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 fol*
lowed 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 possibili-
ties of a husband, such as she would have chosen. He
pressed his suit, and she sorrowfully declined. They re-
mained 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 Insti-
tute 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:
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THE HEART OF CLARA BARTON 79
Rather melancholy. Don't know why. I received no
intelligence from certain quarters.
In the spring of 1852 she had a brief period of de-
pression, 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 alwajrs looked on its most un-
happy features and have grown weary of life at an age
when other people are enjojdng 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 anjrthing to have been
alone and undisturbed. I have seldom felt more friend-
less, 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 resolu-
tion and reason and moral courage and every thing else, I
grow weary and impatient. I know it is wicked and per-
haps foolish, but I cannot help it. There is not a living
thing but would be just as well off without me. I contrib-
ute 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
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80 CLARA BARTON
8ide of the present. I am grateful when so many of the
days pass away. But thb 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 ccxnmence once more my allotted task*
The mood did not last long. Its immediate occasion
had been a not very cheerful letter from friends in Ox-
ford, 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
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THE HEART OF CLARA BARTON 8i
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 my-
self, 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 b 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 mo-
ment?
But she resolves to stop this vain and moody intro-
spection:
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:
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82 CLARA BARTON
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 descrip-
tive of each of the more prominent. She had this habit
of writing, in the back of her journal, things that be-
longed 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 sen-
sitive, to the day of her death, and under strain of criti-
cism or lack of appredadcMi given to great and wholly
disproportionate depression of spirits, these entries, made
when she had no less than three possible matrimonial en-
tanglements 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 dted were made at Hightstown*
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THE HEART OF CLARA BARTON 83
Next year she was at Bordentown, and there she throve
so well she had to send back to her home town for an
assbtant. 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 suggiested 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 oc*
curred 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 in-
terested in; some of them certainly interested her, yet
not profoundly. I do not think she ever had a love af-
fair that stirred the depths of her being. The truth is»
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84 CLARA BARTON
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 hen 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* educa-
tion, and ambition*
Clara Barton's diaries did not ordinarily hidulge in
self-analysis. She recorded the events of the day briefly,
methodically, and without much comment. She indi-
cated 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 educa-
tkm, she might have learned to love hinu As it was,
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THE HEART OF CXARA BARTON 85
she decided wisdy both for heraelf and (or the men who
sought her hand.
Having thus choeen, 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 aflfairs, nor did she write c^ them. She re-
tained the personal friendship c^ the men whom she
reused; 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 re-
jected lovers of hers; they were esteemed and lifelong
friends.
There were times when her heart cried out fcH* scune*
thing more than this. From the day c^ 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 <me 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 refiecticms 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 imselfish ministry. Spite of her shrinking
nature, her natural timidity, her over-sensitiveness, she
lived a full and happy life. Those who knew her re-
member few laments and fewer tears, but many a con-
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86 CLARA BARTON
8tant smilet 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 i6, 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 ex-
pensive undertaking.
This friend did not keep the bonds separate from hb
own property, and in time of financial stress he sold them
and applied the money to his own needs. When she re-
turned 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
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THE HEART OF CLARA BARTON 87
had kept all her money for French relief separate from
her own money, and she always kept trust funds sep-
arate 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 al«
ways dealt straight and plain with my boys. I am not a
lawyeress, nor a diplomat, only a woman artless to sim-
plicity; 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
b 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
bom 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
doHars 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 per-
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88 CLARA BARTON
petual maintenance. She also kept her finandal trans-
actions 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
ot a home; and we shall have occasion to mal^ brief
mention of one or two of these incidents. What is essen-
tial now is to know that Qara 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 18761 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
faithfuUy.
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CHAPTER X
FROM SCHCX>LRCX>M 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 outf 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 school-
room 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 latef, she still
reminded herself and others that ''fully one fifth of my
life has been passed as a teacher of schoc^'* The school-
room 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 repre-
sentative in Congress from her home district, she re-
ceived 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 r^:ular position in one of the departments,
with work and wages equal to that of a man. Her ap-
pointment was made under President Pierce, in 1854.
The records when searched in later years were found to
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90 CLARA BARTON
be imperfect, but the following letter from the Hon-
orable 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 Bartcm, 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 seri-
ous leaks in the Patent Office, some dishcmest clerks sell-
ing secrets to their own financial advantage and to the
scandal of the department and injury of owners of pa-
tents. She became confidential derk 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 sev-
eral 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 de-
teriorated form which she employed after her more
serious nervous breakdowns. When she was lecturing,
she wrote a very large hand, easy to read from manu-
script, 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,
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SCHOOLROOM TO PATENT OFFICE 91
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 dear, regular, easily read,
and accurate. The characters were well formed, and the
page, when she had done with it, was dean and dear 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 re-
moved, but Judge Mason gave her a "temporary ap-
pointment," 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 autunm 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 dty has just been somewhat disturbed, i.e., the
offidal 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
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92 CLARA BARTON
eight days ago» and no notice whatever taken of it until
day before yesterday morning, the Judge in the mean-
time drawing his business to a dose, 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 particulariy the nature of the circum-
stances which induced them to leave. You have known
before that Congress guaranteed to the Conmiissioner of
Patents the exclusive right of making all temporary ap-
pointments in his department, and that Secretary Mc-
Clelland had previously interfered in and claimed the
same. He commenced upon the most vulnerable points,
something likeayear 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 Commis-
sioner 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 Conmiissioner
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 hb 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
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SCHOOLROOM TO PATENT OFFICE 93
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 Washing-
ton, I am surCf on your way to Carolina; it is best that
you should — I want so mudi 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 dty 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:
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94 CLARA BARTON
Washington, D.C.» Mar. 3rd, 1857
Dear Sister Juua:
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 oppor-
tunity 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 re-
citing 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 un-
christian and unmanly breast, should at that very mo-
ment 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.
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, SCHOOLROOM TO PATENT OFFICE 95
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 dty, a dis-
tance 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, am-
suming a great portion of its inhabitants, old, lame, and
dck 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 cas^ there was room left for reflec-
tion 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 dhould 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 did n'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
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96 CLARA BARTON
through huge volumes of tedinical descriptioii and
copied the essential parts into record books for the pur-
pose 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 autunm 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 jrou 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 b summer with its long weary days and short sleepy
nights; and then the **skeeterst** 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 does n*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
thea' r, 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 Has-
kell 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 chilb and fever, and gone back again; expect
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SCHOOLROOM TO PATENT OFFICE 97
Vest, home soon. I am not much better settled than
ever; liable to pick up my tn^ 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 centsi 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 Idnd
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 b 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 some-
thing 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
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98 CLARA BARTON
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^ 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. Wadi Bubby's'
eyes in bluing water; it may improve the colon Please
give my love to Cousin Vira, Mrs. Abom, and after this
according to discretion. Is Martha in New Worcester?
I should like to see her. We have had a fine sunmier
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 sbter, 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 can-
didate. 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^e 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 derk: but she was already a ''Black Repub-
lican/' Her father had been an old-time Jackson Dem-
ocrat, and the administration under which she was
appointed was Democratic; but she heard Charles Sum-
ner's great speech on the ''Crime Against Kansas'' and
> Mary — Mrs. Mamie Barton Stafford, daughter of David.
^Bubby — Stephen £• Barton, ion of David, Miaa Barton's brother.
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SCHOOLROOM TO PATENT OFFICE 99
she was convinced. '' Freedom is national; slavery is
sectional/' he said, and she believed hint
She was not yet sure that slavery ought to be inter-
fered with where it was, but she was with the party that
opposed its further extension, and this imperiled her
future as a derk if James Buchanan was elected. Just
before the November election, she wrote to Julia, David's
wife:
Washdigton, D.C, Nov. and, 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
fiothing; 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 hb 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 at-
tacks, 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
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100 CLARA BARTON
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 sunmier haze which is spread
over the city this evening.
We are aJl 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 un-
bounded. 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 respect-
ing 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 commis-
sioner and chief derk for him until his return, but I de-
clined the honor, declaring myself a Freemanter. 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
N^ 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 strcmg 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 b large enough to carry let-
ters and papers about the House, and do little errands
for the Members. I guess he had best ask the Colonel
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SCHOOLROOM TO PATENT OFFICE loi
and see what he says about it. Irving is getting ready to
take our mail to the office and I must hasten to dose
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. Abom, 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 th^ 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
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102 CLARA BARTON
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 con-
ditions 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 pre-
pared 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,
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SCHOOLROOM TO PATENT OFFICE 103
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 sjonpathetic
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 sig^t. If they
represented the true sentiments and feeling of the ma-
jority 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 speechlfyings 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 6ur 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 judg-
ing; but allowing the affirmative in its most exaggerated
form, could it possibly be equal to the pitiful scene of
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104 CLARA BARTON
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 hap-
pen, 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
oR 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 wit-
nessed 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 Com-
missioner of Patents. That was delightful news for her«
It meant not only an assured position, but an opportu-
nity of service undisturbed by needless annoyances. She
had an invitation to the inauguration ball, but had to
decline that dreary fimction 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:
WAsmNGTON Cmr, March 5th, 1861
My Dear Annib:
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,
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SCHOOLROOM TO PATENT OFFICE 105
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 peiiiaps singular,
during the whole day we saw no one who appeared to
manifest the least didike to his living. We had a crowd,
of coiuise, 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 ad*-
dress 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 dty; they were probably
not brought out, lest it lode 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 b some
prospect of the Honorable Eli Thayer being appointed
Commissioner of Patents. Only think of it! Is n't it
nice if it is true? Mr. Suydam has been spending the
week with us; left this morning. Mrs. Suydam b 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
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io6 CLARA BARTON
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 re-
lieved 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, re-
serving a large share for yourself, and believe me,
As ever, your loving friend
Clara
Everybody would send love if they knew I were writ*
ing. 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.
