Chapter VI: Part 6

After remaining several days in Cincinnati and relieving all the
suffering so far as it was met with, Miss Barton, on March 3,
removed her headquarters to Evansville, Ind., where arrangements
were at once commenced to reach and aid the sufferers between this
point and Cairo, Ill. Captain J.V. Throop kindly placed his steamer,
the "Josh V. Throop," at the disposal of the Red Cross without any
expense except the actual running cost of the boat. The steamer was
at once loaded with an immense quantity of boxes, barrels, bales and
bundles of clothing, being donations from various private parties
and relief organizations throughout the country which had been
accumulating here for some time, together with a large amount of
bedding and fuel, and started on its mission of mercy down the river
in charge of Miss Clara Barton, Saturday, March 8, 1884.

Miss Barton was accompanied and assisted on this trip by Dr. J.B.
Hubbell, of Washington, D. C, the field agent of the association;
Rev. E.J. Galvin, agent of the Chicago Red Cross Association; Miss
Hamilton, of St. Louis, with Mrs. De Bruler and several other
Evansville ladies. Relief was given to all the sufferers needing it
below Evansville and Wickliff, Ky., below Cairo. The party reached
Cairo March 15, and after proceeding down the river to Wickliff,
Ky., turned back, arriving at Evansville March 20. In addition to
the supplies mentioned, the Rev. E.J. Galvin, of Chicago, had placed
at his disposal $25,000, from which checks were drawn and left with
any party needing financial assistance. Miss Barton and her corps of
assistants remained in Evansville after their return until April 2,
when the relief transactions throughout the Ohio valley having been
practically finished, she removed her headquarters to St. Louis,
Mo., where a relief boat was at once fitted out and similar
assistance tendered to the sufferers in the inundated districts of
the lower Mississippi. Miss Barton was further aided on this trip by
Mr. John Hitz, of Washington, D.C.

On May 25th Miss Barton made a second trip down the Ohio with the steamer "Josh V. Throop" under charter with household supplies and farming implements for the recent sufferers. The boat went as far as Elizabethtown, or possibly a few miles below, and then turning back, proceeded up stream to Wheeling or Pittsburgh till the supplies were exhausted.

"THE LITTLE SIX."

It is possible that some readers may recall the story of the "Little Six," which was locally published at the time, but which I venture to reproduce, as an extract from the Erie _Dispatch_, of Monday March 24, 1884:

_Dispatch_ readers doubtless recollect its account some weeks ago of
the manner in which six children of Waterford gave a public
entertainment for the benefit of the Ohio flood sufferers; how they
themselves suggested it; how their efforts were crowned with
success; and how they brought the entire proceeds, $51.25, raised by
their unpaid efforts, to the editor of the _Dispatch_ with the
request that the latter forward it "where it would do the most
good." The _Dispatch_ complied by forwarding it to Miss Clara
Barton, president of the American Red Cross Association. The
following letter tells the story of the disposition of the money.
The names of the noble little band, of which any town in the nation
ought to be proud of, are: Reed White, Florence Howe, Lloyd Barton,
Joe Farrar, Mary Barton, Bertie Ensworth. The oldest is twelve years
of age.

* * * * *

MISS BARTON'S LETTER

A TOUCHING INCIDENT VERY TOUCHINGLY RELATED.

RED CROSS RELIEF STEAMER, "JOSH V. THROOP,"
OFF SHAWNEETOWN, ILLINOIS,
OHIO RIVER, _March 18, 1884_,
MR. M.E. CAMP, Editor of the Erie _Dispatch_:

At length, I have the happiness to inform you that I have placed the
contribution of the brave Little Six to my own satisfaction, and, as
I believe, to the satisfaction of the little donors and the friends
interested in them as well. Your letter inclosing the touching
article describing their pretty thought and act, and the check for
the sum donated by them to the sufferers from the floods, came
during the early days of hurry and confused activity. The entire
matter was too beautiful and withal unique, to meet only a common
fate in its results. I could not, for a moment, think to mingle the
gift of the little dramatists with the common fund for general
distribution, and sought through all these weeks for a fitting
disposition to make of it, where it would all go in some special
manner to relieve some special necessity. I wanted it to benefit
some children who had "wept on the banks" of the river which in its
madness had devoured their home. I watched carefully all the way
down on this trip, and tried, last Sunday, at Smithland on our
return to make a little "foundation" for a children's help and
instruction at that town which had suffered so terribly; but I could
not satisfy myself, and after telling the pretty story to the best
people of the town assembled on our boat, I still declined to leave
the appropriation, waiting in confidence for the real opportunity
to present and which we have met in the last hour. As we neared that
picturesque spot on the Illinois side of the Ohio, known as
"Cave-in-Rock," we were hailed by a woman and her young daughter.
The boat "rounded to" and made the landing and they came on board--a
tall, thin worn woman in a tattered suit, with a good, but
inexpressibly sad face, who wished to tell us that a package which
we had left for her at the town on our way down had never reached
her. She was a widow--Mrs. Plew--whose husband, a good river pilot,
had died from overwork on a hard trip to New Orleans in the floods
of the Mississippi two years before, leaving her with six children
dependent upon her, the eldest a lad in his "teens," the youngest a
little baby girl. They owned their home, just on the brink of the
river, a little "farm" of two or three acres, two horses, three
cows, thirty hogs and a half hundred fowls, and in spite of the
bereavement they had gone on bravely, winning the esteem and
commendation of all who knew them for thrift and honest endeavor.
Last year the floods came heavily upon them, driving them from their
home, and the two horses were lost. Next the cholera came among the
hogs and all but three died. Still they worked on and held the home.
This spring came the third flood. The water climbed up the bank,
crept in at the door and filled the lower story of the house. They
had nowhere to remove their household goods, and stored them in the
garret carefully packed and went out to find a shelter in an old log
house near by, used for a corn crib. Day by day they watched the
house, hailed passing boats for the news of the rise and fall of the
water above, always trusting the house would stand--"and it would,"
the mother said "(for it was a good, strong house), but for the
storm." The wind came and the terrible gale that swept the valley
like a tornado, with the water at its height, leveling whole towns,
descended and beat upon that house and it fell. In the morning there
was no house there and the waves in their fury rushed madly on. Then
these little children "stood and wept on the banks of the river,"
and the desolation and fear in the careful mother's heart, none but
herself and her God can know.

They lived in the corn-crib, and it was from it they came to hail us
as we passed to-day. Something had been told us of them on our
downward trip, and a package had been left them at "Cave-in-Rock,"
which they had not received. We went over shoe-tops in mud to their
rude home, to find it one room of logs, an old stone chimney, with a
cheerful fire of drift-wood and a clean hearth, two wrecks of beds,
a table, and two chairs, which some kind neighbor had loaned. The
Government boats had left them rations. There was an air of thrift,
even in their desolation, a plank walk was laid about the door, the
floor was cleanly swept, and the twenty-five surviving hens, for an
equal number was lost in the storm, clucked and craiked comfortably
about the door, and there were two and a half dozen fresh eggs to
sell us at a higher rate than paid in town. We stood, as we had done
so many scores of times during the last few weeks, and looked this
pitiful scene in the face. There was misfortune, poverty, sorrow,
want, loneliness, dread of future, but fortitude, courage, integrity
and honest thrift.

"Would she like to return to the childhood home in Indiana?" we
asked the mother, for we would help them go.

"No," she said tenderly. "My husband lived and died here. He was
buried here, and I would not like to go away and leave him alone. It
won't be very long, and it is a comfort to the children to be able
to visit his grave. No, I reckon we will stay here, and out of the
wreck of the old house which sticks up out of the mud, we will put
another little hut, higher up in the bank out of the way of the
floods, and if it is only a hut, it will be a home for us and we
will get into it."

There were no dry eyes, but very still hearts, while we listened to
this sorrowful but brave little speech, made with a voice full of
tears.

Our thoughtful field agent, Dr. Hubbell, was the first to speak.

"Here are six children," he said with an inquiring glance at me.

No response was needed. The thing was done. We told the mother the
story of the "Little Six" of Waterford, and asked her if that money
with enough more to make up one hundred dollars would help her to
get up her house? It was her turn to be speechless. At length with a
struggling, choking voice she managed to say--"God knows how much it
would be to me. Yes, with my good boys I can do it, and do it well."

We put in her hands a check for this sum, and directed from the boat
clean boxes of clothing and bedding, to help restore the household,
when the house shall have been completed.

Before we left her, we asked if she would name her house when it
would be done. She thought a second and caught the idea.

"Yes," she replied quickly, with a really winsome smile on that worn
and weary face, "yes, I shall name it 'The Little Six.'"

And so, dear Mr. Camp, will you kindly tell those brave little
philanthropic dramatists, that they are to have a house down on the
banks of the great rolling river, and that one day, I think, will
come a letter to tell them that another six children are nightly
praying God to bless them for the home that will shelter them from
the floods and the storms.

Sincerely and cordially yours,

CLARA BARTON.

In reply the following letters were received:

WATERFORD, PA., _March 25, 1884_.

M.E. CAMP, Editor of Erie _Dispatch_:

DEAR SIR: The "Little Six" met yesterday and wrote the accompanying
letter, which they would like to have you forward to Miss Clara
Barton. They wish me to thank you for sending them copies of your
paper containing Miss Barton's beautiful letter to them. If you or
Miss Barton ever had any doubts in regard to a child's appreciation
of favors shown, I wish you could have seen those bright, happy
faces as they gave three cheers for "ye editor" and three times
three for Miss Clara Barton and the "Home of the Little Six" on the
banks of the Ohio.

MRS. LOYD BENSON, Committee.

WATERFORD, _March 24, 1884_.

DEAR MISS BARTON:

We read your nice letter in the _Dispatch_, and we would like very
much to see that house called "The Little Six," and we are so glad
we little six helped six other little children, and we thank you
for going to so much trouble in putting our money just where we
would have put it ourselves.

Sometime again when you want money to help you in your good work,
call on the "Little Six."