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CHAPTER XI
THB BATTLB 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
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io8 CLARA BARTON
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 Cham-
ber 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 Massa*^
chusetts 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 be*
came the domicile of some of the first regiments, and the
Senate Chamber was the habitation of the boys frcwn
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,
1 861. Massachusetts had four regiments ready. The
first of these reached Baltimore four days after the Pres-
ident's Proclamation. Three men were killed by a mob,
and thirty were injured as they mardied through Balti-
more. The regiment fought its way to the' station, re-
gained 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
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THE BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM 109
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:
WAsmNGTON, 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,
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HO CLARA BARTON
etCf etc., have filled the largest market, basket hi the
house and it will go to them in the next hour.
But don't tell us they are not determined — just fight-
ing 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 im 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 coimtry! 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 dty
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 bar-
racks which caused the soldiers to be quartered in the
Capitol, but it was certainly an interesting and signifi-
cant thing that her great work had its beginning there.
Washington was still expecting to be attacked; she be-
lieved 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
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THE BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM in
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 ex-
periences 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 mill-
tary 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
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112 CLARA BARTON
it for something about the house, or to make out a pay-
ment, 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 Jtery sorry.
As it is my intention to keep a strict account with my-
self 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 dty 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 cham-
pagne 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 any-
thing, and that he ought to have stayed to attend Mr.
Buchanan's hig party. It was splendid — General Scott
and the military; in fact, we are getting decidedly mili-
tary 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 de-
cided to put it down at a foot and a half, and did n*t know
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THE BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM 113
but that was big! We could n'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 does n't rain, the dust will blow;
but no fears but that it will rain, though.
But I have n'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 com-
pany 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, are n't you going to write me and tell me all
the news? And you must remember me to Mrs. Wadding-
ton, Mrs. Abom, and family, and, Jule, you must give
my regards to Silas and Mr. Smith, for I don't wish to be
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114 CLARA BARTON
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 a£Fectionate 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 contain*
ing war news, has not been found :
Washington, D.C, May 19, 1861
My dear Annib:
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 some-
thing 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.
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THE BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM 115
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 dty 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 writ-
ten 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 success-
fully they have done it. I wept for joy when I heard of
it sdl, 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
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ii6 CLARA BARTON
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 yoimg 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 Presi-
dent 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 fimeral of Colonel Ellsworth, whose
death Lincoln mourned as he would have mourned for a
son, Clara Barton wrote a letter containing this descrip-
tion of his fimeral:
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 conunitting some trespass and is called to account
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THE BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM 117
and punished for it, my blood rises in an instant I would
not have them punished. I know I am wrong in my con-
clusions, 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 Capi-
tol, 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 digni-
taries, 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 ^'Ellsworlh
dead'' were not worth more to our cause than the life of
any man could be. / could not tell, but He who knows all
things and ruleth all in wisdom hath done all things well*
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ii8 CLARA BARTON
How deeply she felt the sorrow of the soldier, and the
atudety 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 Simday
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 con*
fusion 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' sacri-
ficing hearts, drape our sisters in black, still the gleesome
laugh of childhood, and bring down die doting father's
gray hair with sorrow to the grave. For however cheer-
fully 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
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THE BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM 119
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 an-
other 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 cher-
ished 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, loii 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:
WAsmNGTON, 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 dis-
aster 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 dty. This has been a hard day to witness, sad, pain-
ful, and mortifying, but whether in the aggregate it shall
sum up a defeat, or a victory, depends (in my poor judg-
ment) 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
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120 CLARA BARTON
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 dose 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 mil 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 Move-
ments^ 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 en-
counter. 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
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THE BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM 121
enemy's strength; the evenmg and Sunday morning pa-
pers told us reliably that he had eighty thousand men,
and constantly reinforced. 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 sac-
rificed 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 dean doth 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 fo^^
the wounded. She had inmiediate 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
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122 CLARA BARTON
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
toothers.
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:
WASBmGTON, D.C, December 16, 1861
Mrs. Miller, Sec.,
Ladies' Relief Committeet
Worcester, Mass.
Dear Madam:
Your letter, mailed to me on the nth, 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 redp-
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THE BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM 123
ients. The men were looking splendidly, and I need not J
tell you that the 25th is a '*Hve'' 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 for-
bear?'* From the first I have dreaded lest a sense of
vague uncertainty in regard to matters here should dis-
courage 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, Indi-
ana, 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 dty I went
to her house and found there a young Englishman, a
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124 CLARA BARTON ,
brother of one of their domestics who had enlisted dur-
ing 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 b^;ged 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 appear-
ance; 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 dty, the verdict
rendered upon examination was that his extremities were
perishing for vxint 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 star-
vation 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 b 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 bowb 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
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THE BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM 125
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 dty 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
started 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
havetwneedof 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
spected, diough our men perish. I only mention such
facts as come under my own observation, and only a frac-
tion 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 com-
petent 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
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126 CLARA BARTON
are not needed just today, 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 d6pdt of her own where all her
contributions should be sent and dispersed; ff 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 gamers render the
required assistance. Thb 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 d6pdt in this city and I
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THE BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM 127
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 2 1st 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 dark-
ness 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 ingenu-
ity 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 ac-
complish so much, while my poor labors are so single-
handed.4 The future often looks dark to me, and it seems -
sometimes that the smiles of Heaven are almost with-
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128 CLARA BARTON
drawn from our poor, rent, and distracted country; and
yet there is everything to be grateful for, and by no
means the least b 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 ques-
tion 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 Lin-
coln 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 dbtribution. 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 difficul-
ties, 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
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THE BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM 129
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 strong-
est 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 propri-
ety — 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 un-
sheltered, 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
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130 CLARA BARTON
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 contribu-
tion to the problem was one of organization and distri-
bution, 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.
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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 thb 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 introspec-
tion during her childhood made her a problem be under-
stood 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 'Mittle 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 nar-
rative, and, with her advent into wider fields of service,
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132 CLARA BARTON
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, bom October 2, 1804, be-
came an invalid and died unmarried April 19, 1846, aged
forty-one.
Her brother Stephen, bom March 20, 1806, married
November 24, 1833, Elizabeth Rich, and died in Wash-
ington, 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 concem 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 be-
ginning of the stmggle, 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 appre-
ciate 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 Northem cause.
So he remained. As the war went on, his situation grew
less and less tenable, and, in time, dangerous. He sent
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HOME AND COUNTRY 133
his helpers North, some twenty of them. They made
their way amid perils and hardship, reached Washington
where Clara Barton rendered them assistance, and ulti-
mately the most of them entered the Union army. But
earlier than thb, 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. 1
Her younger brother David, bom 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, bom
January 18, 1847, the one son, Stephen Emery, bom
December 24, 1848, and in 1861 a lad of twelve, and the
daughter Mary, bora December 11, 1851.
With her brother David, his vnie 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, bom March 20, 181 1, 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,
bora October 10, 1835, married, October 26, 1863,
Frances Maria Childs, and died March 23, 1894. Mrs.
Vassall b still living.
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134 CLARA BARTON
With this family Clara's relations were those of pecul*
iar intimacy. Her sister and her sister's children were
very dear to her. Irving was a young man of fine Chris-
tian 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, bom
November 13, 1783, died July 10, 1851, aged sbcty-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 re-
turned 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
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HOME AND COUNTRY 135
which preserves the account of this expedition is in-
teresting as recording her account of a Sunday spent
with the army. What took her there was her determina-
tion 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 sup-
plies. 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 Decem-
ber 9, 1861, she wrote the following which was a kind of
prayer of thanksgiving for mild weather:
December 9, i86r
The streets are thronged with men bright with tinsel,
and the clattering hoofs of galloping horses sound con-
tinually 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 win-
ter, and showers down upon their heads the genial rays
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136 CLARA BARTON
of untimely wannth changing the rough winds of De-
cember 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
3^t 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 be-
tween us and would have all my time. It was not always
people. Oh, no, — work and care, and an o'ergrown cor-
respondence intruded upon me, but I always solace my-
self with the thought that, if my friends will only have a
HUle 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 hapten 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, how-
ever. 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 xvas 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
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HOME AND COUNTRY 137
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 did n'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 re-
spectable 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 pres-
ent 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 jour-
ney 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
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138 CLARA BARTON
the train to understand that my baggfige 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 com-
menced 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 formali-
ties, which /, a simple, home-bred, unsophisticated
Yankee did n't know what upon earth to do with, com-
pletely confounded! — till the clear, appreciative, know-
ing 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
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HOME AND COUNTRY 139
side for his word, and not one among them all to whom I
could extend a more cordial greeting. Please tell Grandma
that he has n'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 accompanjdng 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 beauti-
ful 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 over-
come 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
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140 CLARA BARTON
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 damp-
ness 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 occu-
pied upon the table. Mr. James put them on to show
what a nice fit they were and wondered what "Grand-
ma" 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:
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HOME AND COUNTRY 141
Washington, D.C, Jan'y 9th, 1862
Thursday morning
My darling Sis Fannie:
In spite of everything, I shall this moment commenoe
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 dis-
comfort upon 5rou, 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 limiteid to graveyards and tombs, or the
tenants thereof; indeed, so far from it, the most trouble-
some I have ever known were at times the inmates of
living and moving bodies habiting among other people,
coming out only occasionally like owb and bats to
frighten the weaJc and discourage the weary. I am re-
joiced 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-vex-
ing 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 j ust
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
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142 CLARA BARTON
quietly and happUy 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,
uncoflined, 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 Ldst,'* 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,
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HOME AND COUNTRY 143
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 com-
menced 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 hap-
pened, doubtless much to our credit and comfort. No
private returns from the "expedition" yet, but the Com-
mandant 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 regi-
ment 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."^
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"
> From James Russell Lowell's second series of "Big^ow Papers," then
appearing in the AtlatUie.