JOE FARRAR, twelve years old.
FLORENCE HOWE, eleven years old.
MARY BARTON, eleven years old.
REED WHITE, eleven years old.
BERTIE ENSWORTH, ten years old.
LLOYD BARTON, seven years old.

It could not fail to have been a satisfaction to me to know that I had done my work as they would have "done it themselves."

As long as we remained on the river this family was occasionally visited by our boat. On one occasion a strong flagstaff twenty feet in length was taken and firmly set upon the bank near where they would place their house. Its well-lettered cross board at the top showed "Little Six Red Cross Landing," and this point has remained a landing on the Ohio River probably unto this day.

During this trip on the upper Ohio, which was even yet scarcely safe for running at night, we had, after a hard day's work, found a cove and tied our boat for the night. It was a rather sequestered spot, and the appearance of a full-size river steamer, halting for the night on one of its banks, attracted the attention of the few people residing there, and at dusk a body of five or six men came to the boat to ask if we were in trouble that we stopped there, and if there were anything they could do for us. We quieted their kindly apprehensions and invited them on board. The lights revealed a condition of personal poverty which should have more naturally asked help than offered it. On the entire trip with its thousands of miles, among white and black, we had never seen such evidences of destitution. They scarcely could have decently gone among civilized people, and yet as they spoke, there was no lack of sense. On the contrary, they seemed in many ways to be men of the world. Their language, while provincial, had nothing uncommon in it, and altogether they were a study to us. We gave them some supper, and while eating, learned the facts of their lives.

Either by blood or marriage, they were all relatives, consisting of six families, making in all about thirty people. They all lived together--such living as it was--and there seemed to be among them a perfectly good understanding. They had always lived on the river banks, probably more on the river than off of it. They were not farmers, never planted or raised anything, subsisting mainly upon fish and the floating drift to be picked up. Thus, they clung to the river like the muskrat and beaver, and were washed out with every flood. Sixteen of them at that time were living under some slanting boards.

After supper our men quietly invited them to the clothing department on the stern of the ship, and exchanged their garments.

Thus we got hold of these people, clothed, fed, encouraged and advised them, got them into houses, furnished them, formed them into a little colony, put up a landing named, at their own request, "Red Cross Big Six," and took care of the women and children. Every man foreswore his drink, his cards and his betting, and went to work for the first time in his life.

We found a faithful merchant to stand by, advise them and report to us. From year to year we have helped to keep them clothed. The children immediately went to school, and the next year for the first time they planted land and raised their own food; and the growing thrift and strange prosperity of this body of heretofore vagrants began after a time to excite the envy of its neighbors, who thought they were getting on better than themselves, and their merchant friend had to repel it.

Only one or two of them could write a little, but they made good use of their accomplishment as far as possessed. One day I received a letter from one of their _savants_, Charley Hunter, out of which among much that was encouraging, with considerable labor, I deciphered the following: "We are all doing well. We don't drink or play cards no more. I got the flannel undershirts and drawers and the medicine you sent me. My rhumatis is better. I know now I have got two friends; one is you and the other is God."

I was sorry he named me first; I do not think he intended it. I might add that two years later these people had united with the church; that the children were all in school, and that one daughter was being educated for a teacher.

On the lower Ohio one of the villages most wrecked by the waters and the cyclone was Smithland, an old aristocratic borough on the Kentucky side. They had no coal, and we supplied them as we went down. On our return we lowered steam and threw out our landing prow opposite the town. The whistle of the "Throop" was as welcome to their ears as the flag to their eyes.

It was a bright, clear, spring morning and Sunday. In an hour the entire little hamlet of people stood on our decks; only four, they said, were left at home, and these sick and infirm. They had selected their lawyer to speak their thanks, and they had chosen well. No words will ever do justice to the volume of native eloquence which seemed to roll unbidden from his lips. We listened in mute surprise until he finished with these sentences:

At noon on that day we were in the blackness of despair. The whole
village in the power of the demon of waters, hemmed in by sleet and
ice, without fire enough to cook its little food. When the bell
struck nine that night, there were seventy-five families on their
knees before their blazing grates, thanking God for fire and light,
and praying blessings on the phantom ship with the unknown device
that had come as silently as the snow, they knew not whence, and
gone, they knew not whither.

A few days later we finished the voyage of relief, having covered the Ohio River from Cincinnati to Cairo and back twice, and the Mississippi from St. Louis to New Orleans and return, occupying four months' time on the rivers, in our own chartered boats, finishing at Pittsburg and taking rail for Washington on the first of July, having traveled over eight thousand miles, and distributed in relief, of money and estimated material, $175,000.

The government had expended an appropriation from the treasury on the same waters of $150,000 in money, and distributed it well. The difference was that ours was not appropriated; we gathered it as we used it.

THE TEXAS FAMINE.

Occasional rumors reached us in the years 1885 and 1886 about a drouth in Texas and consequent suffering, but they were so contradictory and widely at variance that the public took little or no heed of them. During the year of 1886 the Rev. John Brown, a North Presbyterian minister, located at Albany, Shackelford County, Texas, began making appeals by circular and oral address to the people of the Northern States, in which he asserted that there were a hundred thousand families in northwestern Texas who were utterly destitute and on the verge of starvation. He stated that since the close of the war a large number of poor families had been constantly crowding into Texas from the Southern States principally, induced thither by land agents and others, who gave glowing representations of the character of the soil for farming purposes.

These poor people, by hard labor and industry, had been generally able to make a living and nothing more. The last fall they had planted wheat and other grain quite extensively, but the rains came not and everything perished; and in the following spring and summer, too, everything put into the ground was blasted by the hot winds, so that not a thing was raised for man or beast. For fifteen months no rain had fallen, and the condition of the people was pitiable and called aloud to the charitable throughout the land for relief. They must be carried through to the next summer or they would perish. At a meeting of the citizens of Albany, Texas, they decided that the task of relieving the sufferers was greater than the well-to-do people of the State were able to undertake, and that an appeal should be made to the good-hearted people of the North for immediate aid. The Governor of Texas also published an appeal to the people of the whole land, asking for food for these people. But as there was no concerted action, and so many denials of the stories of suffering, little or nothing in the way of relief work was accomplished for some time. Spasmodic attempts were made, and some food for man and beast was contributed, but not enough to relieve a hundredth part of the needy.

The Rev. Dr. Brown went to the State Capital and endeavored to interest the legislature in the matter, but there were seemingly so much misunderstanding and unbelief, and so many conflicting interests to reconcile, that he failed to receive any substantial assurances and left the place in disgust. When the citizens of Texas could not agree as to the necessities of their own people it was not to be expected that the citizens of the country would take much interest in them, hence the relief movement languished from inanition.

About the middle of January, 1887, Dr. Brown came to Washington and, as solicitor and receiving agent for the committee which had issued an appeal to the country, appealed to me, as president of the American National Red Cross, asking our organization to come to the relief of the people, who were in a deplorable state, greatly needing food and clothing. I immediately shipped to Texas all the stores that were then in our warehouse, but they were no great quantity.

An appeal direct to the Red Cross required immediate attention, and I at once sought a conference with President Cleveland, who was greatly worried over the contradictory stories that were constantly printed, and was anxious to learn the truth about the matter. When I said that I should go to Texas and see for myself, he was greatly pleased, and requested me to report to him the exact situation just as soon as I had satisfied myself by personal investigation.

Dr. Hubbell and I proceeded directly to Albany, Texas, where we arrived near the end of January. We were met by the leading citizens and most heartily welcomed and accorded every privilege and attention. We began our investigations at once in a systematic way, carefully noting everything we heard and saw; and in the course of a two weeks' trip over the afflicted region, we learned the extent of the need and formulated plans for its relief.

Making Albany our object point, we traveled by private conveyance over such territory as we thought sufficient to give a correct knowledge of the condition of the country and the people. We met large numbers of the residents, both collectively and at their homes, and learned from them personally and by actual observation their condition and what they had to depend upon during the next few months. It will be borne in mind that when we entered upon this investigation little or no relief had come from the State, and none was positively assured.

Almost no rain had fallen during a period of eighteen months; two planted crops had perished in the ground, and the seed wheat sown the previous fall gave no signs of life. The dust was rolling over the great wind-swept fields, where the people had hidden their last little forlorn hope of borrowed seed, and literally a heaven of brass looked down upon an earth of iron.

Here were twenty to forty counties of a size commensurate with Texan dimensions occupied by new settlers, making their first efforts in the pioneer work of developing home life in an untried country, soil and climate. They had put their all into the new home and the little stock they could afford for its use. They had toiled faithfully, planted two and three times, as long as there was anything to plant or sow, and in most instances failed to get back their seed. Many had grown discouraged and left the country. The people were not actually starving, but they were in the direst want for many of the necessities of life, and it was only a matter of days when they would have reached the condition of the reconcentrados as we later found them in Cuba. Hundreds of thousands of cattle had died for the want of food and water, and their drying carcasses and bleaching bones could be seen in every direction as the eye wandered over the parched surface of the plains.

I at once saw that in the vastness of its territory and varying interests the real need of these suffering communities was not understood by the Texas people--it had not come home to them--but that once comprehending, it would be their wish to have it known and cared for by themselves and not by others outside of the State.

Assuring these poor people that their actual condition should be made known to their own people, through the authoritative means of the Red Cross, and that they should be speedily cared for, we bade them farewell and hurried away to Dallas, where we intended to send out a statement to the people of the State.

Arriving there, we sought an interview with Colonel Belo of the Dallas _News_ and laid before him the result of our observations. He placed the columns of his paper at our disposal, and through them we enlightened the people of the true status of affairs in their own State. The response was as quick as it was gratifying, and thence onward there was no further necessity for appealing to anyone outside of the State limits. Indeed, that act in the first place was the greatest mistake, as to the average Texan, feeling a genuine pride in the State's wealth and resources, it savored of frauds and imposition, and prejudiced him against the brother who would pass him by and appeal to outsiders.