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144 CLARA BARTON
(if that were the first; it was the first I saw of it), and I
thought it so beautiful that I should n'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 Hynm " ^ tossing over all. What
did our poets do for subjects before the war? It 's a God-
send 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 mem-
ber of his "mess" who was just attacked with pleuritic
fever. I went, and found him in hospital. He was cheer-
ful (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 Bury-
ing 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 reSnlistment in the Legion of
Angels.
Well, it's no use, I've broken the peace again, and I
canH keep it. I hope you live in a more peaceful com-
munity than I do, and are consequently more manage-
able and less belligerent. . . •
Clara
The foregoing letter dealt almost wholly with national
affairs. Family matters were giving her little concern
1 A reference to Julia Ward Howe's ''Battle Hymn of the Republic,"
then new.
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HOME AND COUNTRY 145
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;
NoKTH OxFOBD, Mass., January 13, 1862
Mt 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 medi-
cine, 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 ex-
cellent care she had taken of him, but said after all there
was no one like you. I think he fails slowly and is gradu-
ally 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 toM 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 at-
tack 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
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146 CLARA BARTON
Thus, at the beginnmg 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 dear, 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 ele-
ment 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:
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HOME AND COUNTRY 147
North Oxford, March ist, 1862
Mt dear Exiled Brother:
I trust that at length I have an opportunity of speak-
ing 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 everj^thing 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 pre-
sume, — 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 war-
fare. Both diese 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 Gov-
ernment 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 dis-
band 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
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148 CLARA BARTON
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 oc-
casionally 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 oc-
casions. 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
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HOME AND COUNTRY 149
something of the spirit of "brag." There is not a ves-
t^ 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 eiailting, it would he 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. Comb 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 get-
ting you to me, but never until now has any safe or suit-
able method presented itself, and now that the expedi-
tion 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 protec-
tion of our officers, and be taken to the landing at Roa-
noke, 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 Bumside'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
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150 CLARA BARTON
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 Bumside's men, who have
your address, but they would scarcely be on our gun-
boats. 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 ejacu-
lation which follows. I want to tell you who you will
find among the officers and men composing the Expedi-
tion near you; Massachusetts has five regiments — 21st,
23rd, 24th, 25th, 27th; the 2 1st 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
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HOME AND COUNTRY 151
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 teiis me to send Sam to him, and he will put him on
the track to you. He will also interest both General
Bumside 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
Steams, 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 Worces-
ter, 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 par-
ticulars 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
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152 CLARA BARTON
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 rebel-
lion, 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 natu-
rally, 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 cm 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
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HOME AND COUNTRY 153
property would be respected by them. He would he in-
finUely 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 oflFend or injure him. If you leave and
your property be unofficially 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 ad-
vice. 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 un-
willing to have read by either side. I am a plain Northern
Union woman, honest in my feelings and counsels, de-
siring 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 Wash-
ington, 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
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154 CLARA BARTON
I say, only to repeat my advice, and desire you to con«
suit 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 dis-
tressed 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 Washing-
ton. She saw more of this later, but she had seen enough
of it already to be appalled by the conditions that ex-
isted. 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
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HOME AND COUNTRY 155
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 fam-
ished 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 wag-
ons 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.
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156 CLARA BARTON
Dr. Hitchcock most strongly and earnestly and in-
dignantly remonstrates against any more removals of
broken or amputated limbs. He declares it little better
than mmxler, 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 provi-
sion 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 wit-
nessing it*
Clara Barton knew these matters better in 1863 than
she did at the beginning of 1862, but she knew some-
thing 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 under-
stood exactly the conditions which she described. Her
old friend Colonel De Witt, formerly a member of Con-
gress 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 some-
thing concerning leaks which she knew to be occurring in
Washington and vicinity, and of treasonable organiza-
tions operating close to the capital, in constant communi-
cation 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 3nd, i86a
Important Arrests at Alexandria. — Quite a sensation
was produced in Alexandria on last Thursday evening
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HOME AND COUNTRY 157
by the arrest of some twenty-five or thirty alleged seoes-
sionists, who are charged with being concerned in a se-
cret 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 tlie enemy. It is further stated that a fund was
obtained from rebel sjmipathizers 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 manu-
facture 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 implicat-
ing persons heretofore unsuspected.
The parties were brought to this dty 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 ap-
pearance, and were followed to jail by an anxious crowd
of men and boys.
Clara Barton asked her father his opinion of the feasi-
bility 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.
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158 CLARA BARTON
Having thus been favorably introduced to Governor
Andrew, and her story of the secret operations of Seces-
sionists near Washington having been confirmed, she felt
that she could write the Governor and ask him for per-
mission to go to the very seat of war. She had been send-
ing supplies to Roanoke, and Newbem, 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 distribu-
tion. 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 Regi-
ments 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 im-
mediate discovery of the truly magnificent rebel organi-
zation 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 inci-
dentally 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,
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HOME AND COUNTRY 159
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 Roa-
noke. 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 renmant 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; afew more suns, and the old soldier's weary
march is ended, — honorably discharged, he is journey-
ing 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 Bumside'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
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i6o CLARA BARTON
days of the Civil War. He reqxxided jMromptly to Clara
Barton's appeal. On the day of her father's funeral she
received the fdlowing letter from Governor Andrew:
CQMMQKWBALTH OF MASSAOroSBTTS
EZBCUnVB DBPARTIfENT
BosiOM, March 24th9 1862
Miss Clara H. Bartok,
North Oxford, Mass.
I beg to assure you, Miss Barton, of my cordial sym-
pathy 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 Bumside'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. Hitch-
cock did not believe that the battle-field was a suitable
place for women. Among Clara Barton's papers the let-
ter to Dr. Hitchcock is found bearing his comment and
the Governor's brief reference with which the letter was
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HOME AND COUNTRY i6i
forwarded to Clara Barton. This dosed, 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 de-
sirous of doing what she can to aid our sick and wounded
men at Roanoke, or Newbem, 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 pre-
sume Miss Barton will write to you. She has been a resi-
dent 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
Bumside 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 endorse-
ments by Dr. Alfred Hitchcock and Governor Andrew:
I do not think at the present time Miss Barton had
better undertake to go to Bumside'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:
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i62 CLARA BARTON
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 cofiin.
Tuesday, March 25, 1862. At two P.M., commenced the
services of the burial, Rev. Mr. Holmes of Charlton offi-
ciating. 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 re-
covered:
North Oxford, March 37th, 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 sol-
dier'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
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HOME AND COUNTRY 163
home. For more than thirty days he did not taste a mor-
sel 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 con-
stitutional 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 en-
dorse her application. But she was nothing if not per-
sistent. Almost immediately after her receipt of the
Governor's letter, she began again seeking to bring in-
fluence 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 organi-
zation 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 ex-
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i64 CLARA BARTON
posure 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, evi-
dently, 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 re-
mained in New England through the month of May, but
in June returned to Washington and remained there until
the i8th 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 con-
tinuous 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 destina-
tion. The following are from the official records:
Susgbon-Genbral's QpncB
July II, 1862
Miss C. H. Barton has permission to go upon the sick
transports in any direction — for the purpose of distrib-
uting comforts for the sick and. wounded — and nursing
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HOME AND COUNTRY 165
them, always subject to the directioii of the surgeon in
charge.
William A. Hammond
Suigeon-General, U.S.A.
Surgbon-Grnbkal's Office
Washington Cmr, July 11, 1862
Sir:
At the request of the Surgeon-General I have to re-
quest 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.
Majok D. H. Rucebr, 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 trans-
ports 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. ot 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
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i66 CLARA BARTON
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.
Inspbctor-Gekbral's Oppicb, Auct op Virgiku
Washingtqk» D.C, August 12, 1863
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 rsiil.
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 af-
firmed, 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 thor-
oughly 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 un-
reckoning 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
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HOME AND COUNTRY 167
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 par-
ticular objects, but in general all she had to do was to
present these blanket credentials, and particular per-
mission for a specific journey was promptly forthcoming.
Indeed, she seldom needed that when her lines of opera-
tion 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 two 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 con<-
spicuously 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 after-
noon before her arrangements were complete, including
the special passes which she had to procure from General
Polk's headquarters. Saturday she started, but the
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168 CLARA BARTON -
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 quar-
termaster. On Monday she went on to Fredericksbui^g,
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 2ist 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 con-
ferences with the Sanitary Conmiission, and suggested
some improvement in the methods of supplying the
hospitals.
She found the Sanitary Commission quite ready to
co6perate with her, and obtained from them without
difficulty some stores for the 8th and nth Connecticut
Regiments. She took time to write the story of her visit
to Fredericksburg, and to secure its full value in addi-
tional 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
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HOME AND COUNTRY 169
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 trans-
ferred 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, 1863
Saturday pji.
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 per-
mit)? 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 in-
fluence it in the least, — but Til 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 chargSs 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. Camp-
bell, see first, if possible, Dn Sheldon, and ask him if he
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170 CLARA BARTON
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 hos-
pital, but perhaps one difficulty will be that it is in-
tended 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 hospi-
tals 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 condi-
tion 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 dis-
courage 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..
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HOME AND COUNTRY 171
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 be-
lieves 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 dy-
ing 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.
Yoiu" affectionate Cousin
Clara H. Barton
Washington, D.C.
Thus did Clara Barton at her father's death-bed con-
secrate 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 hos-
pital from the battle-field. She was ready to carry relief
right behind the battle lines. She had not long to wait
for her opportunity.