The Texas Legislature appropriated one hundred thousand dollars for food, and in the meantime rain began to fall and the entire aspect of affairs began to change for the better. But there were still many needs unprovided for--clothing, fuel, seeds for gardens and fields, live stock and many other things--and it was necessary to place these needs before the people. This the _News_ took upon itself to do; and upon my suggestion it opened a popular subscription and announced that it would receive contributions of seed or cash and would publish the same from day to day and turn them over to the constituted authorities appointed to disburse them. In order to encourage the movement I inaugurated it with the first subscription, and from that time until now I do not believe any one has heard of any need in Texas that has not been taken care of by her own people.

Congress had appropriated ten thousand dollars for seed to be given the Texas drouth sufferers; but President Cleveland promptly vetoed the act and thereby laid himself open to a great deal of unkind criticism. He was right, however, and by his resolute action saved the nation's money and the State's pride. I know that it must have been an unpleasant duty for the President to feel compelled to apply his pruning knife to that tender shoot, for he was one of the first to respond with his own personal check to the call for aid for the drouth sufferers; and the subject had always held his kindly interest.

The services of the Red Cross, beyond those given by its president and field agent in making their investigation, were not required in this emergency; and as we had performed the duty most needed, viz.: to unravel the misunderstanding and rightly inform the people of the true condition of affairs in the stricken district, we concluded that our task was ended and that we could return to our home.

On our return to Washington the following report was made to the President:

_February 19, 1889._

_To the President of the United States_:

MR. PRESIDENT--I have not been unmindful of your distinguished
permission to write you concerning the condition of the people of
Texas suffering from the drouth. Desiring to spare your time and
labor so far as possible, I delayed my communication until the
investigations should be completed, and my opinions in regard to the
extent of their necessities, and the sources from which relief
should properly emanate, could be satisfactorily settled in my own
mind.

The prime reason for my going in person, to Texas was my entire
inability to solve the mystery of why Texas was not equal to the
care of its own poor and the meeting of its own calamities. I could
not comprehend how a couple of seasons of drouth in one sparsely
settled corner of an old State of six millions of acres, with a
treasury out of debt, should throw the people of that State upon the
charity of the other States, or upon the support of the general
government. My investigations brought to light the following
perplexed conditions:

She had contending interests between her original cattlemen who
wanted the lands left open, and the farmers who came in to settle
them up; the former placing every obstacle, like the cutting of
fences and driving off stock, in the way of the little immigrant!

A second conflicting interest arose between these same original
lords of the soil--the free ranchmen--and those, who, through
railroad grants or purchase, had become actual owners of land which
they desired to sell, and for this purpose, and to this end, held
out unwarranted inducements, clothed in glowing descriptions, both
false and dangerous, to encourage immigration, for which no
preparation against the failure of crops from any cause, or toward
the opening of industries of any other kind had been made--not even
the taking care to leave a small sum at the discretion of the
governor in case any harm might befall these newly invited citizens.
The immigrants, on their part, coming, as they had been instructed
to believe, into a semi-tropical climate, with exhaustless soil
covered with almost perpetual verdure, made no provisions beyond the
wants of the hour. One looked long and generally in vain for some
trace of a cellar, or storehouse, or barn, or even the marks of some
former hayrick, which might betoken some thought of provision for
the future on the part of these so-called farmers. Pioneer like,
they had wasted what they could not at the moment use. In this
condition the drouth struck this section of the country.

Fearing the effect of these conflicting interests, the mistake was
made of their coming out of the State to solicit aid, in the place
of turning bravely and confidently to the people of her rich
Southern sections for help among themselves.

Again, the mistake of overstatement was made, and a population of
thousands represented as "starving," when in reality no one had
starved nor was expected to. They were in far too great want, but
not "starving." These statements served to mortify and incense the
people, and to turn the strength of nearly the entire press of the
State against the statements of those representing the distress, and
literally to kill all help from both without and within.

Added to this, the courtesy of the railroads entering the State, and
which at the first call for help had generously offered free freight
on all gifts for the drouth sufferers, had most unfortunately been
abused, and the occasion used by dealers to send goods in free to
their customers for sale. This had the effect in ten days to shut
off all free railroad transportation into the State, and thus it
remains to-day, and the freight on a carload of gift oats from the
grain centres of the Northwest would exceed their value when there.

These were a part of the perplexing conditions which confronted me
upon my arrival in Albany, January, 1887.

The Legislature was occupied in electing a senator, and so continued
during two weeks, paying no attention to the Relief bill before it.
Meanwhile, I occupied myself in traveling by private conveyance
among the people, learning their conditions from themselves. They
suffered every necessity but _homelessness_, and this was the worst
feature in the case. Lacking this, they would have felt justified in
going away and seeking plenty in the homes of others; but how to
pick up their unfed children and travel out, leaving their few
cattle to the cowboys and the farm to the tax collector.

I attempted to write the real state of things to you; but of what
use? I might as well have sent you a tangled skein of silk to pick
out for the winding. It was clearly no case for a great call for
charity from the people at large, neither for governmental aid.
Texas was a thousand times equal to it herself, when once she looked
it clearly in the face and set about the work. This she at length
commenced by an appropriation of $100,000 for food.

As good fortune would have it, rains commenced, the wheat was
apparently saved, and hope revived. There was still need for staple
grains at once to plant and sow the fields. These must come from the
people within the State, as they had closed all avenues from
without, and it was proper they should furnish them. But it could
only be accomplished by the aid of the press, which was still
pointing its horns at John Brown, who persisted in declaring that "a
million of dollars must come from Congress or the people of the
North." There was no way but to reach the press, and turn its powers
in the true direction.

The arrangement was not difficult for us to make. The columns of
both the Dallas and Galveston _News_ are open for a "Seed Fund" from
the State, pledged to close them only when the need is met. I left
that night, feeling that the skein was unraveled, and _our_ part of
the work done.

I thank you with all my heart, Mr. President, for the encouragement
given me at the commencement, and the privilege of writing you. I
have done this little bit of work faithfully, and hope it may meet
your approval. I am home, with scarcely strength to leave my bed,
but I trust we have heard the _last of "Texas drouth_."

I have the honor to be,
Most respectfully,
CLARA BARTON.

PARLORS. VESTIBULE AND LOWER HALL.
FIRST OFFICE. SECOND OFFICE AND BREAKFAST ROOM.]

THE MOUNT VERNON CYCLONE.

ILLINOIS.

Sunday, February 19, 1888, will ever be a memorable day in the annals of the little town of Mount Vernon, Ill.--a day of supreme horrors, destruction and death. There had been thunder and lightning during the afternoon, followed by rain and hail, which had given away to an ominous stillness. The sky was covered with a wierd light, and the air was strangely oppressive. The clouds rapidly changed color, rolling and whirling, and dropping nearer to the earth, until suddenly they assumed the dreaded shape of a huge funnel or inverted cone, which came whirling along with an awful roar, and within three minutes after the fury of the storm had struck the town, thirty people had been killed and scores of others injured, and an immense amount of property destroyed.

Mount Vernon is the county seat of Jefferson county, and contained four thousand inhabitants. It was a pretty and prosperous place; its business centre surrounded a public square, whose four sides were lined with stores, and the middle ground occupied by the county court house, a fine three-story building; its broad streets were bordered with shade trees and lighted by electricity.

The cyclone cut a broad swath through the eastern half of the town, destroying everything in its path, tearing down brick houses, uprooting trees, and picking up small wooden houses and carrying them along as if they were made of cardboard, and finally dashing them to pieces against more substantial obstacles. In a very few minutes after the storm had passed, the sun shone out brightly, but on what a scene! The air was filled with cries of anguish coming from the maimed sufferers crushed under the ruins, and with the wailings for the dead and missing.

To add to the horrors already wrought, fire broke out in a dozen places. Those who were uninjured quickly came to the rescue, quenching the flames and exerting themselves to relieve the unfortunate victims, who were, in most cases, pinned down under the wreckage of their houses. All night long these brave men and women worked, and when morning came the few houses that remained standing were filled with the dead and injured.

Appeals for assistance were sent out to the people of the country, but through an improper statement of the situation, the public was misled, and not realizing the pressing needs of the stricken community, failed to take up the matter in a business-like manner, and the town was left to suffer for a little of the great abundance that was around them. In their extremity the despairing citizens appealed to the Red Cross for aid, which responded at once.

A most deplorable situation was presented: the people were homeless and helpless, neglected, and in a state of mind bordering on insanity.

After a somewhat hasty examination of the situation, the following simple message was sent to both the Associated and the United Press:

The pitiless snow is falling on the heads of three thousand people
who are without homes, without food or clothing and without money.

CLARA BARTON.

With only this little word to explain the needs, our generous American people responded promptly and liberally, as they always do when they fully understand what is needed.

It was unnecessary to remain longer than two weeks with these people, who, as soon as they recovered from the first shock of their great misfortune, and when they felt that kind friends were by their side, lending them moral and substantial support, manfully commenced to bring order out of chaos, to rebuild their town and resume their usual avocations. Large quantities of relief supplies of all kinds quickly came to hand, and when we were ready to leave them, the Citizens' Committee had in its treasury a cash balance of ninety thousand dollars. And thus, with their blessings ringing in our ears, we left them.

We were scarcely home from Mount Vernon when the yellow fever of Florida broke out in the summer and autumn of 1888.

YELLOW FEVER EPIDEMIC IN FLORIDA.

During the month of August, 1888, yellow fever broke out in Jacksonville, and in September it was declared to be epidemic, the usual alarm and exodus of citizens taking place. On September eighth heroic measures to depopulate the city were taken. Every person that was still well and could leave was requested to go; very little urging was necessary. Camps were established outside of the city, where those who had not the means to go further and get better quarters were enabled to live under medical surveillance, and away from the seat of infection.

The Mayor of Jacksonville had made an appeal for doctors and nurses, which had been quickly responded to, and they were doing everything possible to attend to the rapidly increasing number of patients.