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CHAPTER XIII
CLARA BARTON TO THB 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 declama-
tions inspired by the great Civil War, The author re-
members 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, litde one, that was a dreadful fight;
For brave blood flowed tike 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 neces-
sities. It was a poem with rather large dramatic possi-
bilities, 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 Moun-
tain as a battle in which he had something of a share.
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CLARA BARTON TO THE FRONT 173
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 after-
ward 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 reinforce 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 be-
ginning for herself and her country, and the civilized
world, a new epoch in the history of woman's ministra-
tion 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.
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174 CLARA BARTON
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 arrange-
ments and in conference with Gardiner Tufts, of Massa-
chusetts, an agent sent by the State to look after Massa-
chusetts wounded. That night she went to Alexandriat
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 dty, 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 (aU-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 Alex-
andria 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.
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CLARA BARTON TO THE FRONT 175
God bless you, my poor dear Cousin, and I will see you
if the rebels don't catch me.
Good-bye,
Yoiu: affec. cousin
Clara
Whether she was able to visit her cousin or not on her
return from Alexandria, we do not know. Her diary fcMr
the latter part of the year 1862 ceases to be consecu-
tive. 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 every-
body 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
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176 CLARA BARTON
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 ex-
periences 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 posi-
tion, 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 un-
sightly 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. AH day they came, and the whole hillside
was covered. Bales of hay were broken open and scat-
tered 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 liter-
ally by ourselves in the wild woods of Virginia, with three
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CLARA BARTON TO THE FRONT 177
thousand suffering men crowded upon the few acres
within our reach.
After gathering up every available implement or con-
venience 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 diat
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 worth-
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178 CLARA BARTON
lessness 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 eag^e 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 dose 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 blan-*
kets 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 i) the enemy's cavalry ap-
peared in the wood opposite and a raid was hourly ex-
pected. In the afternoon all the wounded men were sent
of! 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 ste them break in,
but Reno's forces held them back. The old 2ist Massa*
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CLARA BARTON TO THE FRONT 179
chusetts lay between us and fhe 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 woimded men we then had into
the train. I took one carload of them and Mrs. M. an-
other. 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 com-
pletely 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.
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i8o CLARA BARTON
Among many other experiences on the field of Chan*
tilly, 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 man-
gled right arm would never carry a satchel again.
About three o'clock in the morning I observed a sur-
geon 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 dy-
ing. 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
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CLARA BARTON TO THE FRONT i8i
think these, sounding through that dismal night, the
most heart-rending. As we drew near, some twenty per-
sons, 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 false-
hood 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 jfreed itself from fastenings and was
hanging damp and heavy upon my shoulders. He gath-
ered 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
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i82 CLARA BARTON
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 aiso atx>ut 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 be-
fore 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 'U 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 re-
quested that my boy be taken.
"Oh, impossible, madam, he is mortally wounded and
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CLARA BARTON TO THE FRONT 183
will never reach fhe hospital! We must take those who
have a hope of life/' "But you must take him." "lean-
not" — "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 ar-
gument 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.
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i84 CLARA BARTON
and they could ill afford a further fast of twenty-four
hours. I felt confident that, unless nourished at once, all
the v/eaker portion must be past recovery before reaching
the hospitals of Washington. If once taken from the
W2^[ons 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 re-
gretted 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 man-
gled 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
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CLARA BARTON TO THE fRONT 185
placed under guard, court-martialed, and even be im-
prisoned 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 ap-
peared 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 vet-
eran 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.
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186 CLARA BARTON
The rain continued to pour in torrents, and the dark-
ness became impenetrable save from the lightning leap*
ing 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 woimded 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 bevers^, 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 sen-
sation 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 dark-
ness, 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
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CLARA BARTON TO THE FRONT 187
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 la-
bors, was crouched upon the top of some boxes in one
comer fast asleep. No such convenience remained for
me, and I had no strength to arrange ohe. 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 iif 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 drip-
ping 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 comer and was playing quietly by itself.
For the great volleying thunders of heaven and earth
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i88 CLARA BARTON
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, dis-
couraged, 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 strugs:led 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 sur-
cingle."
"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
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CLARA BARTON TO THE FRONT 189
with a torch which he applied to a pile of combustible
material beside the track. And we romided 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 re-
plied. "His friends reached him some two days ago, and
they are now taking his body from the ward to be con-
veyed 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 mes-
sages; 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! Bumside's
weary legions! Reenforcements from West Virginia —
and all that now remained of the once glorious Army of
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190 CLARA BARTON
the Peninsula had gathered for shelter beneath the re-
doubts and guns that girdled Washington.
How the soldiers remembered these ministrations is
shown in letters such as this:
' Chablks £. SnocoNS, Secretary, 2ist Regt Mass. VoL
Chablbs £. Fryb, President
7 Jaqubs Avbnub,
WoRCBSTBR, Mass.
Sq>tember 13th, 191 1
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 "Bumside 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
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CHAPTER XIV
harper's ferry to antietam
Clara Barton had now definitely settled the method
of her operations. She had demonstrated the practica-
bility of getting to the front early, and had begun to
learn what equipment was necessary if she were to per-
form her work successfully. Washington was still to be
her headquarters, her base of supplies, but from Wash-
ington 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 authen-
tic news of the battle. This was in contravention of all
established custom, which was for women, if they as-
sisted at all, to remain far in the rear until wounded sol-
diers 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 Washing-
ton 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:
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192 CLARA BARTON
Washington, D.C, June 36di, 1863
My dear Sister Julia:
I cannot make a pleasant letter of this; everything is
sad; the very pain which is breathed out in the atmos-
phere of this dty 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 did n't know
when I left." I appealed to the chief surgeon and ap*
plied 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 litde.
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.
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HARPER'S FERRY TO ANTIETAM 193
The generals in command did not always know. But
there were times when official Washington had premoni-
tory 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 phjrsical 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 en-
gagement with the Union forces in the offensive.
The long maneuvering and skirmishing [she wrote], had
yielded no fruit. Pope had been sacrific^ and all the
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194 CLARA BARTON
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 an-
them of war and victory which rang through the land
when these two fearful forces met and dosed, 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 tenpest stirs
a forest.
Maryland lay temptingly in view, and Lee and Jack-
son 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 wiU 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-
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HARPER'S FERRY TO ANTIETAM 195
shouldered driver astride, and the eternal jerk of the
single rein by which he navigated his craft up to my doon
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 my*
self 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, dis-
mounting, built a camp-fire, prepared supper, and re*
tired, 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 mes-
senger 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 hard-
ships, 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 ^em to the pale,
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196 CLARA BARTON
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 con-
sternation 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 de-
scription 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 ghasdy
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 tills, 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
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HARPER'S FERRY TO ANTIETAM 197
down her flag. There had not been many wounded, any-
way; 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 prelimi-
nary to the real battle of which she had had her Wash-
ington warning. And now she made a discovery. If she
was ever to get to the front in time to be of the great-
est possible service, she must short-circuit the ordi-
nary 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 con-
fidence and spirit.
And why should they not? Always defeated! Always
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198 CLARA BARTON
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, ammuni*
tion; 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, cau-
tious 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 Poto-
mac, 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 has-
tening to and fro, and the atmosphere loaded with nox-
ious 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 Bumside'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.
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HARPER'S FERRY TO ANTIETAM 199
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 ministra-
tion without a single hour's delay.
She told her story of the conflict as she saw it:
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200 CLARA BARTON
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.
Bumside commenced to send cavalry and artillery to
his aid, and, thinking our place might be there, we fol-
lowed them around eight miles, turning into a cornfield
near a house and bam, 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 bam 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 com 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 band-
age, 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
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HARPER'S FERRY TO ANTIETAM 201
box of instruments, and a bunch of green com 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 bless-
ings 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 con-
tested, lost, and won, and twice our men were driven back
under cover of that JFearful range of guns, and each time
brought its hundreds of wounded to our crowded ground*
A little after noon, the enemy made a desperate at-
tempt 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?
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202 CLARA BARTON
The patient endurance of these men was most astonish-
ing. As many as could be were carried into the bam, 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 bums so?" I repli^ 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 sui^geon. ''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 kind-
ness, 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.
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HARPER'S FERRY TO ANTIETAM 203
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 dheeks. 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.
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204 . CLARA BARTON
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 ser-
geant, and, rolling one into the light, found that it bore
the mark of Jackson's army. These three barreb 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 tiiat 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 bam, 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, Doc-
tor." He started up with a look almost savage, "Tired!
Yes, I am tired, tired of such heartlessness, such careless-
ness!" 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 bam where the lanterns
glistened like stars among the waving com.
"What is that?" he exclauned.
"The bam is lighted," I said, "and the house will be
directly."
"Who did it?"
"I, Doctor."
"Where did you get them?"
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HARPER'S FERRY TO ANTIETAM 205
"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 iEtnas! Its ten hours of unin-
terrupted 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
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206 CLARA BARTOIf
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 pon-
toon 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 con-
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HARPER'S FERRY TO ANTIETAM 207
venience and means of conserving her energy, was pro-
vided for her by Quartermaster-General Rucken
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 Gov-
ernment employ. Drovers, butchers, hucksters, mule-
breakers, probably not one of them had ever passed an
hour in what coidd be termed "ladies' society," in hb
life. But every man had driven through the whole pen-
insular 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 busi-
ness 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].
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208 CLARA BARTON
I thought honest confession good for the soul, and did
not interrupt him.
"The truth is," he continued, "in the first place we
did n't want to come. There's fighting ahead and weVe
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 could n't understand it, and
we did n'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 had n'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 morn-
ing, 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
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HARPER^S FERRY TO ANTIETAM 209
endeavoring to speak low and feed and harness their
teams quietly, not to disturb me.
On the odier 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 ad-
vance 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 with-
drew 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
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210 CLARA BARTON
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.
Hbadquartbrs General Sturgis, 2nd Divisioif
December 8tfa, 1869
Messrs. Brown & Co.
Dear Friends:
Mr. Wells returns to-morrow and I improve the oppor-
tunity to send a line by him to you, not feeling quite cer-
tain if posted matter reaches directly when sent from the
army.
We reached Acquia Creek safely in the time antici-
pated, and to my great joy learned immediately that our
old friend Captain (Major) Hall (of the 21st) was Quar-
termaster. 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 Cap-
tain's quarters, and proceeded with the remainder of our
luggage, for which it is needless to say ready transportO'
tion 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,
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HARPER'S FERRY TO ANTIETAM 211
and stove, and should prefer it to a room in a rebel house
and one so generally occupied.
The 2 1st are a few rods from me; many of the officers
call to see me every day. Colonel Clark is very neigh-
borly; 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 cer-
tainty; 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 re-
ceived calls from two generals to-day, and in the course
of conversation I discovered that their views were
entirely different. General Bumside 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 trou-
blesome, 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 resi-
dence was the Lacy house on the shore of the Rappa-
hannock and close to Fredericksburg. There was nothing
imcertain 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 cousiui Vira Stone, just
before the storm of battle broke:
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212 CLARA BARTON
HbADQUARTBRS 2ND DiVISIOK
Army of thb Potomac
Camp near Faucouth, Va.
December 12, 1862, 2 o'dodc ajl
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 be-
tween. 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 imwonted 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 morn-
ing'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
bums brightly in our kind-hearted General's tent, where
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HARPER'S FERRY TO ANTIETAM 213
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 b 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 Un-
ion 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 won-
dered." 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 hb 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 ada-
mant. 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.
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214 CLARA BARTON
The men of Hooker and Franklin were right and left,
but here in the center came the brave men of the silvery-
haired Sumnen
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 de-
struction 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 oc-
cupying 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 — crash-
ing through the trees, the windows and doors of the Lacy
house. And ever here and there a man drops in the wait-
ing 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 Bumside. Hark — that deep-toned or-
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HARPER'S FERRY TO ANTIETAM 215
der 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 '11 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!
Dpwn 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
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2i6 CLARA BARTON
o V field and grove, like a resbtless flood daylight exposed
Fredericksburg witih 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 I 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, estab-
lishing 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 sununons, 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
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HARPERS FERRY TO ANTIETAM 217
of blue, rank upon rank, charged over the open acres,
up to tiie very mouths of those blazmg guns, and how
like gram before the sickle they fell and melted away.
An officer stepped to my side to assist me over the
debris 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 con-
struction upon them, for I never professed anything be-
yond 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 inunediate 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
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2i8 CLARA BARTON
church, to find the report only too true. Among hun-
dreds of comrades lay my patient. For any human ap-
pearance above his head and shoulderst it might as well
have been anything but a man.
I knelt by him and commenced with fear and trembling
lest some imlucky 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 ob-
struction. 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 durii^ the tumult of Satur-
day, 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 at-
tracted 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 thank-
ing 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 vic-
tory somewhere. The gallant old General, taking in the
situation, bowed low his bared head, saying, as he gal-
loped 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
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HARPER'S FERRY TO ANTIETAM 219
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 at-
tended. 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 difiiculty that he gave me his name
and residence. He could not lie down, but sat leaning
against the wall in the comer 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 comer was removed, they could set
him down in his place. They went to remove him, but,
to the astonishment of all, he objected, opened hb eyes,
and persisted in retaining his comer, 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 am-
bulance to Washington, with a bottle of milk punch in
his blouse, the only nourishment he could take.
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220 CLARA BARTON
On my return to Washington, three months later, a
messenger came from Lincohi 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, stand-
ing, 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 chil-
dren.
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 appar-
ent 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 Michi-
gan. I did n'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 imder-
went 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
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HARPER'S FERRY TO ANTIETAM 221
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 Rotal, May 28tli, 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
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222 CLARA BARTON
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, hand-
kerchiefs, 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 skill-
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HARPER'S FERRY TO ANTIETAM 223
ful fingers fitted that. NoWt I begin to comprehend;
while I had been away in the snows and frosts and rains
and mud of Fabnouth, 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 remem-
bered 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 be-
fore, 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 bat-
tles 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 xvant that^
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224 CLARA BARTON
but I will say that, God willing, I will yet wear them where
none of the noble donors wotdd he 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
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CHAPTER XV
CLARA barton's CHANGE OF BASE
SPRING OF 1863
The events we have been describing bring Miss Bar-
ton to the end of 1862. The greater part of the year 1863
was spent by her in entirely different surroundings. Be-
lieving 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 Charles-
ton was likely to be the place of largest service during the
year 1863. On the personal side was first her great desire
to establish conmiunication 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 conunission 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
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226 ' CLARA BARTON
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 com-
panionship of her brother David and her cousin, Leander
Poor; there she could most probably establish communi-
cations 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 ex-
pectations, 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 per-
mission 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, en-
joyed recording in detail almost everything that hap-
pened. 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
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CLARA BARTON'S CHANGE OF BASE 227
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:
Surgbon-Genbral*s Office
WASHmcTON City, D.C, January i8th, 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
2 1 St 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 shat-
tered stumps of arms. Massachusetts has few relics so
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228 CLARA BARTON
precious as this. flag. Clara Barton was with him at
Fredericksburg and ministered to him there, and re-
mained his lifelong friend. In many ways she manifested
her interest in him, rendering her aid in a popular move-
ment 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, Fd>. 22nd, '63
To THE Members of the
MiuTARY 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
Aey 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
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CLARA BARTON'S CHANGE OF BASE 229
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 2i8t 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 ar-
chives 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 testi-
mony 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 hence-
forth 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 dose by praying
your honorable body to grant to Sergeant Plunkett such
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230 CLARA BARTON
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 littie out-
line of her great work in its relation to that of Clara
Barton.
Dorothea Lynde Dix was bom April 4, 1802, and died
July 17, 1887. She was twenty-nine years older than
Clara Barton, and their lives had many interesting paral-
lels. Until the publication of her biography by Francis
Tiffany in 1890, it was commonly supposed that she was
bom 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
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GLARA BARTON'S CHANGE OF BASE 231
on one of his frequent and futile migrations that she was
bom. 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 EUery
Channing, and was bom again. To her through his min-
istry 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 bam, 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 en-
couraged by her pastor. Dr. Channing, in whose home
she spent much of her time, she launched forth upon her
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232 CLARA BARTON
career of devotion to the amelioration of the condi^
tion 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 fruit-
ful 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, 1 861. Like Clara Barton she hastened imme-
diately 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 "Super-
intendent 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 bet-
ter 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
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CLARA BARTON'S CHANGE OF BASE 233
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." ^
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 pos-
sessing the confidence of the people of the whole country.
But she was not only sixty yeai^ of age and predisposed
to consumption, and at that time suffering from other
ailments, but she had never learned to delegate respon-
sibility 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
1 Tiffany, Ls/e ol Dorothea Lynde Dix, 336, 337.
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234 CLARA BARTON
management of her own line of activities. But Dorothea
Dix, besides needing to be simultaneously on twenty bat-
tle-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 grand-
mothers. 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 preeminently fitted her for the sphere in
^hich 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 recog-
nize 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 limi-
tations of her work. Up to that time, she had dealt with
small groups of subordinates from whom she could de-
mand and secure some approach to perfection of organi-
zation and discipline. This she could not possibly secure
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CLARA BARTON'S CHANGE OF BASE 235
in her present situation. Again we quote the discriminate
ing words of her biographer:
But in war r— especially in a war precipitately entered
into by a raw and inexperienced people — all such per-
fection of organization and discipline is out of the ques-
tion. 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 cnist, and
to sacrifice herself without stint, her whole soul was on
fire at the spectacles of incompetence and callow indif-
ference she was doomed daily to witness. She became
overwrought, and lost the requisite self-control. ... In-
evitably she* became involved in sharp altercations
with prominent medical officials and with regimental
surgeons.*
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 memo-
^> Tiffany, 338,^9.
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236, CLARA BARTON,
landa 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 tel^japh 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 ap-
proaching more and more nearly something that might
be called system, and that system was the system of
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CLARA BARTON'S^CHANGE OF BASE 237
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 mider 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 inunediate
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.
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CHAPTER XVI
THB ATTBBiPT TO RBCAPTURB FORT SUICTBR
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 dodc
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 cap-
ture 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 re-
turning would stop off at Charleston for dispatches, but
her entry that night said:
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ATTEMPT TO RECAPTURE SUMTER 239
In the P.M.9 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 re-
turned for? was the question hanging on every lip. Con-
jecture 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 disap-
pointed 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 re-
treats 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
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240 CLARA BARTON
needed her immediate minbtration. 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 Washing-
ton. 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 be-
tween New York and Hilton Head, and every boat took
officers and soldiers going upon, or returning from, fur-
loughs, and the boats from New York brought nurses
and supplies. The Sanitary Commission had its own d6-
pdt 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 oflicial red tape quite soon enough in her own de-
partment, 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 intro-
duced, nor was there any difliculty in her procuring
passes to go where she pleased, excepting as she was
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ATTEMPT TO RECAPTURE SUMTER 241
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 per-
mits, and offered her every possible courtesy. Her re-
quest that her cousin. Corporal Leander Poor, be trans-
ferred 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 offi-
cers sent her bouquets; her table and her window must
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242 CLARA BARTON
have been rather constantly filled with flowers. More
than once the band serenaded her, and between the musi-
cal 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 horse-
back 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 sol-
diers 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 inunediately which called for her ministra-
tions. 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 fear-
fully 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
occiured in her immediate vicinity. Each time the Arogo
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ATTEMPT TO RECAPTURE SUMTER 243
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 addi-
ion 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, cor-
respondent 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 Poto-
mac except Chancellorsville, told the officers how he had
heard General Patrick, at the battle of Fredericksburg,
remonstrate with Miss Barton on account of her ex-
posing herself to danger, saying afterward that he ex-
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244 CLARA BARTON
pected 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 ap-
preciative 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 dbplays 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 ade-
quately 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 in-
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ATTEMPT TO RECAPTURE SUMTER 245
fluence 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:
Hn.TON Hbad, 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 sin-
cerity 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 con-
fidence, 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
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246 CLARA BARTON
peace, and rest for our tired armies, and home and hap-
piness and firesides and friends for our war-worn heroes,
/ 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 / 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 <^
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 with-
out 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 opera-
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ATTEMPT TO RECAPTURE SUMTER 247
tions 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-mor-
row the path to victory and peace, but we shall never
strengthen their hands or incite their patriotism by de-
serting 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 com-
press 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
soldiersr not political addresses — and again I ask you
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248 CLARA BARTON
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 youf cordial invitation to visit you,
which I shall (if I have not forfeited your friendship by
my plainness of speech, which / 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 sel-
dom 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 con-
tinue 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 II an assault on Fort Wagner was begun from
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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 djdng. 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 thun-
dering 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.