On the formation of the Red Cross Society of New Orleans in 1893, it had been carefully and wisely arranged that in case of yellow fever becoming epidemic in any place, no unacclimated persons, or those not immune, should be sent as assistants by the Red Cross. New Orleans was the home of the famous "Old Howard Association," that had won its reputation and worn its grateful renown from the horrors of Memphis to the present time. This body freely united with the Red Cross of New Orleans, and it was arranged that the southern states, through this society, should provide all Red Cross nurses for yellow fever, and that the northern portion of the country should raise the money to pay and provide them. We felt this to be a security, and an immediate provision which the country had never before known. Fearing that this might not, at its first inception, be fully understood, I called at once on Dr. Hamilton, then in charge of the Marine Hospital, explaining it to him, and offering all the nurses that could be required, even to hundreds, all experienced and organized for immediate action. Perhaps it was not strange that a provision so new and so unknown in the sad history of plagues and epidemics, should have seemed Eutopian, and as such been brushed aside as not only useless, but self-seeking and obtrusive. Like the entire organization of which it was a part, it had to wait and win its way against custom or even prejudice, by honest worth and stern necessity. It was the "old, old story." The world takes reform hard and slow.

As it was, however, we did what we could. Headquarters were established at the Riggs House in Washington. The good hearted people of the north who felt that they must go to Florida, had by some means gotten the idea that they must have a pass from the Central Committee of the Red Cross in order to go. They came to us in hundreds and were mercifully held back from a scourge for which they would have been both food and fuel. Whilst the entire people of the country in pity and horror at the reports received, were holding meetings, raising money, and pouring funds like water into the doomed city of Jacksonville, where the scourge had centered, and to which every effort was made to confine it.

Not realizing the opposition there might prove to be to our nurses, we called upon their old time leader, Colonel F.R. Southmayd, the efficient secretary of the Red Cross Society of New Orleans, instructing him to enlist a body of nurses and take them at once to the fever district. He enlisted thirty, both men and women, white and colored, took a part with him, the remainder following next day.

Colonel Southmayd, Southern born and bred, was a man of quick impulse and intense feelings; his heart was warm with the love of humanity and the sense of justice. He had been identified with the old Howard Association almost from its inception, and had worked through every epidemic of fever or other disease that had afflicted the South since the war; and he knew full well the value of the services of his chosen nurses. He strongly resented the injustice that he felt they were receiving, and naturally became involved in an unfortunate altercation with his superiors. In order to restore peace and remove an impediment to effective work, I withdrew the Colonel, requesting him to come to Washington and assist the Central Committee.

He came in obedience to the call, but burning with a sense of indignity and injustice to himself and the faithful suffering nurses he had brought--even with the lack of the good right arm which had swung his sword for the Confederate cause till it dropped from the shoulder, he was not an easy man to hold; but duty to the Red Cross, which he loved, and loyalty to its officers, whom he honored, held him quiet. He would never return to New Orleans, but at length retired to some northern city, where, after a few years he died, beloved and respected by those who knew his proud high soul, sterling worth and devotion to humanity.

His was one of the strong hearts that carried the impress of its memories and griefs to the grave, and we always felt that somewhere on that heart that had ceased to beat could have been found a spot still bruised and sore on which was written Jacksonville.

Refugees who had fled from Jacksonville, carried the plague to several smaller places in the surrounding country, where in some instances it acquired quite a foothold; but owing to their obscurity and the lack of communication with the outside world, they were left alone to fight the disease as best they could. Among these places was the little town of MacClenny, where as soon as it became known that there was a case of fever within its limits, all trains were ordered to rush through without stopping, and an armed quarantine was placed around it with orders to shoot anyone attempting to leave the town. Thus left to their fate, without doctors, nurses or food, in any quantity, their situation was pitiable. There were a number of volunteers who had made attempts to get into MacClenny, but owing to the unreasoning panic existing, they were not permitted to enter the place.

Colonel Southmayd had heard of these neglected people, and he succeeded while en route to Jacksonville in dropping off ten nurses so much needed at MacClenny. How he did this, I have told in a little brochure entitled "The MacClenny Nurses," that was issued at the close of the year 1888 as a holiday greeting, and intended as a public acknowledgment of the appreciation in which the Red Cross held those noble men and women who braved everything that they might serve their stricken brethren. Following is the story:

"THE MACCLENNY NURSES."

A HOLIDAY TRIBUTE

TO

RED CROSS WORKERS,

IN

_Warm appreciation and grateful acknowledgment of the faithful hands
that toiled, and the generous hearts that gave._

BY

CLARA BARTON,

_President of the American Association of the Red Cross._

"THE MACCLENNY NURSES."

During the fourth week in November a dispatch to National
Headquarters announced that the last band of Red Cross nurses, known
as the MacClenny nurses, had finished their work at Enterprise, and
would come into Camp Perry to wait their ten days' quarantine and go
home to New Orleans for Thanksgiving.

Seventy-nine days ago that would mean that their little company of
eighteen, mainly women, steaming on to Jacksonville, under guidance
of their old-time trusted leader, Southmayd, of New Orleans,
listened to his announcement that the town of MacClenny,
thirty-eight miles from Jacksonville, Florida, and through which
they would soon pass, was in a fearful state of distress; a
comparatively new town, of a few thousand, largely Northern and
Western people, suddenly stricken down in scores; poor, helpless,
physicians all ill, and no nurses; quarantined on all sides, no
food, medicine, nor comforts for sick or well.