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250 CLARA BARTON
Still there was danger in his growl and death in his
bite/' '
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 gath-
ered 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 remem-
ber 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 Wag-
ner 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
^ Fort Sumter, fiercely bombarded July 24, repulsed an assault against
it on September 8, and was not completely silenced until October 26.
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ATTEMPT TO RECAPTURE SUMTER 251
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 hun-
dred 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 per-
haps 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 with-
out sleep under the most trjdng 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.
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252 CLARA BARTON
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 un<
fortunate 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 des-
perately 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 i. 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 com-
fortable 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 sum-
mer, she reported the wounded under her care as doing
well; also, that she had now a man detailed to assume
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ATTEMPT TO RECAPTURE SUMTER 253
some of the responsibility for the food of the wounded.
Fresh green com 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 where-
withal 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 ex-
pressing in her letter the feeling, which she so often re-
corded in her diary, that she was not doing as much as
she ought to merit the kindness of her friends. In an-
other 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
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254 CLARA BARTON
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 inmiediately.
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 De-
cember 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 ap-
pealed 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 her-
self 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 com-
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ATTEMPT TO RECAPTURE SUMTER 255
plete sympathy and co5peration 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 head-
quarters 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 ac-
corded 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 sub-
ject; 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 samk 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 ap-
pointed and stationed by Miss Dix, but thinks to com-
mence by littles and work herself in in spite of opposition.
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256 CLARA BARTON
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 estab-
lished 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, **Haw are my
poor boys?** She desired me to attend church at the hos-
pital 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 gener-
ally. 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. / 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
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ATTEMPT TO RECAPTURE SUMTER 257
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 inter-
ference, 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 aw-
fidence in my ability to accomplish anything of an alle-
viating character in this department is completely anni-
hilated. 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 un-
remitting 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 suffer-
ing most intense, I rose in my weakness and repaired
again to my post, and scarcely were my labors recom-
menced when, through the same influence or no influ-
ence 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 as-
sistance 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
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258 CLARA BARTON
thing I should have felt hurt at the bare thought of such
a charge against me and from such a quarter. The hos-
pitals 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 Admit-
tance, 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 walb, in tihe hope it might
strengthen the patients inside? Should I tie up my bun-
dle of clothing and creep up and deposit it on the door-
step 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 die doors
for me to enter, the idea would have seemed more prac-
tical. 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
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ATTEMPT TO RECAPTURE SUMTER 259
to be paid. The other clerks, also, were in hearty accord
with thb 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 Com-
missioner 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 sup-
port continued, became the agents for the dissemination
of a false report, she was hurt and indignant.
To the honor c^ Judge HoUoway and his associates in
the Patent Office, be it recorded that she received 4
letter from Judge HoUoway that she had been misin-
formed 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 con-
tinued as Commissioner.
A few days before Christmas another pleasant event
occurred. Her nephew Stephen, whom she had con-
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260 CLARA BARTON
tinued to caU ^'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:
Hn.TON Hbad, 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, be-
cause 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
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ATTEMPT TO RECAPTURE SUMTER 261
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 tear-
ful impatience, " When will my papa come?*'
The first sound which fell upon my ear in this Depart-
ment 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
chamel house — Wagner — and we have built one
cemetery, Morris Island. The thousand little sand-hills
that glitter in the pale moonlight are a thousand head-
stones, 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. Charles-
ton still resisted attempts to recapture it. Sumter,
though demolished, was in the hands of the Confederates.
There was no prospect of inunediate battle, and unless
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262 CLARA BARTON
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 re-
member, 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.
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CHAPTER XVII
FROM TH£ WILDERNESS TO THE JAMES
IN THE YEAR 1864
Clara Barton returned from Port Royal and Hflton
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 in-
cidents in the life of an Irish servant girl who, all un-
known 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 con-
tinued 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
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264 CLARA BARTON
space in Washington. But it was a cheerless place, and
she did not occupy it much. Principally, it was a store-
house for her supplies, with a place partitioned off (or
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 Conmiittee
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 Govern-
ment 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 in-
vestigation 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 sta-
tion 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 some-
thing 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
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THE WILDERNESS TO THE JAMES 265
Senator Wilson called, she told him what she thought of
the United States Armyi 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 worid
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 b 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 mean-
ness? Shall lies prevail forevermore? Look at the
state of things, both civil and military, that curse our
Government. The pompous air with which little dis-
honest 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 depart-
ment 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 mem-
berships, a Governor, commissions, and all the various
offices of a state, and the grateful recipients are to repay
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266 CLARA BARTON
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 rash-
ness 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 / 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 suffer-
ing, enemy massing in front, and still there he is. Sud-
denly 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 b a
subordinate officer and must remain silent; the thou-
sands with him know it, but they must not speak; Con-
gress 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 tiie 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 dis-
grace. 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 blar-
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THE WILDERNESS TO THE JAMES 267
ney 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 sur-
roundings, 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-march-
ing with ineffective fighting, great suffering, and no
permanent results. Nor did she see how she was hence-
forth 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.
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268 CLARA BARTON
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 can-
didate 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
Fremont, she would not withhold her approval. There
was in Washington and in the army so much incompe-
tence, so much rascality, it was possible that another
President — especially one with military experience —
would push the war to a speedier finbh, and rout out
some of the rascality she saw in Washington. She
thought that Fr6mont might possibly have some ad-
vantage 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 ad-
ministration were great, they were mostly inevitable.
And so she rather thought she would vote for Lincoln,
even in preference to the very popular hero, Fremont.
Fremont had, indeed, seen, sooner than Lincoln, the
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THE WILDERNESS TO THE JAMES 269
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 ad-
dress 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 5/A, 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
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270 CLARA BARTON
from Mary Norton and Julia, and next to ask me to mend
a little clothing, and next to present me a beautiful scrap-
book 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 recollec-
tion 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 renmant 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 Rep-
resentatives. I went early with Mr. Brown. We went
into the gallery and to»ok a front seat in a side gallery.
The House commenced to fill very rapidly with one of
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THE WILDERNESS TO THE JAMES 271
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. Pier-
pont. 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 Repre-
sentatives of America, America '*free" from the shackles
of slavery, and to address the President, and great polit-
ical 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 con-
trast, 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
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272 CLARA BARTON
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 con-
gratulate 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 immedi-
ate 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 wds 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 com-
pression 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,
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THE WILDERNESS TO THE JAMES 273
her passes came. General Rucker, who had been endeav-
oring 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 mag-
gots 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 Spot-
sylvania 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 lat-
ter constituted the base of supplies for General Grant's
army, can have forgotten the peculiar geographical loca-
tion, 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
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274 CLARA BARTON
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 Wilder-
ness were pouring into Fredericksbuiig 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 Freder-
icksburg to Belle Plain were loaded with wounded men
and went back with supplies. The exchange was trans-
acted 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 Fredericksbuiig,
had erected a tent or two on the ridge and were evi-
dently 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
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THE WILDERNESS TO THE JAMES 275
formed from the fact that no enth^ 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 hilbide.
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.
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276 CLARA BARTON
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 comers 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 com-
pletely had the man been engrossed in his work, so de-
lighted as one difficulty after another vanished and suc-
cess 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 tenibleness of the scene before me, I found
myself striving hard to keep the muscles of my face
all straight. As it was, the comers 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 sununer
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THE WILDERNESS TO THE JAMES 277
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 con*
victed 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 some-
thing 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
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278 CLARA BARTON
crowded with wounded meiii stopped, standing in the
rain and mud, wrenched back and forth by the restless,
hungry animals all night from four o'clock in the after-
noon 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 Wil-
son, 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 command-
ing Fredericksbuiig.
Mr. Wilson assured them that tke officers in trust there
were not to be relied upon. They were faithless, over-
come 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
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THE WILDERNESS TO THE JAMES 279
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 Fredericksbuiig. At noon
the wounded men were fed from the food of the dty 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.
Nomore 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 siugeons 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 com-
manders 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
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28o 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 Conmiission 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 my-
self 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 posi-
tion, 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 ne-
cessities of the present campaign were well-nigh over-
whelming, 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 wajrside or moaning
in this wilderness. I did so and such responses as yours
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THE WILDERNESS TO THE JAMES 281
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 stem
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 sacri-
fice 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 appropri-
ate 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.
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TO THE END OP THB WAR
At the end of May, 1864, Clara Barton was in Wash-
ington. She wrote to her brother David informing him
of her return to the dty 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 terri-
ble. 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 pre-
vious sunmier, 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 per-
son 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 '11 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 Siugeon 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
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TO THE END OF THE WAR 283
concerning a celebration, such as it was, of the 4th of
July.
PdiNT or Rocks, Va., July 5, 1864
General Butler's Department
Mt Most Esteemed and Dear Friend:
Here in the sunshine and dust and toil and confusion
of camp life, the mercury above a hundred, the atmos-
phere 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 shield-
ing 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 6/astf, — 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 post-
mark 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 self-
ishness 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.
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284 CLARA BARTON
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.
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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 per-
fectly 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 re-
main 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 un-
kept 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 ma-
terial 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 for-
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286 CLARA BARTON
getfulness 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.
Tbnth Asmt Corps Hospftal
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 (loth) 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 sur-
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geons, 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 pre-
served 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 blanc-
mange, 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 everj^ing cooked),
and the same toasts and com 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 floiu: and molasses and
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288 CLARA BARTON
make it by the score. I have all tiie 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 tiie way).
Last Saturday night we learned that we were to change
with the Eighteenth Corps, and go up in front of Peters-
burg, 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 nth 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
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TO THE END OF THE WAR 289
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 i8th. The most surprising of all of which is (tell
Sally) that I should have turned cook. Who would have
"thunkit"?
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. Con-
trary to all her previous intent, she was a head-nurse, in
chaise 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
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290 CLARA BARTON
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 HosprrxL, ioih 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
could n'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 could n't look in, unless at
my side opening. It was the negro house for the planta-
tion, 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 de-
scended 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
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habitations of my less fortunate neighbors. One night I
remembered a darling little Massachusetts boy, sick of
fever and chronic diarrhoea, 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 could n'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 ; does n'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 ac-
knowledging the box many times, and expressing the
desire that others might follow it. I can form no es-
timate 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
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292 CLARA BARTON
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 fel-
lows! 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 could n't
survive. I went up again to see them, a day or two
after they all left. Colonel Gould had gone the day be-
fore. 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 oiu:
sacrifices.
I passed a most pleasant hour with Lieutenant Hitch-
cock. 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 j^t 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
tfuU 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 roughs but I
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thought it none the less necessary. If they, do so far
approve as to send me the proceeds of some of their valu-
able 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 depart-
ment. 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 loth 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 naw^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 did n't think so a
year ago. Well, I have told you all this to show you how
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294 CLARA BARTON
probable it is that I shall find it difficult to get off die
field this fall or even winter.
And thank you many times for your sisteriy 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 por-
tion of a whole corps comfortably supplied; and being
connected with the hospital and convalescent camp, con-
versant with the men, sui^geons, 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. Never-
theless 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 have n't
a pair of socks or shirts or drawers for a soldier in my
possession. I shall look with great anxiety now for any-
thing 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 tiiem, one day last week,
the last delicacy I possessed; it was but little — some
New York and New Jersey fruits; nothing from Massa-
chusetts for them. I was sorry; I wish I had. If I go to
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TO THE END OF THE WAR 295
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 theise things,
and if I go I must write to some of the friends of the sol-
diers the wants I see, and if they are disposed they can
place it in my power to make them comfortable, inde-
pendent of army regulations. You know this front hos-
pital 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 oi 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 At-
lanta; solid shot and shell with the guns pointed toward
Petersburg. Funny salutes we get up here. Yesterday
mom 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
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296 CLARA BARTON
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 inter-
esting.
Please give my kindly and high regards to Miss Sanford
and Mrs. Burleigh, Colonel De Witt, also, and all in-
quiring 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 por-
tion 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 Bar-
ton 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 ac-
tivity. 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
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TO THE END OF THE WAR 297
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 wcH'k with the
ajrmy 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 experi-
ence 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 pre-
served, but the money was not recovered. Two long
letters, written by Stephen Barton from the hospital,
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298 CLARA BARTON
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 lo, 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 hf other Stephen, when wUh me in front of Richmond
Hearing a voice I crept softly down my little confis-
cated stairway and waited in the shadows near his bed-
side. 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 Lin-
coln and his armies." A sob from me revealed my pres-
ence. 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,
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TO THE END OF THE WAR 299
but could only stand before him humbled and penitent
as if I had something to do with it all, and feel tibe tears
roll over my face. My silence confirmed his secret sus-
picions, and raising himself still higher, and Wery previ-
ous expression of his face intensifying tenfold, he ex-
claimed, "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 tihis 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 suf-
ferings 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 trod-
den 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 strug-
gled on a few weeks longer, alternating, hoping, and
despairing, suffering from the physical abuse he had re-
ceived, crushed in spirit, battling with disease and weak-
ness as only a brave man can, worrying over his unpro-
tected 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
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300 - CLARA BARTON
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 [>assed. 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
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TO THE END OF THE WAR 301
soul and inspiration of the movement which carried com-
fort 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
battlefield."
One characteristic of Clara Barton during these four
years deserves mention and emphasis because her inde-
pendent 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 versi-
f jdng. 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.
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302 CLARA BARTON
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; — " T is 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?
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TO THE END OF THE WAR 303
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, 't is 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 nunses 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 tiiis was the ''running" the men saw them do.
T was a hampered work, its worth largely lost;
T was 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.
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CHAPTER XIX
ANDERSONVILLB AND AFTER
Clara Barton's name continued on the roll of derks
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
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ANDERSONVILLE AND AFTER 305
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 pri-
soners, 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 die
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 neces-
sity 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 inmiured 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 head-
quarters. President Lincoln's letter was dated March 1 1 ,
1865, the day following the death of her brother Stephen.
This was followed, March 25, by a letter from General
Hitchcock:
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3o6 CLARA BARTON
Washington, D.C, Mardi 35, 1865
For the Commanding Officer at AnnapouSi 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 sol-
diers and their relatives could be brought into communi-
cation 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
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ANDERSONVILLE AND AFTER 307
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 ap-
pealed directly to the President of the United States,
asking that the roll be printed at the Government Print-
ing 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:
WASHmGTON, D.C., May aist, 1865
His Excellency
President of the United States *
Sir:
May I venture to enclose for perusal the within cir-
cular in the hope that it may to a certain extent explain
the object of the work in which I am engaged. The under-
taking 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 unfortimate men failing to appear under the
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3o8 CLARA BARTON
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 what-
ever 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 an back cf her letter
Chief Quartermaster's Office
Dbpoi of Washington
June 3, 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.
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LETTER TO PRESIDENT JOHNSON
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ENDORSEMENTS ON MISS BARTON's LETTER TO PRESIDENT JOHNSON
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ANDERSONVILLE AND AFTER 309
The undersigned, with a full understanding of the
benevolent purpose of Miss Barton and of its deep in-
terest for the public, most cordially commends it to the
approval of the President of the United States.
E. A, HrrcHCOCK
Maj. Gen. Vol.
June 2, 1865
I most heartily concur in the foregoing recommenda-
tions.
W. HOFFBiAN
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.a
June 2d, 1865 .
June 3d, 1865
Let this printing be done as speedily as possible con-
sistently with the public interest.
Andrew Johnson
Prest. U.S*
To Mr. Defrebs
Supt. Pub. Printing
On the same date, June 2, 1865, Miss Barton received
a pass from General Grant commending her to the land
consideration of all officers and instructing them to give
her all facilities that might be necessary in the prosecu-
tion of her mission. By General Grant's order, there
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310 CLARA BARTON
was also issued to her transportation for herself and two
assistants on all Government railroads and transports:
Hbadquartbss Armibs of thb Unttbd Statbs
WAsmNGTON, D.Ct June ad, 1865
The bearer hereof, Miss Clara Barton^ who is engaged
in making inquiries concerning the fate of soldiers re-
ported 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.
Hbadquartbss Abmibs of thb Unftbd Statbs
Washington, D.C, June 2nd, 1865
Miss Gara BarUm, 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 Conunand of Lieut«-General Grant
T. S. Breck
Asst. Adjt. Genl.
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 dis-
charged men, including prisoners and men released from
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ANDERSONVILLE AND AFTER 311
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 pub-
lished 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:
LocKPOBT, N.Y., April I7tli, 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 assiu^ you, a great griefs
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
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312 CLARA BARTON
Spsincvibld, Ills., Oct i6^ 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 / 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 de-
serve 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 *^mor^
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ANDERSONVILLE AND AFTER 313
fo/y" 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 sbter, for whom I entertain the
deepest respect and sympathy, I shall inform of your ex-
istence 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:
Grbenfibld, Mass., Sept 25, 191 1 /
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 Bri-
gade through the entire struggle, I was familiar with
your unselfish work at the front through those years
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314 CLARA BARTON .
when we were trying to restore a broken Union, and
being a prisoner of war at Andersonville at its dose, 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 bear-
ing 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 consump-
tion 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 head-
quarters receiving and discharging returned prisoners.
But much of her work was in Washington, and the oon-
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ANDERSONVILLE AND AFTER 315
stant journeys back and forth caused her to ask for a
conveyance. She made her application to General William
Ho£Fman, 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 suit-
able one could be found. It is to be hoped that within a
year or two a horse either with side-saddle or attached
to a wheeled conveyance was foimd tethered in front of
her bare lodging on the third floor of No. 488^^ 7th Street,
between D and E:
WASHiiiGTQNt D.C, June i6th, 1865
Brig.-Gen'l. Wm. Hoffman
CoMMST. 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
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3i6 CLARA BARTON
Hbad^abtbrs MnjTART District Of Washingtok
Washington, D.C, October 25, 1865
Miss Clara Barton:
I have conferred with General Wadsworth on the sub-
ject 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 per-
sonal 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
>i5,ooo.