"Nurses, shall I leave a part of you there; the train cannot stop
in, nor near the town, but if I can manage to get it slowed up
somewhere, will you jump?"

"We will do anything you say, Colonel; we are here in God's name and
service to help His people; for Him, for you, and for the Red Cross,
we will do our best and our all."

"Conductor, you had a hot box a few miles back; don't you think it
should be looked to after passing MacClenny?"

"I will slow up and have it seen to, Colonel, although it may cost
me my official head." And it did.

One mile beyond town, the rain pouring in torrents, the ground
soaked, slippery, and caving, out into pitchy darkness, leaped three
men and seven women from a puffing, unsteady train, no physician
with them, and no instructions save the charge of their leader as
the last leap was made, and the train pushed on. "Nurses, you know
what to do; go and do your best, and God help you." Hand to hand,
that none go astray in the darkness, they hobbled back over a mile
of slippery cross-ties to the stricken town. Shelter was found, the
wet clothes dried, and at midnight the sick had been parceled out,
each nurse had his or her quota of patients, and were in for the
issue, be it life or death. Those past all help must be seen
through, and lost, all that could be must be saved. The next day a
dispatch from Southmayd went back to New Orleans for Dr. Gill, a
Norwegian by birth, tall, straight, honest, and true as the pines of
his native land, to come and take charge of the sick and the nurses
at MacClenny. It was done, and under his wise direction they found
again a leader. Their labors and successes are matters for later and
more extended record.

It is to be borne in mind that these nurses found no general table,
no table at all but such as they could provide, find the food for,
and cook for themselves, for the sick, the children, and the old and
helpless who had escaped the fever and must be cared for. No patient
could be left till the crisis was passed, and many are their records
of seventy-two hours without change or sleep or sitting down. As the
disease gradually succumbed to their watchful care, experience and
skill, they reached out to other freshly attacked towns and hamlets.
Sanderson and Glen St. Mary's became their charge, and return their
blessings for life preserved.

On November first it was thought they could safely leave and go into
camp for quarantine; but no regular train would be permitted to take
them. The Red Cross secured and paid a special train for them, and,
as if in bold relief against the manner of their entry seven weeks
before, the entire town, saving its invalids, was assembled at the
station at seven o'clock in the morning to bid them good-by and
God-speed.

But their fame had gone before them, and "Enterprise," a hundred
miles below, just stricken down among its flowers and fruits,
reached out its hand for aid, and with one accord after two days in
camp, all turned back from the coveted home and needed rest and
added another month of toil to their already weary record. At length
this was ended, and word came again to us that they would go into
quarantine. Their unselfish, faithful, and successful record
demanded something more than the mere sending of money. It deserved
the thanks of the Red Cross organization in the best and highest
manner in which they could be bestowed; it was decided that its
president, in person, should most fittingly do this, and accordingly
left Washington on the morning of November twenty-second in company
with Dr. Hubbell, Field Agent, for Camp Perry, the quarantine
station of Florida. Two days and one night by rail, a few miles
across country by wagon, where trains were forbidden to stop, and
another mile or so over the trestles of St. Mary's on a dirt car
with the workmen, brought us into camp as the evening fires were
lighted and the bugle sounded supper. The genial surgeon in charge,
Dr. Hutton, who carried a knapsack and musket in an Illinois
regiment in '62, met us cordially and extended every possible
hospitality. Soon there filed past us to supper the tall doctor and
his little flock; some light and fair-skinned, with the easy step of
a well-bred lady, others dark and bony-handed, but the strong kind
faces below the turbans told at a glance that you could trust your
life there and find it again. They were not disturbed that night,
and no certain information of our arrival got among them. It was
cold and windy, and the evening short, as nine o'clock brought taps
and lights out. In spite of all caution the news of our coming had
spread over the surrounding country, and telegrams bringing both
thanks for what had been received and the needs for more, came from
all sides, and the good mayor of MacClenny made his troubled way to
reach and greet us in person, and take again the faithful hands that
had served and saved his people. Surgeon Hutton's headquarter tent
was politely tendered for the first meeting, and as one could never,
while memory lasts, forget this scene, so no words can ever
adequately describe it. The ample tent was filled. Here on the right
the mayor, broad shouldered, kind faced and efficient, officers of
camp, and many visitors, wondering what it all meant; in the centre
the tall doctor and his faithful band. Eliza Lanier, Lena Seymour
(mother and daughter), Elizabeth Eastman, Harriet Schmidt, Lizzie
Louis, Rebecca Vidal, Annie Evans, Arthur Duteil, Frederick Wilson
and Edward Holyland.

I give these names because they are worthy a place in the history of
any epidemic; but no country, race, nor creed could claim them as a
body: four Americans, one German, one French, one Irish, three
Africans, part Protestant, and part Catholic, but all from New
Orleans, of grand old _Howard_ stock, from Memphis down, nursing in
every epidemic from the bayous of the Mississippi to Tampa Bay; and
hereafter we will know them as the "_Old Guard_."