It soon became evident that one of the most important
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ANDERSONVILLE AND AFTER 317
fields for investigation was such record as could be found
of the Southern prisons, especially Andersonville. To
Andersonville her attention was directed through a dis-
charged prisoner, Dorence Atwater, of Connecticut. He
was in the first detachment transferred, the latter part
of February, 1864, to the then new prison of Anderson-
ville, and because of his skillful penmanship was detailed
to keep a register of deaths of the prisoners. He occu-
pied 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. Be-
sides 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 dischai^.
At the dose 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 Wash-
ington, 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 in-
forming her of these rolls and affirmed that by means of
them he could identify almost every grave in Anderson-
ville Prison. Clara Barton was greatly interested, and
proposed to Secretary Stanton that she be sent to An-
dersonville 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.
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3i8 CLARA BARTON
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 Secre-
tary 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 busi-
ness. I said, " I did n'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 hia
register, to Andersonville, and see my suggestions carried
out to my entire satisfaction; that unlimited powers as
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ANDERSONVILLE AND AFTER 319
quartennaster 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 in-
terval 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 cem-
etery was in much bettei^ 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 giv-
ing 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
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320 CLARA BARTON
that the grounds be made a national oemetery. She
assui-ed 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 co5peration and Dorence Atwater's
presence with the list, hundreds if not thousands of graves
now certainly are identified at Andersonville which wou|d
have needed to be marked "Unknown":
Hon. E. M. Stanton
Sec'y. of War, Uniisd Stattss
Sir:
It affords me great pleasure to be able to report to you
that we reached Andersonville safely at i 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 Ander-
sonville 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
Andbrsonvuxb, Ga.
July 26th, 1865
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ANDERSONVILLE AND AFTER 321
The remaining pericxl 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 Bar-
ton came to the defense of Atwaten During her absence
at Andersonville, two letters were published in a Washing-
ton paper, over her signature, alleged to have been writ-
ten 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 in-
complete. 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 imme-
diately 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
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322 CLARA BARTON
thirteen thousand graves were fast becoming unidenti-
fiable. 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 At*
water'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 disap-
peared. 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 sen-
tenced to eighteen months' imprisonment, and after that
time until I shall have paid my Government three hun-
dred 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
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ANDERSONVILLE AND AFTER 323
authority for justice. I supposed this to be one of the
privileges of an American citizen, one of the great prin-
ciples of the Government for which we had fought and
sidfered; 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 al-
lowed to claim their protection.
My offense consists in an attempt to make known to
the relatives and friends the fate of the imfortunate men
who died in Andersonville Prison, and if this be a crime
I am guilty to the fullest extent of the law, for to accom-
plish 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 ac-
complishes 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 sym-
pathy 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.
DORENCB AtWATER
On September 25, 1865, just one month from the day
when he retiuned from Andersonville from the marking
of the soldiers' graves, Dorence Atwater, as Clara Barton
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324 CLARA BARTON
records, "was heavily ironed, and under escort of a sol-
dier and captain as guard, in open daylight, and in the
face of his acquaintances, taken through the streets of
WashingtcMi to the Baltimore depot, and placed upon the
cars, a convict boimd to Auburn State Prison."
Clara BartcMi had moved heaven and earth to save
Dorence from imprisonment; had done everything ex-
cepting 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. Sec-
retary 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:
Rob's Hoibl, Wbst PoofT, Sq>teiiiber 5^1, 1865
Hon. E. M. Stanton
Sec'y. of War, USA.
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 widi 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 fair-
ness, 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 per-
sonal 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,
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ANDERSONVILLE AND AFTER 325
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 re-
lease 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' im-
prisonment, he was released imder 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
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326 CLARA BARTON
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 copjong 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 pub-
lished, 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 colunms 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 pub-
lication, 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 ap-
peared the word "Andersonvillb" in a single line of
capitals, varied here and there by "Andersonville;
See Advertisement on 8th page." No one who read that
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ANDERSONVILLE AND AFTER 327
day's "Tribune*' could escape the word " Andersonville."
The editorial page contained the followinj; paragraph:
We have just issued a carefully compiled List of the
Union Soldiers Buried at AndersonviUe — arranged al-
phabetically under the names of their respective States,
and containing every name that has been or can be re-
covered. 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 AndersonviUe
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 Sey-
chelles 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.
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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 accoimt of them. Miss Dix was superin-
tendent 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
man2^[ed 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
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career, and making it a great blessing to others, she did
not desire that young women should emulate it or con-
sider 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 e£Fective use of the
newspaper for like purposes. At first she did not fully
realize her own gift as a writer. Once or twice she be-
moaned in her diaty 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 pos-
sibly be financially profitable.
On this subject she wrote two letters to Senator Henry
^^son. They are undated, and it is probable that she
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330 CLARA BARTON
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. / am
desirous of writing a hook. 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 some-
thing 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 himdred 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 Govern*
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ment and it is my duty to do these things, or that I am
canying 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 sjrstem,
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 per-
mitted 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 thir-
teen thousand sleeping in that dty of the dead.
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332 CLARA BARTON
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 experi-
ences 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 Lin-
coln 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 per-
sons 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 im,
he would know that I would not be illiberal, especially
as pecuniary profit is but a secondary consideration.
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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 imderstand 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 in-
vestments 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
himdred 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
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334 CLARA BARTON
search for missing soldiers, therefore, she had quite a
little money of her own. She began that work of volun-
teer 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 re-
turned 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 ap-
propriation for the continuance of the work. She had
two influential friends at court. Senator Henry \^son,
her intimate and trusted friend. Chairman of the Com-
mittee 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 ii;! 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 recogni-
tion 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 saj^, were tiuned 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 be-
lieve I will see Dr. Crane in the morning and make an
effort to bring Dr. Buzzell here to help frame the bill.'*
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2 She did exactly what she believed she would do;
,. saw Dr. Crane, got her recommendation that Dn Buzzell
], be allowed to come, and then went to the Senate. The
2 thing she labored for was accomplished, though it called
>j 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
I 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
I still as Miss Barton's guest continued in almost frantic
uncertainty, awaiting the President's signature. It hap-
pened 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 chiaLrge of the correspondence between
the country and the Government offidals 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 pro-
motion, and resolved to get it for him; assisted in wel-
coming four boatloads of returned prisoners, and defined
more clearly in her own mind the kind of work that
needed to be done.
The next Simday Senator Wilson called on her again,
and she told him she had offered her services for this
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336 CLARA BARTON
work, and wanted the President's endorsement In order
that she might not be interfered with. Senator Wilscm
offered to go with her to see President Lincoki, and they
went next day, but did not succeed in seeing him. She
went again next day, this time without Senator ^^son,
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. Wash-
bume, of Illinob. Mr. Washbume 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. Washbume took her
paper and said he would see the President and obtain
his endorsement. She saw Senator Wilson that after-
noon, and reported that her papers were still imendoraed,
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.
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 Bartc»i read the prob-
able 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
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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 inaugura-
tion, 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 imtil 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 with-
out 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 dis-
couraged. 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
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338 CLARA BARTON
not the first to welcome him. His body was embahnedt
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 conmience 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 author*
ized 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 Octo-
ber, when it seemed certain her department was to have
official status with the payment of all its necessary ex-
penses 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 ^idshed me to make out my
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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 im-
proper suggestion. Mingling as she did with men on the
battle-field, living alone in a room that was open to con-
stant 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 excep-
tional 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 ex-
plained, a few days later, when the Boston "Journal**
published an editorial sajring 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 dis-
favor, 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.
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340 CLARA BARTON
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
have n'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 ex-
penses 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 starva-
tion. 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, con-
templated 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
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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 dearly, 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 in-
fluence 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.
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34^ CLARA BARTON
Gradually, her plan to publish a book changed. In-
stead she would write a lecture. She went to hear dif-
ferent women speakers, and was gratified whenever she
found a woman who could speak in public efiFectively.
A woman preacher came to Washington, and she listened
to her. Even in the pulpit a woman could speak ac-
ceptably. When she traveled on the train, she was sur-
prised 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 omsideration, — 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 plat-
form. Her rates were one hundred dollars per night, ex-
cepting 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 AndersonviUe. 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
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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 jour-
ney, together with the exact sum she received for each
lectiu^, 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 messs^ and a token to some distant friend of mine,
For I was bora 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 be-
ginning 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 re-
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344 CLARA BARTON
turned 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 dol-
lars. On Saturday night she spoke in Schenectady,
where she received fifty dollars, and found, what many
a lecturer has learned, that it was not profitaUe to cut
prices. A diminished fee means less local advertising.
The audience was smaller and less appreciative. On
Monday evening she spoke in Brookljm. Theodore Til-
ton presided and introduced her. There she had an ova-
tion. 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 con-
tained no flaw for him to mend. She went back to Wash-
ington 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 ar-
ranged 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.
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ON THE LECTURE PLATFORM 345
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 De-
troit, 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 Mil-
waukee, Evanston, Kalamazoo, Detroit, Flint, Galesbiu^,
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 comer 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.
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346 CLARA BARTON
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 lec-
tured in New Haven and found the people unrespon-
sive, but she had a good time at Terryville, Connecticut.
There Dorence Atwater was at home. It was character-
istic 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 ex^
tended her tour all over New England.
After this she made other long toiuB 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. Fot
eight years, beginning with the outbreak of the Civil
War, she had lived in rooms on the third floor of a busi-
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ON THE LECTURE PLATFORM 347
ness block. The two flights of stairs and the unpreten*
tiousness 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 af-
fairs. 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 Bar-
ton's careful habits indicated a very large degree of sat-
isfaction.
The next day, assisted by her colored woman Rosa and
her negro man Uncle Jarret, and with some help from
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348 CLARA BARTON
two kindly neighborsi 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 physi-
cians pronounced it nervous prostration, prescribed three
years of complete rest, and ordered her to go to Europe.
BND OF VOLUMB I
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